Seeking the Elusive Elixer of NO

Sunday, October 12, 2008 at 8:14 pm (Let's Get Personal, To Whom it May Concern)
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Dear Friend / Employer / Charity / Business Acquaintance / Neighbor,

I regret to inform you that the answer to your recent request is a firm and resounding NO. I do understand the position that you are in, and that you would appreciate my: help with the move / coming in on my day off / making a generous donation / becoming a dues-paying member of your newly established professional group / walking your dog five times a day while you’re on vacation. However, due to a recently expanded work load in my personal and professional lives, as of this morning I have committed to saying NO to every request and offer, and you have the distinct honor of receiving this message first. Congratulations.

Please understand that this was a difficult decision, and one about which I deliberated for quite some time, but I find I must be consistent in my refusal, lest hurt feelings and resentment ensue. As this is a new program, it is subject to change at any time, so you may wish to renew your application in the future.

Once again, I appreciate the importance of your request and am honored that you thought of me. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me in the same manner in which you have done so previously.

With regrets,

Caryn
a.k.a. The Chronic Yes-Woman

P.S. Hey, that was a good attempt, wasn’t it? I almost had you going! Anyway, for those who want my help, I’ll be over next Saturday — say, around eightish? Who needs to sleep in on the weekend, anyway? For all others, the check is in the mail. I should warn you, though, that next time I really will say no. I’m not kidding. Meanwhile, thanks for the chance to practice my rejection technique. I realize it needs a little work on the follow-through, but I think I’m onto something here.

P.P.S. I’m serious here. Next time, the answer is NO. Really. I promise.

32 Comments

In case you were wondering…

Monday, July 14, 2008 at 8:26 am (Let's Get Personal, To Whom it May Concern)
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The woman in the grocery store parking lot the other day, the one who accidentally hit her car’s panic button again while stuffing her keys into the front right pocket of her jeans? Yeah. That was me, moving through life with my usual grace, beauty and stealth.

28 Comments

Things I Won’t Blog About Today

Sunday, May 25, 2008 at 7:26 am (Cat Obsession, I Have Fun Sometimes, Internetting, Let's Get Personal, Photos, To Whom it May Concern, Writing & Reading)
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I’ve decided not to blog today. I thought I’d announce this decision, so you’d know that you were being neglected, instead of just suspecting it. It’s a beautiful May morning, and I plan to enjoy it. But just so you know what you’re missing, I’ll fill you in on a few things you will won’t learn on here today.

I won’t share my new secret knowledge: ring-billed gulls (commonly — though incorrectly — known as “seagulls”) practice kung fu when we’re not looking. Maybe I’ll mention it another time instead. If it comes up.

If only I were blogging today, I could mention in passing that hubs requested a pie in the face for his birthday and a rutabaga for Christmas, and now I’m terrified and intrigued — what will he ask for next? But since I’m busy elsewhere, I will be forced to disclose that tidbit another time.

On this fine morning, I will not share my suspicions that Echo the Cat looks like an Olsen Twin. This is especially clear in the link I would post if I were posting a photo to back up this information which I will not share today. Which I’m not. Or something. Now I’m all confused…

I hereby refuse to admit that our other two cats are unusually close. Often.

On a day like today, when many of you are probably hard at work on your novels, it would be far too embarrassing to reveal that I take pictures of random objects when I have writer’s block. Much better for you to suspect that I dedicate 100% of my attention to my book whenever I’m not at work or blogging.

And, because I’m afraid of public humiliation, I will never — today or any other day — reveal that I refer to this picture as “Cactus Itt” and am desperate to take scissors to the plant’s shagginess. I fear you might disagree or, worse, laugh at me.

So there you go. I bet you feel as if you’re really missing out, with scintillating topics like these available if only I were willing to take the time. Maybe on a day when there aren’t flowers to enjoy and books to write,  and cats to tease, I will go more in-depth. Or perhaps not. In the meantime, if you’re feeling bereft of bloggie tidbits, I suppose you could always stop by my photoblog, Playing with Pixels. To navigate through the album, just click the right or left side of each picture to go backwards or forward, respectively, or use the arrows beneath. Or, if you haven’t done so already, read the post below and then enter to win an autographed and personalized copy of Jess Riley’s hilarious and poignant debut novel Driving Sideways. Or find some other way to entertain yourself. You’re resourceful; I can tell that about you.

