Posted in 2the9s, Cozy Cat Press, Destinee Faith Miller Mystery, Explaining the Strange Behavior, Marketing the BOok

I’m on the excitement yo-yo.  The B&N book signing is this coming Saturday, followed by the Boston Book Festival next Saturday, and the UTA book signing the following Monday.  I am alternately very excited, and very stressed.  Excited because–well, obviously.  Stressed because what if no one shows up?  Then there’s the high of excitement followed by the low of the mundane.  I have a book signing at B&N, but I also still have laundry to fold and put away.  That doesn’t seem right.  In my imagination, a book signing always meant the reality of House Elves, who would fold and put away my laundry for me.  (I had totally realistic expectations of marriage, but absolutely delusional ideas of what selling a book would mean.)

Speaking of delusional, or perhaps unrealistic, Halloween is my favorite holiday.  I love costumes.  I love dressing up.  I haven’t had occasion to do so in a few years, but here’s a look back at some of my favorites.

 

But where's the Rum?
But where’s the Rum?

This was the year I went in drag as Captain Jack Sparrow.  I was one of about two-hundred-sixty Jack Sparrows at my office, but the only one in drag.  I was proud of my work with the mascara wand.  I’m telling you, if I could grow a real beard and mustache, I would have the fanciest facial hair you’ve ever seen.

Heeeeeey, Punker-poo!
Heeeeeey, Punker-poo!

Sadly, this is the only surviving photo of my award winning year as Anna Nicole Smith.  I did this one at the height of her reality TV show, which worked well with my girth.  The next year, she was repping Trim Spa and ruined my impression.

Hisssss!
Hisssss!

No idea what I was here.  I started out to be a ghost, but my dress was too transparent (and my body all too corporeal for such a transparent dress), so I put a corset on top, tied some curtains around my waist, threw on a wig and a tiara (see!  tiara!) and just went around hissing at people like some kind of…whatever it was I was.

I haven’t anywhere to dress up this year, so if you see me on Halloween, I will be playing the part of Snake-Eyes’ mother.  Snake-Eyes’ mother is partial to jeans and hoodie sweaters.

If you see me on the 12th, 19th, or 21st at B&N, the Boston Book Festival, or UTA, I will be dressed up as a (hopeful) best selling author.

What are you wearing this year?

 

 

Advertisements
Posted in 2the9s, A Day in the Life, Explaining the Strange Behavior, Family, Thor

Photogenic. Photogenetic.


hockaday   It was 6th Grade, and I insisted upon doing my own hair for picture day–the oxford and blazer were part of the uniform, but the hair?  All mine.  I was arguing with my mother about it out the door, and I know what Lane-has-been-crying face looks like–that’s it.  I remember standing in line for my picture and realizing that all the other girls, from the neck up, looked like they’d been styled for a wedding.  From the neck down, we looked like a Green and White episode of Facts of Life the Middle School Years. One of the teachers asked me if my mother had forgotten it was picture day.  The photographer pulled out a comb and made a tent flap in my bangs so that my eyes would show.  I felt a sting of regret.  My mother had been right.  I should have let her fix my hair.  But, I wasn’t going down like that.  Oh no.  I held my wooby, little head high and said I meant to look that way, and that I liked it.  Pride.  Proud.  Defiant. When the pictures came home, my mother was grim.   It was the only time in my life that she ever asked for retakes.  She called the school and asked for retakes. For what it’s worth, I look back on the day with pride.  Still proud.  Still defiant.  I was twelve, and I had hot rollers.  Don’t give a kid hot rollers, if you don’t want her to use them. It’s also funny how dark the picture is.  My hair looks auburn, and my blazer looks black.  My hair was strawberry blonde, and my blazer was a medium green. Today is picture day at Thor’s school.  Last night, after telling me he’d like me to go buy him a black suit, white shirt, and fancy tie to wear (far too late in the day to even think of making that happen), and after going through several mental wardrobe changes until we got down to shorts and a polo shirt, he woke up asking for a tie.  He had to wear a tie. It didn’t matter that it didn’t match.  It didn’t matter that it was too long.  It didn’t matter that he was wearing it with a polo shirt.  He. had. to. wear. a. tie. I put one of B’s ties on him, and it was like turning on the Christmas lights.  That kid was proud.  Delighted. He stood in front of the mirror for a long time, declared himself very cool, wetted down and tamed his own cowlick, then went to find his shoes. Of all the shoes he could choose, he came out of his room with his plaid Vans.  Proud.  Delighted. I did point out the problem with mixing a white, blue, and pink striped shirt, with a navy, gold, and olive dotted tie, and red, white, and blue plaid shoes.  He said, “I think I look cool.”  I thought, “He’s watched too much Doctor Who.”  I said, “You are cool.”  He said, “You need to call me Mr. B because of the tie.”  I said, “All right, Mr. B, grab your backpack and let’s go.  Your close-up awaits you.” When he looks back at today’s picture in 30 years, I want him to be able to say, “That was such a great morning.” It’s his school picture.  He should be happy.  We’ll be going to buy him a tie that fits. thorsday1 He does look cool.

