Leo made a wee-wee on the carpet this morning. I used a bunch of paper towels in the clean-up process, the tossed them into the toilet, and, as I was doing that, I was thinking, “There’s a decent chance this will clog the toilet.” But I flushed anyway. The toilet clogged. I didn’t have a plunger at home (must have been jettisoned during the move) and I was running late for a meeting at work. So I just left it, knowing I’d get a plunger on my way home and fix it, but the whole time I was driving to work and walking to the parking lot I just had this realy nauseous, gross kind of feeling, like every cell in your body feels that something isn’t right. I marvelled at it. “Wow,” I thought. “I’m this upset about a clogged toilet?” Normally I alllow my entire home to fall into disrepair without giving it a second’s thought. I was almost proud of myself.
I got to my desk, went to get a soda, and I’m still feeling very off. “Sasha,” I told myself, “You’ll fix the toilet when you get home. It’s okay, calm down.” It didn’t work though, that feeling of nausea and the nagging in my brain didn’t quit.

I went through the whole workday like that, until, on my drive home to actually buy the plunger, it hit me: I’m getting sick! I’d seriously had NO IDEA what could be making me feel like that other than the clogged toilet. But, no. I’m sick.

So, I plunged the toilet and I’m spending the rest of the night taking it easy.

I know, I know. I’m waiting for the comments. “Beet, you’re always sick!” I’m not really. I get really sick once in February and once in July. I’m almost 100% certain that my stress around those times of year is why I always get really sick. The rest of the time it’s just litte colds, etc. So hopefully this’ll be a one or two-day thing and then I can move on with my life.

I’d like a running tally on how many words I write daily. I’d put the number, ballpark, at around 5000. A standard novel runs around 60-70K words. Q.E.D.: If I put this kind of effort toward actually writing a novel, I’d have one done in about two weeks.

My mother is finally converting all her old WordPerfect files (sigh) to Word. In the process, she’s come across poems and short stories (and screenplays and novellas) I wrote as a young teenager and figured I would never see again. I had no idea she’d been porting them from computer to computer over the course of the past 15 years. She emailed them all to me tonight. I haven’t read them all, not even close; I haven’t even read the entirety of a single one. It’s not something I’m ready to do emotionally, even though these were fictional pieces. (Yes, at one point I knew how to write fiction, apparently.) I’ve scanned them, though, and it’s strange to get insight into 13-year-old me. She is captured perfectly in those pieces, like a body in an ice block. She is articulate and she is brilliant and she is fearless and she is terrified. She is gone today, and I can’t fix her. I couldn’t do anything to help her then and I can’t do anything to help her today. She just had to survive those years, and I wasn’t there to hold her hand through it, and I feel somehow like I should have been. But she did just that — she barreled through her share of this life, perhaps the roughest leg of the relay, and she came through relatively unscathed. I am proud of her.

I ran a blog back in those years, too. No one called it a blog back then. No one called it anything. Most people made no regular use of the Internet. But, as a 13-year-old, I hand-coded a website called The Sweetest Cherry (I had no concept of the sexual implications) using basic HTML (we didn’t have WYSIWYG web dev tools back then, or CSS or XML) and hosted it somewhere or other (Lord knows where) and invited people to submit poems and stories inspired by Tori Amos. It was phenomenally successful — my mom says she has hundreds of pages of submissions. I remember that the site was written up in several magazines, but I can’t remember where or why or how. I don’t remember why or when I stopped running the site. I don’t remember what it looked like, or what the URL was, or what the content looked like. I’ve completely blocked out most of those years. “You know,” said my mother, “you were running a blog fifteen years ago.” And, you know, I kind of was. Well, 13-year-old me kind of was. I can’t explain how detached and separate I feel from that girl. I am not she and she is not I. We ought to have separate object identifiers. But, again: I’m proud of her.

There’s something that’s been lost in the transition. There was a raw and creative and limitless force inside this girl. I don’t know what fueled it, but I know it was hurting her. And somewhere along the way, somehow, one of us made a decision. We decided to trade. We decided to mute this force and all that came with it in exchange for a life we felt we could live in. Was that her decision? Was it mine? Was it right? Was it fair? To her? To me? I want to find her and hug her, to dress her wounds and explain it all to her. To apologize for not being there. To bring her a message of faith in words she could understand. To tell her it will all be okay, and to tell her how proud I am of her and grateful I am for what she’s done for me.

