Amy Durant's Blog, page 3

Why zoos aren’t usually open in the winter in the northeast

Last month, The Nephew, his mom and I went to the science museum in Schenectady to see butterflies and a planetarium show and also play with huge Lego blocks and train sets. It was very much enjoyed by all parties and the minute it was done, The Nephew’s mom and I started talking about our next adventure, but weren’t sure what it would be.

She sent me a message on Facebook not long after I’d gotten home saying that The Nephew had already planned our next adventure.

Your nephew wants our next adventure to be at the zoo! I told him it’s too cold for a zoo in the winter so we can go in the spring or summer. He said with his infinite wisdom “Mom, the animals don’t just disappear in the winter. Take me to wherever they put the zoo animals when it’s cold. Maybe Aunt Amy will know.” Impossible to argue with that!

Well, I have to agree. How can you argue with that? So I began to research local zoos.

At first, I thought of the Binghamton Zoo, which used to be open year-round when I was a student. I know this because friend R. and I used to go there, and once went the day after an ice storm and were the only ones in the zoo and it was just the best. The animals were all frolicking just for us, and I got a puma to come out of its home by saying “rrawr?” and it said, “RAWR” and came out and we had a happy talk through the wire. He seemed very engaged. He was probably lonely. Or wanted to eat my face. Debatable, I suppose.

But the Binghamton Zoo is no longer open year-round, and a lot of other zoos nearby are also closed for the winter, so I started to despair until I found…

THE UTICA ZOO!

Open year-round and a mere 90 minutes away. We would see our animals in the wintertime after all! AUNT AMY WINS!

So we packed ourselves into the car, and an hour and a half later, we arrived at…

The Utica Zoo!

Driving through Utica makes me sad. It was a grand town, once, and now it’s kind of falling apart, and the buildings have a lot of broken windows and are filled with lost grandeur. You can see how beautiful it must have been, once, though. The buildings are beautiful and stately in that old-fashioned way, and look like they’re waiting for the next act…but the next act isn’t coming, I don’t think. I think the show’s been cancelled. And things like that hurt me. I love history. I don’t like when things are thrown away like that.

On the drive there, mostly The Nephew played Angry Birds and said, “Aunt Amy! Play this level, it’s easy!” but they were never easy, and then he would sigh like I exhausted him and he would say, “Oh, just give it to ME” and then he’d solve it in a second. (I’m terrible at Angry Birds. Those pigs are WAY wily.) He also is fascinated with family relationships. “Aunt Amy, who is your mom?” he’ll ask me, and I’ll say, “Your grammy is my mom!” and he’ll laugh and say, “Oh!” and then he’ll say “Aunt Amy, who is your dad?” and I’ll say “My dad is your grampy!” and he’ll laugh and say “Oh!” and then finally he’ll say “Aunt Amy, did you know my daddy’s mom and dad are my grammy and grampy?” and I’ll say, “Yes, did you know your dad is my brother?” and he’ll say “OH!” and this always cracks him up and he laughs. To REALLY make him laugh, I call his dad my LITTLE brother. “No! He is a grown-up MAN!” he’ll say, then giggle and giggle. I enjoy that kids don’t understand that once, the GROWN-UPS were ALSO kids. This makes me smile, to think that in a child’s mind, we’ve always been this age.

So there were a few signs when you first entered the zoo saying “paths may be icy.” We were all, “pooh pooh! How icy can they be?”

The answer is…glare-icy.

Apparently, in order to stay open all winter, they had to cut back on grounds maintenance. None of the pathways had been cleared at all. There was ice and snow and SO MUCH ICE ZOMG, and of course The Nephew tramped along it merrily (and fell once, but picked himself right back up like he’s made of rubber and kept-on a’runnin’.) At one point, the path just STOPPED, and we had to tromp through the snow, and The Nephew was all “well, now we are lost in the WOODS!” and he was sort of right. But then the path started again, sort of. It got so bad I purposely walked through the snow instead of on the path because the path was slipperytown. Bad news, Utica Zoo! I realize salt wasn’t probably a good idea with all those animals. But sand? Maybe? Or don’t be open? Because you are COURTING DEATH with those paths, you guys.

Other than the DEATH-ICE, and how cold it was (we all had windburned faces and chilly legs and hands when we were done) and the fact that about half of the animals were gone (I don’t know where…I guess wherever animals go when it’s cold? Vacation? Florida, like retirees? Just inside in the groundskeeper’s buildings? Anyone know?) it was kind of an awesome zoo. You know how much I love zoos. It would take a lot more than a little ice to put me in a terrible mood.

What’s that?

You want to see photos of our day at the zoo?

Ha, it’s like you don’t even know me. I took a MILLION photos of the zoo. The whole time, I told The Nephew’s mom, “This is for a MOST IMPRESSIVE BLOG I will be writing about this adventure!” and she said, “Of course you will!” She totally knows about the bloggery. Most of my people do. It doesn’t even shock them anymore.

Let’s go to the zoo!

First we had to go to the bathrooms, and outside the bathrooms, randomly, was this loose peacock. The Nephew was all “LOOK AT THAT!” and wanted to I think either pet or ride the peacock, but the peacock was having none of that and booked it away from us. (Isn’t it pretty? I’ve never seen one up close!)

Here’s The Nephew chasing it as it walked away. He really wanted a pet peacock.

It was all, “listen, dude, I am JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU” and The Nephew was all, “No, seriously, come back, I will play “In Your Eyes” to you on a boom box! YOU COMPLETE ME!”

Then we saw some goats. I know some people who like goats. I took a lot of photos of these fellas.

This one looked like a genetic abnormality. Therefore he was my favorite.

