I’m going to tell you about the time a lightbulb almost destroyed my relationship, but I can’t do it without a little backstory.
For better or worse, one thing that Jason and I have in common is that we both really like to be right. We can get kind of jerky about it, which means we’re the kind of people who are prone to issue an apology that sounds like, “I can see why you thought I might have meant that.” We don’t mean to be jerks; we just both grew up having to defend ourselves a lot, and I think it makes both of us headstrong in our opinions. It also makes arguments in this house become events better described as Word Offs. We will just beat each other down with constant discussion. Eventually someone will throw up his or her hands and say, “Fine! Whatever you said! That’s what we’ll go with!”
That is the sound of victory around here. Not someone saying, “I’m wrong. I’m sorry.” But someone saying, “You can take this one. I’m so tired.”
It’s still a win, people. Read more
Jason and I have been in talks to start a family for some time now. I say “in talks” because I find it to be along the lines of countries negotiating, as one nation will have to take on a serious — albeit short-term — obligation that could potentially affect that country’s GNP for some time. We went back and forth on when and how, birth vs adoption vs fostering, back to budgeting to financial obligations to legal obligations to when and how we would fit it in with our work schedules and my deep-rooted fear that if I had a child I’d never get hired for anything ever again.
We discussed starting a family at such a conceptual level we were practically wearing elbow patches, continually adjusting our reading glasses in order to make another articulate point about feminism and the human procreational instinct. (TL;DR: We nerded out about it.) Read more
So I’ve had this cold. It’s been going on for over a week at this point, which is ridiculous. Listen, if I go through all the trouble to be responsible and get the flu shot before flu season, I shouldn’t be able to get sick for ten days straight with anything. I should get credit for letting someone stick a needle in my arm in the back of a Vons next to the frozen food section. Read more
I am not the best when it comes to names and faces. I will remember one or the other, but I cannot seem to put them together. And I’ve even tried the thing where you hear someone’s name and then you imagine them wrapped up in their name, like “Monica Berg” becomes a cheeseburger moaning in ecstasy or whatever, but the next time I see that lady, you can bet I’ll somehow end up calling her “Patty Cheesescream,” right to her face.
…and then this morning I Googled “master cleanse.”
ooooooohhhhhhhhh man, I am full of food. This year’s food-trip with Tara and Dave was shorter than the last time, but I managed to get an extraordinary amount of eating in. I started strong and ended strong, you guys. I had ice cream for dinner last night. Yes, that is bragging.
We did some antiquing (someone please send me these chairs), some drinking (heh, “some”), and some friend-gathering as we repeatedly hid from the oppressive heat. I recorded a podcast as the first female guest for a future episode of Totally Hungover, which may or may not end up being the last time they allow a female guest. There was officially too much Whataburger and not enough migas. Read more
I’m not sure how Jason got it into his head that I needed to shoot a gun. I know that he’s not the only person in my life who assumed I would enjoy such a thing. Chris Huff, a weapons expert, has wanted to take me to a shooting range for years. It’s only his wise wife, Allison, who has insisted that would be a bad idea. “First of all, she’ll be holding that gun sideways in five minutes, acting like she’s tearing up the joint.” Read more
@pamelaribon — I just pulled a bra out of my drawer and put it on, only to realize… this isn’t mine. I don’t shop at Victoria’s Secret. (…is it yours?)
@Glark — Stop crowdtesting your new novel Pamie.
@Mjfrig — Yes, I have man-boobs, okay! Stop rubbing it in. #idontreally #onlyajokeiswear
@auriflamme — It’s mine, yo.
@matt_fuqua — How embarrassing. I’ll get it next time I see you.
@SaraMorrison — What does it look like?
@pamelaribon — @SaraMorrison Flesh-colored, “Biofit,” 34D. If it’s yours, you just saved three thousand hours of drilling @jasonwupton with questions. Read more
(there’s some language, just in case you’re at work.)
First this happened. And then this:
Mom just brought me a chewable calcium supplement. Two, actually. “One for later,” she said, because Jason told her that Dr. Oz said somewhere that we can only absorb so much calcium at one time, so we need to take it in two doses. I am terrible at remembering to take vitamins, but I’m even more terrible at them ever since Jason began a sentence (with only the best of intentions) with, “You know, in terms of calcium, once a woman reaches thirty-five…” I hit mute, rewind, delete, deny.
I kind of walk around all day right now with this low-level, stomach-knot anxiety. Part of it must come from me being unable to do anything that feels like actual exercise. I can’t skate, I can’t go for a run, I can’t even go for a twenty-minute walk without regretting it later. So I sit. I sit and wait. I wait for word on the upfronts. Any minute now we find out the fate of Romantically Challenged. I’m under contract there, which means I can only do so much alternate planning in case the show goes from hiatus to cancelled. With the publication of Going in Circles I am finished with my contract, and I’m now writing chapters that will end up in a book proposal. I’ve also written up a pitch for an hour-long tv show based on a novel I love, love, love, but I’m waiting on notes from my agent… who is busy with upfronts. I meet tomorrow with the studio I’m creating a half-hour pitch with this development season, which means I’m waiting to find out what project I’ll ultimately be pitching with them. I’m waiting on responses for a few other possibles here and there. All good things, if only a “YES” would come back. I’m waiting. I’m writing. I’m waiting. And I’m closely monitoring my dwindling savings account. Read more
A quick impression of the lady who just gave me a pedicure. She was like, “OH.” Held up my foot. “OH. THIS. OH. YOU NEED. OH. YOU WANT. OH. CALLUS. OH, CALLUS. I CUT, YES?”
That poor woman.
I know. She put on latex gloves. Nobody else was wearing gloves. It was embarrassing. She thought I had some kind of foot condition.
Did you tell her how you got those feet?
I just went, “Yes, please. I know. I’m sorry. It’s… it’s from sports.” And then she went, “SPORTS. OH. OH, BOTH FEET. OH.”
And then strapped on those gloves.
Yes. But look! Cute feet!
Cute feet. Pam, I don’t even recognize those feet.
Those look like someone else’s feet. Whose feet are those?
You know, I’ve never seen you with cute feet.
Yeah, I guess that’s true.
It is true. I’m used to “Feet that belong to a Ukranian man who’s been working in the trenches.”
OKAY, I GET IT.