Amy Durant's Blog, page 2

A new year post on the actual day. Go me.

Happy new year, people of the interwebs! OK, so I missed New Year’s day for some of you. I know. I’m the worst at thinking in a timely fashion for other time zones. Please forgive me, other time zones. Here is a photo of Dumbcat looking pensive to make up for my transgression.

Hapey Noo Yere, peeple of bloge. I had a birfday this weeke adn am nowe fifeteene. In humaene yeers that is 76 yeers old. I shoulde reetire and get soceel securtee so Momee can stay homee and pet my furrs all the dayys.

A couple weeks ago at work, one of my most favorite coworkers (there are a lot of them…I kind of work with the best people in all the land) and I were talking about blogging. Here, I’ll give you our conversation. If he happens to read this (and I suppose he might, the internet’s a very small place sometimes), apologies in advance for stealing your words and putting them on the internets for all to read, one of my most favorite coworkers whose name I will not put on the blog because I’m about 99% sure it would embarrass the pants right off of you and I enjoy you so much I would never want to do that to you. Plus, also, workplace harassment, yo, I can’t be taking work-people’s pants off. I think there’s a seminar or something about that.

I seriously just snorted orange soda up my nose at this. This was NOT the image I went looking for, but look at the chick’s face. It’s like she’s oblivious to the butt-groping. Or she’s looking at a really funny kitten-GIF. Or maybe she just really likes the groping, I don’t even know. Either way, it is my best thing of the day.

Impressive Reporter Coworker: So I noticed the other day you’re a tweetaholic. You have over 20,000 tweets!

Me: Oh. Yeah. I used to tweet a lot. I don’t do that anymore.

IRC: Why?

Me: Oh, kind of a long story. I used to blog? And then tweet a lot, kind of in relation to that? I kind of fell out of practice.

IRC: You had a blog?

Me: Yeah. I kind of still do, I guess, but it just sits there.

IRC: What was it about?

Me: Um. Mostly me ranting about some things and making fun of other things? Also I talked about zoos a lot.

By the way, this happened a couple months ago in Syracuse. I like it because it looks like I Munchausen-by-proxyed my penguin-baby and have gone cheerfully insane.

IRC: And people would read it?

Me: Heh. Yeah. Lots of people would read it. I won some awards. And I met amazing people. And I went to Finland last year. Got to stay with people I met through blogging, actually. It was fantastic.

IRC: So…what happened?

And I didn’t have an answer for him. Not really.

What happened? Oh, I don’t know. Life, I guess. Andreas and I have spent copious amounts of time discussing that. Priorities change. Things change. People come in and out of your life. Moods rise and fall. Jobs come and go. I can most sincerely say that the person I was three and a half years ago when I started blogging isn’t the person I am now. I think back on that person and she seems like a complete stranger to me. It’s not that I’m embarrassed of her; it’s that I don’t know her at all, and I don’t know how I ever was her. I have a record that I was, I can look back on old posts and I know I wrote them, but as for remembering it, it’s kind of fuzzy. Too much water under the bridge.

So I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…and I realize there’s this itchy little part of me that wants to start writing again, and writing more. Otherwise I’m going to probably self-destruct.

I’m not juvenile enough to think resolutions ever stick. The first day of the year always seems so shiny and new, doesn’t it? Like you can accomplish anything. Like you have 365 days of newness (ooh, 366 this year, yeah?) to tackle and make your own. But I don’t know about you…but every resolution I’ve ever made has fizzled around February once you realize “oh, look, this shiny new year is very much like last year, what are the odds, yo.”

Instead, I’m going to be kind to myself, and promise myself I’ll do things that are good for me – and writing’s good for me. So writing here? Good for me. Writing poetry, essays, maybe even some short fiction? Good for me. And it’s good for my mind, because I need it to stop being so itchy. An itchy mind never did anyone any good.

(Side note: I have an amazing job, and every now and then I get to write. I got to write part of an article – FOR THE ACTUAL PAPER! – a couple months ago, and then got asked to write a LONG article for one of our related publications. A three-page article about traveling to Albany and all the things you can do there. It’s not online yet – will be eventually, and then you can read it, if you’re so inclined – but long story short, I get to write for work. I also get to do our social media, copyedit, proofread, and sometimes there’s totally a STOP THE PRESSES! moment with late-breaking news which makes me jump around in my chair because I feel like I’m in a 40s film with very impressive fedoras. My coworkers are fantastic, because they’ve totally accepted me even though I’m the biggest goofball. And I can say, with 100% certainty, I’ve never had a job where I can be more myself, and where I’ve felt more immediately at home with the people, than this one. Ever. When you can completely dork out about something three days in and no one even bats an eye? You have won employment.)

Sometimes I like to imagine that I’m in “His Girl Friday” only there’s a lot less sexism (and also a lot fewer typewriters, ashtrays, and, sadly, fedoras.)

I’m kind of rambling, here.

Anyway: I have a couple of people I’m going to encourage to blog, and they’re going to, in turn, encourage ME to blog, this year, so we’re responsible to one another as well as being cheerleady. And this will, hopefully, stop the brain-itching and get me back writing and being creative.

Happy New Year, internets. I hope your 2014s weren’t as fraught with weirdness as mine was (and most people I know had a TERRIBLE 2014, what’s going on, 2014, why were you so cursed?) and your 2015 looks like 366 (or 365, sorry, people of other time zones, I really meant to do this earlier in the day but I was too busy painting a unicorn head to go over my new fireplace…YES THAT IS REALLY A THING I DID TODAY, WHY ARE YOU ASKING) new and shiny days of awesome that you can tackle and wrestle into submission and make yours, all yours.

This is my new unicorn head that is hanging over my fireplace. I don’t have a name for him yet, but I’m leaning toward Baron Reginald von Sparklenstein.

Much love to your shiny little new-year faces. *smooch*

I have a fancy nametag and EVERYTHING.

You’re totally right, anthropomorphic computer equipment. Thanks for the reminder. Stop talking about me behind my back, though, you’ll give me a complex and scare the cat.

Things have been a bit upended thisaway. Completely upended, actually. To the point that I have to reschedule the time I sleep and eat and such. Plus a gigantic move to a new town, and a whole new apartment, and a new town to learn, and a new JOB to learn, and and and…

I’m a bit chicken-head-cut-off here.

Overall, all’s well. I miss Albany, and I really miss my people there, but am learning my new home. My job makes it worthwhile; it’s a fantastic job. I love my coworkers, who are intelligent and sarcastic and make me laugh until I snort pretty much daily. I love the work, because it’s never the same and I get to be all crack-the-whippy about grammar issues and I get to be the night-and-weekend social media person, things I love doing AND I GET PAID FOR THEM. How often do you get to do things that you like, and get paid for them? I love the building, which is old and historic and filled with the best of newspapery ghosts whispering “extra, extra.” I like that my apartment is literally four minutes from my job, which will be fantastic when the snow falls (and that could be any day now…it’s getting chilly here.) I like that I know the news because I have to proofread all the stories so I’m all knowledgeable about what’s going on in the world. (Some days, I wish I wasn’t as knowledgeable. There’s a lotta shit going down right now, yo.) I like when the phone rings I get to answer it with “Newsdesk, Amy speaking.” I like that I had a hand in 5/7 of the newspapers that come out in this city every week. (5/7 only because I get two days off each week, not because I’m a slacker.) I like that when people ask what I do, and I say “I work for the paper,” they get an impressed look on their faces for the first time in my LIFE. I like that I look forward to going to work every day. Every single damn day. They even gave me a nametag with my PHOTO on it so I am all OFFICIAL.

This is NOT from my paper, but from my beloved cousin S.’s paper. I asked her if perhaps a tutor was revived IN the Tudor; the answer was no, sadly.

I’m getting used to a nights-and-weekends schedule; there are pros and cons to it. Nice to only have to set the alarm a couple times a week, but working until the wee hours still makes me a little loopy. I assume I’ll get used to it eventually and stop being so yawny all the time.

My new place is amazing. Roomy and beautiful and old. Dumbcat and I have moved right in. This morning, he realized if he sleeps right on a register grate, the hot air from the furnace is ALL HIS. I walked by and laughed so hard I hurt my stomach. He had a look on his face as if he’d discovered pirate gold. “ALL HEET! ALL MYNE! MOM, IS SO GUDE!” My birthday present from my parents this year was – are you ready? – MY OWN WASHER-DRYER. I don’t have to leave the house to wash my clothes! I FEEL LIKE A MILLIONAIRE!!!

Random apartment photos! Ignore the cat-hairy floor. LOOK AT ALL THE ROOM I HAVE!

Bookcase! Bedroom! All the space!

Kitchen! Frog-thing hanging on the wall! Random Amy-shoes on the floor! SO MUCH SPACE OMG!

