This, That, and Everything- August 17, 2010

So yesterday I got my first rejection from my new and improved query letter, and I wanted to cry. And I mean really weep. All I could think was, one down, how many more to go? And why weren’t they interested? It’s a gosh-darn good letter.

In the rejection email, they thanked me for submitting, but said unfortunately they weren’t enthusiastic about my project. Real nice, huh? What’s wrong with saying, thanks for submitting but this isn’t right for us, we’re not taking on new clients, or thank you, but no thank you, for that matter? But, we’re not enthusiastic about your project? Talk about kicking a man when he’s down. Douche bags!

Anyway, I brushed it off, sending out twenty-three more email submissions yesterday, and I have twenty-eight prepped mail submissions ready to send out on Saturday. They may not be jumping at the chance to represent little ole me, but someone will, and I’m going to keep on submitting until I find them.

Yesterday afternoon I had lunch with Renee and we had a blast. We both got Subway Veggie Delights and Five Guys fries. It felt like old times. We talked about this, that, and everything, laughing pretty much the whole time. Renee is my old faithful. I can always depend on her to make me smile.

Last night after the gym I begged Mike to take me to get a milkshake, and surprisingly he did, but not before making me feel like a complete fatty, asking questions like: are you sure you want to get ice cream after working out, didn’t you just have ice cream the other day, you think it’s a good idea to get ice cream? And to all of those ridiculous questions, I answered with an affirming, YES. So off to Bruster’s we went.

Now, every time we go to Bruster’s the same thing occurs: I stare at the menu for like, forever, before the kid behind the sliding glass window pops their head out to ask if they can help me. I quickly spout off my order, and then as they’re closing the sliding glass window, I look over at Mike and the conversation goes like this:

Me: Man, I should have gotten something else.

Mike: (Sigh) You do that every time.

Me: I know but I don’t like to keep them waiting.

Mike: That’s ridiculous.

Me: I wonder what the peanut butter cream taste like.

Mike: You should have asked for a taste.

Me: Nah.

Mike: (Shaking his head)

Me: I should have gotten the waffle cone instead of the shake.

Mike: You’re not getting both.

Me: (glaring over at Mike) I know I’m not. (The last time we went to Bruster’s I ordered a strawberry shake and a chocolate shake, because I couldn’t decide which one I really wanted. But then I didn’t want the chocolate shake after I drank the strawberry one. Mike ended up drinking it, and told me never again was I to get two orders…ha ha)

The girl who took our order opens the window and hands Mike his waffle cone filled with lemon sorbet. I eye up the cone but not the sorbet. Lemon sorbet, yuck!

Me: The birthday cake shake should be good, right? It will probably taste like the cake batter ice cream from Marble Slab, don’t you think? (Marble Slab was our trusty ice cream parlor in Delaware. We would go there every weekend. Boy, those were the good ole days!)

Mike: Did I tell you I saw the owners of Marble Slab at Wawa?

Me: No, you did?

Mike: Yeah and they’re opening a Maggie Moo’s in Exton.

Me: Yum, Maggie Moo’s. (I’m a complete ice cream snob) Is Exton close to us?

Mike: Yeah not too far.

Me: Yaaay. We’ll have to go.

Mike: (smiling) Of course, dear.

The window opens and the girl hands me my shake. I look at the top and can see blue. Hmmm, I think. Why is it blue? I pay her and then walk away.

Me: I don’t think I’m going to like this.

Mike: (giving me a look) You haven’t even tasted it.

Me: (taking a sip) There are sprinkles in this. Ick. This isn’t what I wanted. Taste it. (I shove the straw practically into his mouth.

Mike: (giving me another look before taking a swig) Mmmm, I like it. It’s really good.

Me: You do?

Mike: Yeah.

Me: But it has all of those sprinkles in it.

Mike: You love rainbow sprinkles, and they’re not clogging up your straw.

Me: (I take another sip) What do you think it tastes like?

Mike: (taking another taste) A vanilla cupcake.

Me: Really? (I take another taste) Hmm, maybe it does. Want some more?

Mike: No, honey. It will give me the poops. (He’s lactose intolerant)

Me: (chuckling) You’ll end up drinking the rest. Just watch.

Mike: No I won’t. (as he takes the last bite of his waffle cone—he’s such a little piggy)

By this time we pull up to our house and I hand him the shake, which he willingly takes, happily sucking the rest down. He’s so predictable. (He runs into the house and pops an Acidophilus to prevent the poops...ha,ha. My husband...)

Anyway, so as we’re walking into the house Mike says that he’s going to go out to the garage and look at his car. Mind you, it’s quarter of 9:00 PM, dark, and he hasn’t eaten his dinner (not that this part matters; we already had ice cream). But sure enough, I look out the sliding glass doors in the kitchen and there he is, staring at it admiringly. He had slid half of the car cover off so the rear was showing, and he was just staring at it, as if marveling over a piece of fine art at the Louvre. And I stood there watching him, thinking that I don’t think he’s ever looked at me quite that way.

Mike came inside, I fixed him dinner, and we chatted for a moment before I ran up to shower. I stepped into the shower, the blistering water beating down on me, and all I could think was, I had an agent who wasn’t enthusiastic about my work, a husband that’s overly enthusiastic about his car, and I was anything but enthusiastic about my ice cream that I was sure would make me forget the day’s worries. I stood there with my eyes closed, and the water spraying down on me, hoping tomorrow would be better.

The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful. I sent off a few more submissions; Mike showered. We let the dogs out for the last time, and armed the alarm. Mike schooled me about what happens at the muscle car shows. He’s totally obsessed at this point. By this time we were lying in bed about to turn out the lights and get some shut eye when I murmured something like, “I really hope I get an agent.” And Mike looked over at me, and said something like, “You will get an agent, honey. And that agent that rejected you will be sorry because you’re going to be a big star.” Then he reached over and turned off the light, and I nuzzled up to my favorite pillow, trying to find my nook in the bed thinking, today’s not so bad after all.

Oh, and I could tell by the way he looked at me that the Camero is no threat. I’m definitely his number one girl.

Goodnight.