March 25, 2008
Shop Talk
I submitted a short story for publication today. I have never submitted my fiction before. It took me about half an hour to write, and while I know I ought to sit on stuff for a week or more and then revise, I didn't think my sudden burst of confidence would hold out that long.
This wasn't my best work by any means. That's why I was able to submit it. A rejection won't be as awful as if they were rejecting something I was super attached to. I trust I'll get over that problem as I get used to doing this.
It was about robots.
I submitted a short story today.
This is not my robot.
Posted by didofoot at 04:53 PM | Comments (4)
March 24, 2008
This little light of mine...
I always figured I'd grow out of my distaste for wearing makeup, like how after you achieve a certain maturity level you no longer own backless shirts or have friends in Santa Barbara. (Then later on you hit another level where you do have friends who live in Santa Barbara, but these are old rich yuppie friends who own homes there, not college kids packed eight to a room in Goleta.)
Only recently did I realize that it's not a maturity thing. You start wanting to own and wear makeup at the same age that you realize how shiny it is. After all, the word "shimmer" is right there in the names of many, many makeup products. Lip shimmer, shimmery eye powder, body shimmer that you put in your lotion to make your skin all sparkly. Most girls knew about this way back when you could choose between shimmer and glitter, but for me it's all new and exciting.
I got all crazy and bought a shiny lip gloss a few days ago. Now my lips look like little lengthwise jewels all the time, and they smell like apples, which attracts both fellas and insects. I'm working my way up to some shiny eye business, so that whoever I'm talking to will become dazzled by my gemstone eyelids and have to lie down for a moment while I slyly steal their wallet. I will use the cash I earn from my sparkle crimes to procure more shining makeup for myself.
I'm going to try not to become a Tammy Faye Bakker face, but it might be hard to help. The shine must go on, after all.
This is not my face.
Posted by didofoot at 05:30 PM | Comments (2)
March 20, 2008
Missed donut
Every now and then I troll the missed connections, because if my public ever decides to speak to me I want to be there to listen. I was reading today because I've been unusually outside-the-house active this week and wondered if maybe someone noticed and wanted to buy me a donut. And also because Dianna's recent post reminded me about it.
Imagine my excitement when I saw this headline:
Kristen L. - m4w
OMG! This is actually for me! A donut buyer! But then:
"You used to work at a restaurant that starts with A, maybe you still do. Trying to track you down to see if we can spend some time like we used to, but won't put much about that here. Speak up and we'll see"
Sigh. No donut for me.
Posted by didofoot at 12:46 PM | Comments (1)
March 19, 2008
Edward Sandwichhands
I was walking home from the bus stop last night feeling, I thought, colder than I have ever felt. As I strode up 16th Street, certain I was about to lose some fingers, I passed Ike's darkened little shop and my chilblained brain thought, it's ok. If I lose my hands to frostbite, Ike will help me.
What did I mean by that, I wondered when warmer? This was all I could come up with:
Edward Sandwichhands
Child:
Where does snow come from?
Narrator:
Once there was a famous inventor named Ike. Left to his own devices in his lonely shop on 16th, Ike created many things. One of these was a man. Sadly, Ike closed for the day before he could finish creating the man's hands, because he closes early most weeknights no matter how hungry you are. He called the man Edward, and instead of human hands, he gave him sandwiches.
After Ike left, Edward was discovered by a resident of the town, who took pity on him and brought him to live in his typically gay Castro residence.
At first the neighborhood feared Edward. His hands were made of carbs, which could be dangerous to the physically fit residents of the Castro. However, they soon learned that Edward was gentle and shy, never attempting to force his carbs on those who did not want them. After a little while, his neighbors began to make use of his wonderful sandwich hands, nibbling them here and there as a snack in between meals, or taking large bites out of them when they had forgotten to bring lunch, or had had a difficult workout at Gold's and were super hungry.
All of this snacking took its toll. Before long, Edward's hands had been devoured completely! Still, the neighbors looked at him hungrily, wondering if his elbows or knees might be made of delicious sandwich. Fearing for his life, Edward fled to the only place he felt safe: Ike's Sandwich Shop on 16th Street.
Child:
But what happened to him?
Narrator:
The next morning, Ike returned to his shop. His creature was pitifully pleased to see him. "Now you can give me some real hands!" he cried. But Ike smiled and gently shook his head.
"Vegan meatball sub," he whispered, holding up bread. "Vegan meatball sub."
And now when white flakes fall from the sky, all the Castro residents know that some lucky neighbor is snacking on Edward's sandwich hands, and the crumbs are floating down like a benediction from sandwich heaven.
Posted by didofoot at 09:58 AM | Comments (0)
March 13, 2008
Kris Goes to the Zoo
This morning I woke up and saw how the morning glory vines were starting to cover the windows. Not to be one of those writers who sees symbolism everywhere, but it seemed like a good time to get out of the house for a while. So I went to the zoo.
Now that is a good time, the zoo is. Tiger attacks aside, there's nothing better than being there on a beautiful sunny weekday when you've mostly got the place to yourself. Also, this is maybe weird, but it's really nice to go to the zoo alone. You can spend as much or as little time looking at each animal as you want, and you don't have to feel guilty that you don't read any of the informational plaques.
My favorite are the giraffes, for obvious reasons. Like me, the giraffes are tall, strange, non-violent and perpetually hungry. However, the lions were also pretty good today:
You can see more photos from my day here.
Posted by didofoot at 03:02 PM | Comments (0)
March 07, 2008
Ay!
I went to the Bark & Whine Ball last night at 8th & Brannan. This is the SF SPCA's annual fancy-pants fundraiser where dogs and their people get all gussied up to eat tiny food and genteely sniff one another's bottoms. My bus got stuck or something (or, as Jason might say, slipped off the solid gold roads my taxes pay for), so I wound up walking the six blocks to from Market to the party.
On the way, high-stepping in my sluttiest of cocktail dresses, I passed an urban tough of the typical genus: head shaved, pencil mustache, big black leather jacket. "Hey, little girl," he called at me. "Hey, baby!" Alas for me, my standard reaction of full ignoring was compromised, as I was distracted by the tough's dog, a tiny chihuahua rigged up in some kind of argyle dog sweater.
"Aww," I melted. "Hey, little girl! Hey, baby!"
And so the cycle of abuse continues.
This is not my chihuahua.
Posted by didofoot at 11:07 AM | Comments (0)
March 05, 2008
Bend over for tax time!
I made just over $7000 last year, which puts me in the millionaire's circle for people who can almost afford to starve to death in style. Given that I made an annual income that would just barely allow me to make my rent in a residential hotel in Topeka, shouldn't the feds be giving me a tax break? Instead of charging me almost $1000 simply because I'm self-employed?
"Freeze! Let go of those bootstraps, missie, niiiiice and easy. Nobody's pulling herself up on my watch."
I gotta think I've made a mistake somewhere on the four forms I had to fill out. Sigh.
Posted by didofoot at 02:42 PM | Comments (9)