I have also purchased many bookcases and filled them with many books. And there is room for MORE books (which is secretly why I purchased VERY tall bookcases.) Gigantic book sale going on at the library starting next week, yo. Guess who’ll be there? ME ME ME. (Dude, fifty-cent paperbacks and dollar hardcovers? Like I’d NOT be there. Please.)

Two of my six bookcases. The guy at the store where I bought bookcases was all “are these for books? YOU OWN THIS MANY BOOKS?” Heh. Yeah, kind of more than that many.

SIDE NOTE: I haven’t had time to read a single book since I moved. Not one. I KNOW. It’s kind of a travesty, yeah? I’m hoping to chisel out a little more time for that sometime soon. I also haven’t written a single poem. NOT ONE. Another thing I need to get a move on. I have scraps of phrasing scribbled on a million post-its all over this place. I need to turn them into something.

Very little theater here (at least compared to what I’m used to in Albany) but a decent amount if I make a bit of a drive. Went to a concert in Potsdam last night – about an hour and a half away – which was totally worth the trip. (Postmodern Jukebox – if you live on the internet like I do, you’re sure to have heard of them. They’re the ones that take pop songs and make them all swing-y or blues-y or big-band-y. They’re fantastic live, and they’re on tour, so I highly recommend if they come by you, go see them!)

Terribly actiony shot. They were very move-y. Such a wonderful show.

This was my favorite song they played:

(Also, we totally had a singalong to a “Baby’s Got Back” mashup that made me laugh and laugh. And YES, I sang along. Of course I did.)

All in all – all’s well. Some sadnesses, sure. When are there not? Those weigh heavy on my mind. It’s funny how the little sads weigh so much more than the big happys, isn’t it? Relatively-speaking, they should all weigh the same, like the pound of feathers and the pound of lead in that oft-repeated brain teaser.

So: yes. Alive: check. Well: check. In the middle of a billion things, most of them completely different than anything I’ve ever done or dealt with before: check. Mostly remaining upright throughout all of them and not collapsing into a pool of puddly tears: check (mostly, so I’m counting it as a win.)

I keep thinking of things I should blog, like things you learn working at a newspaper, and things you learn running a newspaper’s Facebook page, and I think Dumbcat wants to talk to you about how it is living in the new apartment, and I want to tell you about the new town, and the new library, and all the local fauna here (holy crap with the fauna that seem to live in my backyard exclusively!) but it’ll have to wait for another day. Hoping that’ll happen sooner than later.

Here is a teaser of local fauna. A GIGANTIC SKUNK WAS LIVING IN MY BACK YARD FOR A WHILE, YOU GUYS. HOLY HELL.

Happy Wednesday, people of the blog. Hope you’re all happy and healthy and wise. Wealthy would be nice, too, but let’s not push it. How about JUST wealthy enough to afford delicious HoHos. There you go, then.

When it rains, it pours. And I never remember my umbrella.

The universe has a funny way of loading a lot on you all at once and then saying, “‘kay, I’m going to leave you to figure this out…good luck with that” and then taking off to traipse through the celestial flowers or whatever the universe does on its day off.

2014, so far, has been the year of both getting my ass kicked and kicking ass back. Gigantic highs and huge old lows.

I went to the land of the Finns…

Where I was amazed by the fact that you could TOUCH LEMURS (well, illegally, but still, it wasn’t like anyone stopped you…)

…and I got to see this in really real person…

…and I got to hang out with my most favorite little Finnish girl in the whole world…

…and Andreas evilly tried to poison everyone with windshield washer fluid in a Coke bottle…

…and I got to sleep with this guy…

…this lovely lady…

…and the two most perfect red pups in all the world.

Then things kind of went to shit once I got home…in a nutshell, I was let go from an amazing job and all-too-quickly took a job that was offered, mostly out of fear of not having one. To say it was a nightmare is to speak a little too well of what went on at that job. But, professional grown-up ladies don’t badmouth places of employment, right? Right.

I put up with what I think can correctly be called Emotional Abusetown for four months, and then quit. Without a backup plan. Because sometimes you need to run. I mean, come on, Kenny Rogers taught me that when I was a wee Amy, right? I’m still not sure when to hold ‘em or fold ‘em, but I am VERY good at knowing when to run. Even when it doesn’t seem like a good idea because you won’t have health insurance in your life on the lam.

However, the universe (good old universe) decided maybe I didn’t have ENOUGH going on, so threw in the MOST EPIC CURVEBALL.

It said a lot about Emotional Abusetown that after three days there, I started jobhunting again. I applied near, and when nothing seemed to be coming of it, I applied far. And I decided to stretch a little for the kinds of jobs I wanted, not just settle for the kinds of jobs I could do, but wouldn’t be all that soul-enhancing. What the hell, right?

So when I got a call from a newspaper wanting me to do a phone interview in the middle of the day one day, I looked around for the hidden cameras. People like me didn’t get calls from newspapers, right? Unless it was a person wanting them to SUBSCRIBE to the newspaper.

Over a few weeks, I actually got calls from TWO newspapers. I had multiple phone interviews and one full-day in-person interview. (Yes, you read that right. The interview was – withour the slightest bit of hyperbole – six and a half hours long. It was almost an entire workday. And I did work, too. It was as if I was actually working for quite a bit of the day.)

Hey, guess what?

Both papers hired me.

One paid so little I couldn’t afford to take the job without taking another job (at least part-time, if not close to full-time) to make ends meet. It would have been a very good job. It was a reporter position for my hometown paper, the paper I read growing up that taught me to love newsprint. But it’s a very small town, and a small-town newspaper can’t afford to pay much. I said no, but sadly.

The other paid better, but not as much as I’m used to making. There was a lot of thinking involved. When the editor called with the job offer and explained that, in order to get me to say yes, he’d moved some things around and added on some extra things here and there just to bump up the bottom line…well. How can you say no to that?

So of course I said yes. I am their newest copy editor, and will also be doing some social media, and maybe some writing and reviewing, if the need arises.

Thing is…the really HARD thing is…

…the job is here.

You know I love it here in the Capital District. It’s home, and it’s been home for 12 years (12 years this weekend, actually – I moved here Labor Day weekend 2002.) My heart is here. That’s never happened anywhere I’ve lived, this sense of pride and ownership of place. I’m completely at home here. I feel very safe here.

But, around the time I got back from my adventure overseas, I’d started to get the itch.

Do you get this? This itch that something’s off, and something needs to change? It’s not something small, like, something that can be fixed by going out and buying a new outfit or a getting a kicky haircut (although those itches happen, too, sometimes.) This is a bigger itch, where you don’t feel comfortable in your skin, and something BIG needs to change. I used to get this quite often, which was ok, because when I was younger, I changed jobs or apartments or cities on the regular. But it seems you don’t outgrow the itch. It still shows up out of nowhere and starts bumping around your head like a fly made stupid with autumn.

I thought that finding a new job would satisfy it, and it would – it will. But the universe is, if anything, a trickster. So the universe said, “Sure! Here’s a new job. The new job is, actually, a job you’ve been dreaming of for, oh, only your whole LIFE. But here’s the catch – you have to move three hours away to a town where you only know one person and that you’ve never been in for more than half an hour. Also, the winters are kind of cuckoo-bananas. So, how are you going to handle THAT?”

I’m handling that by spending the last week packing everything I own…

This is my living room right now. Say hello to Mount St. Amy. It’s insurmountable. Believe me, Dumbcat has tried. And failed.

…cancelling all my utilities, apartment-hunting, saying goodbye to people, quitting my two part-time jobs, sleeping too little, fretting too much, trying to get Dumbcat to understand I will NOT be leaving him behind so he doesn’t have to cling to me like a remora, and getting ready to leave my home for my new town.

I somehow had the best luck in the world and found the perfect apartment with the very first one I saw – really close to work, in a nice area, wood floors, fireplace, a ton of space, a yard, a porch…and only a wee bit more than I’m paying now. And the new landlord seems delightful. She gave it to me almost immediately, even though other people had applied. I think she knew it was a me-place as much as I did. It has good vibes. And it’s almost 100 years old! I have old-building love. Always have.

The town is about a third of the size of where I live now, but has a lot of history and is well-appointed – lots of shopping, lots of green space, beautiful old buildings, a zoo(!). Two of my most beloved people live within an hour of my new place, so I’ll get to see them more often, and I’m an hour closer to my family.

And, it all comes down to this: I’m ready for a grand adventure.

This is a job I’ll love, and dammit, I’ll be GOOD at this. The apartment is great. I don’t have anything I can’t leave here – I love it, but it’s not like I have family I can’t uproot, or something along those lines. I’m ripe for a change, and when better to make one?

In two days, my family will show up with trucks and trailers and such and we will have a day of MUCH physical labor…and by the end of it, I will be the newest resident of Watertown, NY, with a new job waiting for me just a few days later.

*deep breaths*

It all happens at once, or not at all…I guess I got the all at once this year.

Onward and upward.

(P.S. – apparently, it pays to be a grammar nerd. GO ME!)

