Book Tour Wrap-up, Part One: Polyamory and Mimosas

I have returned to my family! They missed me more than they even know. My son was compelled to issue fart noises (from his mouth, thankfully) for three hours straight to make up for all that I was denied during my two weeks away. Scott declined to join in, and for that I love him even more. He cleaned the house before I arrived and bought flowers and wine. That's LOVE, people. I'm so happy to be home that I almost don't mind how much pet hair I forgot there is on everything.

(Oh, lord, the pet hair. It's not like it's Scott's fault for not keeping up on pet-hair removal. It almost doesn't matter no matter how much you clean, and knowing that leads you to give up. The pets are competing to see how much hair they can get to cling to everything. And have I told you that Charlie's hair is, literally, barbed? So it hooks into rugs and pillows and you cannot vacuum it out, oh no, you have to brush it out and then vacuum and who has the time for that? He should pay me to clean up his mess. His pointy hairs even get stuck IN MY SKIN sometimes. I'll get what I think is a splinter and it's a dog hair embedded in the ball of my foot. The cat, meanwhile, is too fat to properly groom herself, so enormous wads of cat fur will periodically eject from her bottom half and land on my face while I'm sleeping.

And yet for some reason we keep them around.)

It's time for a quick run-through of Part I of our incredibly fun book tour/Mom 2.0 trip. Shall we? Let's do.

First of all, Portland. It appears that no one is in Portland. We would walk and walk and walk, and no one would be around. We feared that maybe a zombie virus had taken over, but then we did run into a few people and they were alarmingly cheery. Portland's zombies are ruddy-faced (for zombies) and unfailingly kind.

I didn't take many pictures in Portland, or at all, really. I brought my smaller and less-good camera, so I wasn't thrilled by my photos. And I know you all expect NO LESS THAN PERFECTION FROM ME. But then Eden kept taking pictures of all the mossy trees? And I just go along with whatever Eden does.

Susan Getgood from BlogHer held our hands for the Portland leg of the book tour, which was kind of her, especially since there are two of us and if one of us had one free hand we might get into mischief, so she really had to focus. You can imagine how tough it was for her when she drove us to the reading and I kept trying to unbuckle myself from the car seat. I might have asked some uncomfortable questions about polyamory, as well. Don't ask me why. It's in the air in that city. (That's your new slogan, Portland! "Portland's Polyamorous!" Email me and I'll tell you where to send my check. And no, I won't accept your BeaverBucks or whatever your Oregon currency is. You have special currency there, right, Oregon?)

The day of our Portland reading, without fail almost every single person I knew from Portland sent me a tweet and/or email letting me know that DARN IT that day was the ONE DAY they had some other obligation, wouldn't you know it? But good luck! Most of them had reasonable excuses (most of them) but the collective effect was discouraging.

I might have hyperventilated a teensy bit.

Despite my worrying/panting into a paper bag, we ended up with an enthusiastic crowd-let in Portland. And they laughed at our jokes, which proves they were drunker than we were. Also, the people at Powell's were so goddamn thoughtful and enthusiastic I kind of want to move to Portland just to hang out with them. Maybe they'll be like that every day, for me! I can get the author's discount all the time, right? I'M A GODDAMN AUTHOR.

Next stop: Seattle!

Eden drove the rental car, as I am a delicate creature who can't put her hands on a steering wheel without suffering an attack of the nerves. In return I entertained her with tales of ex-boyfriends and my boisterous version of Wham's "Young Guns (Go For It.)"

(I know all the lyrics. Not to brag.)

(We didn't know George Michaels was gay, you guys! In his denim capris! And are those…espadrilles? Toe shoes? Some kind of festive combination of the two?)

Where was I? In a car! We were driving to Seattle! Eden and I spent the three hours chatting happily and agreeing that we were perfect travel companions for each other and would never fight, ever. (You'd think that was some foreshadowing. You would be incorrect!)

And then we got there. Met by the glorious Jory Des Jardins of Blogher, who was probably clued in to the fact that we had been discussing polyamory and drinking way too many mixed drinks in Portland. She didn't let on, but we could see it in her eyes. The fear/curiosity. She said it was from the cold medication she was on. I still have my doubts.

