On Getting Old...

I'm going to be 50 late next year (gotta include the "late" part). I'm getting old. My doctor is younger than me and he asks me every time if I've hit menopause yet. Check my damn file you fool! Stupid HMO. He also advises me of all the things I should be doing now that I'm "at that age". At that age? What the hell? It's one thing for me to call myself old. It's a completely different thing for someone else to do so. Where is the boundary between young and old? Is there such a thing?

This AM I was doing a Cathe step workout, one of her older ones. I noticed that she wasn't as stringy looking as she is now (and I don't mean that in a nasty way--she's very cut and muscular), her face was fuller, her eyes much bigger and she used an 8" step. An 8" step! I graduated from a 4" step to a 6" step about 6 or 7 years ago. Here lately I've begun worrying about tripping and breaking an ankle or a hip. I've also been wondering when age will force me to drop back down to 4". Cathe now uses a 6" step in her routines after some pretty serious knee surgery. She's about 43 or so. Maybe she shouldn't have been using an 8" step all those years ago. Maybe I shouldn't be using a 6" step.

All these internal ponderings about step heights and age related changes had me thinking of my own eventual decline. How much longer until I wistfully gaze at my workout dvd collection and go, "too hard, too hard, too hard, too hard..." as I move from title to title? If I sell them, it's like turning a corner and knowing I can never go back. I used to push myself to increase my fitness but there comes a point where no matter how hard you push yourself, the body not only refuses to go any faster but it will begin to slow. I wonder if Jack LaLane watches old videos of himself and says "ah if only I could still swim and pull a boat". The dude's like 90 something.

I also see these actors and actresses who were drop dead gorgeous in their day, my day, and now they are playing mothers, fathers and grandparents. Even Heather Locklear is getting puppet lines on her face. Pamela Anderson was looking a tad saggy too. Madonna is starting to scare me. Jack Coleman who was the hunky gay son on Dynasty plays father to Claire Bennett on Heroes. Claire is off to college. Child stars like Brook Shields (who looks wonderful by the way) are showing up on mature women's magazine covers. Cheryl Ladd of Charlie's Angels was in a print ad for bladder control or something like that. Another problem is the hunky actors of today are still quite appealing to my nearly 50 yr old married eyes, despite being young enough to be my son. I am now Mrs. Robinson. Yee-gads.

Getting old sucks. It really is like the lines from the Anna Nalick song Breathe,

But you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button now
Sing it if you understand.

Girl, I'm singing.

A Couple of Info-dump Snippets from My Current WIP

My current WIP, novel #2 is a thriller called The PURE (which stands for previously undetected recruiting error).

Here's a 1st draft of an info-dump from it that I'm rather fond of. It may not make the cut but I'm going to save it here for posterity because me likey...

Finding the photocopy room posed a new navigational challenge. I had no idea where the big mucky mucks had their secretaries do their copying. After nearly completing my second circuit, I finally located the copy room next to the freight elevator. The close proximity of the two areas facilitated the endless cycle of paper in and paper out.

ABC wasn't the least bit green or tree friendly. We created gluttonous mountains of discarded and then shredded paper each week. Our dirty little secret sat like troll droppings near the freight elevators on each floor, all destined for the city dump. I guess ABC had never heard of recycling.

I slipped the stack of pages into the feeder section of the copy machine and punched in the Aphrodite job number because we billed our clients for anything and everything possible. White collar crime clues were no exception.

And a second one, also a 1st draft and also most likely destined for cyberheaven:

Bob's computer glowed in front of me. Company policy required that desktops on the network remain on 24/7 for software "pushes" or program updates that were downloaded automatically in the wee hours. Those of us with laptops didn't have that luxury. We had to wait out the deferred downloads and updates each time we fired up our laptops and logged into ABC's network.