 

Jetlaggy celebratory goodness

Today is officially my third bloggiversary, says my calendar.

I know. In the past, I’ve been quite happily geeking out about such a thing, but mostly today I’m jet laggy and dealing with the all-too-sad truth that after a wonderful vacation (which I hope to have the energy to at least somewhat recap for you all soon) I have to SMASH BANG CRASH back into the real world and (sigh) WORK for a living now, rather than gallivant around with Andreas and his family looking at castles and eating a lot of cake.

Also, it doesn’t seem really fair to celebrate a third bloggiversary when over the last year I’ve published maybe 10 posts, or something. That’s kind of cheaty. But there you have it. The real world has gotten in the way of the blog world, for good or for ill.

So today, this little old place is three, and this little old lady with her (still!) sprained foot is heading back to work. Happy third bloggiversary to me as I try not to fall asleep because I seem to be still on Finnish time.

Oh, I will leave you with this:

It’s almost impossible to tell, but that is me, touching a lemur. TOUCHING A LEMUR. Because even though the signs said “probably don’t, they’re the most bitey,” I mean, how do you pass up a chance like that, I ask you?

Yep. Touched a lemur. Right on his taily-tail. Didn’t get bitten, either.

More soon. Happy third bloggiversary to me. Thanks for sticking around, folks, even though mostly you’re sticking around for nothing lately. You’re the tops, you are. *smooch*

 

Leaving on a…well, quite a few…jet planes

I know.

I’ve utterly dropped off the face of the earth.

I could give you explanations – I have them, and they are legion – but I don’t think you want them.

I just wanted to say, hello. And I am alive. And show you this:

And this:

This is the bag of someone who’s leaving for the airport in a little over two hours.

And the face of someone who didn’t sleep much last night. Trust me, the lady’s excited. More so than she can say. Bouncing-off-the-walls so. That’s the face that, in less than 24 hours, Andreas will be seeing in Stockholm when I get off the plane before we make our grand trip to the land of the Finns.

I have every intention of blogging while I’m there – thank you, wifi and international data plan! – but can make you no promises. Might be too busy hugging Andreas and his family until they’re all “GET OFF ME YOU CRAZY MERKAN!”

Dad’s pretty sure I’ll come back a commie, and so I’ve taken to answering all his questions with “DA, KOMRADE!” and he does NOT like that at ALL, and I told him I promised that, every new person I meet, I’d ask to see their arms, to see if they had two, and then ask if they were a truck driver, and as long as they passed those tests, we’d know they weren’t one-armed truck drivers like he thinks everyone on the internet is, and he was SO UPSET by this and he said “do not. DO NOT DO THAT. Then they’ll know you’re onto them and they’ll throw you in the gulag! There are no cell phones or showers in the gulag!”

Dad apparently thinks I am going to Russia in the height of the Cold War, which is equal parts worrisome and amusing.

There will be many adventures, and many surprises, and I hope to have a minute to share them on here (I do have a nine-hour layover on the way home – don’t ask – so that might give me a little blogging time…) because I think you might like to see some of the most fabulous bloggers in all the land in the same place and time. I plan on taking a lot of photos. A LOT. My camera might explode.

16 days in Europe. Here we go, you guys. It’s only been in the planning stages for the last 14 months…and surprisingly, I can’t believe it’s already here.

Adventures in Vermont, with extra goaty goodness!

Howdy, bloggonians! A while back, I geeked out over the news that randomly, I had been contacted by people in Vermont who wanted me to come stay overnight and write about my experience. Well! Two weekends ago was the weekend! Only I’ve been busy with this and that and have not been able to blog about it until now.

Things that have gotten in the way of me blogging about this over the past week:

I got a new job! Which I love, and I think is a very good fit (I know! How did I find a job in three weeks? I have no idea. I don’t want to question it too much, or it might disappear.) I get to be creative, I really like the people I’m working with, and there’s a lot of room for growth and advancement. And, in the best news, when I was offered the job, I explained I’d need to be off for two weeks at the end of May/beginning of June, for European jaunting, and they were cool with it! So, Europe, I am still coming to see you soon!
I injured myself quite injuriously! It is very dark outside of my laundry room, and I was in a hurry to do my laundry, and BAM! I totally fell in a pothole. I spent quite a bit of Friday in the doctor’s office and then later getting a billion x-rays to see if I’d broken anything. I didn’t, but I’ve quite seriously sprained and bruised my foot and ankle. It makes walking a little dodgy and unattractive. I’m supposed to keep off it, but since there’s work and all, that’s not possible, so I’m probably not going to heal as quickly as I could. Also, OUCH. (I am, equally attractively, covered in cuts and bruises, so I look like I’ve fallen off a motorcycle.)
I had a piece of writing published elsewhere! And I promised I’d tell you when that happened, so here you go: Bully For You. I’m quite proud of it, and it seems to have been fairly widely read and appreciated, so I’m glad for that. I’m still waiting to hear from some other submissions, so fingers crossed for more publications this year!

But! We are not here to hear about all of that. We are here to hear about Vermont adventures!

So Mom came with me on Vermont adventures. She was excited about a weekend away and she loves outdoorsy things. So Mom arrived on a Friday, and Saturday morning, we were off for Vermont!

Mom and I are on our way to Vermont. So far we’ve seen a laundromat/tanning salon combo (multitasky!) and a restaurant called Horny Toad’s.

— Amy (@lucysfootball) April 26, 2014

It was a couple of hours to get there. We went through many small towns with many odd businesses (and also some very wonderful old buildings and churches. I do very much love old architecture.)

Finally, we arrived at the Amee Farm Lodge in Vermont!

Pretty, right? And oh-so-appropriately named for this most intrepid blogger!

(OK, it probably should have been AMY farm, but close enough.)

Amee Farm is kind of the most gorgeous. It’s quiet, and it’s CRAZY-scenic. Seriously, this is the view from their parking lot, looking across the road:

The prettiest of mountains! And it smelled fresh and clean and it was very beautiful.

So this was a blogger’s weekend; there were all sorts of bloggers there. I am not good in social situations. I was very quiet. Mom talked to all the people. Mom is very friendly. At one point, I asked her if she saw a van with no windows with “free candy” painted on the side, she would go up to it to get the free candy, and she very seriously replied, “No, but only because I don’t like candy.” Can you even imagine? Mom doesn’t think everyone’s a killer at first, then make them prove to her they’re not over a number of months. This seems like a suspicious way to live to me.

We met Tom and Erlin from Perfect Vermont, who organized the weekend, and then Jessica, the innkeeper at Amee Farm, who showed us to our rooms. Mom and I had the best little rooms next to each other and a little bathroom in the hallway and everything looked all old-fashioned and woodsy and the mattress was SO HARD. I am such a fan of a hard mattress. Sincerely. I can’t even tell you. I sat on it and said, “I will sleep like a dead vampire here!” and Mom sighed and called me morbid.

My pretty room! Look at that bed. I wish I still had that bed. I’m crazy in love with it.

I also have this strange obsession with wood floors and this place was ALL wood floors. And a billion stairs. I kept forgetting things in my room and then telling Mom, “Oh, well that’s dead to me now. I’m not going back up to get THAT” and she laughed and laughed.

There were events planned for us, but first, Mom had to go to church, so we missed one of the events. (I was down with this. The event involved a lot of hiking. No thank you, says Amy!)

So Mom and I, despite getting a map drawn for us, totally got lost and almost missed church, but (she says because of God, but I say because I actually read the sign correctly) we got there with three minutes to spare. I sat in the car. I don’t go into churches; I feel I would burst into flames. Also, I don’t like hypocrisy, which is what I believe me entering a church would be.

This is Mom’s church. Doesn’t this town look like something from The Twilight Zone where everyone seems TOO NORMAL and then are really cannibals? It wasn’t, but I kept telling Mom it probably was.

This is a terrible photo of a very old Mountain Dew can I found outside the church in the woods. I took this as proof for Mom we’d entered a time warp, but she was not convinced.

When we got back, there was a little downtime for me to lounge on the MOST COMFORTABLE BED EVER ZOMG, then it was time for a VERY FANCY DINNER. When you combine Amy and a very fancy dinner (like, with multiple forks you’re supposed to use in a certain order) you get danger.

You can click to make this bigger, if you are so inclined. There was deliciousness all around. Things I loved:

raw asparagus. Who knew this could be delicious? Not me! I should have known, though, because I love regular asparagus more than anything ever. YUM.
Polenta is the best thing ever. I could have eaten just the polenta for the main course without the pork or the fennel and been a happy woman. (Not that they weren’t good, but still. ZOMG THAT POLENTA.)
I had never had pavlova before, and I can’t even tell you how amazing that was. It was like a big meringue/marshmallow thing, and had fruit and fresh cream on top, and I could have eaten fourteen of these things. (Well, only after I picked off all the blueberries and gave them to Mom. I am not a fan of blueberries. When The Nephew was little, he used to call them “boobies” and that’s the only good thing about blueberries, in my opinion. “I want boobies!” he would say. Hee!)

