Six True Things About Leaving at Night

Stuff That's Happened While I was Off Writing Like a Crazy Person

2010-04-09T09:01:00.000-07:00

An Intervention

The need for another Intervention

Easter (yay?)

We got this one dog, Logan

We enjoyed coffee in our Pawn Stars collectible mugs that darling husband purchased for our birthday

How freaking adorable are they?!

2010-02-02T18:34:00.000-08:00

She's trying to watch TV.

She loves that ad for those Jitterbug phones.

Why yes, I would hit (it with) a man in glasses.

Culturama!!!

2010-02-02T18:22:00.000-08:00

Here's Ken, Cook, and Sarah on Sarah's big night!

Here's some of the competition:

a project about Legos (Joseph's favorite)

Chris holds a tired Cookie!

Joseph and Kenny and
Cookie (getting sleepier!)

Sarah's Award-Winning (maybe)
project about Haiti!

Meet Carlos Luther

2010-02-01T08:55:00.000-08:00

He is fat and sassy

and enjoys seeds.

He was the cutest (and only) boy hamster

at PetCo and we love him,

even if the girl who waited on us was sort of a douche.

Welcome, Carlos!!!

Cupcake, 2007-2010

2010-01-29T08:22:00.000-08:00

She loved pumpkin seeds

and squishy fries

and being left alone.

We'll miss you, little friend.

I hope you are in gerbil heaven

keeping angels awake on your exercise wheel.

Cookie's Birthday Party Part Deux!!

2010-01-28T08:41:00.000-08:00

Cousin Thomas naps with his goody box.

Mimi and Cookie Michele take a walk!

Cookie's First Birthday Party!

2010-01-28T08:28:00.000-08:00

Kenny and his brother, Tim.

You don't even know what it took to get this picture.

Cookie eats an entire cake.

Joseph, John and Chris cheer her on

(or watch in horror!)

Ken's sister Kelly, Tim and Tim's

daughter, Taylor.

Cook and Auntie Pam,

the big kids' mom.

Kelly and my other sister-in-law, Tracy,

who loves that scratch ticket so much she can't even look up!

P.S. She lost.

An Animal Lover

2009-12-18T07:03:00.000-08:00

(She looks eerily like my father here. He likes watching TV with dogs, too.)

Baby with a Cream Horn

2009-12-17T05:50:00.000-08:00

Do You Know What Today Is?

2009-12-12T17:31:00.000-08:00

We got married two years ago at Beverly Town Hall

by a woman named Fran

and I wore my stripper shoes.

I cried and not just because my feet hurt.

Then we honeymooned at Foxwood Casino

and got snowed in.

It was private and snuggly and

only a little like The Shining

and perfect, perfect, perfect,

perfect, perfect, perfect.

(Perfect.)

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Crap

2009-12-09T09:50:00.000-08:00

So our van shit the bed

and won't be fixed until January

and I thought:

no Christmas tree

no festive lattes from Starbucks

no long rides in the warm car

listening to Christmas music and looking at lights

and basically

no fun.

But then I thought of this:

and this:

And it seems like the holidays will be pretty fun anyway.

Cookie's Two Great Loves

2009-12-08T05:46:00.001-08:00

Dad

Sid the Science Kid

TEAM DAD!!

Probably Because of No Alan Alda

2009-12-07T05:24:00.000-08:00

My story, Elope, was turned down by Smokelong this morning. I'm in there right now with that Radiohead one, so maybe I was returning to the old 'zine teat a bit early.

No matter. Give them a shot, they're a great pub.

http://www.smokelong.com/home.asp

Snack Cakes? Oh My, Yes!

2009-12-04T07:46:00.000-08:00

Nothing beats a morning sugar-binge while watching the Game Show Network.

Oh, Charles Nelson Reilly, you made us laugh and you made us think.
(Thanks for the goodie box, Nana and Pop-Pop.)