Posted in 2the9s, A Day in the Life, Explaining the Strange Behavior, Family, Thor

hockaday

 

It was 6th Grade, and I insisted upon doing my own hair for picture day–the oxford and blazer were part of the uniform, but the hair?  All mine.  I was arguing with my mother about it out the door, and I know what Lane-has-been-crying face looks like–that’s it.  I remember standing in line for my picture and realizing that all the other girls, from the neck up, looked like they’d been styled for a wedding.  From the neck down, we looked like a Green and White episode of Facts of Life the Middle School Years.

One of the teachers asked me if my mother had forgotten it was picture day.  The photographer pulled out a comb and made a tent flap in my bangs so that my eyes would show.  I felt a sting of regret.  My mother had been right.  I should have let her fix my hair.  But, I wasn’t going down like that.  Oh no.  I held my wooby, little head high and said I meant to look that way, and that I liked it.  Pride.  Proud.  Defiant.

When the pictures came home, my mother was grim.   It was the only time in my life that she ever asked for retakes.  She called the school and asked for retakes.

For what it’s worth, I look back on the day with pride.  Still proud.  Still defiant.  I was twelve, and I had hot rollers.  Don’t give a kid hot rollers, if you don’t want her to use them.

It’s also funny how dark the picture is.  My hair looks auburn, and my blazer looks black.  My hair was strawberry blonde, and my blazer was a medium green.

Today is picture day at Thor’s school.  Last night, after telling me he’d like me to go buy him a black suit, white shirt, and fancy tie to wear (far too late in the day to even think of making that happen), and after going through several mental wardrobe changes until we got down to shorts and a polo shirt, he woke up asking for a tie.  He had to wear a tie.

It didn’t matter that it didn’t match.  It didn’t matter that it was too long.  It didn’t matter that he was wearing it with a polo shirt.  He. had. to. wear. a. tie.

I put one of B’s ties on him, and it was like turning on the Christmas lights.  That kid was proud.  Delighted.

He stood in front of the mirror for a long time, declared himself very cool, wetted down and tamed his own cowlick, then went to find his shoes.

Of all the shoes he could choose, he came out of his room with his plaid Vans.  Proud.  Delighted.

I did point out the problem with mixing a white, blue, and pink striped shirt, with a navy, gold, and olive dotted tie, and red, white, and blue plaid shoes.  He said, “I think I look cool.”  I thought, “He’s watched too much Doctor Who.”  I said, “You are cool.”  He said, “You need to call me Mr. B because of the tie.”  I said, “All right, Mr. B, grab your backpack and let’s go.  Your close-up awaits you.”

When he looks back at today’s picture in 30 years, I want him to be able to say, “That was such a great morning.”

It’s his school picture.  He should be happy.  We’ll be going to buy him a tie that fits.

thorsday1

He does look cool.

 

Posted in 2the9s, Beauty, Diet, weight

Waisting Away Again


I just came from the scale, where I weighed in.  206.9.  That’s how much I weigh today.  My favorite jeans are a size 16.  My favorite work trousers are a size 14.  I wear a size L shirt, but prefer an XL because…I do.  I like baggy tops.  Why am I telling you this?  Because it’s not a secret.