Everyone's login name was their first initial and their last name. Passwords were eight alphanumeric characters of our choice and had to be changed every 30 days. Most people picked something with six easy to remember letters like their names and then tacked on 01 then 02, etc to satisfy the numeric requirement. This methodology also allowed them to keep virtually the same password in rotation for the next 99 months before they had to start over again with six new alpha characters. Our profession taught the importance of having strong internal controls, such as unpredictable and unbreakable passwords, yet we ourselves didn't hesitate to thumb our noses at such concepts.

I hunted around Bob's desk for evidence that he too was guilty of the same hubris but at first blush found nothing so easy as a post it note on the monitor.

I accidentally moved the mouse and cleared the screen saver, which brought up the network login screen. It taunted me but not knowing his password or having any clue to it, I made myself ignore it for the time being and continued to flip through his paper files. Electronic files were no safer than paper ones and possibly even less so. The average partner was at least 40 and not IT savvy but physical control under lock and key they understood.

My Inauguration into the Cruel World of Publishing

Wah. Through an interesting series of events, I had an opportunity to re-query an agent I had originally queried many moons ago when I had no idea what I was doing. Knock me over with a feather I got my first request for a partial a week and half ago.

Today, she sent me a short but sweet rejection. So I thought I'd preserve for posterity what will probably be the first of many.

Welcome to the cruel world of publishing where rejection rules with a fickle and merciless fist. But every so often a ray of sunshine pierces the pall of hopelessness. If you need me I'll be in my trailer working on my solar panels. (Did that even make sense? Yeah, didn't think so. Ix-nay on-yay e-thay urple-pay ose-pray)

*********************************************************************************
Dear Auburn Assassin,

Thank you for the opportunity to read a portion of your manuscript, THE FOOL'S BET. I enjoyed your humorous pitch for this novel, and looked forward to seeing more; I wish I were now writing with better news.

Unfortunately, I just didn't fall in love with the writing style as I'd hoped. This is subjective, of course, and another agent may feel differently. While I must pass, I do wish you the very best of luck and success in your ongoing writing and publishing pursuits.

Sincerely,
Awesome Agent

*************************************************************************
From: AWESOME AGENT THAT I REALLY WANTED
Subject: Re: Fwd: Important AAR Alert: Electronic Rights Agreement Checklist & QUERY
To: AUBURN ASSASSIN
Date: Friday, July 24, 2009, 1:07 PM

HI Aub,

Yes, you are right - I'm sure that is how those notices have come your way. Sometimes I am quicker with the trigger finger than my eyes can keep up with. I VERY much appreciate your calling this to my attention and I'm delighted to have the opportunity to request a sample of your manuscript. Feel free to send as an attachment via email (I trust your judgment as to a good break point) and would you please cc my assistant: awesomeagentsasst@awesomeagency.com? I look forward to reading The Fool's Bet.

Best,
Awesome Agent

*******************************************************************
On Fri, Jul 24, 2009 at 3:55 PM, AUBURNASSASSIN wrote:
Awesome Agent,

I've received a couple of emails from you including the one below but I think you might have me on a distribution list by mistake because I have the same first name (Auburn) as one of your other agents at Awesome Agency. You would have only had my email address because I queried you late last year. As much as I'd like to believe that your emails kept mysteriously showing up in my inbox because I was supposed to re-query you, I know that a much more logical explanation is at play.

But karma is a strange thing and never let it be said that I wasn't listening for opportunity's knock. Here's my query per your website's guidelines:
*******************

Roundhouse kicking your aerobics instructor and flirting with the gay basement troll who catches her are probably not the most orthodox means of tackling New Years' Resolutions. Chelsea's goals are much more pedestrian in origin -- exercise more and end her two year mourning period for her late husband.

After her narrowly averted classroom coup, Chelsea is ready to retreat to her cocoon again. But the handsome man in the Star Trek t-shirt who may not be gay after all is intent on teasing her and drawing her out. A light-hearted, no strings attached friendship between Chelsea and LA actor Zach is born.