Oh Lord, I was Somehow Published Again

2009-12-02T12:55:00.000-08:00

It's True! Look for yourself, I'm not even lying!

http://www.oakbendreview.com/fiction2.htm

Us on Thanksgiving

2009-11-30T06:26:00.001-08:00

Look at that hickey!

OMG More Thanksgiving '09

2009-11-30T06:16:00.000-08:00

Husband on the veranda with Uncle Pat.

Auntie Kathy (Ken's godmother), cousin Trinity and Cookie Michele.

Cookie with one of her Aunt Kellys' and family friend, Chanel.

Cookie and Trinity

More Thanksgiving '09

2009-11-30T06:08:00.000-08:00

Chris and Joseph enjoying many fine beverages.

Sarah and my sister in law, Chrissy.

Cousin Erin with Cookie (cousin Matthew in the back.)

Husband, looking quite dashing.

Thanksgiving '09

2009-11-30T06:00:00.000-08:00

Cookie with Ken's mom (Mimi) meeting Stryder the dog.

John, being festive.

Cookie with Ken's Aunt Eileen posing in her turkey hat.

Cookie with Sarah and my cleavage. Also my massive hickey.

Cookie Michele is Thankful for...

2009-11-24T07:06:00.000-08:00

Her crazy family. (That's her in my belly!)

Getting a first Thanksgiving Day card from Nana and Pop-Pop. (With five dollars inside!)

Many noodles with much butter. (And a patient Daddy!)

Cookie Being Cookie

2009-11-23T06:41:00.000-08:00

Doing her Ol' Dirty Bastard impression after Cream of Wheat and an olive oil cradle cap treatment.

Thinking she's a big deal for discovering the dishwasher.

Pretending the dishwasher is a piano: ("...and now a little something for all you lovers out there...")

Activities for a Rainy Day

2009-11-20T06:27:00.000-08:00

Naps.

Sharing.

Camera hogging.

Babies, Robots, Babies

2009-11-19T10:33:00.000-08:00

What I Want for Christmas

2009-11-18T07:59:00.000-08:00

Last night I was cold so I told Ken that I could use one of those Snuggie blankets you can wear.

He said, "So, you've given up, eh?"

Here's what I really want:

1. Cindy Crawford's Meaningful Beauty Line. Have you seen her lately? Yeah, I'll have what she's having. http://www.meaningfulbeauty.com/?uci=ous215&refcd=YA106990_meaningfulbeauty_home

2. A gift certificate to Anmol. If you had their Chicken Tikka, you'd understand. Also, all the bar flies know the baby by name. She's like Norm from Cheers. http://www.anmolindia.com/

3. Any of the Russ Meyer DVDs. Don't judge me. They're art. (Not Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. Too camp.) http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=russ+meyer

4. This Reebok sneaker that tone your butt. Well, not your butt. Mine. (9 1/2) http://www.reebok.com/microsites/easytone_reebok/

5. Any of the La Mer products. Did you know they were created by a burned scientist to heal his scars and they did? That's why they cost a zillion dollars. http://www.blissworld.com/category/brands/la+mer.do

Cutest. Husband. Ever.

2009-11-10T15:00:00.000-08:00

My Babies

2009-11-09T05:31:00.000-08:00

The Three Stages of Donut Eating

2009-11-06T06:28:00.000-08:00

Joy.

Gorging.

Remorse.

On Writing

2009-11-05T08:46:00.000-08:00

I love it.

It was my love before I met my love.

Once, to Kenneth, I said,

"being in love with you is like getting punched in the face and trying to remember where I left my keys."

That is my only real skill, to see things like that

and I am always worried it will go away.
It is a small, nice by-product of being a writer,

the romance.

If I worked at Nabisco, I would bring home

Strawberry Newtons.

All I have to give Kenneth are similes.

It's not what he is, you know, but what he is like.

Of note, I am submitting another story to Smokelong.

It's okay.

I hope it gets in....

Calling Nana and Pop Pop for Treats

2009-11-05T07:37:00.000-08:00

Everyone here is on a diet!

She needs Lil' Debbies, STAT!

