MIXED BAG

• I’ll miss getting surprise packages in the mail once I’m off Ambien. Today I received a new book. Looks like I finally took Audrey’s advice and ordered myself a copy of Betty MacDonald’s Anybody Can Do Anything. It’ll be such a bummer when I actually remember doing stuff like that and know to expect new things from my postman.

• Buttered popcorn is my favorite Jelly Belly flavor. Jim finds them so disgusting that even the smell is offensive. So in a flash uncharacteristic selflessness, I picked those ones out and set them aside.

• Sometimes I feel like I should be courting myself. I’m a terrific catch. I’d better get me before someone else does. My most recent bout of self-infatuation was thanks to my dog. I had a moment of genius wherein I figured out how to avoid getting a faceful of cherry-flavored allergy meds when my dog closes her mouth just as I depress the syringe’s plunger. How do I do this and still dose my pet? Oh, I soak her food with children’s Benadryl. Seeing as my dog is definitely mine, she’d sooner lose an entire week’s sleep than miss a meal, so it’s no problem ensuring that she gets her medication if I dump the drug all over her kibble. Gosh, I love me.

• On the record you’re keeping of words I don’t like, please add “plump.” Turns out the list of words I can’t stand is longer than I thought. Most of ‘em have to do with distasteful body whatnot. Pus. Zit. Pimple. Plump. Fart. I hate the feeling of those words in my mouth and cringe when I hear any one of them.

• Ever since I took off my wedding band six or so months ago I’ve been on ring-watch. I don’t do it intentionally, but I notice rings like crazy. I don’t notice what they look like. I notice their existence. I’ll see a driver’s hand dangling from a car window, tapping out a beat from whatever’s playing on the radio, and I immediately take note of whether or not the hand’s wearing a wedding ring. Whenever I see that little metal band, I think, “Well, somebody loves that person.” I don’t think it in a nice way. I think it in an abandoned way.

• People who say that they hate all surprises—even the good ones—are one of two things: liars or stupid. Happy surprises are some of life’s very best things.

• When I’m in in a frenzied submitting-to-publications state, I get to the point where I’ve submitted so many essays to so many journals that I no longer care about whether or not the essay I’m submitting is suitable for the designated publication. Last night I submitted 18 essays to various journals/contests. Because I disregarded whether or not each piece was appropriate for the target market, I fully expect to get 18 rejection letters. Now that’s time well-spent.

• In quite a few ways, I’m like a dude. The way to my heart is through my stomach. Want me to fall for you? Feed me just enough key lime pie to keep me tantalized but not guilty. Do that, and I’m yours.