Zach is one of those guys who only has to slow down and allow himself to be caught when he gets an itch of the female persuasion. He's spoiled rotten and Chelsea leverages her seven-year age advantage and 16 years of marriage to lecture him on his laissez faire ways. She jokingly bets Zach that one day some woman is going to turn him into the biggest lovesick fool ever and he won't even see it coming.

When Zach begins a romantic relationship with a co-star, Chelsea is forced to reassess her own heart's desire which in turn puts Zach's 'go with the flow' attitude to the test. If he's not willing to fight to keep her in his life, then she's not going to fight to stay there.

The Fool's Bet is a romantic comedy complete at 81,000 words.

Thank you for your consideration.

Is it us or is it them?

After agonizing over which page a day calendar to purchase for 2009, I opted for a French phrases calendar. I used to be somewhat conversational at French some 25 yrs ago and had the rather ill-advised hope that a page a day calendar would somehow prepare me to retire in Provence. Think again, Babs.

What I immediately noticed was that while the calendar was chock full of your typical phrases like "what is your name?" and "my name is ____" it also contained a few gems that caused me to wonder why they were included. Were the publishers commenting on things the French typically say themselves or the things that English-speaking tourists might say when in France? Here are a few I found thought-provoking:

"That t-shirt is ugly" (because you will have to comb the souvenir shops for the perfect tshirt before heading home.)

"I'd rather date my dog" (so when the natives point and smile, you'll know that they are actually making fun of you instead of being wowed by your sensible shoes and space efficient fanny pack.)

"No onions on my food please" (because we are notorious for our bad American breath.)

"The shop owner is making a face at me" (so you can loudly announce to your traveling companions when you perceive you are being treated like a loud obnoxious American.)

"This food sucks" (so you can fit in with the native food critics as well as learn the very useful French equivalent of "sucks" and use it to describe a wide variety of distasteful things.)

Who knew a French phrase calendar could be so subversive?

Shirley Jackson is alive and well and she posts on message boards!

The older I get, the more amazed I am at how easily a mob can form and how easily that mob's actions can go from mildly amusing to horrifying in the bat of an eye. It lends the same feeling I remember having when reading Shirley Jackson's The Lottery, that something just wasn't right even though everyone (except the hapless victim, of course) seemed to think it was all OK. I have often found internet message boards, even the most seemingly innocuous ones, to display this same type of mob mentality.

In the internet world where emoticon smiley's of "Me too", "ITA" (I totally agree), "Yeah, that", and the nodding up and down fellow prevail, I see far fewer emoticons used that say, "Oh please!", "Give me a break", "No friggin way" or "This is just so wrong" on the mostly female boards I frequent. The female mind likes solidarity and will seek it out as often as possible. When it settles on a positive topic, all is well but when things turn south, nothing could be uglier. I am frequently irritated to read a thread that starts off by invoking what seems to be legitimate sympathy or pity but which later morphs into a cacaphony of screeching females outraged that the original poster hasn't taken their advice and reported back on the outcome. All that lovely compassion somehow took a very wrong turn. Another type of ugly mob thread is the angry customer thread.

Recently, a very popular fitness instructor collected pre-order funds for a series of workouts to be released in 2006. We weren't told when in 2006 these workouts would be delivered but those of us who have purchased from this particular vendor in the past have experienced a 6-8 month window from purchase to delivery. The vendor refused to lock into a timetable, citing instead the difficulties involved with such a complex project and advised those who were anxious about parting with their funds under such circumstances to NOT DO SO. The discount offered for pre-ordering was substantial. Many bit. Fast forward four months and no workouts and no pictures from filming and the crowd has grown restless.

"Where are our updates??" they cried. "Why hasn't filming begun yet?" they screeched. "You OWE us, your customers, all this information so cough it up." OK, so I can understand impatience at what seems to be some delays and so too did the vendor so she put out a message that said, "Sorry, we've been busy with holiday vacations and the star's injury, but we're looking at starting back up again Jan 6, 2006." Not good enough. Now cries of "Foul!", "Poor customer service!" and "I want to cancel my pre-order and get my money back!", rise up from the angry mob. And then things really get ugly.