Lunch!

2009-11-04T09:33:00.000-08:00

Buttered toast and chocolate soy milk, yum!

This is where hubby and I are eating tonight- double yum.

http://www.domstrattoria.com/

What Fun We've Had!

2009-11-02T15:50:00.000-08:00

We dressed up as a recon soldier, a ninja, a senorita, a cowboy, a monkey, Jason Voorhees, and an anime warrior princess.

We played with our blocks.

We thought about eating leaves.

We carved pumpkins.

And ate tandoori chicken!

Happy Halloween!

2009-10-30T11:04:00.000-07:00

From a baby who likes pasta!

Me and My Old Man

2009-10-23T06:30:00.000-07:00

This will be our sixth Halloween together.

On the first, we saw a shark and kissed.

And I shook a monkey's hand for a quarter.

And he was dressed as himself.

On the fourth he let me dress him up as a cop, and he won 100 dollars in the office costume contest.

He grew a seventies porn-y mustache

for me.

On the fifth, I was full of baby, he was Indiana Jones.

It is a special holiday for us, a holiday of kisses and sharks and hand-shaking monkeys.

And the best because I know that whatever he dresses as,

he is mine

forever and ever,

a safe port with a torch burning,

and candy.

More (Halloween) Decor

2009-10-22T08:53:00.000-07:00

As you can see, with its bloody tools garland and light-up gargoyle, our Halloween kitchen is quite B00-tiful(GONG!)
This, also in our kitchen, is our little shrine of pictures and happiness. Those Day of The Dead figures are from Kel (my breathtakingly gorgeous Latina sister) and her delightful family. There's a fuzzy spider they sent in there too, between the pictures of Joseph and John.

Also, Cupcake is getting in on the action. If you go for her sunflower seeds, she will cut you!!

Don't Hate Me Because Our Bathroom is Beautiful

2009-10-21T08:59:00.001-07:00

Thanks Vic, Kel, Dodgey, K-Bib, and Lukey!!

We love you!

Cookie Michele in "Nana and Pop-Pop Send a Box."

2009-10-21T08:42:00.000-07:00

A special box for us from Oregon!
It did not contain this baby.

It was filled with many treats!

And a new friend.

(applause)

Thanks, guys! We love you!!

I Loves You, Kenny

2009-10-20T07:21:00.000-07:00

My husband is good at everything.

And quite handsome.

And he smells nice.

And he is a fabulous cook.

And a wonderful dad.

Also, the best writer.

And a smashing kisser.

And that's as far as I'm going...

Well, SOMEONE likes Alan Alda

2009-10-20T07:06:00.001-07:00

I woke up this morning and had this fancy email on my computery box:

Dear Nadine,

We would love to accept, "I C What U Did There" for publication in the Fall issue of Oak Bend Review if it is still available. We really enjoyed the story and think it is a perfect addition to our upcoming issue.

Yay!

