My friend Ted emailed me and said, “Everyone knows what Cokie Roberts looks like! It’s like drawing a picture of what you imagine Sam Donaldson looks like.”
I wrote back, “I didn’t know what Cokie Roberts looked like! Sam Donaldson looks like an eagle.”
Ted wrote, “Sam Donaldson looks like a Vulcan.”
I said, “Sam Donaldson, in fact, looks like Cruella DeVille.”
Me: I feel like Adam Sandler on SNL doing the Hannukah song, but then…
Me: But then he did, like, Punch Drunk Love, and people were like, “Whoa! Hannukah song guy!” But THEN…
Me: Then he did Spanglish and then people just talk about him like he’s that guy who’s a little less funny and good-looking than Jimmy Fallon, you know? What if I’m just Spanglish?
Her: Spanglish is in us all. Embrace it. It might not be that bad. There could be things worse than Spanglish.
Her: The sequel to Deuce Bigalow.
Me: Oh God.
I’m sorry, but you should probably not know what he really looks like, because it’s wrong. That’s right: HE’S WRONG. He shall be Little Alien Adorable Pants. Forever. Sorry if you wanted to grow up, Kai. Not allowed.
This is how my imagination pictures NPR Commentator and General Badass Cokie Roberts, or as I like to call her, Her Majesty Princess Unicorn Tapioca Bubblegum.
Here’s what she really looks like, if you want to be a spoilsport.
*I’m sometimes now writing over at Family Health Method if you are just dying for more Shalini Writing and can’t get enough of me. Yeah, I know, I’m pretty irresistable. (self-eye-roll)
*If you’re crafty and/or like babies, Tricia needs help providing baby blankets for an NICU. Apparently you don’t even have to be that crafty. I’m going to see if I can cajole the boys into doing this. It seems like a great project kids could do, and bonus: helping teeny tiny babies will probably get you into Heaven. (Heaven is super popular nightclub, FYI, so just show up with your blanket as proof.)
*I’m doing a Goodreads giveaway for print copies of the book.
*I’m on a new SSRI. It’s working, except that I can’t drink on it. I mean, I can, but every time I’ve had my half glass of wine while prepping dinner, I end up falling into a dead sleep at 8pm. I am going to miss booze, but it’ll be worth it (I think). I don’t know why I’m telling you this, except to keep up the transparency of: this shit continues to be hard, but you can have a functional life around anxiety and depression, even if it’s unfair that I can’t have my half-glass of wine every night in order to not have a panic attack when I’m late to school pick up.
*I guess this post has been circulating around the Internet for a while, but I thought this post from Rob Delaney on depression and getting help was very insightful (though I’m not sure I’d rather have four broken limbs than go through depression). One thing I will add is when people would comment on my weight loss and ask how I did it, I was never honest enough to say, “Suffer from an awful depressive episode and only eat every other day!” but that is the truth. (I haven’t had that bad of one since college, but I had them. Oh,, I did.)
*I’ve already told everyone on Facebook and Twitter and Goodreads this already, but I think This Is How by Augusten Burroughs is the best thing I’ve read since The Art of Fielding. Love love love love loved it.
*Speaking of Goodreads, we should totally be friends there.
*Finally, I am having a serious, major, awful case of writer’s block on Romance Novel Two: Electric Boogaloo. I mean, I can write, but everything I write is just…it’s the worst. It’s just a first draft (I usually write at least three drafts), but I don’t know how to not just light my laptop on fire and yell, “I QUIT!” (to no one, because I sit at home and write in bed snuggled under the covers). If you’ve got a way to get over insecurity and fear in writing/working/whatever, let me know? I could use it.