The Bed List/The Dinner List

BED LIST: LENNY KRAVITZ



My writing bud Nancy lucked into Aerosmith tickets last week (I hate her! Just kidding!), and I hate her all the more because Lenny Kravitz was the opening act. There's nothing like blasting "Are You Gonna Go My Way?" loud enough to make your ears bleed while exceeding the speed limit. But I digress. Nancy has a serious Rob Thomas fixation, but she said one evening sitting ten feet away from Lenny Kravitz got her fantasizing multiple ways to Let Love Rule with the ex-Mr. Bonet. She'd have to fight me for him, though. Rawr.

DINNER LIST: STEVEN TYLER



Twenty years ago, Steven Tyler was pretty hot--possibly could have made the Bed List. But this isn't twenty years ago, and Steve has a lot of mileage on his too-skinny-to-be-believed chassis. He is one seriously interesting guy, though, so he'd be a hoot to have over for dinner. I know. "Dream on," right?

Another One Bites the Dust

Another rejection today from TOR, conveyed by an assistant (big news is that Dream Agent is forming a new partnership, Folio Literary Management, and is quite the busy girl these days). Today's verdict:

She loved that the novel takes place in Orlando. It happens to be her hometown. She also thought the plot was intriguing but unfortunately she felt that the action was slow upfront and Sophie was hard to sympathize with, which is essential to keep the reader interested.

Okay, so rejection keeps stinging, even if you have endured several of them and come away relatively bloodless. My best writing buds are saying all the right things, and I know they're right, but dang. It's hard not to just holler "the hell with it" when "Nnnnnnnnnnooooooo!" hovers around your head like a particularly persistent mosquito. And I heard the word from an assistant. This is part of doing business, I know. I'm a big girl. I should just suck it up and quit with the lower lip quiver already.

On the plus side, I do have a killer agent who believes in the project, so I need to trust her to do her job. Round two of submissions is on deck, swinging away. Let's hope one of them connects.

(Un)Tie a Yellow Ribbon

The goofball has landed.

Baby bro (not really a baby at almost 34--he has a birthday coming up!) is back on American soil after nearly a year at the spa-like locales of Ad Diwaniyah and Mosul, Iraq. He's looking forward to real barbecue and being able to drive to the 7-11 without getting shot at. We're just glad to have him home and in one piece this time. The last time he was in Iraq, he came home with a plate and seven screws in his arm, so we're happy that this tour has resulted in no further hardware or ventilation.

I'm proud of him.

The Bed List/The Dinner List

BED LIST: LIEV SCHREIBER



My first encounter with Liev Schreiber was as the science-obsessed boyfriend in Kate and Leopold. Frankly, I didn't notice him much because I was busy drooling over Hugh Jackman, but I digress. But the more I saw of Liev, the more I liked. Frankly, I'd like to see more. Naked would be fun.

DINNER LIST: GEORGE CARLIN



George Carlin is rude, crass, opinionated, and smart as hell. He's unafraid to take on anyone--from the FCC ("Seven Words You Can't Say on Television," anyone?) to the Catholic Church (as Cardinal Glick in Dogma, the priest who blesses his golf clubs with holy water and brings you "Buddy Christ"). No matter which target he's chosen, he's brilliant at eviscerating it while leaving you in hysterics.

Strike Three (Still Not Out)

Rejection #3 today. Here's the lowdown: "...it's a really fun idea, but unfortunately the premise is just too similar to something we already have on the RDI list and I don't feel that Mimi's voice is quite distinctive enough to make this book stand out."

My kids would argue about the distinctive voice, especially DS, who once drew two pictures of me and explained, "This is you, Mama...and this is you yelling." But DS isn't in charge of editorial decisions in the bloodthirsty world of publishing, is he?

Argh!!

Down, but not out. One publisher to go on round one of submissions, four more in round two. Paige wants a closer look at LITTLE LEAGUE, too, so I have to step up to the plate, ar ar.

I Hereby Resolve...

...not to get stupid with resolutions. I am definitely in the make-'em-but-don't-do-'em camp when it comes to New Year's resolutions. Obviously, the "Lose X pounds/Write X pages/Organize X rooms" format isn't doing it for me.