For Glenn Osborn

2009-10-19T09:18:00.000-07:00

Do you know Glenn Osborn?
http://handsonwebsites.com/photomain.htm
He is a very talented artist and writer and a very good and loyal friend.
He invited us to New York once and took us out for Mexican food and danced with my husband and was very polite when Kenny and Aunt Sue almost burned the restaurant down.
Last year, when I was massively pregnant, Glenn wrote to us and asked if we could act as a tour guide of Boston to his friend who was visiting the country.
He was very excited, and said that he knew we would be kind and gracious hosts to this young woman.
Well.
I was not feeling so kind and gracious at the time I weighed roughly four hundred and eighty pounds (I'm guessing) and my ankles were the size of canned hams. Kenneth said I should write Glenn back and explain that we were sorry and maybe we could do it next time.
Glenn didn't know we were pregnant, you see. And even if he did, he wouldn't have known I was so PREGNANT. So, I should have just told him and said sorry.
But I didn't.
He was so perfectly gracious to us in New York. (Did I mention he gave us ice cream and said that I was beautiful? Those are my two weaknesses!) I didn't want to disappoint our friend, so I said nothing. I never wrote back at all, and because of my advanced mommy-brain (I also frequently misused the word 'typewriter' and had to Google it using words like 'keys' and 'write-y device'), I even forgot about the whole thing. And when I remembered, I felt like a jack-ass.
So, I still didn't write. I thought he would be mad.
Recently I was chatting with our writer friend who will go unnamed (NICK BARNES!), and we were talking about other writers and I remembered everything. I was telling Nick about it and it sounded so stupid and cowardly.
Glenn is a wonderful person and I should have given him the benefit of the truth, both when we couldn't be tour guides and when I was feeling guilty and was worried he'd be mad at us. He is so sweet and you would love to know him. He loved the avatar sized picture of Kenny and I above (taken after an all-night drive to meet NICK BARNES! in Ohio) and blew it up and made it pretty and sent it to us. It hangs in our kitchen to this day.
So Glenn, if you are reading this I want you know that we are sorry to you and to your friend, and that we are grateful to you, and that we don't have anything in our hearts for you but love, and that you are a very fine dancer.
And next time we will try harder.

So, They Don't Like Alan Alda?

2009-10-19T08:17:00.001-07:00

Yeah, so I submitted my story to a place called LITnIMAGE (long story short- DENIED!) I like the look of them. So many lit-mags- no hate, okay? Just saying- look like overseas prescription medication sites that say you've won an X-Box and then give you a virus. This place is very pretty and the work is good. Also, they were cool to me; they said I had a good voice. And I'll take that, man. Thanks for taking a look.

Anyway, you guys give it a shot. Maybe you'll have better luck: http://www.litnimage.com/

Waiting for Dad to Wake Up

2009-10-18T15:10:00.000-07:00

The kids and I let Dad sleep this morning and watched a Scooby-Doo movie. The kids were ten times funnier than anything on televison. They had this character- he was a kind of country bumpkin type who was trying to kill Shaggy for some reason made no sense, and he had an old fashioned musket. It took him a great deal of time to load and somehow a sack of gun powder became affixed to the back of his trousers. So of course he trails a big line of gunpowder and it gets ignited by something and explodes his butt. "oh, yeah," said John, in a hushed and admiring way, "That's a classic." I started laughing so hard that he said, "No, it is...it's been in Tom and Jerry, Bugs Bunny, The Pink Panther..."

And Joseph really liked all the parts in which the southern sheriff lost his pants. I guess that's a classic, too.

A Lazy Saturday

2009-10-17T13:46:00.000-07:00

Daddy Cat
Baby Cat

Mama Cat

Crazy Boy With Scissors

Ninja Playing on the Computer

Also!

2009-10-16T08:44:00.001-07:00

I just submitted a story to Matt Bell's new journal: http://www.thecollagist.com/

Fingers crossed, yeah?

Joseph

2009-10-16T07:59:00.000-07:00

Joseph is my 6 year old stepson. He loves candy! More than anyone! Even his father! His currency is in sour gummies. He loves Star Wars and Total Drama Action. He loves playing very much. If you play Army Men with him he'll make you an escape pod out of Legos, even though he doesn't have to because you're technically on the other side. But he will insist on being America. He loves decorating for Halloween and lots of fake blood. When decorating, he said, we should have a guy with a fist coming out of his chest. I told him that was out of our budget, and he said OK. He likes to pretend that he's not really very sensitive, but he's really very sensitive. When I make brownies and need help, he's the first guy I ask.

Cookie Michele

2009-10-16T07:49:00.001-07:00

Cookie is 9 months old. She is too busy for kisses, so you have to catch her off-guard. Her favorite person of life is her dad, but she keeps him up at night because she wants to play. Her middle name is Michele after her Nana. Sometimes we call her "Cookies Michele" because when we found out she was a girl we asked the boys to guess her name. We said, it's a food. After a few guesses, Christopher said, Cookies? And we said, Yes!! So for about a week they thought she was a plural. She's fun. She just peed on me.