I only spilled a LITTLE food on my top, but it was a patterned top. So no one was the wiser. Whew!

Then it was time for bed because all that traveling was EXHAUSTING. Also all that fresh air. I am a city mouse. I’m not used to all that fresh air.

This sign is what you see when you go upstairs and it made me have all the giggles.

No. No, I didn’t see the rooster. Unless they mean the one on the sign. I did see THAT rooster.

I watched a terrible horror movie on my laptop and then took a shower, only apparently I did it wrong and Mom was all “that wasn’t right” the next day. See, here’s the deal:

This isn’t a great photo, but it was a bathtub and the shower curtain didn’t go all the way around. So did you have the gap in the front, where the shower head was, or the end, where the water would hit, you know? I was perplexed for a long time. Other people’s showers are always so confusing. New valves and levers and curtains and such to learn.

I put the gap where the showerhead was, but Mom was all, “NO NO! You were supposed to put it at the END!” but then she decided it was ok because the bathroom floor wasn’t soaked. Ha ha! Little did she know, it WAS all soaked the night I took the shower, but by the time she took one in the morning, it had EVAPORATED!

A sad thing is that I could NOT sleep in the very comfortable bed because it was not my bed and I was not used to it, and I am like the princess and the pea and didn’t have my fan, and I was a little too hot but afraid to open the window because there was no screen and what if moths got in? MOTHS. So I tossed and turned and then finally fell asleep right before it was time to wake up. As one does.

(Mom had a fan in her room, but that’s a whole story for later. You’ll like it. Wait and see.)

Then it was time for breakfast, and we were going to go to yoga until we realized the two of us brought NO appropriate yoga clothing, so instead I made Mom take photos of my favorite thing, which was HER CLOSET.

So the night before, I was going to grab Mom’s fan out of her closet, until we realized it would be very loud and it was late, because the closet door was very small, and the fan was very large.

Mom said, “how did they get that in there?” and I said, “THEY BUILT THE FARM AROUND THE FAAAAAN” and then we had the giggles.

So then of course I had to get IN the very narrow closet and pop out like a creeper.

Who’s this?

IS THERE SOMEONE IN THE CLOSET?

IT IS ME! (Mom was all, “oh, don’t put these on your blog, you are so crazy, you aren’t going to make fun of our nice Vermont stay, are you?” and I assured her I was not. I actually really loved the wee narrow but deep closet. If I had this wee closet I would hide in it all of the time. It was the best of closets.)

Mom and I also went to visit the country store in town and it had all the best things like syrup and sweaters and beer and stuffed moose. I was delighted.

Next was the thing I was looking forward to the most. What could that be, you are wondering?

GOATS!

Next door is Sweet Georgia P’s, which is the best of organic farms. There is honey and syrup and chickens and all the veggies and ALL THE MOST WONDERFUL GOATS!

These goats are not for eating. They are for milking and having babies and for the making of cheese. And also for being amazing and friendly. They were really the best sort of goats.

We got to go on a farm tour and at the end of it, there was goat-hanging-out time, which I’d been looking forward to all weekend.

At first I was sad, because no goats wanted to hang out with me. Don’t they know I’m the Goat Whisperer? I mean, I’ve already been the Helper Mule Whisperer and at one point I was the Duck Whisperer because I fed this huge flock of ducks some crackers and then they followed me around like a goddess and quack quack quacked at me and were the best. I can’t imagine I’m not the Goat Whisperer. But this goat didn’t want to hang out with me. None of them did. SO SAD.

But THEN! The goats realized I was the best at Goat Whispering and came to see me!

This goat was the first goat who wanted all the petting. Then another goat came and headbutted me on the OTHER side for MORE petting! I was surrounded by goats!

This was the other goat. She decided the buttons on Mom’s coat were delicious and tried to eat them. Mom was all, “no no, goat!” (This is the only photo of Mom from the weekend. She did not want to be bloggity. That’s ok. I don’t mind.)

The goat in the middle was eating the girl in the middle’s hair. She decided he thought it was straw. That made me giggle.

Then it was time for us to go home! We were tired and had a very grand adventure.

The GPS took us a completely different way home, and although it took the same amount of time, we were fairly sure it was trying to kill us. It took us through smaller and smaller towns that we’d never heard of and we were all “GPS WHAT IS HAPPENING” but eventually we came through the back way of Troy and were very confused as to why the GPS thought that was a good idea but were glad to be home.

Thank you, Amee Farm Lodge and Perfect Vermont and Sweet Georgia P’s, for a great weekend adventure! I can most heartily recommend if you are ever out their way, you stop by and visit. It is beautiful and quiet and smells nice and THERE ARE GOATS! You can sleep in very nice beds and go biking and hiking and visit the country store and take a break from all the things.

Time for some rest for me! Off to my bed limpingly I go! Thanks for coming along with me on our Vermont adventure!

 

 

An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 34)

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

Welcome to April, my little munchkins! I’ve had better months, truth be told. April’s not been my month, what with job-losing and all. But, strangely, I am in a fairly buoyant mood, for the crap that’s gone down this month. I have to assume that’s due to the fact that, in about a month, I’m LEAVING! on a JET PLANE! and going to EUROPE! (Well, actually, multiple jet planes. You have to transfer quite a bit to get to the land of the Finns.) So yes, I am job-hunting. Not fun. But I have a thing to look forward to, so that’s keeping my eyes all bright and my spirits all chipper.

I will NOT be going to all of these places. But I WILL be going to ONE of them. And I have BEEN to…let’s see…five more of them. I AM A WORLD TRAVELER!

I suppose, if nothing else, this is giving me more time for the writing of all the things. And watching all the television. Slowly but surely I’m catching up on my programs, which is nice. Someday I might actually be ALL caught up! Ha, yeah, right.

So many shooooooooows….

So, just in case you’re new (and if you’re new, the nametags are over by the door, along with your freshly-baked cookies and towels folded into the shapes of zoo animals), let me catch you up on this recurring post. I’m obsessed with my stats; I like to check what search terms drive people to my blog; then I feel REALLY BAD this isn’t what they were looking for. So I write them a letter of apology (as you can see, this is the 34th one. THIRTY-FOUR, you guys, can you even? I know. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t so damn insane. If you’re interested, search for the others; they’re stellar.) Why do I do this? It makes the voices in my head quiet for a little while? Sure. Let’s go with that.

I didn’t get many questions this month, but I got a lot of search terms. So, like last month, we’re just going to have a big old list of search terms. Look at me rolling with the punches. I’m amazing, yeah? Totally am.

Here we go, ladies, gentlemen, and yes, even you, Ding Dong Joe. Even you.

- well ken, if you ask me, there is too much to complain about being young. it can really be hard sometimes, especially when your patents hardly ever you leave alone – you’re telling me! i quite like my mom and dad, but they’re always ready to criticize me. “don’t do this! you can’t that!”/ it’s often really hard to put with – oh, it’s really that bad. frankly, i’m having a big argument with my  Well! This is a very long paragraph. I don’t really know why you’d put all of this into a search, to be honest. It sounds like something from a radio call-in show. I don’t think you’ve found the right place. I mean, sure, we know a Ken here, and he’s one of our favorite humans, but I don’t know that he wants to give you advice on how hard it is to be a youth. He’s a grown-up man-person. I suppose he can come back and give you advice if he’s so inclined. That’d be up to him, though.

bitches be like i’m not materialistic  Oh! Bitches! Bitches be like, “I don’t like to be called a bitch, so why don’t you stop calling me that or I’m going to break up with you, you misogynistic piece of garbage!” In my experience, that’s what bitches be like, yo.

bluerose frommetoyou signifies  Blue roses don’t exist in nature. Geneticists have created them artificially, but you’ll never find a natural blue rose. Isn’t that interesting? If you see a blue rose, it’s either been genetically modified, or it’s a white rose that’s been dyed. The internets tells me that they are a symbol of love and prosperity. I think they’re a symbol of someone thinking you’re not savvy enough to know they’re not real. I don’t want fake dyed flowers. I like tulips and daisies and sunflowers. Cheerful flowers are my favorites. I’m pretty low-maintenance.

FALSEHOOD!

dating website “do you have more photos?” code  Shit. It’s a CODE? I thought it was just the guy wanting to see if you were a fatty, or wanting nude photos of you. This is why I am terrible at online dating and no longer doing it. I tried twice, both times were disasters, I am officially out of the game. I will become a crazy cat lady. It is my fate.

finnish sexy girls  I’m not sure of Finnish ladies are sexier than other ladies, but I’ll let you know soon. SO SOON. Seriously, guys. The date for the Finland trip is coming up SO QUICKLY. I’ll be sure to keep you informed on the relative sexiness of the Finnish naiset. (That’s ladies. IN FINNISH!)

