Really silly things I'm worrying about right now. Le sigh.

So the SCBWI Austin conference is this weekend and I'm totally excited. All of my Austin writing friends will be there (except for poor Kari, for whom we will be tweeting) and then of course there's the special guests like out-of-town authors and agents and editors.

Oh, wait. VIPs are coming! I am TERRIFIED of VIPs! VIPs en masse could give me a heart attack! I'm all twitchy.

So instead of thinking of important things like how I might pitch my novel if asked or what questions I'll ask other authors I'm meeting for the first time or what I'm supposed to bring I'm worrying about the following:

I have two zits on my forehead and they are getting kind of huge and what if they don't go away before the conference?
(Because obviously someone with zits can't write a decent manuscript and should be shunned.)

I noticed yesterday that I'm getting major rootage and my dye job is fading.
(Because no agent in his right mind would sign a pseudoredhead. If ginger kids have no souls, what on earth is in store for a faker?)

What if someone asks me about my book and I completely forget the plot?
(Because, you know, even though I spent a year and a half of my life having conversations in my head with a made up character this is totally likely.)

What if I fall asleep in the middle of a presentation because the conference starts so early and I don't really like coffee and I can't figure out how to sugar up the coffee provided enough so that I can actually drink it and, BAM, catching z's.
(Because coffee is rocket science. Only rocket scientists can make it. That is why Starbucks is secretly run by NASA.)

In my sleepy stupor my Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome will flare up and I'll either make an inappropriate Freudian slip or say something ridiculous and make someone important hate me.
(Because it's not like I've ever made a good impression on someone. Of course not!)

The list goes on. Does anyone else get the jitters before an event like this? It's a great opportunity, and it will be hugely informative, but I know it's also going to be big-time fun. Clearly, I need to chill out. And that's why the world is blessed with pharmaceuticals.

In the future: I plan to blog about a few books I've read lately. Feel free to tell me what you've been reading down in them there comments. I love reading suggestions. Now I'm off to finish Girl from Mars by Tamara Bach (sososososo good) while listening to Catatonia. Goodnight.

Where Did Halloween Go?

When I lived in Brooklyn, I didn't expect many trick-or-treaters. I lived in an apartment building in an urban area - I can see why parents didn't bring their kids to my door. But now that I live in a house in Texas, I figured we'd get TONS of Halloweenies last night. Right? I mean, we're practically in the 'burbs!

Mark and I sat at home last night and waited. My parents came over (they're visiting from Maine) and we made burgers on the grill (Mark makes great burgers) and watched Scrubs on DVD (the musical episode, specifically) and waited some more. Not one child rang our doorbell. I was so excited to see the costumes. I figured that even though we're in a cul-du-sac off a main road, there are enough kids around here (our neighbor even runs a daycare!) that we would need two huge bags of candy to fill their bags.

And now I have those bags of candy - open, even - in my house. Where they will be eaten. By me and Mark. Even we don't need this much candy in our lives! I mean, come on. I bought us a bag of fun-size Almond Joys to not give out at all, to hoard for when all the delicious yummies had been doled out to costumed children. But they never came.

What is up with that? I know it's not like it used to be even ten years ago - we don't know our neighbors like we did then, and lots of parents in my home town were driving their kids around rather than walking by the time I was in high school. But do people not do it at all anymore? My mom tells me that when she was a kid, people gave out homemade treats like popcorn balls and caramel apples. Now we have candy x-rays set up at the police station to make sure sealed candy bars aren't filled with needles. In just two generations, has America gone that sour?

There is cheer on November 1st, though. While I have way too much candy, I did get to go to Texas Book Festival and meet the very cool authors Melissa de la Cruz, Lauren Myracle, Paula Yoo (who loves New London as much as me, yay!) and Jennifer Ziegler (who is from Austin and with whom I've totally talked to at work without knowing it). These ladies have super cool books, and their panel discussion rocked. Paula even gave us a violin performance - some classical favorites followed by some Led Zeppelin! My books are signed and happy now, and I am going to go read them and eat Swedish Fish...if Mark left any for me.

This is Your Blog on Drugs

That's what I was going to call this blog, anyway. It turns out the prescription painkillers I was prescribed did almost nothing for me. Oh, well.