Tired, per usual. Whenever I think I have an easy day ahead of me it turns out to be anything but. Life just piles up on you, ya know? I’ve been working hard on doing PR outreach, and it seems to be paying off in terms of traffic to both Evil Beet and Zelda Lily. It’s been interesting being on the other side of the interview process. Whenever I do interviews, I’m very careful to record the whole conversation, so that, when I quote people, I get their exact quote. Not everyone does this. So I’m starting to understand what celebrities mean when they’re like, “That’s not what I said.” Now I read some of the quotes attributed to me, and I’m like, “That’s not what I said.” I find all sorts of factual errors and incorrect links in the articles journalists write about me or involving me. I’m so careful about things like that; those are not mistakes I make when I’m the one writing up the interview. But you know what? That’s probably why I’m running a successful media business right now and they’re still busting their ass to freelance. There’s value in insuring your work is of the highest possible quality. It takes more time, yes, but it’s worth it. (I am not, of course, including the women who freelance for me, all of whom are exceptional writers with great attention to detail and quality — and that’s why they work for me and these journalists don’t.)

It’s strange, though, because sometimes I feel like I’ve been incredibly lucky to have the job I have and to do the work I do and to have the opportunities that have been made available to me. And, in many ways, I am. I have run across so many people over the course of my career who have been kind enough to change my life and ask for nothing in return. Journalist Dave Maass — one of those “real” journalists who’s out there unearthing political scandal and fighting to expose the struggles of African people — changed my world with a single phone call once, several years ago. And I didn’t even ask him to make it. He just thought I was a talented writer who deserved more exposure, so he called the people at RealNetworks and suggested they take a look at the work I was doing. A few weeks later, they offered me a contract. The management at RealNetworks has been unwavering in their support for me, they’ve provided unbiased advice about how to grow my business; they’ve just adopted me and nurtured me and trusted me and, most importantly, funded me, even as the economy continues to plunge like a topless cliff diver in Lake Havasu. So, yeah, very very lucky.

But here’s my point: None of this luck could have happened if I weren’t ready for it by running a celebrity gossip website whose chief focus was on quality of writing. As a result, it was a well-differentiated property in a sea of similar blogs.

So, listen up, journalists: I know you have a lot of pieces to get in this week. But trust me when I say that I have more. And the people I quote in my articles — as long as they’re people to whom I’ve actually spoken — will be quoted accurately. (I’ll note that this does not apply to everyone who’s interviewed me recently — many have done fantastic jobs — but some really did not. And, yes, I’m in a place to criticize because this is my job too.)

OK. Off my soapbox.

Thank you all for your feedback regarding my photos. It was really interesting to see what you guys liked — some of the photos you all ADORED were some of my least favorites. But that’s why it’s so important to get outside opinions on things like this. Clearly because it’s my own face I’m not in a position to judge what looks good. Very few of you selected my personal favorite, which was this one:

I think it’s because it’s the one I most identify with. Like, when I have a mental picture of “me” in my head, she’s making that face. So I kind of clung to that one. But obviously it was not a fan favorite, which is totally cool, you guys are better judges than I am, and that’s why I asked for your help. I have to talk it over with a few more people but I think we’re going to be going with a couple of the smiling ones that you guys all loved. THANK YOU!

Sooo, I got new headshots done a few weeks ago (with my new hair), and the pics just came in the mail on disk today. SO! I need your help again. I like these ones WAY BETTER than the ones before, but I still need help narrowing it down to a handful of them to use. Let me know your thoughts!!! And, per usual, feel free to Photoshop.

Today was wedding day. I had done a bunch of praying last night and this morning for Abby’s wedding to go off without a hitch. I wanted it to be totally perfect for her, and for her groom, who’s also a good friend of mine. The weather channels were predicting rain, but when we got there it was the most perfect day ever. This is the best shot I could get of the ceremony venue, but that hill rolls straight down into Lake Michigan, so it was just stunning:

Oddly enough, I didn’t take a lot of photos tonight. I was too busy having fun with my friends. The vows Abby and Kortny read were phenomenal. And I’m always the first to critique someone else’s writing, but these were perfect. Such an ideal representation of these two loving people and how they love one another.

After the ceremony, we took Polaroid pictures. They don’t even make Polaroid cameras anymore, but Kortny had dug up an old one and some film, so that’s what they did for the guestbook. Of course, I had to take video of the Polaroid developing, because WHEN WILL WE EVER SEE THIS AGAIN???

Here’s the final outcome:

The party was equally great — their families are just so wonderful, and there was this uninhibited, unreserved sense of love in the air. Many of the married couples there, friends of the families, had been married over 30 years. Wow. And they still seemed very much in love and vibrant and committed to each other. It was heartening. I grinned from ear to ear watching them dance.

