Things To Do

I have all sorts of small things I'm supposed to do....nibbled to death by ducks is this decade's overused phrase that I sometimes wish I'd invented. (Other such phrases show up regularly at sites like Smart Bitches and usually involve a lot of Zs)

But having too much to do and avoiding it all is why I'm here. On the list is paying a bunch of bills, returning emails, thanking that fan who listed my mistakes in a book that's been OOP for 4 years. (hey, I'm keeping her list. who knows when someone might buy that book again?)

Now that I'm getting to the bottom of the TTD list, I can see most of what's left pertains to promo and promo type things. Like the crappy car. Yes, we're getting the car. But the thing is, who is getting the car? That's what the people want to know. The car will eventually end up on the UConn campus. The oldest boy wants this crappy car, a lot, and will even pay for his own gas. Knowing the boy as I do, the inside of that car will surpass description within a week or so. Fossilized chicken inside a styrofoam container? Ha. Child's play for my lil slob. He'll skip the styrofoam is my educated guess.

Here's the problem. During the whole "what on earth can we do about Kate's idiocy?" segment of our lives (which lasted for days after I "won" the car) I managed to convince Mike that this really was going to be good promo and, yay, wasn't I smart to sort of draw the notice of a famous cool guy like Mr. G. Weingarten.

So now Mike's convinced that the only way I will get our money's worth out of this event is if the famous Gene Weingarten (if that man only knew how high his stock was in this house . . .) got to meet me. Why of course if we met, I'd charm the heck out of him and he'd be forced to write all about me in the pages of the WASHINGTON POST.

Um, no, this wasn't the way it was supposed to go. Meet me? No, I don't want to go to DC. No, no, no. I don't wanna. Mostly it's that. Ewgh, travel. Also, I'm not very good at meeting strangers. And there's the thing that I think PBW said a few years ago:

When it comes to publicity, most of us don't do ourselves any favors by showing up in public.

Seriously. And if PBW said it, you know it's probably true.

Note to self: Add "Go read PBW more often." to the list of things to do.

It's hard enough to present oneself on a blog-- I can edit all these words, thank goodness. In person? Oh, no no no. I do not think so. I tend babble first, think later. Eh, let's skip the think phase altogether.

Ugh. And did I mention I have a lingering sinus infection? I'm trying to get out of the habit of using a kleenex until it falls to pieces but I can't seem to stop with just one blow. Mmm. There's a sort of clean corner.

Yeah, I think maybe I should just stay private.


Huh. If by some chance the extraordinary legend, Gene Weingarten, happens by and sees all this whining, he should know:
1. whining is my hobby when the garden is dormant. And I'm very pleased about this car. So is Mike, I'm sure.
2. the boy really is extremely excited about this car, and I think it's a good plan too.**
3. someone will be by to get the car in the next couple of weeks, I promise.

That last paragraph with items 1-3 is because I feel sort of guilty -- Weingarten keeps throwing in fun things with this car to cheer me up. How about this extra loser shirt? he says. And I bet I can get an inker for you! It's not so bad!


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** my hope is that the kid will finally have his fender bender in this car. We all have to have that SMALL ACCIDENT, yes? It's a rite of passage. I pulled the bumper off my parents' car. Katherine Shorey tried to climb a tree in Rosedale using Eric's VW. Mike sideswiped a Mercedes.

But what if it's not so small in this car? I refuse to think about larger accidents and you can't make me. If parents thought about those sorts of accidents, they'd never sleep again.