Blogging Is Sort of Like Going to the Gym

When you're not doing it, nothing could sound less appealing. Writing just because? Opening myself up to potential ridicule? (Okay, that usually doesn't happen -- y'all are sweet -- but I used to have this random hater on here who would post comments about how bad certain pictures of me were and how much less generally important and fabulous I was than I thought I was.) Anyway, those thoughts are very similar, for me, to considering putting on spandex and a jog bra to essentially run in place.

But when I'm practicing either of these things regularly, even daily, they seem to make perfect sense. Of course, I think, I'll go to a class where the teacher talks about how wanting to throw up while participating is normal. And while I didn't write here for so long because I couldn't think of anything to actually write about, now that I'm doing it again -- inspired, I'll admit, by my friend Alison, who is a lot like me if I were funnier -- ideas for posts are literally everywhere. I find myself thinking, "Now that would be a great post" so often that I feel I've actually crossed from Gen X into Gen Y.

P.S. Yes, these pictures document exactly how I look partaking in these activities.

P.P.S. Eric, I love your emails but would it kill you to comment on my posts here? Blogs like comments even more than Anna likes email (not to mention referring to herself in the third person).

P.P.S.S. Today, btw, is the 8th anniversary of when I stopped being the "ultimate party girl." Yee haw.

Oh, also!

For the people/person (there must be one of you) who think I'm going to be on Red Eye tonight because it says as much on my site, I'm not going to be, after all.

And if you watch Red Eye/even know what I'm talking about, why are you here and not over at The Activity Pit?

Are Writers More Temperamental Than Others?

Or just more likely to, um, put their temperament in writing?

(And, while I'm asking questions, who knew that temperament/temperamental had that extra "a" in there, the way "temperature" does?)

This isn't just a fun rhetorical question either. I ask because, of course, I deal with my own temperament constantly. And then I went to this Yaddo exhibit at the NY Public Library over the weekend (which I highly recommend for anyone who's borderline obsessed with the famed writers colony...okay, I don't know anyone who has that obsession save myself -- but before you decide you're not, consider the long list of greats who've been there. Oh, and also think about mansions for a minute).

Anyway, while it was fascinating to read Truman Capote's application and learn that Mario Puzo started writing The Godfather when he was there, what compelled me the most were these letters from a poet I'd never heard of who was recommended to the place by a famous poet who said that she was, essentially, a mess, but that she had talent. I guess she went there once and something went down because there were a series of crazy letters to the Yaddo admissions director where she begged to be able to come back in nearly incomprehensible language and the admissions committee members made all sorts of notes to each other about how difficult this woman was and the whole thing was so fascinating, I felt confident that had a documentary been made about this poet, it would have bested Grey Gardens.

So then today I heard back from one of the writers who was supposed to contribute to the anthology I'm editing. This was a writer, mind you, who pitched me about his contributing. He was someone whose name I used to see in magazines all the time and I was definitely open to the idea. After spending an hour or so on the phone with him where he told me his every last thought about reality shows, I explained that the assignment paid "anthology money" (for the blessed uninitiated, um, next to nothing), gave him the deadline and sent him the contract.

This was months ago. I never heard back from him. After a few unreturned emails, I reached out to his agent and explained that I hadn't heard back and wanted to know if he was still interested in contributing. They checked with him and told me that he said yes, he was quite excited about it. So I emailed him again yesterday. This was the missive I received today:

I did not send the contract back. The money was absurd. I thought from that point on, you realized that I was not up for the assignment. I simply can't do a 4,000-word essay for that. You said on the phone that the payment was modest, not insulting. So I just let the whole thing drift off.

He then corrected my "misunderstanding" of what he had intended to write about had he not been too insulted to respond at all!

I can't help but feel that had this person applied to Yaddo, there'd be a series of disturbing little notes from the admissions committee in his file, too.

The Dangers of Self-Absorption

So in my home office, I had a few framed articles that had been written about Party Girl up on the wall. Then I had the office painted and decided shortly thereafter that it was inappropriate to make one's office into a sort of shrine to oneself. I thought: who, exactly, am I trying to impress here? So the frames never went back up. But then I didn't know what to do with them and, this being New York, I have no available closet space. So I put them back up at the top level of my desk (my desk is this sort of three-level stacking thing that I'm describing so badly, you could never actually know what I'm talking about).

Today, while I was typing, all of the frames started raining down in this sort of earthquake-like way and one actually hit my face, leaving a red mark that made it look like I'd just run a marathon or been punched out. We're talking roughly an inch from my right eye. Since there was no earthquake, I liken the entire event to the world trying to wake me up to the fact that being self-absorbed will smack me in the face. Am I reading too much into it? Well, what else is new? The red mark went away after a few minutes and the frames now lie on the ground, where they'll be until I decide on their new home.

