you know you’re right.

I have a long history with being right. When I was a kid, I was right all the time. Knew the answers, knew why I knew the answers, knew what the next questions would be. Moving all the time meant I was always being given another series of placement tests, and I knew what those would be like, too.

I didn’t know everything, but I found a way to be right about what I did know.

One of the cruelest (and probably best) things about getting older is I find I’m not right as often. In fact, these days I’m usually wrong. I’ve found that my main tool for always being right — my memory — isn’t doing its job as well as it used to. I don’t think I’m getting dumber, I think I’m starting to understand how much more I just don’t know, and because there are all these things I don’t know, I can’t possibly be completely right about what I do know anymore. The bravado I needed to be sure and confident through my teens and twenties isn’t necessary right now. In fact, I seem to need to not know things in order to learn anything anymore. I have to enjoy being wrong.

Because I’m wrong a lot, I now really appreciate when I’m right. When I know I’m right, anyway. I can have a hunch I’m right, but when I’m right with facts and proof, it’s a pretty good feeling, as it doesn’t happen as often as it used to. Probably because I no longer spend much time taking math tests. Continue reading

late-night guests

Well, someone had fun in Los Angeles. I told AB she was really getting to see what my life is like out here, from the boring parts — extremely long shuttle rides from the airport, sitting in coffee shops for long hours, getting phone call updates from me while I’m out at pitch meetings, driving forever while feeling incredibly slung-over — to the exciting — book readings, shopping, celebrity spotting at amoeba records, drinks with a view of downtown. And lots and lots of coffee. We never got to see any water, and she didn’t get a tan, but I think she understands now why I love it here.

The house, post-AB, is quiet in a way I don’t like. Well, except for the other night, when… well, I’ll reprint the email I sent to AB and Allison, as it’s still a little traumatic. I apologize for the lowercase, which is how people email when they love each other. Continue reading

wonder killer moment #496.

[scripty]
stee’s mom
[laying down scrabble tiles]
Doesn’t it look like “radios” should have an “e” before the “s”?

stee
Yeah, I guess so.

stee’s mom
I wonder if it should.

pamie
[who isn’t playing the game, but is nearby, reading a book]
No, because there’s a vowel before the “o.”

stee’s mom
Excuse me?

pamie
The plural of an “o” word only adds the “e” if there’s a consonant before the “o.” Like “potatoes,” or “tomatoes.” But you wouldn’t have it in “radios.” Or “videos.”

stee’s mom
I never knew there was a rule for that. Isn’t that fascinating?

stee
NERD!
[/scripty]

Why Why Moms Are Weird

Within 24 hours of posting information about my new book, someone was already complaining on Amazon. This person was nice enough to repeatedly state she was a fan of my writing, but found the title to be disappointing, and wildly lacking in imagination. I’d been planning to tell the story of how Why Moms Are Weird came to be, so here goes. Continue reading

Cal-ifornia Love

I think Cal has decided his time with us is over.

About three weeks ago, I came home late and watched The Sopranos on the couch with stee. Afterwards, as I was falling asleep, stee asked, “Where’s Cal?” It wasn’t like him not to be on stee’s legs, or in front of the television, or standing on my neck. I realized I hadn’t seen him the entire time I’d been home, which was more than an hour.

It was one in the morning, and it was time to go to sleep, but there would be no sleeping until we knew where Cal was. Our house is rather small, and it only took about three minutes of searching to determine he wasn’t in the house. Continue reading

bad night. (warning: not for the squeamish or sympathetic.)

So we hosted a small party last night, mostly comprised of people we’ve never met before. Five minutes after the first group of guests arrived, I was bleeding into the kitchen sink.

This was not one of my better parties. Well, I can’t speak for the people who attended, but I wish I could send apology notes to them. I guess that’s what I’m doing here, since many of them seemed familiar with this website. Continue reading