One member of the crowd yells, "She better not be spending my money on Christmas presents!" which is heard by the lady 3 posts later and reinterpretted as, "I'll bet they are having cash flow problems; I'm getting out. I won't tell you what to do but don't come crying to me when this company goes belly-up like Other-Company-That-Was-the-Worst-Excuse-for-a-Small-Business-Ever did!" The lady 5 posts after her then exclaims, "I'll bet she and her customer service rep are probably playing good cop / bad cop. I can just see them cackling and plotting over their postings from same computer keyboard." Then out come the pitchforks and large stones. The Lottery has begun and the scapegoat chosen.

The ironic thing is that when these workouts are released, these same women will then pay 50% more for them (because they cancelled their pre-orders) and then bitch about how poor the dvd quality is or how dull as dishwater the workouts are and how they will never purchase one of her workouts ever again. Then 6 months later, when the next pre-order is announced, will proudly gloat about how low their invoice number is because they purchased in the 1st hour of the sale. Even more ironic is I am not talking about any one person's words or actions in entirety, but if the "mob" were but a single person, this is how ridiculous and pathetic she would be acting. Hell hath no fury like a woman who thinks she's being gyped...with the exception of a group of them bound together by the internet into a raging PMS tsunami!

Collectible mindset

Why is it that it's no longer good enough to have a rare and precious ONE of a set? My kids go to [insert any fast food chain] and get a toy with their meal. They immediately want to go there every week so they can "collect all six" of the [fill in name of stupidest toy ever made that were it not part of a collectible set would quickly be tossed in the trash and forgotten]. American commercialism at its finest.

Quickly glancing around my house, I see the following incomplete collections:

- 39,276 Pokemon cards, including 80% duplicates and triplicates--collection still in process
- 8952 Yuh Gi Oh cards, also including duplicates and triplicates--collection still in process
- 17 Power Rangers in various shapes and sizes
- 10,999 Hot Wheels
- Thomas the Tank Engine trains and track set (Did you know that these "cute" little wooden trains with names and faces are $10 to $20 per train!!?)
- Pokemon games for the Gameboy in every color under the rainbow--red, sapphire, gold, ruby, leaf, fire, blue, silver....aren't they all about the same thing?
- Lemony Snickets books, there are 11 so far and it's driving my son absolutely bonkers that he only has the first nine, even though he's only read through #7
- Magic Treehouse books (see Lemony Snickets above)

I just don't get kids these days. Now, I'm off to rearrange my 100+ "assembly" of workout videos by instructor and in order of release and then off to the swaps to fill in any "gaps". Then I'll need to dust my Franklin Mint porcelain cats and round up the beanie babies that have long ago lost their tags and become {gasp!} toys.

What to do when Mr. Babs is out of town....

Hubby is going out of town until Tuesday afternoon. While I'll miss him, the other part of me is quickly inventorying a list of "Things to do that Mr. Babs absolutely despises and Things to do that I'd be embarrassed to have Mr. Babs see me do".

Am I a bad wife to feel a little thrill over this? If so, I'll blame my mother. When I was a young girl, Dad frequently made long military trips leaving my mother, younger sister and I to fend for ourselves. This meant: trips to McDonald's, trips to the pool, trips to K Mart and other fun stores and alternating nights sleeping in the big king sized bed with Mom. As a 60's stay at home Mom, I'm sure she relished those opportunties to be the supreme ruler of the roost.

