Tag Archives: nablopomo

Five Things

Hey, it’s November 1! Even though we gain an hour tonight there’s a very good chance I’m going to pass out from wine consumption soon and miss the extra hour, so I’m taking the next 10 minutes to tell you five random things about me. Because Jana told me to.

And it’s the beginning of NaBloPoMo so YOLO and all that. Are the kids still saying YOLO? (Do I care?)

1. I’m named after my maternal grandmother and great-grandmother. The kids both have my middle name, but Joshua’s is the masculine version.

2. Once upon a time I wanted to be a voiceover actress person and voice Disney characters. This all began with The Little Mermaid and I’m still coming for you Jodi Benson.

3. My elbows are weird. Like, seriously weird. I cant lock my arms or my forearms bend at a weird angle and my arms look broken. It’s called “double jointed” but that’s dumb because it would mean I have four elbows, which I don’t.

4. I hate tomatoes. Being a southerner makes this damn near blasphemous. I think they’re beautiful when cut and arranged on a plate but come near me with a slice of one that isn’t green and fried and I’ll cry.

5. When I was 8 I wanted to be a pediatrician because I was the only kid in my 3rd grade class who could spell the word. That desire to be a doctor stuck with me until high school when it dawned on me how much I hated needles and shots.

And that’s 5 things about me. I’m not tagging people because, well, lots of people find that sort of thing annoying. I don’t want to be annoying. But I do want to hear five things about you if you want to tell me five things about you. So go and do that. (You know you want to.)

Cheers to Day One.

All Done

I DID IT! I did it! With this post I have posted every day for 30 days straight!

I KICKED NABLOPOMO ASS (and all I got was 30 blog posts).

I tried this last year and I made it about 15 days before I just gave up. There were a few times this month where I thought “meh, no one will care if I don’t do this.”

And you know what? That’s probably true. None of the people who read all 30 of these posts, or even a fraction of them, would have cared if I stopped. Some of them probably wanted to beg me to stop but were just too nice. (Looking at you, D.)

But I couldn’t let myself stop. I needed to finish to prove to myself that I could do it and now I’ve done it and now I might hibernate for the month of December. Maybe I’ll take a long winter’s nap.

That’s not true, by the way. I have posts itching to get out of my fingers. I’ll definitely be blogging in December.

My god. This was hard. And also not? But mostly it was hard.

It was hard to come up with new content every day, but content wasn’t the hardest part.

It was really hard to find time every day. As I look back over my blogging history, time has been the thing that has changed the most.

When I first started blogging, Joshua was an inside baby. I could write whenever I wanted. I’d blog in the evenings while Dan watched whatever. After Joshua was born, I blogged on my lunch break or after he was in bed.

Then I stopped writing at work because I couldn’t trust that my internet usage, even as benign as the WordPress dashboard may be, wouldn’t be used against me. Then I started writing in the evenings for TV Fanatic and as that picked up, my time to blog–to write for myself–became less and less.

Now with two kids and a part time job, there’s even less time. But the desire to blog is still there, and that’s what doing this taught me. I write every day, whether it’s for work or for me. I’m writing somewhere. I do it because I love to do it and because I have to do it. But also because I want to do it.

That’s why I blog. Because I want to. No matter what happens, deep down, I know I still want to write here.

Just maybe not every single day. At least not until next November.

Friday Five

I’ve been up since 5:30 this morning and I’m about to (probably) be up all night tonight thanks to what is apparently an allergy not only to scallops but now to all shellfish. Yay.

So on this, the eve of the end of NaBloPoMo, I bring you the Friday Five, which is really just a fanct and alliterative way for me to say “here are five random things that I’m thinking about that I’m going to tell you about because I’m still too exhausted to write the posts I actually want to write.”

ONE DAY I WON’T BE TOO TIRED! It will happen.

1. One year when I was home for Thanksgiving, I met up at Waffle House with some old friends who were also in town for the holiday. We were busy talking and drinking coffee and people kept coming in and we could not figure out WHERE all the people were coming from and WHY they were streaming in at 2:30 in the morning. Then we realized they were Black Friday shoppers getting breakfast before starting their day. We stayed until the second (or third) wave of breakfast-seekers wandered in after having been shopping. Basically, I spent the night people-watching in a Waffle House. Part of me–just a tiny, slivery part–misses being able to do nonsense like that.