I was brushing my teeth last week when suddenly a piece of my molar fell off. Well, it more or less peeled off. That's what you get for ignoring your cavities, kiddies. I officially feel like a southwestern hillbilly. Luckily I had two days left of insurance from my previous job in which to have a dental adventure.

I'm petrified of the dentist. Honestly, as far as I'm concerned, anyone who wants to spend their lives inside other people's mouths is either a nut job or a sadist or both. Of course, I have to make the exception for my boyfriend's mum, a dental hygienist, who is one of the nicest people I've ever met. We called her that night at around 1am to find out what we should do, and she didn't even complain about the hour. In any case, I just don't understand the profession, and most of the tools I see in the office resemble torture devices from spy movies. (Remember that tooth-pulling torture guy from Alias? Seriously. Imagine that guy giving you a root canal and that's what I picture every time someone says "dentist.")

I've sort of known for months that I needed a root canal, actually. The molar in question has been in pain for years, following what I think was a botched filling. The dental industry has had so many opportunities to redeem itself, but is constantly failing. This particular incident was in November 2004 - I had three fillings done and, not only did 8 shots of Novocaine not numb me while drilling, the fillings hurt constantly for several months. And it wasn't just a little ache, or a sensation when eating hot or cold. It was a constant throbbing, blinding pain in my teeth.

I called the dentist and she prescribed a painkiller (it was acetaminophen-based, but I don't remember what the naughty stuff in it was. Not codeine, though, since I was too busy in college to be taking anything that would render me useless), which, as per usual, did nothing. I put myself on a regimen of Excedrin, taking two or three pills every four hours, including a dose at bedtime to avoid waking up in excruciating pain (this almost always failed). By January or February I was no longer in constant pain, but still had regular toothaches. Even years later that one molar always bothered me, but I just thought that, with my history of panic and anxiety, it could be psychosomatic.

When a brown spot appeared on the tooth — followed by a crack — I knew I was wrong. So last week when the tooth just finally broke, I wasn't so much shocked but angry that I'd let my fear of dentists get the better of me.

Seriously, though. The dentist guy from Alias. So scary.

So I've got a temporary filling in place and will be getting a crown on Tuesday. I'm not happy about it, but seeing as the only real pain I've had so far from the root canal is from chewing up my own cheek (and let me tell you, that is some serious pain), I'm feeling better about it. But, you know, if I'm going to be doing this whole dental thing on a regular basis, I'd better at least get some fun drugs out of it.

'Tis the Season

I have a problem. As my readers know, I'm a bakeaholic. I spend a lot of time concocting in my kitchen. You would think I knew how to use a potholder.

The sad truth is, a few times a month I get a little buzzed from all the culinary excitement, and, woops, grab a hot plate/pie tin/baking sheet from the oven, promptly giving myself second-degree burns. Tonight marks the worst yet:


That is, thankfully, my left hand, after using my right hand to pull a batch of cookies out of the oven with a dish towel and, upon the cookie sheet being too hot, and coming in for the save with a whole lot o' nothing protecting Leftie. Poor Leftie.

Since then (about an hour ago) I've taken 3 Excedrin (no sleep for me tonight, hence this blog) and been running my hand under freezing cold water. I've also been alternately clutching a paper towel filled with ice and splaying my hand so that the skin stretches a bit (the internets says that if you don't stretch the burned skin it could heal too tightly, thus making your life extra miserable forever). Most of this post was typed with one hand.

Incidentally, the cookies I pulled out of the oven were burned, too. First time testing a new recipe. I put them in a tupperware for my room mate with the following note:

CARRIE - THESE BURNED COOKIES TRIED TO TAKE MY HAND. PLEASE EAT THEM. THANKS. -EMILY. (DETAILS IN MY BLOG)

Hi, Carrie.

Don't worry, folks. I give Carrie plenty of non-burned cookies, too. She ate half the sugar cookies I made in November, and was shocked and disgusted to learn tonight that they have Crisco in them. Oh yes, I do love my Crisco. All my old family recipes have them. Holiday treats shouldn't be healthy anyway.