I think this is a sexy Finnish girl. She’s cute as a button, right?

fucking sex in football sport tumblr   Good grief, there’s a lot going on in this search string. I don’t know that I can help you with any of this. Well, I mean, I drop the eff bomb sometimes. And I know how the sexing works. And I have a Tumblr. But otherwise…no. Sorry.

funny names of clowns n how to pronounce them  OK, clowns aren’t funny, first off. And how hard is it to pronounce a clown-name? Boppy. Slappy. Stabby. Those aren’t that difficult. I am confused about you, searcher. Are you wearing a clown mask and waiting in people’s bushes? The non-euphemistic kind of bushes, I mean? You are, aren’t you? Dammit. STOP IT.

go back my dinner no i’m a 1040 dun the rest just got legs  No idea. None. Usually I can get a clue about what you want from these, but this is just gibberish. The only thing that might have gotten you here is 1040 because of the time I spent working at the tax firm, but dinner, and legs, and I don’t even know, dude. Have we ever figured out who these people are who are searching these weird things, and what their motive is? No? Sheesh.

how do i get rid of the “people you may know” banner from the top of my page? i already know what friends i might know and do not need suggestions. these suggestions are annoying.  This is a nice little search term. Sentences and sentences about this. OK, I was saving this, but I’m going to give this to you guys, because you keep coming here for this: I HAVE FOUND A WAY TO GET RID OF YOUR PEOPLE-YOU-MAY-KNOW ON FACEBOOK. No, I’m not kidding. I’m very serious. It’s called F.B. Purity. It’s a browser extension (I have Google Chrome, and I’m not sure how this works with other browsers…but it’s an easy add with Chrome.) With this extension, you can get rid of People You May Know, and you can get rid of all ads and trending topics in your feed, you can get rid of people’s checkins with FourSquare, you can get rid of Goodreads status updates, you can get rid of that annoying automated list of friends they auto-populate for you on the left, you can make it ALWAYS show you “most recent” (which is why I looked into this – I was so tired of Facebook re-sorting my feed into “top stories,” I can’t even tell you)…it’s kind of awesome. You can also choose NOT to get rid of these things. It’s totally customizable and very easy to use. I don’t advocate things here that much, but I’m using this myself, and it’s totally uncluttered my Facebook. Now if it could only show ALL of my friends’ updates, and pages I follow, which is my biggest complaint right now…but I’m not as weird about it as you all are. I get hundreds of searches a month for people wanting to get rid of the People You May Know. I HAVE FOUND YOU A SOLUTION. You are so welcome. I should have found a way to monetize this, right? Dammit. I’m always so late on the thinking.

i think u r real persin but u r slut quotation  OK, I tell you this whenever you search this, but STOP CALLING PEOPLE SLUTS. It’s a terribly derogatory term. Also, a person can be a “slut” and a “real person” AT THE SAME TIME, even though I truly believe there aren’t sluts. I think calling someone a slut is just a way of shaming them for their sexuality. Just ANOTHER way. So stop it. Whenever you want to call someone a slut or a whore, think twice. OK?

my lane bryant bra underwire is coming out, do they fix it?   Ha! Of course they don’t fix it. They want you to buy a new $30 bra. You can fix it – just find the hole and do some whip-stitches there, it’s not a big deal – or you can just buy a new bra. My thought is, almost every time the underwire starts popping out, the bra’s on its last legs, anyway, and it’s time for a new one. And even if you stitch up the hole, another one seems to show up not long after. So…yeah. You can make it limp along for a bit, but it’s probably best to buy some new undergarments, darlin’.

neice and nephew are exhausting  Goodness, aren’t they just? But, like, in the best of ways. I know I am SO TIRED after a day spent with The Nephew, but happy-tired. GOOD-tired. He’s a ball of energy, that little guy. “Aunt Amy! Let’s do this!” “Aunt Amy, NOW THIS!” “You’re not too tired, Aunt Amy, DO IT AGAIN!” And then I’m like a panting puddle of exhaustion in the corner after about an hour, but he’s still bopping around like a jumping bean. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, though. He’s my best thing.

pepe le pew in tight jeans I could not find Pepe Le Pew in jeans. (He’s a skunk. Why’s he wearing jeans?) But I found THESE sassy pants with Pepe Le Pew ON them! Nice, right? I know you totally want them. They’re on eBay, go get in a bidding war over them. It’s ok. Have a good time, chipmunk.

sexsi kek tarifleri  You guys. YOU GUYS! This means “sexs cake recipes” in Turkish! OK, the “sexs” part of it made me giggle like a child, and then I was all, “what the heck would a sex cake even BE?” And then I couldn’t decide if it was, like, a boob or penis cake, or something you’d eat either before, during, or after sex, or something witchcrafty that made people want to have sex with you. Either way, I find this utterly delightful. Thank you, Turkish searcher! Lucy’nin Futbol hoşgeldiniz! (That’s “welcome to Lucy’s Football” in Turkish. I’m nothing if not inclusive!)

May I suggest, instead of sexs cake, baklava? It’s almost better than sex. ALMOST, I said. Don’t get crazy, here.

show me the bratz the nora dressed as hell and i really pretty bad breath  Again. AGAIN. I don’t even know. I know what a “Bratz” is (those things worry me. Their heads are way too big, they wear way too much makeup, and they wear far too little clothing) but the rest of it, again, is word salad. “Dressed as hell” and “i really pretty bad breath” don’t even make sense together. Or apart. Man, but am I confused this month.

Seriously, don’t they look like a teenage aging actress with too much Botox, or something? These worry me.

snoring on Amtrak  Oh, this was so written by someone who sat next to me either to or from Maryland or Virginia last year. I can’t even help it, you guys. I fall asleep and 99% of the time, I snore like a chainsaw. I don’t have a deviated septum or anything. It’s this inherited thing. All the people on my dad’s side of the family snore. Even The Nephew snores. And he’s four, you guys. So: I apologize to whoever’s going to be sitting next to me on the plane to and from Europe next month. If there was a way to make it stop short of suffocating myself, I would.

When it keeps everyone else around you on public transportation awake, I’d wager.

stubborness does not pays images and pictures  Are you going to find an image of this, do you think? Because I don’t think you’ll find one. This isn’t a common saying. Also, stubbornness isn’t something you can overcome. Well, I guess you can TRY. But for those of us who are stubborn, it’s a constant struggle. We just dig our feet in and REFUSE. Sometimes even when it’s not in our best interest. Like, me? If someone tells me what to do, I immediate want to do the opposite. Even if that person would say something like, “this house is on fire, get out now.” My first reaction, when faced with an order, is to rebel against it. Now, with age, I’ve learned that you can’t always DO that…but I still do it more often than a sane person should. This has led to some adventures, sure…but it’s also led to some major problems. So, does stubbornness pay? If it does, my bank account doesn’t show any rewards from it, that’s for sure.

And here’s me!

this really who just philosophy would you dare give heart’s cages in, working heart.  Again, people! THIS IS JUST NONSENSE! Are you finding any actual results with these sorts of searches? I do like “heart’s cages” and “working heart,” though. Somewhat poetic, you gibberish-spouting weirdo. Bravo.

what kind of nose does eric balfour have?  A super-sexy kind! He’s DELICIOUS, that Balfour. Such a profile. I have a total crush on that man. I have for a long time. (I don’t know if he’s the best actor, to be honest, but I sure do like to look at him.)

Yes, I could have given you his profile. Sure I could. BUT LOOK AT THIS PHOTO. You’re welcome!

what will cheer up my sugar glider  GETTING ANOTHER SUGAR GLIDER. We’ve talked about this, you guys. Sugar gliders die of loneliness. You can’t have just one. They need contact. They also can’t be left alone, so if you have only one, you need to bring it places with you. They’re the cutest little fellas, but they’re high-maintenance pets. Like with any other pets, you need to research them before getting them and know what you’re getting into, ok? And if you can’t give them a good home, get Sea Monkeys, or something. There’s nothing that bothers me more than people who don’t take proper care of their pets.

Look how sad this little guy is. HE HAD TO MAKE FRIENDS WITH A PRINTER, YOU GUYS.

why does joel mchale hate zak bagans  Oh, I don’t know that he hates him. I think he pokes fun at him. Because Bagans is a douche. Per Joel McHale, he’s The Ghostdouche. I know he has this whole gang of obsessive followers and such, but he’s an overly-gelled Ed-Hardy-wearing slimy douchebag. And come on, don’t even tell me you believe those “ghosts” he finds. I’ve personally seen two shows where his “ZOMG I FOUND A GHOST” overacting made me laugh so hard I almost ruptured MULTIPLE internal organs. But remember: Joel McHale is an comedian. Do I think he ACTUALLY hates Douchebag O’Bagans? Probably not. But he’s a good target to make fun of. And that’s what McHale does. For a living.