When I was at Abby’s bachelorette party in April, her cousin kept telling me “You need to meet my brother! You’ll meet him at the wedding! I can’t wait to introduce you guys!” and so of course I was like, “Oh, okay, whatever,” and I forgot about it entirely. But she ran up to me right after the ceremony and was like “Sasha! My brother’s over there! He’s going to come talk to you!” And he did, and it actually didn’t suck at all. He’s super fun to talk to, tall, handsome, employed, creative, diverse interests and hobbies, strong circle of friends, everything I look for in a man. We hung out for a lot of the night. The catch? He lives in Indianapolis. Ha! But he claims he’s a great storyteller, he just doesn’t have a mastery of actual writing. I was like “I’m the opposite! Let’s co-author a book!” So I’m going to demand that he send me an outline to write from. If nothing else, I networked.

And I just can’t emphasize enough how much fun I have with my friends. It was like a mini-LA reunion, especially since so many of us have moved to different cities since the days we were rolling around Manhattan and Hermosa Beach like a bunch of — well — 22-year-olds. We laugh so hard when we’re together. We converse so easily, like no time has passed at all.

I’m now the only one of this group of girls who’s not in a serious relationship or married or engaged right now, and I thought it was going to be hard to be there because of that. It wasn’t. I had so much fun chatting with them and getting to know the men they were with today. These are just phenomenal men. I mean, my girls hit it out of the ballpark with their life partners. They did not settle. They endured a lot of heartbreak on the road to finding the man who could be a perfect partner. These relationships are different than the ones we were in five years ago. These relationships have depth and weight and focus. I can sense it. It actually made me delighted — delighted for my friends, and delighted because I know it will happen for me too.

Anyway. Here’s some of the pics I took:

And then I took this one with my old buddy Nick, who’s basically played every role in my life imaginable at this point:

And I remembered that I had this photo of us, probably taken around Christmas 2003:

Same pose, right? SO CUTE! Altho it scares me that I can already see aging in my face, but whatever. It’s so good to have these people you’re connected to for life, to have these bonds that you know can and will endure everything. I have that with my friends. Today, Abby has that with her husband. Perfect and magical.

Hi loves! I feel like it’s been FOREVER since I’ve posted. It’s probably only been a couple days, but I get in the habit of “checking in” on this blog every night, and I miss it when I can’t! I’m having a blast in Chicago, but the kickass apartment my uncles hooked me up with, tragically, doesn’t have Internet. Luckily there’s a little coffee shop across the street with free wireless, but it’s a pain to not be able to blog from bed. It’s probably good for me to be separated from my addiction for a couple days, but I’m jonesing a little. Totally worth it tho. This is my view:

ANYWAY! Chicago is FABULOUS! Yesterday I did lunch with one of my uncles, then basically just relaxed in the room the rest of the day. I rented a bunch of movies. I watched the first four eps of True Blood, and now I’m hooked. I’m going to get another four tonight.

Today we had a mini family reunion. A bunch of my aunts and uncles and a few of my cousins were there (my father had thirteen siblings, so we’re a big family), and some of them I hadn’t seen in years and years. I don’t stay in very close contact with that side of the family, but I definitely belong to them. There’s no doubt that my sense of humor came from them. I can’t even explain it. I’d heard people talk about “Pasulka humor” before, but I don’t think I really appreciated what that meant until I was sitting around the table with all of them as an adult. It’s like we’re on our own planet. They’re on the same wavelength as I am in a way I’d never noticed as a child. This is absolutely my family. It feels good to know that I belong to this fantastic tribe. Here are a few pics of Tribe Pasulka from today:

Also, my cousin Nicole has a tattoo of a tire swing. It’s possibly the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life.

After I finished lunch with them, I did my very favorite thing to do in a new city: the double-decker bus tour. I’m such a sucker for those. I just LOVE them. And today couldn’t have been a more perfect day. The thing about the bus tours, though, is that the tour guides are kind of hit-or-miss. The guide I had was uber-annoying. Actually, you know what? She was uber-annoying for the first hour and a half. During the last half-hour, which was the last half-hour of her workday, she was too damn exhausted to continue being a caricature of herself and just talked to us like human beings. Then it was fine.