In any case, I'm calling my new recipe "Burn Unit Special Xmas PB Cookies." They're basically peanut butter cookies, with a little candy twist: Hershey's candy cane kisses. Yes, friends, peanut butter and peppermint work shockingly well together. I would normally use my mum's recipe, but her's calls for, well, Crisco. I had to invent this one. Get out your sprinkles:

1 1/2 C flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 C unsalted butter (softened)
2/3 C creamy peanut butter
1/2 C granulated sugar
1/2 C light brown sugar (packed)
1 large egg
1 1/4 tsp vanilla
colored sugar sprinkles
1 bag of Hershey's candy cane kisses

Preheat oven to 375 F

Mix together flour, baking powder, soda, and salt. Set aside. Using an electric mixer or a quick hand, blend butter and peanut butter, then add the sugars. Beat in egg and vanilla. When the mixture is smooth, slowly add flour. Pinch off teaspoon-sized sections of dough and roll into balls (dough will be soft, don't over-handle). Dip into colored sugars and place on cookie sheet about an inch to two inches apart. Squish a kiss into each ball of dough and place in the oven. Bake 9-12 minutes, until edges begin to brown. Transfer to rack to cool.


And, folks, please remember kitchen safety. Pot holders can save your hands from a shit load of pain. I promise.

And Then There Were Five

It's official: I'm off to Texas.

If you'd asked me a year ago if I were ever going to move to one of the redneckiest states in the nation, I would have given you the evil eye. However, after having visited the lovely city of Austin, its suburbs, and also having roadtripped to San Antonio, I'm making one of the craziest moves of my life. I blame my boyfriend, Mark, who has enticed me to join him there. Despite my lovely Brooklyn, and all the seductions of the city that never sleeps, he didn't want to come here. And, well, my roots are barely planted, so as a writer, why not wander?

After the initial shock of friends and family wears off, they've been asking a lot of questions. How will you get there? Are you living together? Are you living TOGETHER together? How will you get around? What about your job? And, finally: What about your cats?

As you all know, I have two special cats. On the left, Telemachus, my 16lb+ Maine Coon with a heart of gold and the will to snuggle. On the right, Mocha, the small but plump (about 10lbs, where she should be 6 or 7) Siamese that was abandoned by several owners before finding her way to me and peeing on my carpets and kitchen counter. More on that later. These animals are family and of course are making the trip with me to the Lone Star State. Most likely by plane. Because of Mocha's nervous habit of urinating-at-will, the plane ride is a huge concern. I brought her to the vet on Saturday to find out that, well, she needs kitty Prozac.

I shit you not, the vet gave her antibiotics in case of an infection, but assured me that her pee problems are most likely the result of anxiety. Given her abandonment issues and past on the harsh streets of the Boston 'burbs, I can't say I blame the poor girl. But cat Prozac? I thought this was the sort of thing that only ridiculous celebrities and crazy show dog breeders would recommend, not a nice, friendly neighborhood veterinarian. Mocha has run up a nice list of veterinary bills for me already - her former owner ditched her with me when she moved out of my current apartment. At the time Mocha had ear mites which lead to her scratching her ear so hard she gave herself a hematoma that required surgery. She also needed to be dewormed and demited.

So why, after all this, are Mark and I adopting another cat? No, wait for it:

a three-legged calico kitten whom Mark has insisted upon naming Imogen Beatrice SQL Fleeterson should the adoption papers go through. Yes, this is our soon-to-be-lovespawn.

She's precious! Just look at that face! She apparently suffered some nerve damage to one of her front legs before she was rescued from the streets of Austin and had to have that leg amputated.

I'm a veterinarian's dream.

So, in Austin, I will have three cats, a new house, and a new job. Which, of course, all ties into this post. I want to be a veterinarian. Sort of.

Whenever I take the cats to the vet I wish I'd had the brains to stick to biology and the stomach to do veterinary school. I know I couldn't handle a lot of the things vets do - invasive surgeries, euthanasia, etc. But, why not get a job at a veterinary office? Yes, right now I have a fairly successful publishing career under way. I am looking at a ton of publishing venues from University presses to Austin-based magazines. But if the price is right, so is a change of pace. And, hey, I bet I'd get a good deal on veterinary services for the animals, seeing as I have several sickies to take care of.