Oh, no, people have been TALKIG about him! Not TALKIG! That’s the WORST!

you don’t sincerely think love will end up disagreeing; good; insane, do you? quoted from batman STOP TYPING WORD SALAD INTO GOOGLE IT IS NOT DOING YOU ANY GOOOOOOOODDDDD

джейме ланнистер   This one is Jaime Lannister in Ukranian! Even the UKRANIANS love my Jaime Lannister! Nice choice, Ukranians. Я люблю Хайме Lannister теж! Я радий, що ти тут! (This is supposed to say “I love Jaime Lannister, too! I’m glad you’re here!” but it makes me suspicious that the searcher’s “Lannister” and my “Lannister” are very different. Oh, Google Translate, why you gotta do me like that?)

There. This is a nice note to end this on, right? Right. Sigh.

There you go, sweet potatoes! All of April. All for you. April showers bring May flowers…and MAY TRIPS TO EUROPE. And by this time next month, I will be on European soil. This is not even a drill. THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING.

Until next month, my poor lost lambikins. May Google be kind in your searches.

Love, Me.

(As always, thank you to Mer for the inspiration for these posts!)

It’s my party and I’ll glare if I want to

I don’t like surprises.

I have NEVER liked surprises.

I know most people say that, but they’re really ok with them. Like, if they woke up and found that their spouse had bought them a new car with one of those ridiculous huge bows on it, like in the Christmas car commercials, or if they showed up at work and right before lunch their coworkers threw a gigantic surprise baby shower for them, they’d maybe shriek a little, but deep down they’d think “oh, my. Am I ever loved” and they’d be secretly so happy.

Me? Nope. I’d shriek a little, then I’d furiously rearrange my face into what I think would pass for happiness because that’s what’s expected, then I’d go through the motions of whatever was required, like package-opening or little-meatball-eating and such, and when it was all over and I could escape from that, I would probably shake like my own private earthquake and be SO SO ANGRY.

Curved like a road through mountains

What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it’s curved like a road through mountains.   –Tennessee Williams

This is a line.

(It was supposed to be a straight line, but listen, I cannot draw a straight line with what software is free on the interwebs, ok? So just ignore the fact that it squiggles a little. Pretend it’s totally straight. DO NOT JUDGE MY LINE-DRAWING ABILITIES!)

Most people’s lives follow this straight line, for the most part. They’re born, and they go to school, and then probably college, and they meet someone squishable and they marry that person, and buy a house with a porch swing, and maybe have some kiddos who are equally squishable, and get a job, and work that job for many many years and put money into their 401ks and buy cool things to play with that are shiny and pay their taxes and eventually they die.

This is very stable, isn’t it? It’s really nice. It’s nice to know you’ll wake up, and the same thing will happen, and you’ll have someone there to share things with, and maybe kids, and probably, oh, I don’t know, family picnics, or something. Vacations. Probably a dog.

This is ALSO a line.

However, it is squiggly and all over the damn place and sometimes backtracks upon itself and has strange valleys and peaks that kind of look like a man’s face and I think in one place it kind of might look like I tried to make a penis, and in another place a rabbit, to make you laugh, but I totally didn’t. (Again, please do not judge the line. There’s a reason I’m a writer and not an artist. It is not the nice line’s fault.)

This line is MY life.

There is nothing straight about this line. Like, it starts out kind of straight, but then it goes kind of haywire, and then KEEPS going haywire, because it does not know where it is going or what it is doing. It is a very confused line.

And sometimes, when you think it’s going straight (like, see where there are places where it SEEMS it’s going straight?) it decides “HA HA! I WILL GO JIGGEDY-JAGGEDY ON YOU!”

When, Lord?! When the hell do I get to see the goddamn sailboat?!

“Amy?”

I can hear you, you know, even though you’re using your most polite voice. It’s ok. You don’t have to be polite with me.

“Your line metaphor is very…nice…and SUPER-artistic…but…where are you going with this?”

Yeah, I probably should get to the point. I try to…but you saw that line up there, yeah? It has a mind of its own.

OK. So when your life is a crazy waggly line, there are good things and bad things. Like, you have a lot of experiences and stories and you meet some of the best people (whose lines are usually all over the place, too…us wacky-line people, we tend to flock together. Probably because our lines get all tangled like the last two skeins of yarn in the bottom of the bag and we can’t extricate ourselves…but that’s neither here nor there, really.)

It’s easier to just stick together. We get all knotty if we try to split up.

However, life with a wiggly line is also about making the most IMPRESSIVE mistakes (falling in love with the least-likely human beings who break your heart into a million pieces; losing your job repeatedly; crazy brain-chemistry; not being able to sleep for days; shall I go on?) and not ever knowing what’s coming up. You’ve heard about waiting for the other shoe to drop? Well, you’ve always got a big old workboot hanging over your head. At first, that boot comes as a surprise. You’re all, “what the hell? I JUST GOT BOPPED BY A BOOT! Where did that boot come from?” and you look up at the sky all suspiciously. Then the second boot falls, and you’re all, “another boot? WHAT IS HAPPENING.” But then another boot, and another boot, and you kind of get used to boots. You’re always on the lookout for boots. It’s not the easiest way to live, always having one eye out for gigantic metaphors falling from the sky. But if you know it’s probably coming, you don’t get so out-of-nowhere smacked.

Duck & cover. DUCK AND COVER, I SAID.

This past Monday, I went into work. I do that, on Mondays. Most weekdays, actually. I worked. I went to lunch. After lunch, I came back to an email saying I had a meeting. I went to the conference room, and about ten other people trailed in, and we made some confused jokes about why, exactly, we were in this conference room, and there was this weird whistling noise and I was all, “huh, what’s that, I wonder, maybe the air conditioning?” and then the CFO and HR came in and told us all of our jobs had been eliminated and the BIGGEST BOOT EVER smashed me upside the head and I was all “SHIT that’s what that whistling noise was. It was coming from a really, really far distance, this time, is all. Breaking the sound barrier, far.”

Squiggly line! I had been so happy and comfortable with my amazing job with my awesome coworkers that paid ALL THE MONEY that I forgot about the squiggly line and (eep!) THE BOOT HANGING OVER MY HEAD AT ALL TIMES!

(Apparently I am to blame the economy. Any guesses who Dad thinks is to blame for this? Those of you who guessed “the government” win. What do you win? I don’t know. Nothing from me. I can’t afford to get you a prize. I don’t have a job right now, suckas!)

So here I am, yet again, friends and bloggonians, underemployed, waiting to hear from the unemployment people, waiting to hear from the food-stamp people, picking up a few hours as I can at the answering service (thank you again, answering service!), applying to a million billion jobs, networking with everyone I can think of in the hope I can maybe, just maybe, find a job that I actually really love, not just settle for because it puts money in my pocket but also sucks my soul out of my nose.

I’m not this serious yet. I can’t guarantee you I won’t get there, though.

(Side note: I apparently am VERY equipped to sell insurance. I have, unsolicited, gotten four emails and a phone call from three different companies that want me to sell insurance. I assume they saw my resume on one of the job-searching sites. One was from the AFLAC duck, which was humorous, but I still don’t want to sell insurance, even if an anthromoporphic duck thinks it’s my calling. I also got an email from someone telling me I’d make an amazing realtor. I can’t think of anything I’d be worse at than selling homes or insurance. If I was living on commissions, I’d be eating out of dumpsters.)

Flattering, duck. But, no.

Luckily, the upside of having a line o’squiggliness for a lifeline is that the ups always come. The downs are always right around the corner, but the ups are there, too. Sometimes you have to wait a little longer for them, but they’re there. The boot gets cranked back up to wherever it hangs in wait and things get rosy again, for a time.

And there’s a slight possibility that the boot WON’T fall again. That’s the thing about that boot. You can’t trust that it will or will not fall. You’re just always nervously waiting for it…but that doesn’t mean it’s a definite.

And shh…I’ll tell you a secret:

Even though it drives me insane at times, and even though there are times I mutter angrily “WHY CAN’T YOU JUST BE NORMAL LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, AMY!?!?”, I’ll take my squiggly line over a straight line any day. My squiggly life has brought me such joy. I just have to wait out the bad patches. And avoid those falling boots.

I wouldn’t know what to do with a normal life, anyway. I think you have to vaccuum and wear polo shirts or something, in a normal life. I’d be very unprepared for such things. I look terrible in polo shirts.

Time for the next leg of the adventure. Don’t fail me now, squiggly line. I have to believe you have some sort of plan.

(You do, right?)

*grin*
(I knew it.)

An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 33)

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

Here we are! End of March. Weather’s pretty much the same as it was in February. This is all very disheartening. I am very much ready for spring. I want mud and growing things and the smell of fresh newness and all this snow to melt so I don’t have to risk my life every time I pull out of a driveway onto a road, dammit. COME ON, EARTH. We’ve suffered through a bothersomely long and cold and snowy winter. Please give us our spring. We deserve it now, please. Pleeeeease.