Here’s what I noticed, though: Chicago is architecturally mind-blowing. I never knew that. The buildings are gorgeous and creative and diverse. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s just stunning to see them all, lined up one after another, each so unique and interesting. This is where Oprah lives:

I’ve been really impressed with the city generally. The fashion is fantastic, the people are gorgeous, the restaurants and parks and museums are all just so impressive. I was wishing I had a few more days here when I remembered I’m totally coming back in October to cheer my friend Tiffany on as she runs the Chicago marathon. (You can check out her training blog here.) So hopefully then I’ll be able to do some of the billion things I want to do but haven’t had time.

And tomorrow: I leave for the wedding! Indiana, baby! It’ll be my very first time in the state. I’m gonna pop my Indiana cherry. Soooo excited for the celebration!

So, without further ado, waaaaaay too many photos of buildings in Chicago:

I don’t know how many of these blog entries I can really start with the words “Today was exhausting.” We have officially failed with our vacation. And by “we” I mean “me” and by “our” I mean “my.” I have, somehow, become an Official Jon & Kate Gosselin Expert, so I was fielding phone calls and emails all morning from reporters who wanted to talk about the split announcement. I wound up being quoted on CNN and in the Vancouver Sun, among others. So that’s exciting. I talked to one reporter at 8 am, and then she called back with a follow-up question around 1 pm, and after we chatted she was like, “You sound much more awake now.” Ha! Also: Embarrassing! I need to start refusing interviews before noon. Apparently I’m a slumbering wreck. I did a radio interview about women running small businesses on Monday morning, which I’m not even going to link anyone to, because I was pretty much asleep for the first half hour of it and I have no idea what I was talking about. I also learned an important lesson: Don’t call into a radio interview from a cell phone. Just don’t.

My friend Roxanne from college is in town to run the Seattle half-marathon, so after all the morning madness died down, I picked her up and we spent a few hours together. It was amazing and cathartic and wonderful. I’ve known her so long, and through so many changes in both our lives, and we can be completely honest with each other. We’re on the same wavelength. It’s just so important, every now and then, to be able to bounce the insanity in my head off of someone else and have them be like, “Yeah, I’ve had that thought, too.” It makes me feel less alone.

I leave for Chicago tomorrow, and I’m actually allowing myself to get a TEENSY tiny bit excited about it. I just checked and I have plenty of Xanax to get me through the plane ride. And now that the time is closer I’m feeling more okay about it. I swear: I am in more fear about plane rides two weeks before I have to take them than I am the night before I have to take them. I can’t puzzle that out. I think maybe it’s panic about not being able to immediately address my fear? I don’t know. I’m open to ideas. Like, if someone from work calls and is like “We need you on a plane to LA tonight,” it’s no big deal. Cool. Let’s do it. If someone from work calls and is like “We need you on a plane to LA next month,” I begin panicking. What. The. Fuck? Anyone a shrink who wants to weigh in on my crazy bullshit?

And now it looks like I’m going to NYC for work the second week of July, which will be super awesome and I’m so looking forward to seeing my NYC girls, but it will result in me missing (a) the critics’ screening of Bruno, for which I was so excited and (b) the first day of the improv class I signed up for in an semi-Ambien blackout but am actually now really psyched for (Have I not mentioned this previously? It’s a long story.)

Actually, I made two. Please read them and try to figure out why I don’t have a boyfriend.

Here are my lists:

Reasons I Will Refuse to Respond to You on Match.com

1) Your screen name contains the word “poet”
2) You are any kind of visual artist
3) I recognize you as being my neighbor
4) You have more than one puppy in your photos
5) You look like a douche
6) The email you sent me is not in English
7) You are not taller than I am
8) You claim to be taller than I am, but I have my doubts
9) I totally used to sleep with you
10) The very first word of your profile is misspelled
11) You mention your minor in Hazardous Materials
12) You’re from Europe
13) You said “ascribe” when you meant “subscribe”
14) You email me with the subject line “Hi”
15) You seem outdoorsy
16) I think you’re probably a douche
17) You’re divorced
18) You want a girl with a “fun personality”
19) You have a “fun personality”
20) I can tell that the email you sent me is the same you send to every other girl
21) You’re the guy who broke up with me two weeks ago
22) You do know you’re gay, right?
23) I’ve decided you’re probably a push-over
24) You look a little bit like my dad
25) I think you think you’re smarter than you are
26) Your Myers-Briggs results are in your profile
27) You are working now to publish the novel you wrote in France
28) You both look and seem like a douche
29) I have decided that I hate you for being such a douche
30) I don’t understand how you have any friends

Reasons I Will Of Course Respond to You on Match.com

1) You look like you have a big penis
2) You will probably cheat on me