Chistopher

2009-10-16T07:41:00.000-07:00

Christopher is my 8 year old stepson. Everything he does, he wants to be exactly like his dad. He loves cooking, and computer games and costumes. He is a very understanding boy, and if you have to say no to him he never makes a fuss. He always says please and thank you. Every time. And he is quite a dancer. He is very loyal and kind. After I gave birth he said, Nadine, you are so skinny! (And I was NOT) He is such a good son and brother. Anything he does, he'll do it well, and possibly in costume...

Sarah

2009-10-16T07:18:00.000-07:00

Sarah is my 13 year old stepdaughter. She is a brilliant artist who loves anime and dogs. She has more friends right now than I've had in my whole life. She doesn't ever give us any problems, ever, even though she is a teenager, and if you haven't showered for three days she'll watch the baby so you can wash your hair. The other day she said, "I know you've been sick, so if there's anything I can do for you just let me know." I am so proud to be in her life and excited that I will get to know her when she's a grown woman, because she's going to be a really cool one. (Oh, great. Now I'm crying.)

John

2009-10-16T07:09:00.000-07:00

John is my ten year old stepson. He is hysterically funny everyday. He loves pranks, games and science. He is always concerned about hurting people's feelings and will give you his last candy bar, even if it's a Take5. For Halloween he's going to be Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th. Once he scrubbed mildew off the shower curtain and didn't even complain. John is awesome. He's like the best ten year old I ever met.

But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade

2009-10-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

Farewell, night-shift stripper heels in which I married my beloved husband. May your translucent glow shine on some teenager dressing up for Halloween as Zombie Britney Spears.

Mourn you till I join you, day-shift stripper heels in which I met my future mother-in-law. May the in-laws of the woman (or man) who wears you next be just as polite.

In addition to our big Fall clean-out, I submitted a new story to two journals last night, so wish me luck. Alan Alda is in the story again- anyone who reads my stuff knows I have a real M*A*S*H thing. Maybe he would be awesome to meet, but maybe not. I remember an interview with Sandra Bullock in which she got to party with Charo(!) and after five minutes she just wanted to die. I'll bet Alan Alda talks a lot about how George Clooney is no Alan Alda.

Oh, so it's like that now?

2009-10-15T10:13:00.000-07:00

You can peek out of your crib?

You can escape?!

You don't need any baby car-seat at the supermarket?

You can pose for the camera in a onesie and black socks?!?

Where's our tiny baby?!

Natalie Wood

2009-10-14T09:43:00.000-07:00

(This picture doesn't have anything to do with this post- I just think it's funny. It's me at my co-ed baby shower. I was in my seventh month and massive. I mostly just crashed around and demanded pie.)

So, I found another story. It was once published in the online journal EdificeWRECKED, now defunct, and I think it's about drowning or boats or breaking up. I have so little memory of writing it, and that is fascinating to me. It's got some weird stuff in it. Like, where the hell did I get "drowning home?" They are all love letters to Kenneth, but some of them flummox me. Well, cocaine is a hell of a drug. (I was never on cocaine, it's just a thing I heard Bobby Brown say once.)

I really do have a godmother named Joan, and she is HOT STUFF.

Anyway:

Natalie Wood

by Nadine Darling
　
What I want to know is this: how are we so sure that we’re not underwater already?

There are precautions that must be taken, this is what you tell me. Zinc Oxide for the nose; SPF 45 for the face and legs and neck; some inappropriate baseball hat from a horse or dog track, bleached from the sun smelling of sweat and heat and dollar beers. And did I read the literature? And do I know I’m far from home? And do I know how many people die this way, their lifejackets sprawled out comfortably below deck or on shore like the voluptuous carcasses of flightless birds, throats washed through with salt, a fetal hush packed into their ears?

It’s how Natalie Wood died, you say. She was unprepared, like me. She didn’t know things. She drank and fought and staggered off to bed. Then she tried to untie a dinghy and it was the end of her.