I look like this.  Only, usually I am not wearing a apron.  Usually, I am the one taking the pictures, so I have precious few full-body shots of myself.
I look like this sitting down. Only, usually I am not wearing a apron. Usually, I am the one taking the pictures, so I have precious few full-body shots of myself.

Yes, it’s time for another one of those posts about size because I was made acutely aware of mine once again tonight.  I am one secure woman, so if I was made to feel unsure about myself, it’s time for a reminder that weight only determines size, not worth.

Just to get health issues out of the way: My most recent blood work (2012) shows that I am exceptionally healthy.  I am nowhere near diabetes, and my cholesterol was even decent.  I am well within all the proper ranges for my age group, and at my last work-required physical, which included a mini stress test, I surprised the nurse with my stamina and strong heart.

Actually, I surprised her with my weight.  I stepped on the scale and she gasped, and said, “Oh!  You don’t look like you weigh that much!”  Recently, I had someone tell me I might be attractive, except for all “this”, and that person waved a hand up and down my torso.  Say what–did I even ask?  Tonight, a woman checked me out–actually walked a circle around me–and sneered at my stomach.  I want people like that to understand that their actions don’t say anything about me–I’m already all out there.  I own a mirror.  I own a scale.  I know what size I wear and exactly how I look in my clothes.  They aren’t saying anything about me that you don’t see when I’m crossing the street.  They aren’t adding anything to the conversation, save to inform their characters.

This is what 206.9lbs looks like wearing a fitted, size 16 suit.  And save for the dorky pose, objectively I can say to you that it looks pretty darn good.
This is what 206.9lbs looks like wearing a fitted, size 16 suit. And save for the dorky pose, objectively, I can say to you that it looks pretty darn good.

I weigh what I do for several reasons, none of them genetic or medical:

  1. I love tacos.  And nachos.  And bacon sandwiches.  And Coca-Cola.  And chicken fried steak.  And I fully intend to eat food I like, along with fruits and vegetables, which I also love to eat.  Weight Watchers was great for a while, then it made me sad.  I would rather be fat than sad, and as long as Rosa’s is serving up their lard coated love, I will eat there.
  2. I have had a very sedentary job for the past year, meaning I put back on the 25lbs I dropped walking stairs on my lunch breaks.  (My new office has stairs and a lot of great places to walk, and an hour lunch.  I expect my weight will fluctuate accordingly.)
  3. I am not going to get up an hour earlier than I already do (I get up at 5:45 most mornings) to go jogging.  I’m just not.  And, I’m not going to go jogging in the dark.
  4. I am also not going to take one of the precious 3 hours I get each night with Thor, and spend it on a treadmill.  Vogue can suck it.  I only have him for short years before he is off to college.  I have the rest of my life to do sit ups.
  5. I am over 40, and it’s harder to lose weight now.  It used to be that I cut out Cokes and I’d lose 15lbs in 3 months–and that was all I needed to lose.  Now?  I cut out Cokes and I’m just thirsty.

I do not like weighing 206.9lbs.  I don’t.  That’s too much for me.  But I know that weight is a temporal thing, and subject to change, so I don’t get too fussed about it.  I work on myself in spurts.  While I am moving toward more activity (and am excited about that!), I don’t kick myself for my choices.

I don’t apologize for how I look.  I don’t need any outside validation.  I am awesome–just ask anyone who knows me.  Awesome.  And overweight.  And those two things have absolutely nothing to do with each other.

 

Posted in 2the9s, Advice, Beauty, Personal Shopping Network

Exciting News!!!


The Outside Lane is excited to announce the grand opening of The Outside Lane Personal Shopping Network

I am open for business as your Personal Stylist, Career Clothing Counselor, and Perfect Present Picker.  Save time and tears, and let me help you get dressed for a special event, for daily life, or just pick out a present for your Great-Aunt Thelma-who-has-everything.

Click the link to my Personal Shopping Network and let’s get shopping!  I’ll provide you with options based on your details, then you pick and I click–I’ll have it shipped to your door.  You can be the belle of every ball, the best in every boardroom, and everyone’s favorite gift giver–they never have to know you were actually me.