I am trying very hard to stick to a writing schedule; I have it all written up and hung where I can see it and it tells me what to write when so I can get things out there. Some are for the blog and some are for the OTHER blog and some are for OTHER people’s blogs and some are for submissions for publication, because I’m trying to be fancy this year and stop procrastinating. I mean, I’m not getting any younger. I have a lot of words in me. I’d like more people to see them. I think this might be the time to do that.

Yep. Totally me. Only much less corsety and much more pajama-and-cat-hair-y.

So, just in case you’re new (and if so, hi hi hi! Welcome to the old Football. Sometimes I write things here. Sometimes I get busy and don’t have time. I’m thinking of you ALL THE TIME, though! Like a friendly stalker!), let me catch you up on this recurring post. I’m obsessed with my stats; I like to check what search terms drive people to my blog; then I feel REALLY BAD this isn’t what they were looking for. So I write them a letter of apology (as you can see, this is the 33th one. That is easily divisible by 11! In case you weren’t aware! That makes it a very good number! If you’re interested, search for the others; they’re stellar.) Why do I do this? Eh. Who knows. Good times, I guess. Good times and crazy search terms.

I didn’t get many questions this month, but I got a lot of search terms. I thought about splitting this into two posts, but I’m too damn lazy. So this is going to be one hellaciously long post. Hope you’re all up for the challenge.

Here we go, jellybeans. I called friend A. jellybean at work today, and he was all “WHO CALLS SOMEONE JELLYBEAN?” and that made me laugh. A lot. Because I do! I call people jellybean!

I only call the people I really, really love food-related nicknames. It’s a thing with me.

are you brave enough to delete people you dont like from your facebook Am I brave enough? Is this a dare? Is this like how Marty in Back the Future couldn’t not get in a fight if someone challenged him? Well, if it’s a “brave” thing (which I would argue), then, yes, weirdo, I guess I can claim that. But mostly the people I unfriend and/or delete isn’t a dislike thing, it’s more of a “I no longer know/talk to this person” thing, so I start thinking, “do I really want them on my personal Facebook page?” and the answer is 99% of the time no, no I do not, so I unfriend them. I realize this is not what normal people do; I can only assume, per the sheer mass of friends most of you seem to have on Facebook, you never unfriend anyone, and are friends with everyone from your newspaper delivery boy to your 98-year-old Nonna, but I’m very weird about social media. As for deleting people, there are some people I’ve blocked, yes, for various reasons, some of them stalkery, some of them ex-friendy. None of this is really all that fascinating, dear. To answer your question: yep. I’m as brave as that sassy redhead from the Scottish Pixar bear movie. Rawr.

Merida would NEVER fear deleting someone from her Facebook!

blogging etiquette for kids I’m curious. Is this about child-bloggers, or is this about “should I post my children’s photos on Facebook?” Are child-bloggers like sweatshop workers, and you force them to blog every night after school and they’re all “I DON’T WANT TO, MOMMY!” and you’re like “you’ll DO it, and you’ll LIKE it” and they cry and cry and you offer them an ice cream sandwich if they finish the damn thing? I’m not enjoying the idea of child bloggers at the moment. If it’s about putting children’s photos on the internet…well, you have to trust your gut on this one, and know that if you do it, there are weirdos that will most likely put your child’s photo on a porn site. The world is full of such nonsense. I am pretty selective about what photos of The Nephew I put on here. Like, I just did the zoo blog, and it needed at least a COUPLE photos of The Nephew, or you’d think I’d made him up and drove to Utica alone, but I made sure he was all bundled up, or behind a lion photo-thingy or something. Probably still pervs will find my blog, though. That’s what pervs are good at. Well, that and searching my blog for things like “literotica dogs and ladees.” STOP THAT.

bubble adult finnish necklace scientific articles worst of There’s a lot going on here, and I’m not 100% sure what it all means. I even did some variations of searches on this, and nothing. Andreas? Any ideas? There’s science here, but also necklaces, and since Andreas’ fiancée makes such gorgeous jewelry, maybe they can put their heads together and figure out what’s happening here, even though technically the two of them are Swedish, not Finnish, despite currently living in the land of the Finns. This is becoming very tangled so please enjoy this photo of a bubbly jeweled thong thing I found on the intertubes.

Yeah. This isn’t at all ouchy-looking.

coloring pages of eyes nose mouth of tim tebow Why would you WANT this? Only his eyes, nose, and mouth? I don’t…does anyone even talk about Tim Tebow anymore? Remember he was such a big deal? What happened to him? Is he no longer praying and causing everyone to have aneurisms over the separation of church and sportsball? HOLY CRAP IT’S A THING. It’s really a thing. WHAT IS HAPPENING. Who wants this? Kids? Adults? Women with crushes? Pastors? I am so confused, you guys. The internet never fails to amaze me. Sincerely.

This scares me. Kind of a lot.

facebook funny coworkers blocking you HA HA HA! That IS funny, your coworkers blocking you! Oh, wait, I think that means they hate you. I think that means you fail interpersonal relations. Not sending you a friend request is one thing…blocking you, that’s pretty serious. Dude, did someone tell you this is funny? They were lying.

i am not mad i just need sex Can I tell you a story? One of the things I hate most in the world is when you’re in a terrible mood, and someone (male, female, it doesn’t matter, both do such things) say something like “ugh, SOMEONE needs to get laid.” I usually say in response to that, “SOMEONE needs to get laid out” and then I make a move like I’m going to punch them in the neck, and also I say something totally inappropriate like “are you implying I don’t know how to masturbate?” because I have learned that there’s very little that shuts people up quicker than talking about female masturbation. Why is it that male masturbation is not only understood as something that happens and is normal and also a joke on all the sitcoms, but female masturbation NEVER gets talked about, and it makes people all freaked out as if it’s like sacrificing a virgin to a volcano? That probably has nothing to do with this search term, but why not take the opportunity to rant a bit, you know?

Why does this look like a child wrote it? *shudder*

i hate it when people think your stupid quote images Oh. Sigh. Do we need to have this talk again? You’re = you are, your = possessive for something that belongs to you. “I hate it when people think YOU’RE stupid.” Not “your stupid.” I mean, go on and own your stupidITY, darlin’, that’s ok, but not in this format in this sentence. OK? And if you find an image with it spelled this way, don’t use it, because then people WILL think you’re stupid.

A whole SHIRT that’s a grammatical nightmare. I kind of ironically want this.

i looked silver fillings brother’s mouth HOLY CRAP NO! NOT SILVER FILLINGS! (What does this mean? Anyone know?) My brother has no fillings. My brother and I have excellent oral hygiene due to fluoride pills as children. *curtseys*

i love you then i hate you. i wanna throw you from a cliff then I thought maybe this was a song (I’m not ruling that out – it might be, still, I just don’t know which one, if so.) But if it’s NOT a song…man, don’t be throwing people off cliffs. Did you read about that woman who got married, then right after took her husband up to the mountains and pushed him off a cliff? It’s all very salacious and who knows what happened there. I’m sure it’ll be on 20/20 soon enough. Or one of those Nightline: MURDER! shows and they’ll call it “The Newlywed Killer” or something. I get it: the people we love sometimes are extremely frustrating. But clench your fists or yell into a pillow or get therapy or something. Don’t murder them. Because then the next day, when you’re over it, they’ll still be dead, and you’ll be someone’s bitch in a prison cell. Do you want that? I don’t think you do.

i was the class clown but now i’m not that funny Yeah, that happens. Sometimes when you get older, you no longer have that forum in which to crack everyone up. I mean, you’re not in a classroom setting anymore, and you’re no longer all hormones and awkwardness, and you don’t NEED to be funny to survive…so your need to make loud fart noises when the teacher sits, or say things like “Jenny Jacobs is a tampon!” really loudly leaves you. It’s ok. Watch old standup videos and think about your long-lost glory. Take out the yearbook where you got voted Class Clown and cry a little on the signatures. Tell sad jokes into your shaving mirror and go off to your soul-crushing job as a stockbroker and think, “WHY ME? WHY LORD WHY ME?” You’re welcome, Crackup McGurk. Best of luck. Here’s a banana peel, go fall down and see if anyone laughs. (Bee tee dubs? Those of us the class clown were mocking back then are adults who are making people laugh on the regular now. Just an FYI. Hope you’re happy thinking about all those people you’re not making laugh now.)