The word dinghy makes me smile because I am a girl like me. I finger a silver bracelet meant to ward off seasickness or mildew or incontinence- something wet that moves.

I’ll bet she looked great right up until the end, I say. It’s bad but I say it. I grin in my idiot-editorial way, all Zucker Brothers and Marx Brothers and Coen Brothers, all shared womb and whoopee cushion.

You’d better think about something more important than the brand on your luggage, you say.

You rustle a section of the Phoenix and unfold it between us like some great heave of newsprint wings.

I say, can I say?

I say, can I tell you this one thing?

I have been on a boat before, is what I mean to say. It was a ferry and I was very small. I remember traveling from San Francisco to Larkspur Landing, or some other location of such implied elan, with my godmother, a blonde named Joan with a red sports car and fabulous Kennedy jaw. I remember that she spied a young man and liked him. He caught her looking and smiled and turned away like this, cupping his hand against his left eye the way you do when I’ve said a silly thing and you’re too tired to resist it. She bent to me and held my face in her hands and said, go up to that man. She said, go tell that man I’m not your mother.

I remember this: the slap of water against the hull, a chipped rail beneath my fingertips, the idea that dropping my duffel overboard would represent the loss of me, of my identity as interpreted through stuffed animals, Snoopy nightshirts and great plastic binders filled with scratch-and-sniff stickers. I imagined myself letting go of the bag, the pebbled canvas dragging from my hands in its slow descent. There would be a moment, I thought, just before it hit the water, when all the sound would suck from the world and the world itself would hum beneath my feet like a clenched fist or third rail and I would be at peace above all in my sacrifice.

I say, I was married once to the sea.

The paper doesn’t budge.

I say, in the end we were just too different.

At night while you are asleep I Google death at sea. I find a story about a submarine trapped beneath some ice; a picture of a man killing a giant squid with a harpoon; a link to an article about a whale that bled to death at Sea World. There are worse ways to go, I think- the submarine, the squid, the whale, all streamlined, symmetrical, phallic, pushed below the surface in a gentle drifting spiral. An aquatic ballet- I cannot remember from whence that phrase was stolen. An ad for an exhibition on jellyfish? For waterproof sneakers? For crispy fried chicken? It’s enough, I decide, that I recognize the theft.

You make some noise in the bed behind me- some swallowing groan, a thing of fathoms, of sonar and regret. I search for Natalie Wood and hit ‘images’ and stare hard at her: small stretch of pale bones in a flickering Comcast halo. I’m pretty, mama, is what her elegant, pre-stripper character in Gypsy said, before a full length mirror in a dress that sparkled like the edges of some hourglass disco-ball snickerdoodle, I’m a pretty girl.

That, I think, is very fine way to feel. And if the shit wasn’t enough then at least she’ll never tell.

You moan again and I climb into bed beside you. You smell of soap and clay and wine. I lay my head on your chest; I wait for your eyes to adjust.

How are we so sure that we’re not underwater already? That’s what I want to know.

Are there fish? You ask, and of course there are no fish.

Well, you say, that’s how you know.

Oh, I say. Oh.

Do you know, inside, you are a waking sea? I think you pull, you fold and unfold like this beneath my ear: this subtle collapse, this catch like breath, a blue-green expanse of light lined with ships and bracketed by shores and I think you are my drowning home.

A submarine was killed at Sea World by a harpoon today, I say.

Today?

I nod.

You nod, too. I feel it; I feel you sigh.

The sea is a powerful thing, you say. There are precautions that must be taken.

Baby Fall Fashion

2009-10-14T08:50:00.000-07:00

We got a Halloween shirt and a frilly purple skirt from Aunt Sue.

We look pretty sharp, we feel. Especially while getting into the laundry.

It's important to surround oneself with a certain amount of dignity and elan.

Thanks, Aunt Sue.

For SCRAWL

2009-10-13T12:52:00.000-07:00

We miss you guys.

What the heck kind of name for a blog is that?