So what's on the list? Well, let's see:

1. Watch tear-jerkers and chick flicks--trip to video store required
2. Spend hours online chatting, shopping, etc
3. Control the TV clicker and seek out exciting new infomercials, especially fitness ones. I haven't seen the Billy Blanks' Bootcamp one yet.
4. Catch up with my seldom visited message boards.
5. Try on my smaller sized clothes and lingerie to see if I've lost enough weight to fit into my sexier duds.
6. Experiment with meals containing any of the following ingredients: beans, collards, kale, broccoli, cauliflower, salmon, halibut, Indian spices, lentils...but not necessarily in the same dish.
7. Do some of those "I told you so" chores--the ones he's been nagging me to do but I can't bring myself to do in his presence because I can't bear all the, "there, isn't that much better?" comments.
8. Read all the juicy parts of my favorite romance novels (I should probably read these right before he gets home though, if ya know what I mean...)
9. Exercise to my dvd's whenever and however long I want in front of the big screen TV.
10. Indulge in my favorite daydreams.
11. Play some albums and cassettes that haven't seen the light of day in over a decade. (Yes, I still have vinyl albums, even some 45's!!)
12. Watch my Seinfeld and Alias dvd's.
13. Sleep in the middle of the bed.
14. Look at pictures of and miss my dear heart.

My name isn't Babs nor am I a Barbra Streisand fan...

Just a brief explanation of my "Babs" moniker. When my husband and I first married, we were "Babe" this and "Babe" that til one day I decided I was tired of that old trite term of endearment. So I dropped the silent "e" and added an "s" and "Babs" was born. He was "Babs" and so was I and it has stuck for some 12 years now. Mind you, this is NOT a nickname that any self-respecting male would want to be called in public and my dear husband is no exception. I just don't know what we'll do though if and when we finally get to appear on The Amazing Race.

Me:

Babs, look at the map!!

Him:

I told you not to call me that, Phil is watching!

Me:

OK...Mr Babs! Let's go.

Why do men think women's ideas sound better in a bass voice?

I'm good enough; I'm smart enough and gosh darn it people like me...so why can't I get any respect! How many times have you had your previously dismissed idea restated by a male co-worker to glowing reviews? How many times have you had serious business conversation ended mid-stream by your boss saying, "Oh it's time for you to go pick up your kids, now get along little doggie." (OK, I'm exaggerating a little bit.)

I'm at a crossroads here trying to determine if my efforts are well spent fighting this type of irritation and sexism or if they are better spent finding ways around the "system". And if the latter, what are those ways without resorting to blatant use of sex appeal, which is in short supply in my arsenal? Sometimes, it seems like the brighter I shine my light, the more I am distanced from the recognition I need. Oh, bleh, this is such a whiny topic, what's else is there to talk about?

I've been listening to Josh Groban's "Remember" from the Troy movie soundtrack ad nauseum. How does such an average looking guy (sorry Josh) have such an extraordinary voice? I love a baritone with a great vibrato and he's all that. Man oh man, put that voice in Eric Bana, and you'd have a Hector worthy of some serious swooning.

My veterinarian sent us a bouquet of flowers in deepest sympathy for our loss of beloved Ayla. While very sweet, part of me thinks it's also vet code for "the deed is done" as I didn't stay for the euthanasia last night, not wanting to prolong the misery. I'll bet he's regretting having made us wait for 40 minutes while he took other "more serious cases" before tending to my lovely girl, even though we were there first. She was on the verge of having seizures by the time he finally came to see us and then he spent his first few minutes reviewing her file and talking about her overactive thyroid. By that time the thyroid was the least of her worries. When she keeled over, he changed gears really fast and was the paragon of sympathetic physician. Alas, I feel a tad bitter about this but then I also realize that he's got gazillions of patients and it's probably a miracle if he remembers the pets he sees from one day to the next.

The only bright spot is that our lone remaining cat is now permitted to come indoors and hang out and sleep with the family at will. He's always had better potty habits than his older sisters did. I look forward to a warm kitty sleeping by my legs again.

I wonder how much a full time chef costs? At this moment in time, I'd pay dearly for one as I have zero interest in making dinner tonight.

My youngest son got 3 stitches in his lip yesterday after falling head first from his chair against a desk and then on to the floor. No, he's not retarded but I think he now realizes the dangers of pulling his arms and legs inside his shirt and doing his humpty dumpty imitation.