2. Christmas stuff is sort of magical. I’m 31 years old and I geek out if a house strings up one strand of lights with only half the bulbs working. It can be the most half-assed display of decorations and I’ll ooooh and aaaaaahhhh like it’s that crazy Mannheim Steamroller house on YouTube. One day I’ll decorate the outside of my own house. The only thing that stops me is knowing that I have to take it all down. Taking down the decorations always makes me sad. (And I will inevitably look up sometime in February to see that the Nutcracker is still on the shelf and then I’ll put him away while frowning.)

3. I was a latchkey kid in elementary school. One year I unwrapped one side of my Christmas presents to see what all of them were and then taped the packages shut again. Then I was sad because I had ruined my own surprises but since I had done it to myself I couldn’t be too sad. One of my gifts that year was a set of hot rollers. I hated them and still to this day use my mom’s Conair set from…1980? They’re older than I am, I’m sure. And they still work just as well as the day she bought them. (I also stole her iron when I went to college. I feel like there’s some sort of correlation between the things I borrowed from my mom with no intention of returning them.)

4. I can’t decide if my tongue is tingling right now because I’m allergic to shellfish or if I’m just imagining that it’s tingling because I read that a tingling tongue is a side-effect of a shellfish allergy. I’m half-convinced I might die (half die?) and also half convinced that I’m a hypochondriac who needs to stop diagnosing herself with the internet. (But seriously. If I die, the King crab was probably as good a last meal as any, you know?)

5. It’s probably time to potty train Emma. I’m scared.

Blog Spam Is So Weird

I’m exhausted, kind of whiny, and I have a headache from too much coffee and not enough water. The thought required to string together words and phrases and make them intelligible is on its way out of the building.

But I’m also FOUR POSTS away from completing NaBloPoMo so I cannot give up. I can’t. FOUR POSTS AWAY. So let’s talk about blog spam, shall we?

Blog spam is so weird.

Blog spam comments are typically perpetrated by some sort of wizardry I don’t entirely understand. Most of it isn’t generated by humans and the computers spitting out this spam? Well, let’s just say they’re not Skynet.

A lot of it doesn’t make sense. At all. Sometimes it’s hilarious and sometimes it’s just weird. And sometimes it’s in Japanese. Most of the time it’s trying to sell something.

(Why does blog spam exist? Because when it’s not captured, it creates a link out there on the world wide web for whatever spammy site needs that sort of link juice. I definitely understand this but I definitely am not explaining this well. See also: extremely tired.)

I’m a fan of scrolling through my captured spam just to see what’s in there. And when I realized it was 9:00 and I hadn’t written today, despite having at least three things I want to write about but which require more humor than I’m capable of producing on my own, I decided to sift through my spam folder and pull out my very favorite ones and share them here.

This will probably be TERRIBLE for my SEO. (Or really great? No idea.)

On Tell All The Truth But Tell It Slant, in order to sell knockoff Hermes bags:

I am so satisfied finding this blog and I have to admit that all information stated here is really useful. I hope that youwill continue to post such great posts like this one in the future. Thanks a lot again.

and then this novella:

Truth is transparent, truth is universal, truth is ever lasting, truth is one and truth is god. It is very hard to hide the truth how much ever you try and therefore, being true is next to godliness. Truth does not fear anybody and it tries not to hide itself. But being always true is practically humanly impossible as someone said, if you cannot tell the truth, dont hide the truth. Speaking the truth gives a clear conscience, peace of mind, fearlessness in any situation and the courage to move bravely on in life. Truth is so powerful that even god cannot hide it and will stay on, as long as the sun and the moon exist. Cultivate the habit of being true by sending the following quotes to your friends or others. Truth is the accomplice that will come with you till the end of your life and beyond.

Alright. So. Some…uh…truth…there.

On Broken Mama Heart, apparently to protect the native (angry) birds:

UPDATE: Due to some comments suggesting illegal action on this article, comments are now closed. Sadly some people cannot seem to understand our laws relating to native birds.

On Parenting: You’re Doing It, for unexplained reasons but maybe something to do with the price of gold?:

It’s difficult for most parents to allow their kids to play video games for hours and hours every day. I know, so I spend a lot of time reading about the effects of video games to understand the dilemma. And the first thing I’ll tell you is that research based on “screen time” which includes television, concludes that it’s detrimental to kids in large doses. Research specific to video games shows largely positive effects from high engagement .

and

There are all these new books out there portraying Asian mothers as scheming, callous, overdriven people indifferent to their kids’ true interests. For their part, many Chinese secretly believe that they care more about their children and are willing to sacrifice much more for them than Westerners, who seem perfectly content to let their children turn out badly. I think it’s a misunderstanding on both sides. All decent parents want to do what’s best for their children. The Chinese just have a totally different idea of how to do that.