28 Comments

How to Use a “Resealable” Bag

Sunday, April 6, 2008 at 3:14 pm (If I Were the Queen, To Whom it May Concern)
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Oh, dear. You’ve really done it, haven’t you? You just fell prey to one of consumerism’s biggest myths — the resealable bag — and now you’re staring at your new purchase, wondering how to get the thing open. What was it? Cheese? Cereal? Doggie treats? Come on, you can confide in me.

Well, no matter what it was, let me tell you a little secret. You are not alone. Those so-called easy-open/easy-close bags? Yeah. They aren’t. And the directions? Ignore them; they encompass only a fraction of the steps you’ll have to take in order to use your product. But I’ll tell you what. I like you, I really do. And so I’ll give you a hand. I’ve been duped, too, after all. I understand. And so, for your tutelage, I will provide sample package directions, followed by the actual steps for opening, and then closing, such bags. Advanced users may wish to skip to steps seven and ten, respectively. Oh, and one more thing, from me to you: next time don’t believe the hype. Okay? No more buying products just because of the package’s ingenious engineering.

What the directions say:

  1. To open bag, tear along dotted line.

What the directions mean:

  1. Search in vain for mythological pre-torn notch said to enhance tearing power.
  2. Give up. Use force in attempt to create notch.
  3. Bandage bleeding finger.
  4. Attempt to break into bag with teeth.
  5. Make appointment with dentist to have chipped tooth repaired.
  6. Study bag, looking once more for notorious notch or tear strip. NOTE: The red dashed line along the top is not a clue. It is only there to taunt you.
  7. Use scissors.
  8. Pull bag open.
  9. Perform victory dance.

What the directions say:

  1. To seal bag, press closed.

What the directions mean:

  1. Clear seal strip of any obstructions, such as product residue, fingers, and air.
  2. Line up both sides of strip.
  3. Press strip closed.
  4. Tug package opening gently to ensure that seal worked.
  5. Repeat steps 1-4
  6. Vow not to let a simple plastic bag defeat you.
  7. Line up both sides of strip.
  8. In surge of pragmatism (or is it despair?) press along just two inches of strip, so you haven’t wasted energy when seal continues not to function.
  9. Test to ensure seal.*
  10. Give up and tape, staple, or clothespin the @&*% thing closed.

*In the unlikely event that the seal works on the smaller section, continue as follows: Finish pressing along strip. Test seal. Realize you forgot to squeeze out all the air. Attempt to open only a small section of strip. Fail. Pick up spilled cheese, cereal, dog treats, etc. Discard. Squeeze air out of bag and begin again from step one above. Repeat as necessary until bag is sealed. NOTE: You may wish to simply skip to step ten.

38 Comments

Construction Season

Sunday, March 16, 2008 at 11:46 am (If I Were the Queen, To Whom it May Concern)
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Dear driver of the Honda Accord from Ohio:

The orange barrels are lovely to behold, that is true. They glisten in the sunlight as they line either side of the lane down which you meander. Our town is known for its natural beauty, but nothing can compare with the delight of two straight rows of fluorescence leading you toward your destination.

This is what I must assume you are thinking, since you are driving seven-and-a-half miles per hour down said lane.

Or perhaps you find construction fun, and are slowing down to relive the Tonka trucks of your youth.

My husband has suggested that drivers like you are daunted by the road work — by the cones and the barrels and the orange signs — and while I believe that that is generally true, I know that in your case this cannot be the holdup. You see, I grew up in your fine state, and I know for a fact that Ohio, too, undergoes construction projects. Big ones. Extraordinarily massive ones brought on by weighty snow, speeding semis, and ice-cracked asphalt.

So here is what I would like to know: How much moolah would it take to get you to pick it up a little? Just to, say, ten miles per hour instead of seven and a half? Because I wish to see my cats and my house and my husband again before the turn of the century, and I’m not sure ninety-two years is enough time.

Thank you.

Sincerely,
The driver in the car behind you

14 Comments

Hold the Peas and Pass the Phone

Tuesday, March 4, 2008 at 10:32 am (To Whom it May Concern)
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Calling me during inopportune times has become a bit of a trend lately, so for those who have not mastered the knack, let me give you a few pointers. Since I’m a compulsive phone-answerer*, these are almost always guaranteed to work.