Aw, the tears of the class clown. *sniff*

if u r bad then say me ur dad What does this mean? It’s like a little textspeak rhyme. Let’s translate it into normal human English. “If you’re bad, then say I’m your father.” Is this an alternate way to say “Who’s your daddy?” or even “Who’s been a bad girl?” I’m completely befuddled. I refuse to use textspeak. It bothers me so much. I get it’s faster if you’re texting all fast, but it’s not that much faster. And why are we in such a race? I text everything the same way as I would write. It makes people laugh. They comment on it all the time. “You text and write the SAME!” Yes. I’m very old. It’s what I do.

im doing my paralelle parking on my 7th hour of driving . . . is this a good thing ? I don’t know because I’m confused by your question. You’ve only been driving for 7 hours and you’re learning parallel parking? I guess that’s good. I’ve been driving for 22 years and I’m still terrible at parallel parking. I’ll walk an extra ten minutes rather than parallel park. So if you can master it, you go, brave driver, you go. And don’t you let anyone tell you that you don’t need to know how to do it. You do. MASTER THAT SKILL. It’s one you’ll need as an adult, no matter what anyone tells you, and sometimes there’s no choice but parallel parking, and if you can’t do it, you’ll turn around and go home in tears. I mean. So they tell me.

i’m in my 20′s perhaps This, to me, seems to be something one should know. Are you in your 20s? Or are you NOT in your 20s? “Perhaps” is not the right answer to this question. Unless you were raised by wolves and don’t know your true date of birth. If that’s the case, awesome, can I meet your wolf-mom? I think wolves are neat.

it’s so hard not talking to you Ooh. Ouch. Yeah, I’ve had those people. Sorry, lost searcher. It gets better, one way or another. Either you and your person will find your way back to one another (it really does happen), or time will heal all wounds (or, if not heal them, at least make them easier to live with…time and distance do that) and you’ll breathe a little easier each day until one day you won’t realize until about halfway through the day that you haven’t thought about that person all day. Then you’ll get a little weepy, because it seems like you lost them all over again. It takes time, hon. I’m sorry. It’s one of the hardest parts of this whole human-gig we have going on here, and I’ve been there. Sending you much love. You will get through it. I promise.

lemurs happy birthday OMG! Is it the birthday of ALL THE LEMURS? Every last one? Why didn’t anyone tell me? I would have thrown SUCH A PARTY! Happiest of birthdays, lemurs! I hope you have the best year and are not eaten by the hyenas!

THE HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY LEMUR! He looks a little drunk, to be honest. Did someone serve this lemur too many free drinks on his birthday? Come on, people. Fess up.

lucy is a person very especial Oh, sí. Muy especial. Especial en la cabeza. Muchas gracias, mi amigo.

maddest musicals ever Now, what are we talking, here. Mad-angry or mad-insane? I’m going to nominate Sweeney Todd for a little of both, for sure. The people in Les Misérables are pretty pissed. Cats is batshit insane. The cats talk and leap all through the audience and scare children, I mean, come on. The titular character in Phantom of the Opera is a lunatic. The characters in Assassins are both angry AND crazy. I could go on, but I feel I’d be boring someone. Or a lot of someones. But if you need a really specific list, I’m your lady. Let me know what you’re looking for, sweet potato.

people who.find friendship waste of time is not friendship Well, isn’t this a nice little adage. People who find that friendship is a waste of time are not your friends, I would assume would be the grammatically correct version of this? Well, good grief, why are you even hanging out with such people? What kind of person says, “I find this whole friendship gig a waste of my precious TIME” to you and yet you continue to hang with them? That’s really more on you than on them. Hit the road, Jack, if that’s happening. I’ve totally been culpable of not keeping in as good of touch with my friends as I should, especially when busy or when my head’s in a bad place (sorry, friends, I love you!) but I don’t know that I’ve ever said, “friendship, man. What a waste of ma TAHME.” If I ever say that, please take me outside of the barn, tell me to think of the rabbits, and put me down, George.

sexscarf I don’t have much to say here, other than this is a most excellent word, and would make a great band name or book title. Someone make it so. SEXSCARF! (You know you can just use regular scarves, right? Right.)

I Googled sexscarf and this came up. Does this look like a sexscarf to you guys?

short romance stories for middle school Ooh, I love a challenge. “Today was the day! Morton would tell Penelope he loved her. But just as he approached her, he tripped over his too-low-hanging pants, and when she turned to see what the clatter was, her hair got caught in her braces. Better luck next time, Morton!” How’d I do? Pretty romantic, no?

the stupid smile when a person sends a message Yes. This. Sometimes this. That’s all I have to say about that. Thank you.

unipegaso animal OMG UNIPEGOSO. This is totally a Spanish unicorn-pegasus HYBRID. It would say things like “muy peligroso!” and it would also fly you off into the sunset most impressively. Can I have a unipegoso? (SIDE NOTE: there were Mexican wolves at the zoo last weekend and they wouldn’t howl back at The Nephew so I said, “maybe they don’t understand you, I’ll try it” and I said, “Ay yi yi! Muy caliente!” and THEN howled and the wolves STILL didn’t howl back. But The Nephew looked at me like I was insane and said, “Aunt Amy, those wolves don’t talk HUMAN. They speak WOLF.” And then I had a coughing fit that was also giggles.)

A BEAUTIFUL UNIPEGOSO!

volue bases question- if you get a chance to become invisible then what will you do anything else? I have to say I don’t know what “volue bases” means and also I’m confused by this question. What will I do anything else. Like, anything else EVER? Well, yes, I would imagine I would continue to exist, wouldn’t I? Only I would become invisible, like at parties and also maybe if I saw someone I didn’t want to socially interact with. And if I had a wedgie in public. I would not use this power to spy on people. If you spy on people you just find out things you wish you didn’t know, like the fact that your friend is sleeping with the guy from work you’ve had a crush on for two years and hiding it from you because she secretly hates you. I mean, I hear you can find those things out. If you were to spy.

what does it mean if boyfriend rated most like ingo montoya OMG. Are you freaking out over one of those Buzzfeed quizzes? You seriously are, aren’t you? Yesterday it told me that the Breakfast Club character I was most like was John Bender, and I totally rejoiced. Although it’s wrong. I would sadly be most like Brian, the geek who blew up his locker. Also, it’s “Inigo” Montoya. Anyway. It means nothing, is what it means. It means your boyfriend answered enough questions that sorted him into the most-like-this-person category, per whoever made the quiz. Those quizzes are always wrong, by the way, and one of my friends online pointed out they’re a really good way for whoever’s sponsoring Buzzfeed to get marketing statistics out of you and you aren’t even aware they’re doing it. So I wouldn’t worry; your boyfriend probably isn’t prone to swordfights, piracy, or revenge plots. Probably. But if he starts rhyming, look out.

Even Inigo knows Buzzfeed is bullshit.

what is gasolining I’m really not sure. I was so worried it was going to be a sex thing, but it’s not even a thing-thing. I guess maybe it’s setting someone on fire with gasoline, but it could also be fueling something with gasoline. You could be on the cutting edge with this, searcher! Use it until it’s everywhere! It’s your day! Hoorah hooray!

when pan plays people listen radio I thought this is a Pandora marketing slogan – When Pandora plays, people listen – but apparently I made that up in my head. Nope. This is about Pan. The little goat-footed trickster. When he plays, man, people LISTEN. And also get into SHENANIGANS!

LISTEN, PEOPLE! It’s Pan, dammit!

why you always hating bitch you need a hug *sniff* It’s like you really know me. Come here, you big galoot. Gimme a squish.

wildpark poing plan WILDPARK POING! Listen. I have not yet given up my plan of seeing Wildpark Poing someday. I don’t believe in bucket lists, but if I did, I would totally have this on there. In like all-caps and with stars around it. SOMEDAY I WILL SEE WILDPARK POING! And you can all come, too. I’ll let you. Only, virtually, of course. We wouldn’t want to scare the animals.

I’m coming for you, Poing! I have not forgotten about you!

ww.i.knowe.this.person.a.spell.to.let.him.know.i.love.him.com Is this a site? About magic and/or love? Don’t cast love spells. If they work, that person never loved you, and you are just seeing an illusion. How will you ever know if they would have loved you on their own? If they don’t work, you’ll feel stupid. Also, don’t you know the “and it harm none” warning? Controlling someone else’s thoughts, emotions and feelings is harming them. No love spells, darlin’. Find someone else and love them, ok? Oh, wait. A spell to LET him know you love him? I know a way to let him know you love him WITHOUT a spell. TELL HIM. Here, I’ll script it for you: “Hi, (name of person I love.) I know we (are just friends/don’t know each other at all/are Montagues and Capulets/are related by blood.) I just wanted to say I love you. No, no. Not friend-love. Love, love. I want to kiss your face and also let’s take all of our clothes off and just kind of revel in the nudity for a while until we do the naked be-bop. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy, having you make me happy, and building this amazing world with the two of us together. What do you say?” If they say no, DO NOT GO HOME AND CAST SPELLS. What did I tell you about spells? But if they say yes…well, I’d expect your first kiddo to be named Lucy, of course. YOU ARE WELCOME! (They’ll never know you love them unless you tell them. TELL THEM. Is it the scariest thing ever? Sure it is. Just bite that bullet and do it, ok? What have you got to lose? What have you got to gain?)

Whoo-hoo, we made it through March! April’s chock-full-of-goodness…and then comes May! With trips to Europe! And the hugging of people I love! WHO LIVE FAR AWAY!

Until next month, my poor lost lambikins. May Google be kind in your searches.

Love, Me.

(As always, thank you to Mer for the inspiration for these posts!)