How dare you let your kids play video games in large doses but if you do make sure they’re highly engaged? Go get ‘em, Tiger moms?

On Listen To Your Mother, Atlanta, to sell me Lululemons (which don’t even come in my size):

Before we take our relationship further (if you want to), I want to state that you have to change as a lover and become more responsive and more attentive to the person you are in bed with and might be in a relationship with. Heres an indication of how selfish you were in bed: [Link to video redacted because I wasn’t born yesterday.]

And finally, this one, on In Defense of Selfies, five times.

So, I take lots of pictures. I blog. I pray. And I try to remember to filter my reactions through my love for her.

Hey, so do I, Spambot. So do I.

How I Knew He Was The One

When I was in college, I lived alone. At least for a while. While I lived alone, I got a cat. Because I wanted a companion and also because I was an English major and also because, hey, I was alone. And sort of in a quagmire of aloneness where it seemed appropriate to have a cat.

His name was Cooper. He was kind of an asshole.

227760_545860828410_4521_n

This is Cooper at around…8 months old? 10 months old? I don’t know. Under a year and way less fluffy and fat than he eventually got around to being.

So I was alone and also lonely. Then I got a new roommate. Then one night my roommate and I went out and we met Dan. And the story of that night is maybe the first story I should be telling, but I’m not telling it right now because it’s late and I’m tired.

But I met Dan and he and I started dating and Cooper kept being an asshole.

He peed in places he shouldn’t be peeing. Like the bed. Or folded towels. Or dirty laundry in the basket. (And also not in the basket. My bad.)

Dan was not Cooper’s biggest fan. Cooper was not Dan’s biggest fan. They both mostly liked me though so we sort of made it work, the three of us.

Cooper used to do this ridiculous thing where he’d get all high on his own energy and start running laps around my living room. One day he made the loop. The loop that went something like fly across the carpet, jump onto the couch, run as fast as you can across the couch, leap across the coffee table and onto the arm chair before cat-apaulting yourself into the floor and then do it all over again.

If you’ve spent any time with cats you know what I’m talking about here.

So Cooper was running the Kitty 500 in the living room one Friday night and then he broke his leg.

Yes. A cat. Who should always–supposedly–land on his feet. With a broken leg. Except I didn’t know it was broken. I thought he’d just landed funny.

The next morning I went to work at the bank and Dan volunteered to take the cat to the vet for me where they sedated and X-rayed the feline and probably did all sorts of undignified things.

Cats are nothing if not proud of themselves and their dignity.

I got a phone call at work “Hey, so Cooper’s leg is broken. They think a splint will do it. It’s going to be about $350.”

I nearly fainted. $350. On the cat’s leg. That was, well, that was A LOT of noodle-and-sauce-only spaghetti.

“So, I know you’re kind of tight with money, so I’m going to go ahead and take care of this for you.”

Dan paid the bill. Even though he hated the cat. (The hating the cat thing is kind of important.)

I cried. My Cooper! Broken leg! $350! Dan paid it! He’s the BEST! And then I went on back to work in the drive-thru.

And then I got another phone call. I could hear Cooper in the background meowing and quite obviously unhappy. He hadn’t even made that much noise the night before when he’d fallen off the chair and broken his leg in the first place.

Dan was frantic. Panicky.

“So, something, uh, happened…when I tried to get Cooper out of the crate and I don’t know what to do and he’s really in a lot of pain and he’s hurt and I don’t know what to do” and he choked up a little bit. And I cried again.

He hated the cat and he was near tears because the poor thing was hurting. I raced home and my mind flew between “THIS GUY IS A KEEPER!” to “MY POOR KITTY CAT!!” to “OMG! AN EMERGENCY VET VIST!” and “THIS GUY IS A KEEPER!”

We took Cooper to the emergency vet who put an actual cast on his leg–purple, which looked lovely against his orange fur. And then we went home to snuggle the poor, broken-legged kitty. Together.

I knew he was the one because of the way he treated a hurt animal. With compassion and concern.

(I later found out that I was allergic to the asshole who continued to pee everywhere, including the carpet and a couch, which is part of the reason he no longer resides here–the allergy part, not the peeing everywhere part–and went to live with an aunt who wasn’t allergic and also had no kids. Cooper was an asshole who hated kids. And I am allergic to cats.)