First of all, if you make that call today, then six hours, twenty-eight minutes, and thirty-seven seconds from now would be the perfect time. At that moment, I should be just forking up my first bite of dinner. People usually phone while I’m chewing my second bite, so this way you’ll beat them to it.

When you call, it’s best if you launch into the most recent drama in your life without asking me if the timing is bad. Otherwise, I’ll ask to call you back, and that’s just inconvenient for both of us. As long as I don’t have a chance to speak, it’s the perfect opportunity for a little chat.

I promise to hold up my end of the bargain by not chewing in your ear, especially as our dinner has some crunch. Waiting should teach me an important lesson in self-discipline, and I will be a much better person for it.

You don’t mind, though, if I watch my dinner get cold while you chatter? It was so lovely and steamy when you called. But, no, waiting to eat until it’s cold would be no problem.

Really.

And, finally, if this is too short of notice, you should know that I have a shower planned for around eight tonight. If you call then, please interrogate me on what I was doing when you interrupted, because I so want you to picture me, shivering and dripping, shampoo sliding down my scalp toward my left ear. Me picturing you picturing me won’t ick me out at all. Truly. Hint: This works best if you’re a distant relative or my husband’s boss — someone I try to act sophisticated and grown-up around.

Afterward, I’d adore it if you had me take a message. Please leave a phone number, and then insist I read it back to you, in order to ensure I actually scrounged for something to write with — and something to write on.

Oh, and bed’s at ten.

Thank you. I knew I could count on you to work me into your schedule.

*For those of you who are not familiar with it, compulsive phone-answering is a serious disease brought about by an over-developed sense of curiosity coupled with the conviction that the person on the other end of the line has an emergency. Cell phones are not recommended for those suffering from this affliction. Leaving phone off the hook or unplugging it may temporarily alleviate symptoms.

28 Comments

Clearly I’m Procrastinating

Saturday, March 1, 2008 at 3:06 pm (To Whom it May Concern, Writing & Reading)
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My dearest work in progress,

I do not know how to tell you this, so I will be frank: This morning I cheated on you with another, older manuscript. I know that this is a shock, but let me explain.

We spent an entire summer together several years ago, and although our relationship died after 350 pages and several fruitless attempts at revision, I have thought of it with fondness ever since. It wasn’t the book, it was me; I just wasn’t ready. The timing was off.

Heartbroken and disillusioned, I tried to begin again, but my job kept interfering. And then, finally, my schedule slowed. Around that time I found you. You were perfect: fresh, funny, interesting. I loved you from the start, and it seemed as if you liked me, too. Even at my busiest, my crabbiest, you did not go away, but simply waited for me to return to you, begging for forgiveness.

We’ve been together for a while now, and although we’ve had our moments, things have been great. Really great. But you and I have been going through a difficult time. I’d begun to lose my faith in our future. I knew that if I stuck it out our relationship had potential, but another part of me yearned for something new. And then, this morning, it came back: the manuscript I had loved so long ago.

What had seemed tired and worn so long ago now appeared fresh and new. We’d both matured, learned so much, since we last met. I found myself excited again. I couldn’t wait to write. The characters began to chatter in my head, demanding my attention.

I couldn’t help it. Before I could make myself turn away, I had typed nearly a thousand words, examined the characters’ goals and motivations, and begun to rework the plot. Meanwhile, you languished away in my hard drive. I returned to you, yes. I even added 408 new words, but then I cast you aside once again.

I make no excuses. Shortly after you and I met, I vowed to stay true to you until the end, forsaking all other manuscripts. And so I have done, despite occasional temptation. But now that my former love has returned to my life, full of the potential only time and maturity can give it, I know that I cannot give it up again. The thing is, I love you both. You are so different, yet you each intrigue me, demand my attention and affection.

And so, with your blessing, I will continue seeing it, just on the side, and just on occasion. You, as always, will be of utmost importance in my life. And when you leave, as I know you must, this one will be here, waiting for me. Please say that you will agree to this arrangement, will not abandon me to my fickle ways. Please?

Love,
Your Writer

36 Comments

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