Given the fact that I have no experience in animal clinics or shelters, this is just another pipe dream. But, I can volunteer. With any luck Mark will keep me from bringing home every stray animal I encounter, and I can help some orphan cats and pups stay healthy and happy. And, with that in mind, I have two hungry cats waiting for me to finish this up so I can cuddle and feed them. Cat Lady Out.

Recipe Time

My room mate says I'm like Izzie from Grey's Anatomy. If you're not familiar with the show, she deals with stress by baking, to the dismay of her room mates who are then forced with the dilemma: to eat or not to eat.

I don't know what's come over me, but recently I, like Izzie, can't stop baking. Muffins, cookies, breads — it just doesn't stop. I've been modifying recipes (note: you can try, but you just can't make cumin cookies taste good) and heating up the kitchen. While it is probably stress-related, I haven't heard many complaints from coworkers, who are happy to share in the bounty of my bakathon.

Tonight I made pumpkin muffins. Sadly, I was out of walnuts. Hazelnuts are no substitute, and neither are almonds. So I was forced down a different route altogether: chocolate chips. I added both miniature semi-sweet and white chocolate to the batter. And they are delicious. So, if you would like your very own muffingasm, try this recipe. It's my very own, so, you know, if one day I'm famous and write a cookbook, you can say you were privy to this information back in the day.

INGREDIENTS:
1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon of salt
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup canned pumpkin purée
1/2 cup olive oil
2 eggs, beaten
1/4 cup water
3/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/3 teaspoon cloves
1/2 cup mini semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup white chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350°F (180°C). Whisk together the flour, salt, sugar and baking soda. In a separate bowl, with an electric mixer, blend the pumpkin, oil, eggs, water, and spices. Slowly mix in dry ingredients until just combined. Add chocolate chips. Pour into papered muffin tin. Bake 25-30 minutes (until a knife comes out clean when poked into the center of a muffin).

I cannot promise that they will be beautiful, but they will certainly be delicious.

Body of Evidence

Women are fat.

We're not chubby or plump. We're not hefty or big. We're fat.

Men can be jolly or whatever.

I've decided to be squishy.

Most of the time I'm okay with squishy. My boyfriend is okay with squishy, he's really only ever known me squishy. Of course there's the inevitable return-to-the-hometown desire: I hope everyone else is fatter than me. The truth is, I would love to be tiny for my 10-year reunion. And recently I've discovered that some pants don't fit like they did six months ago. Being happy with your body is just really bad for dieting.

And I don't believe in dieting. This whole culture of feeling in control of our lives by controlling what we eat is weird. The Atkins diet shits me - the guy DIED from cardiac arrest and put a ban on vegetables but people still want to eat steak steak steak to lose weight weight weight. And then there's Weight Watchers where you go to meetings, which, I presume is something like AA:
"Hi, I'm Judy Jones, and I'm FAT."
"Hi Judy."

"Hi, I'm Katie Clarke, and I have been thin for six months!"
(thundering applause)
And of course Nutrisystem, which, apparently, costs a damn fortune (their prices don't include a lot of parts of the "meal" they send you - like the meat).

And there is, of course, the idea of skipping food control all together and going straight to appetite control. Pills! We have a pill for everything — AND YOU NEED THEM. We have celebrities to endorse them all, too. FAT celebrities, who got skinny.

I don't think Americans — Westerners, even — will ever have a healthy relationship with food. We think of food like something naughty, an indulgence, a vice. Food is not something we eat to sustain ourselves, but to satisfy ourselves. And there's no balance. If we are satisfied, we must have had too much. My weight loss plan is this: don't think too much about it, do some pilates, walk more. I don't want to think about my snacks in terms of calories and carbs.

My friend Amelia has this theory on feeding children: kids' bodies know what they need. If you make good food available, they will, usually, get what their body requires. Her daughter seems to eat like a pigeon, but, if you watch closely over several days, you see that she gets everything she needs from several food groups. I don't see why we, as adults, can't function similarly. Eat what we want, when we want, listening to our bodies instead of the ingredients list on the backs of packages. And if I want I need I must have McNuggets, so be it. If I never lose this extra weight, I'm okay with that, too.