Speaking of my self-absorption, a reader (yes, I have one -- and btw, that is a passive-aggressive hint that if any of you have remained [c'mon, Jayson], don't be afraid to make your presence known with a comment) emailed me to point out that in my last I've-returned-to-blogging post, I forgot to mention that the world had changed. So I'm mentioning it now. A-fricking-men.

Pathetic

It's the only word to describe me and my relationship to blogging. The problem with forgetting you have a blog isn't just that no one bothers to come to you anymore but also that you absolutely forget how to write for it. I once was blog-clever, I know I was, so this is my attempt to get back into the groove.

So I more than survived my first NY summer (the PR on that is much worse than reality, I say -- then again, for me, there's no such thing as too hot). Also survived my second "fall back" of Daylight Savings Time, where darkness descends at about, um, 3:30. And in non weather-and-time-change-related news, gearing up for the release of my second novel Bought -- formerly both Kept and Kept Waiting -- in the spring. And then for the release of my anthology about reality shows -- amazing pieces in already by Toby Young and Jancee Dunn and many more to come in the next few weeks -- in the fall. By the way, Back to Reality is a working title -- and by that I mean it's not really working. Have any title ideas for a smart, witty collection of essays about reality shows? If you do -- and it's really good -- I'll love you forever. And maybe send you a signed book or something.

The Sirius radio show (Channel 108, the Maxim network) churns along. Why aren't you listening? Don't have Sirius? Have Sirius but don't tend to listen between 2-3 pm (11 am-12 pm if you're a PST)? What can I say besides you're missing everything -- or at least hearing two girls talk about "love, sex and doing the nasty" (that's one of the intros we get from a guy with one of those official-yet-creepy radio voices and it's, um, not my favorite).

Oh! Speaking of Maxim...I've done a few of their sex columns. Like this one. Buy the December issue to see the next. It's a juicy one. Dying to know the topic? Well, here's a hint: I hunted for anecdotes for it on this very blog.

If this entry bored you to tears, keep in mind how you were the first time you got back on a bike again after years or months away. Training wheels come off next post.

Crazy Women

Are you one? Have you dated one? Please tell me your story! I'm writing a piece for Maxim on those nutty ladies that men obsess over and I need your input.

Meanwhile, I obviously don't qualify as a blogger anymore but a person who, roughly 10 times a year, remembers that she has a thing that once was a blog. I've been caught up in rewriting this book, editing the pieces on dipdive (the pictures are from the DNC -- one of the Obama speech, one of my dipdive boss chatting it up with Al & Tipper [it's a terrible pic in that the thing you can see best is the back of some person's head but trust me, it was chaotic]), the radio show and, um, summer. Also putting together this anthology. Oh and dealing with angry bisexuals as a result of this piece.

But for now all I care about is you and those crazy girls who've captured your heart -- or some part of you, anyway.

Email me -- in the next week -- at anna@annadavid.com if you've got a story or some thoughts that you think fit. Guys, girls -- as long as you are, were or dealt with crazy*, I want to talk to you.

Thank you...

*I don't mean crazy psychotic; I mean wild, impossible to pin down, cheaters, the always-just-out-of-reach girl...that kind of thing.

In The Flesh

Want to see me in the flesh? Or come to an event called In The Flesh? You can do both tomorrow night, provided you're in New York and not afraid to go to a former massage place called The Happy Ending Lounge.

Rachel Kramer Bussel (fellow workaholic, RKB filled in as my co-host on the Sirius show today) hosts these readings and they get tons of hoopla. Some of it can get a tad raunchy (the last time I did it, I distinctly remember the woman who went after me reading about her, um "sopping cunt"). I'm going to be there tomorrow night, reading from good old Party Girl. Just be forewarned that whichever part I select, it will certainly be less risque than what I read last time.

In other news, I sold an anthology on reality shows a few weeks ago and am quite excited about some of the people I have contributing to it. I'm superstitious enough to not want to release their names until I have their work in my hot little hands but suffice it to say that they're all far, far more successful than I am.

Oh Lovely Ladies...

I'm doing a magazine story on why girls cheat and I want to interview you, provided you are:

-female
-34 or under
-have some experiences with cheating

The good news is that your reputation will be safe! I only need to print each person's first name, age and occupation. Further good news: you're helping humankind to better understand itself and contributing to future communication between men and women that will...

Er, f-that.

You'll be helping me. Email me at anna@annadavid.com ASAP if you've got a few minutes to share your tales with me. (Think of it, if you're Catholic, like confession; if you're Jewish, like therapy.*)


(*I'm Jewish; I'm allowed)