2009-10-13T09:58:00.000-07:00

It's from a story I wrote in Winthrop. It won, like fourth place in a contest run by this little e-zine out of Australia. Fourth place means I got into the anthology but I didn't get any valuable prizes. It's a cute story, in any case. I think it took like fifteen minutes. It stemmed from an actual fight I had with my husband about who knows what. All I know is I ended up sitting on the front stoop pretending to wait for a cab.

I didn't make Mary The Can Lady up, by the way. She was an actual person I knew when I lived with my sister in Oregon. Mary was very kind and talkative and has since died, which makes me very sad. She was a completely decent person. My dad bought chairs from her once and I think she gave him a pretty good deal. Anyway:

Six True Things about Leaving at Night
Nadine Darling
　
　
　
1. I want you to know that if you are ever sitting on the front steps of our apartment building at eleven at night there are types of bugs that will stealthily scale your leg, curve past your thigh up into your shorts and bite you right on the ass. This is a thing that I did not know. The raised bump feels like a hot thumb pressing through the skin, and it itches. I cannot locate this bug for killing. Perhaps it’s of the species that bites something on the ass and, its legacy fulfilled, dies immediately. They have bugs like that, I think, in Tonga.

2. Mary the Can Lady keeps very odd hours. I have come to believe that she does not sleep, that she staggers endlessly about the neighborhood, her calves swollen purple black and to the size of canned hams with cellulitus, pushing her nabbed shopping cart filled with empty cans of Diet Coke and Tab Energy. She stops in front of me and says, Hola! like we’ve never met before, like I don’t wave hello to her every morning while you’re starting the car. Hola, I say. Nice night, she says. She’s wearing a flannel nightgown that features teddy bears playing soccer and pink bedroom slippers. Large sections of bare scalp shimmer through her hair like river stones in the moonlight. She says, you know the number one secret of finding cans on Table Rock Mountain? And I don’t know, of course. If you find underwear, says Mary, it means that cans are very near. Ah-ha, I say. She nods and pushes on. Over her shoulder she calls, and watch out for snakes!

3. I want you to know that the cats here are all assholes, a thing I didn’t technically know but always suspected. None of them want pets from me even though, ass-itchy and bereft, I am clearly no threat to them. I don’t know their names and maybe they have no names. Maybe they’re all cats of Satan that have climbed up from hell through some unholy portal in the backyard between the clothesline and the Weber grill, and since I can’t get close enough to their tags to prove differently, then this is what I will believe. A large black and white bastard with mangy fur and curled leaves clinging like spent cocoons to its plumage saunters out from beneath your parked car, looks to me, looks to the pack at my feet, and moves on. C’mere, fatty, I say. The cat keeps walking. What a stuck-up little freak. It’s pretty much what I would’ve done in the same situation, but still.

4. The same cop keeps driving by and, on the fifth go, he parks, steps from his patrol car and wants to know what’s the deal. With what, I say, and he says, it’s dangerous for a young woman to be out at this hour, and I say, I am waiting for the taxi that I didn’t call for. You didn’t call for it? the cop asks. I pretended to, I say. I called information and got the number. I listened to a dial-tone and said, please, I need a cab at this address, to the bus station or wherever, and then I came out here to wait. The cop stares at me. He asks if this is my home. I say, it’s where I keep my stuff, yeah. He wants to know am I crazy person? Of course I don’t confirm or deny because some of my best friends are crazy people. Should it ever get back to them, I wouldn’t want to seem hypocritical.

5. There are an inordinate amount of husbands plotting to kill their wives in this neighborhood. I know all about it now. They smoke while plotting and pace back and forth in their gardens. They say, Thelma, Thelma. They say when I was a young man... They talk about types of rope and insurance and what sleeping pills taste like when mixed with various liquors. Oh, yeah, they say, with a woman her size you’ll need triple-ply bags. Then they cough and go inside, the smells of their crunched-out cigarettes mixing with chlorophyll and soil.

6. And I want you to know I’m not mad anymore.
　

Hi! My Name is...Writer?