Seattle is beautiful. We were there for approximately 30 seconds. Many of my favorite people in the world live in Seattle, and they all showed up to the reading. (AHEM, PORTLAND.)

That's Tina Rowley, aka My Favorite Person Who Is Not a Family Member or Eden, on the right! And her charming friend on the left! Oh, I should have written down names.

But we had to leave Seattle! So quickly! And then we were in San Francisco, where we had a few days to catch our breath, hang out with Maggie and other beloveds (Heather Champ! Holly, way too briefly!), and read in both Burlingame and San Francisco proper.

In Burlingame we read at Books, Inc., which was one of our favorite destinations. The store manager (Hi, Earle!) was so kind and he gave us GIFTS, you guys. Gifts! We both got tote bags, Moleskine notebooks, and dark chocolates. I ate all of mine before we had even left the store. I have a self-control problem. Eden is probably gazing serenely at hers right now. Maybe she's letting one of the dark-chocolate discs dissolve on her tongue over the next twelve hours. This is how she messes with my head.

And then…the next day? A couple of days later? We read at Green Apple Books in the city, and we had a teeny space to read in, but I like that because it makes even a small crowd look like more then we can handle. This particular reading came with groupies!

These adorable daughters of Jenijen were Eden's groupies alone, I suspect, but they let me sign their t-shirts and..faces as well. I was so Henry-deprived by then I practically threw myself at them and maybe I tried to smell their heads a little, shut up, I can't remember.

Here's the post-reading brunch-up. Lisa Stone was there to make sure we didn't polish off too many mimosas and take our tops off, Eden.

I loved these two. That's Kat on the left, and her hilarious friend whose name left my head almost immediately. I was too dazzled by her dimples.

Self-photobombing. It's a thing. (That's the lovely author of Suki Cooks, by the way.)

That's it for our BlogHer-sponsored leg of the book tour, aka The Part Where We Had Cheerleaders and Awesome. Next up: Chicago and Minneapolis. Which city won? You'll have to read tomorrow to find out.

Hair update #2

Enough about the new site. Let's talk hair.

First of all, this growing-out process has taught me something new about my hair: it doesn't grow unusually fast, like I thought it did. I was convinced my hair grew an inch a month (as opposed to the normal half-inch). It turns out that this was a lie I told myself, for no apparent reason. It actually grows at the same rate as everyone else. I'm learning so much about me! It's like adolescence all over again. My body is a wonderland.

Here's an interesting thing about growing out your haircolor when your hair is short: when you have all these layers, it's easier to hide the growth. At least in some parts. Take the above picture, where it looks like I have no gray at all. Meanwhile there's about two inches of gray underneath the inch of the faded auburn blech on top. Look here:

I have a gray undercoat! I'm just like my cat. Who stared at me while I took pictures.

The tall one has gone insane. Perhaps she will die, and I can finally eat her.

Around the part area, you can see even more gray. Here you go!

Finally, here it is in different light, where it almost looks like I'm going completely white:

Oh, another thing I learned about my hair: I'm not as gray as I thought I was. Since I've been graying since high school, I assumed I would have a shining silver mane lurking beneath all the dye, but it seems like the end result will be far less dramatic. Nonetheless, I really like it, so far.

I haven't gone for a haircut yet, but I did, well, cut my own hair. Scott looked truly alarmed when I told him this. He seemed to think this was evidence of mental illness, Oh, men! Just because I have no haircutting experience whatsoever and maybe laughed a little too maniacally after telling him about my haircut! But listen, I had just trimmed Henry's bangs, and I was feeling confident. And it's not like I used the kitchen shears! Sheesh.

You're seeing the results here, and I think it looks perfectly fine and not at all insane, SCOTT.

Look, everyone, it's my hair. (Yawn.)

All right, all right.

Listen, I didn't really want to put up pictures because I'm pretty sure someone's going to get all mad about my stupid face. I don't take these comments seriously, as I am perfectly aware that I am a vision, but it does give me pause. My appearance seems to anger people so. You may recall--and if you don't I will remind you--that last year, when I was on the Today show, a thoughtful reader told me that all she could see was my "enormous ass and teeth."

Well!

But this is only my hair, so at least you will all be spared my ass. And of course the teeth. The misshapen, unfortunate teeth.