This year, positive stuff only. So, here's what I resolve:

• I resolve to be kind to my body by eating better food and moving around more.
• I resolve to be kind to myself by allowing the words "No, thanks for asking" to come out of my mouth more often.
• I resolve to enjoy my family more.
• I resolve to laugh with my friends and avoid poisonous people whenever possible.
• I will drive with the top down as much as possible (clears the brain).

Hope your 2006 is healthy, happy, and successful!

Biggest Phone Bill Ever

Phone rings. I pick up. I hear, "This is the AT&T operator--"

Great, I think, telemarketer, but then he says, "--with a collect call from Iraq. Will you accept the charges?"

Hell, yes!

It's baby bro, who has two convoys and a lot of paperwork to execute before climbing on a plane to Kuwait. Woo hoo! January 5 is the big day! He talks to mom. He talks to his kids, who are visiting mom for the weekend. He talks to me. He tells me to tell him how much this phone call is costing.

Like I care. Merry Christmas to baby bro, and Happy New Year for us. Our soldier is coming home!

The Bed List/The Dinner List

BED LIST: LL COOL J



I tend to play a lot of music in my classroom, and whenever LL Cool J's "I Need Love" rotates on, all the kids sing along with him. So do I. There's something about this guy that's just irresistible. Probably the growly voice and the six pack. The muscles don't hurt, either.

DINNER LIST: DICK CLARK



This man is a miracle of genetics, or modern science, or something. He never ages. Never. I remember watching American Bandstand (Yes, I am that old, get over it) as a kid, and he looks like that still, even if he is moving a little more slowly these days. The ball drop wasn't quite the same without him last year, was it? Glad to see he's back in action, freezing his *ss off in Times Square for our New Year's enjoyment. We could meet after for hot chocolate.

Back to Normal

Christmas fun's over. Time to clean again (oy). The living room at Chez mimi has been exploded with toys, which now need to migrate down the hall, especially since mimi will be hosting yet another family dinner (dad, stepmom, baby sis/hub, sis/hub/nephew) on New Year's Day. Yikes.

Resolution season is coming, too, so I'm in the frame of mind to be changing some things. Like financial responsibility. I hate being stressed about money all the time! Since mimi's checkbook register hasn't been reliably looked after since--erm--May, methinks I will start fresh on Jan. 1. (There is a downside to debit cards) That, plus the usual diet/weight resolutions, blah blah, but this time, I'd like to get them right. Less pressure, more success. This could take some thinking. I'll get back to you in a week.

Gee, thanks, Dad!

If you're sharp, you get the sarcasm in the title, but if not, let me explain. My dad went gray early. Like totally-white-by-the-age-of-fifty early. And of course, I am just. like. my. dad.

Gray hair started popping up when I was in my twenties. My early twenties. Luckily, I have a lot of curly hair, so they were easy to hide, but I'm vain enough to want some reinforcement. So I turn to the marvelous world of haircolor, starting off with a burgundy color wash. (It was the eighties. Sue me.) I think I look exotic. My more practical sister takes one look and delivers the death blow. "Purple." **cringe**

It's soon obvious that my hair will not be Nice 'n Easied into submission, so I turn to the semi-permanent stuff. Washes out in 12-24 shampoos. I'm Natural, I have Instincts, I'm a Southern gal, so I like the sound of this:

Pecan. Reminds me of pie. Pie is yummy. Pie, however, becomes less and less able to conceal the Gray's Rebellion taking place on my scalp. So I gulp and hit the hard stuff. Level 3. Permanent. And I turn to the Europeans.

Europeans like food, too. And so now I'm no longer a pecan. I'm a Chestnut.

Or not. Turns out haircolor oxidizes on your head. I live in Florida. That means lots of oxidation. So instead of my car rusting out, my head does. Lovely. I switch to Truffle,

a lovely shade of brown with no red. One problem: I have curly hair. Curly, dry hair. Curly, dry hair that soaks up haircolor, so if I'm not careful with the balance between enough-time-to-cover-resistant-gray and too much, I look like Goth Girl. Not a good look for an almost-40-year-old. Experimentation is good, especially when you have colors named luscious things like Chocolate Caramel:

(sounds great on the box, but not good on my head). Back to the store we go for more reinforcements. The winner:

Acorn!! Light natural brown. Looks mahvelous. I'm my old self again!

Okay, not that old looking, since the gray is gone, for now. I'll go gray someday. Just not today.