2009-10-12T12:58:00.000-07:00

So, I'm Nadine Darling, and I used to write. A lot. Like, everyday. And I was published with some frequency- see for yourself in the list to the left. Those stories are just a small sampling; there are more shorts and stories in various print journals and online mags that have, well, folded. Oh, yeah. Around 2006 I was feeling no pain. Actually, that's a terrible lie. My husband and I could barely pay the rent; he was out of work and I made $200 a week working behind the counter at a Hallmark store in Winthrop, Ma. We had no car, and lived several towns away from my four stepchildren. Every birthday and Christmas was a struggle; we got a lot of help from my sister, mother and father in Oregon. I had a bad tooth we couldn't afford to have pulled. Kenneth, my husband, once had an ear infection for two weeks. We finally took a cab to an East Boston clinic when his fever reached 104. Still, I wrote. Everyday. Here's a picture of us then:

Cute yeah, but oh, so troubled. Shortly after this picture was taken we moved in with my sister-in-law and her son in Plymouth while Kenny, who'd worked in a managerial position for some of the most respected companies in the world for twenty years, got a job driving a junk truck, making some $250 dollars a week. With some help from my folks, we were able to get the first month's rent on a little place just a mile from the kids. And Kenny got a job. And I wrote. Everyday. Well, then I got a job and wrote less. But still. I wrote. Here's us at Thanksgiving 2007:

World by the tail, right? Well, here's us on Thanksgiving 2008:

That's one baby I'm pregnant with, not nine. HA! HA! HA! And guess how much I was writing for the entire pregnancy? That's right, Nil. I watched a lot of TV and ate a lot of...um, everything. Two months later we had this one:

And guess how much I'm writing. Well, it's not completely my fault; I have been shopping around the proposal of a book I should have written ten years ago but, shockingly, the response to my half-assed, not well thought out nonsense has been poor. A few weeks ago, an agent told me that she could not take me on because of the "economic climate," and no offense, lady, but I know a line when I hear one. Oh, the economy! The Economy! As though, under the Clinton Administration my book would be snapped up like Twilight as written by Stephen King with a forward by J.K. Rowling.

But.

I'm at it again, and here is where I will detail my progress. A book, a novel, hopefully by the end of the year. Ay, ay, ay. Well, maybe this one will take lots of naps. Nah. Not with all that sugar...

A Mildly "Good Day"

2009-10-11T12:19:00.000-07:00

Slept late today. Still a bit sick and suffering from bizarre fever dreams, such as discovering a tick burrowed between the bow of my upper lip (what does that mean- money's coming?) Kenny moved the elliptical machine from Sarah's room into the living room so we can watch TV while dropping lbs. So far he's doing great! I've taken the more low-impact route of eating Campbell's Chunky Sausage and Chicken Gumbo soup while reading a magazine at the kitchen table. It's really good for the triceps.

We did head out to Shaw's to get some diapers and such. Among the luxury items were a bottle of Aveeno Positively Ageless moisturizer (for me, the positively aged), a Lucky magazine, and an US Weekly with Jon and Kate battling on the cover.

Oh, and some Cheez-Its, but if you'll notice, they're REDUCED FAT. That's, like, a health food.

The Halloween Cupcakes are Here!

2009-10-10T18:49:00.000-07:00

Well, today was meant to be a "Good Day," as in no eating crap so that we can fit into our Halloween costumes three weeks from now. Kenny is going to be a cowboy; I am going to be a Mexican peasant girl. There is much pomp and circumstance and ten dollar boots from Ebay. And a huge Halloween party with the whole family at our house! It's going to be a pretty big deal, is all- and we've had Indian food six times in the last ten days at Anmol. So.

But, anyway, the Entenmann's Halloween Cupcakes showed up at Stop and Shop today, and this complicated matters.

Carefully unwrapping the paper to reveal the sweet, sweet cakey innards.

In one bite!

But Monday's a holiday, right? Tuesday will be a Good Day.