The first thing I learned, while trying to take pictures of my gray hairs, is that it's harder than it seems like it should be. The light in my bathroom's all buttery and lovely but it doesn't work when you're trying to show the horrible divide between the graying roots and the oxidizing awful of the rest of it. Here's my first try. Where are the gray hairs? They're right...right there! Oh, can't you see?!

A little closer, reluctantly. I wasn't really anticipating a close-up.

Okay, look over here, it's really gray--no? Crap. It really is. Damn it.

Fine, I'll lower my head. THERE. Now do you see?

Here's the back of the head (look, you people asked for these), where you can't see anything at all. Take my word for it, it's gray. Darker than the front, but definitely a steel-gray kind of thing.

The other side. Because my hair is longer on top than the sides, the gray's way more apparent around the ears. Which I like to think makes it look like I have a coppery toupee squatting on my head.

Now I'm looking up even more. I'm so whimsical!

In my zeal to expose the white-ness of my roots, this happened.

This is the kind of hair I have: I can yank my hair upward, and it stays. This is an advantage for silly pictures and/or to amuse my son when he's crying, and a disadvantage every morning, in that I wake up with the craziest bedhead ever and if I forget and answer the door, I terrify the meter reader. Jealous?

Now I'm just making faces. But look, in this mirror, you can see the gray hair a little more clearly.

I am the epitome of loveliness.

Finally, just to piss people off: my butt. Sweet fancy Moses, how did anyone let me on television?!

No! No, not the teeth! OH GOD CLOSE THE MOUTH CLOSE IT

Charlie and Me

I wrote an essay about our dog Charlie for a forthcoming anthology about dogs. I'm Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship!, edited by Wade Rouse, will be published in 2011, with a portion of the proceeds going to the Humane Society of the United States. All kinds of incredible writers are contributing, including Merrill Markoe, Rita Mae Brown, and Jen Lancaster. I'm honored to be included.

Charlie is one of my favorite topics to write about, as most of my friends have long grown tired of me jabbering about my dog's velvety ears and I have to get it out somehow. We adopted Charlie shortly after we got married, and when my mom saw us with him she rolled her eyes and said, "You two need to have a baby." The implication being that once we procreated, we'd calm down about the dog and stop, say, kissing him on the lips. Well, guess who was wrong about that? You were, Mom! YOU! So there! Now give your other grandson a kiss.

I needed a picture of me with Charlie for the book, so my pal Amber of The Amber Show graciously volunteered her photographic talents. The essay is about Charlie's insistence on sleeping in our bed, between me and Scott, under the covers. Amber took some boudoir pics. I wore my nightie!

You can't really tell that it's a nightie. But oh, it is. It's from Target. Mrowr.

Charlie hates getting his picture taken. I don't know who beat him with a camera, but someone clearly did, because the minute he sees one his ears go back and he tries to lick it. That's Charlie's tactic. If you upset him in any way, his defense is to wag his tail violently and lick you. He'll love you right into submission.

This is him pleading with me to make the clickety-click sounds stop. Oh boy, do we need a headboard. Someday, my friends. Someday.

Here I am, pointing. I'm saying, "That's a dog. That's Charlie!" I can identify my pets.

I'm holding him down. The moment I loosened my grip he'd scurry to the next room. But oh, we got him back! Dogs are not bright.

I was trying to look vaguely unhappy with him being in the bed with me, and yet swayed by his canine charms. It was a complicated series of emotions. My face was breaking under the strain.

I am absolutely covered in dog hair, here. The crazy heat wave we've endured has caused Charlie to shed like he's getting paid for it, plus he sheds when he's stressed out, so during this photo shoot, he unloaded approximately 30 pounds of dog hair on me. And Charlie only weighs 25 pounds, so this took some effort on his part. Fur was raining off of him, causing Amber to observe, "He's Pig-Penning!" Which I thought was adorable. And accurate.

Charlie is now 13 years old. His face used to be mostly black with a white stripe running down the center, but as you can see, he's faded somewhat. His eyes are cloudy, but he can hear a slice of cheese hit the ground from across the apartment. He's still spry, and leaps and cavorts the moment we head outside.

I'm sure, fellow dog-owners, that your dogs are fine, but Charlie is pretty much the greatest dog who ever lived.