And the boy got swagger

Exciting things have happened. One, there are only 37 days until I promise my privates to one man for the rest of eternity (or until I stop procrastinating about the divorce).

But further:

I was honored to find out that StorySouth named my story, Unpreparing (which Hobart deemed worthy of publishing), as a notable of 2008. Even though it fell short of the minimum word count!

And also, Wigleaf picked my story, Tuesday (which Smokelong gave a home to) as one of the Wigleaf Top 50 Very Short Fictions, 2009!

There are many of my literary heroes also included in these lists, and I can't believe I am in their company! So exciting and thus excited.

Remix

This is awesome. I might very well participate under a variety of pen names. One being "J.D. Robb," natch.

Also, so into Eastbound and Down. I have loved Danny McBride since I first laid eyes on Bustass in All the Real Girls.

New Neko Case is the shit, can't wait to see her and Crooked Fingers in April. (The last time I saw Crooked Fingers the sound wasn't working so the band jumped off the stage and played acoustically while Eric Bachmann sang into the crowd. One of the top 5ive experiences of my life.)

Regarding personal shit, I have decided on a color palate for my bridesmaids and thus for the entire wedding. Marine blue, lime green, and brightass pink. And all the accents therein. Now that that is settled, I am free to wig about the next batch of stupid crap: what Ben/his groomsmen will wear, what my niece and nephews will wear, what frigging stamp to put on the invites. (I actually really like the planning process, but I have all too often come up against a wall in my creativity that I can only jump over after convincing myself my wedding will be the cheesiest, most boring event I will ever experience.)

Get my hole

There are times when it feels like my insides are hanging in strips after they've been grated from my body by a blind old man, and I'm walking through them trying not to touch them, but I can't help it.

You know?

For the most part it is music or art that fucks me up in this way. And that is for sure the case now. The combination of Frightened Rabbit, Lark and Termite (the secret fur oh man oh man), Blake Butler, and an old story of Steve Kanaval's I recently came across hidden in my desk has done the trick. What can I do but write and write and write.

I feel like I'm running from myself toward myself. Gross.

I am going to tag this entry "beer farts."

Never Say Die

Here I am, blogging while the Oscars are on mute. (Did anyone else notice that Hugh Jackman had a web of white spittle at the corner of his mouth during the opening number, btdubs? The horror.)

Anyway, the point is I'm not promising anything, especially since my last post was over a year ago. Poor Bob Seger had to represent all that time. But lately I've been thinking I've got stuff to share. So I figured I'd give the blog another go.

Here is what I've wanted to share lately:

Lark and Termite oh no she didn't but in a good way.
Yeasayer.
Wedding photographer.
Revisiting the Lebrons commercials.

I'll leave it at that for now.

I've never felt more alive.

...and now I'm complete.

Happy Belated.