I joined Facebook (And May Need Therapy for it)

I took the leap and joined Facebook. Don't bother linking there to see my page unless you're already a member--you won't be able to see it.

I'm feeling ambivalent about my membership. I keep hearing through writers groups and web sites that as an author I "must" have a page on Facebook. I "must" create a presence in an arena that draws 65 million. Fine. That part makes sense. Out of 65 million, there's got to be a cat lover or two out there who would like to buy my book.

But like everything online, you can't just pop a page up and expect people to show. You have to make the time to create an interesting, readable page that draws people in and keeps them coming back. You have to search out friends and list them on your page to prove to the world that you are, indeed, capable of attracting and retaining friends. You have to add photos, new content, and check in frequently.

Blah, blah, blah.

I am what is known as a "late adapter." Or rather, a reluctant late adapter. I'll eventually embrace a new technology, but I am going to bitch and complain the entire time I do.  And so it is with Facebook. I posted a profile and slapped my picture up there. I listed some books and movies I like. Now what? I have to search out high school friends I've ignored for 20 years and say, "Hey, want to best buds and link to my page?" Yech.

At times like this, I long to be my friend Melody who adores exploring all things new, fun, and web-related.  She wouldn't collapse sobbing over her computer after 20 minutes spent attempting to figure out how to set up a business page on the site. She wouldn't curse the man-children who came up with this site in the first place.  And she would possess an attitude of positive open mindedness that she would soon not only grasp but enjoy said technology.

I am not Melody.

But my page is up and that is progress. I will wait a few days before I log back on and once again attempt to figure out how to set up a page that sends people to my Lessons In Stalking website. Because, to be frank, I'm in this to sell books, not make friends. (I have enough trouble keeping up with the remaining 8 people out there still willing to associate with me on a semi-regular basis. Hand me 50 online friends and I will lose it.)

I may have to lighten up. Melody is already on Facebook and at lunch the other day she was explaining to me the "Poke" feature. If you want to say hi to someone you "poke" them online. I looked coldly at her. "There will be no poking in our Facebook relationship," I said. "One poke, and you are banned from the friendship list for life."

I think I'd do better to just send out postcards. More my speed, dont'cha think?

American Idol for the Soul, 3rd Printing

This entry goes under the category of "fun stuff." Today I received an e-mail from the Chicken Soup for the American Idol Soul editor announcing that the book is selling so well that it's going into its third printing. She asked all contributors to please let her know by Monday if we need to update our back of book bios. She included a specific message to Sanjaya, noting that his website information wasn't current.

The e-mail is sent to a suppressed recipient list, but it's fun knowing I'm receiving the same e-mail as Carrie Underwood, Ruben Studdard, Nigel Lythgoe, Jordin Sparks, etc.

Big time, baby.

My Favorite Phone Call

Blair works for Hanesbrands and he never calls me from work. We're just not the kind of couple who chit-chats during the day. Work is work, and we'll see each other when we're home.

Which is why I was curious, yesterday, when I left a meeting and turned my cell phone on to see that I had a message waiting from Blair's work number. I punched in my voicemail code and listened to his message. His first words, delivered in a tight, tense tone, sent a shot of fear down my spine.

"Hey. Huh--you're not there. I need you to call me at the office just as soon as you get this message."

Layoffs? Sick relative? Worry raced through my mind. Why would he be calling? Then came the follow-up sentence.

"They're giving away wedgie-free panties and I'm not sure what cut or color to get you. So... call me."

Wedgie free panties? Wedgie FREE panties?? I almost crashed the car, I was laughing so hard.

I do so love that husband of mine.

Loose Kitty

So much for my mundane world. Yesterday I took both cats to the vet for a nail trim, plus Olivia was due for her yearly shots. It was an unusually long wait--almost an hour. When the vet came in with the vet tech, she asked if Olivia had been experiencing any problems.

"A little runny eyes and nose a couple of weeks ago," I said. "But it seems to have cleared up."

"Sounds like herpes," said the vet.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. "What?" I said and then looked at Olivia. "What have you been doing? No! Bad kitty!"

The vet and vet tech were rolling. Feline herpes is non-sexually transmitted and also rather common--about 30% of indoor cats may be carriers. Luckily, since we've vaccinated our cats all along, it's likely she'll just occasionally have the runny eyes/nose without it getting worse. Her symptoms were light enough that the vet didn't think she needed medication.

It's unknown where she picked it up but I MAY have brought it in from the shelter. Ask me how great my guilt is.

As if that weren't enough, Olivia's gums were bloody and she needs a tooth extracted. The surgery is two weeks from now and I can't feed her after 6pm Sunday night before the Monday surgery. I take her to the vet in the morning but she has to wait there most of the day as they don't do surgeries until the afternoon. They took some blood to test and make sure she'll react okay to anesthesia.

Surprisingly, I was okay. I know tooth extractions aren't uncommon among cats. What I didn't expect was how... distraught is the word that comes to mind... Blair would be. He questioned me closely over dinner about why she had to have the surgery, what were the options, and kept saying, "I hate this. I hate she has to go through this."  It's touching how upset he is. I almost called him at work after I found out about the herpes and the tooth but decided I could just as easy tell him that night.

"I'm glad you didn't call," he told me over dinner, looking miserable. "I wouldn't have gotten much done the rest of the day."

Now I'm debating if I want to take Olivia to a cat clinic in GSO for the surgery. I have a friend who works there so I"ll ask her opinion if it's worth the drive and possibly insulting my vet by having someone else do the surgery. I trust my vet. I just think it might be better for Olivia's nerves if she were in a cats only place that wasn't filled with dog smells and barking dogs.

Stay tuned...