Friends, it has been hot as BALLS here the past few days. I understand the east coast has it worse, but for serious, when one is sitting in stopped traffic and it is 97 degrees and one gets a sunburn just in the crook of one arm...To be honest, I totally had no plan for that sentence. So let's bury it and move on.
My dad brought a bag back from Frankfurt for me, where he was stuck for a week because of the volcano. While he was stuck there he was also quite ill from having eaten some "funky cabbage" in India. Obvious solution: buy daughter a bag, then forget about it until three months later. Anyway, the bag is lovely. Dad thinks it's Turkish. It is blue. And other colors. But the strap is blue. Recall that it was hot as balls the past few days. It turns out that when my, uh, cleavage sweats, the blue bleeds onto my white shirt. Of course, saying cleavage is generous to the point of being an utter lie. Like, if my mom launched an investigation as to how I ruined one of the four Non-Frumpy articles of clothing that I own, and I used the word "cleavage" while being deposed, I'd be thrown in jail for perjury. (Are jails air conditioned?) Regardless, that part of me that would be cleavage were I more buxom, now has blue all over it. I mean, that part of my shirt. This story is getting out of hand. Out. Of. Hand.
I would suggest being very sympathetic for my poor white shirt, only I noticed this problem three days ago on a crappy tee shirt, then used the bag anyway for two more days. Also, my books are all slightly blue-tinged now. It's actually kind of cool - like when you use tea to age paper? Only instead of age, it's aqua!
That is one situation in which I am not so bright.
The other situation in which I am not so bright is that I have no sense of direction. And so, even though I go the same routes to and from work every single day, I manage to get lost one way or the other every day. The thing is, I am apparently under the impression that the best way for me to stay on Lake Street, once I am already walking down it, is to arbitrarily turn onto Wabash and only notice this three blocks later. Seriously. My inability to remain on Lake Street ASTOUNDS me.
I am also having one of those days where everything I try to say just comes out penis. Seriously, everything I said today was also what she said. Only I was saying it to somewhat mature people and I couldn't tell if they were judging me.
Moving on, some news from the office:
I found in the kitchen a can of coffee with the note, "Hey guys, it's my turn to bring in coffee, so here it is! It's intended as a beverage, but I will not stand in anyone's way, AE*, if they want to eat it by the spoonful." *(an) Associate Editor.
You are totally thinking I'm not going to be able to make a clever segue out of that story, but I am. See, as I chuckled away (because, really, that AE is EXACTLY the sort of fantastically odd man who WOULD eat coffee grounds by the spoonful) I realized the great and terrible thing about this particular publishing house (I don't want to get ahead of myself and say 'the publishing industry' but I have a hunch it may hold true elsewhere). I'm working in an office of people very much like me. Really strange quirks, laugh awkwardly after every sentence, try to sneak past everyone without saying hello or goodbye in the mornings and evenings, enjoy reading and the internet, and, above all, are generally young, fun, but reclusive. Which is fine for those of us who have established outside friends and stuff, but I am at hoooome, friends, hoooome, where I sadly know no one and am thus going totally stir crazy from lack of any sort of social interaction, ever. Except with my brother, parents, and (lovely!) friends on the interweb.
See, here I'd planned to go into part I of my 4 billion part series about my Mind-Body (dis)connect, but I think instead I will tell you more about envelopes. First off, I'd like to say that I am now a fanfuckingtastic letter opener. I hardly ever rip submissions, SASEs or original pictures of the author's baby (I made that one up, but it will happen one of these days.)
Furthermore, some of you have really interesting ideas about how to handle your submissions. I am going to go from least interesting (but probably most actually helpful) to most interesting (and probably least helpful, unless you are CRAZY like these people.)
1. If you include a SASE that is too small for your whole manuscript, you need to say in your cover letter "don't return manuscript" or when Lowly Intern rejects you (because, you know, your submission was a little nuts) she has a mini panic attack because WHAT IF YOU CALL AND SAY YOU WANTED YOUR MANUSCRIPT AND LOWLY INTERN GETS FIRED EVEN THOUGH SHE DOES NOT EVEN GET PAID ANYWAY?
2. Don't write your cover letter in MASSIVE letters or ridiculous font. We are not 90 and we're also not in junior high.
3. If your nickname (please tell me it was your nickname) is "Spanky"...maybe do not use that as your author name? I just keep thinking what if you are really good and get published and it says "By Spanky" right under it? And then I giggle. Because I'm really not mature enough for this job.
4. If you are a nun, and you are using one of those cardboard envelopes with the tabby thing to open them, PLEASE do not DUCT TAPE over the tabby thing. And if you choose to do that anyway, please make your submission readable. Because after all that...you know. I mean, this holds true if you are not a nun, as well. But I was really excited that it was a nun, and then I couldn't open it.
5. It's probably a little unprofessional to use approximately 12 of your customized return address stickers to tape your envelope shut. That said, it made me laugh. Good-naturedly. Not in the same way I laugh at Spanky.
Okay, that's all I've got today, folks. Tomorrow, once I've done it, I will talk about the upside to having been sick so long: people ask for help, and I can give it. For now: nap.
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