There were none of those little feeding stations at this zoo. I hear rumors that they all had to be removed because hooligans were breaking into the zoo to steal the money in them. This goat didn’t get the memo. He wanted me to feed him. I had no food. Only Tic Tacs. I don’t think the goat wanted Tic Tacs.

This goat looks like he knows a secret. Do you think it’s the secret of why they didn’t put any sand on the paths so we almost died like a hundred times?

This goat was chewing on a log. I don’t know why, either. But it made me laugh. He was SO FOCUSED on this. He didn’t even look up. Look at his funny pupils! This is why I love goats. They have curious eyes.

I think this is the genetic abnormality goat again. I was a fan of his.

ZOMG GOAT! Stop with the log, already, people are going to think you have a complex!

Next was a thing I loved, and I think I need to get it on a teeshirt.

I BITE! And there was NOTHING IN THE CAGE! So it was totally scary for no reason. I like that it’s in ALL-CAPS.

But then the bitey thing came out. What do you think it was? A cougar? A wolverine?

Nope.

This stork-thing. I would think he pecks and pinches more than bites. Just to be safe, though, in case his beak was hiding sharp teeth, we didn’t poke him.

This is his wanted poster. I BITE, DAMMIT!

Yes, I know. That’s a lot of snow. We’re really mired in this neverending winter up here.

Thought you’d like to see some adorableness. Here’s The Nephew taking a photo-op in front of the children’s zoo. He has many layers on. We were chilly, yo.

Yeah, I know. Worst photo ever. See, my nice camera totally died almost immediately and I had to use my phone for the rest of the day. This is a zebra. He was really far away and to get to him, you had to cross TREACHEROUS ICE. So I decided to zoom in as far in as I could and call it a day. HI, ZEBRA! (He totally finds me fascinating. Look at him checking me out.)

This is a camel I decided to call Spicoli. He seems to be stoned, and really laid-back. I think he would call you “dude” a lot and laugh inappropriately. Look, he totally has hay in his hair and he doesn’t even CARE. And he looks like he’s grinning at NOTHING. (Also, apparently in the winter, this kind of camel grows a lot of dreadlocks, and their humps droop randomly to one side or another. Just makes them look more like stoner-camels to me.)

This was some sort of peacock with a huge lacy tail. There was no sign on this exhibit so I can’t even tell you what kind. I liked how fancy it was. This peacock would ALWAYS get invited to the dance.

MERKA!

The Nephew didn’t see this eagle at first, then when he did, he was kind of tired, and said “That doesn’t even LOOK like an eagle” and I said, “No? What does it look like?” and he sighed and said, “A big bird with a yellow beak.” But later when we asked him what his favorite animal was, he said the eagle.

Oh, pretend there’s a photo of a sea lion here. They wouldn’t stay out of the water long enough for us to photograph them, but they were very cool. One popped up long enough to kind of clap his flippers at us, then disappeared again. I do so like sea lions.

Why does every zoo have Cotton-Topped Tamarins? These things freak me out, man. Where’s that stoner camel. He’d calm me down. I think he has something that’ll help me out with that.

Snakes! This one’s pretty. I think it was a corn snake.

I don’t remember what kind of snake this is, but the photo turned out well. Sometimes that happens.

These were gigantic pythons, and they would most definitely eat you and digest you. I even like snakes but I’m glad they were safely behind glass.

The website said there would be so many turtles and tortoises, and there was only this one. This is for Heather. She is my tortoise-friend and she said I would love this guy the most of all the turtles and tortoises. She was right, considering he was the only one. Sadly, this is not a very good photo. Good grief, why is it so RED? Sorry, Heather.

It is very hard to see, but up in the upper left-hand corner of this one is a beautiful owl. I love owls. I went “hoo! Hoo!” to him but he was all “I’m napping, lady, sheesh.”

This is not a helper mule, as much as I’d like it to be. This was just a donkey. He was pretty cute, though.

This was a HUGE Flemish rabbit. The sign says they can grow to 28 pounds. I was all “The Nephew! Come see this huge rabbit!” and he came over and said, “Aunt AMY, that rabbit isn’t that huge. He’s just really fat. I think he eats too much food” and that made me and The Nephew’s Mom giggle.

Look at this guy. He’s GORGEOUS. I sincerely want an owl. On the way home, we saw two hawks, too. It was a raptor-bird kind of day.

Look! He looked at us! He wanted to be our friend!

It’s hard to tell, because he’s very blending-into-the-landscapey, but this is a beautiful lynx. He watched us the whole time but not in a scary way. In a “bring me home!” way. The Nephew said I could bring him home, and he PROBABLY wouldn’t eat Dumbcat. I like them odds.

I saved the best for last. What do you think is best?

What’s that? You can’t see them very well? I CAN FIX THAT!

LIONS!

At first, The Nephew said, “I don’t think I want to see lions…” in a scared little voice, but then he realized they wouldn’t eat us and he was cool with the lions. This one was pacing the whole time we were standing by it. He wanted to eat our whole faces. I loved him.

I’m going to be obnoxious and show you a lot of photos of this lion. He was my best fella.

Isn’t he so PRETTY? I do love big cats.

And you know what you have to do when you’re around the lions.

You HAVE to make a lion face! (Those lions don’t even care.)

Then we discovered one of my favorite things at zoos…

One of these “you are an animal” face-thingies! First The Nephew was a lion. You can also see Aunt Amy behind him holding him up so he didn’t fall on the little teeny-tiny piece of wood he was standing on in order to be a lion. I especially like the paws on this thing. Very realistic.

I am a scary lion! This is totally my Facebook cover photo right now, yo. This is like the best thing ever. RAWR I AM A SCARY LION (who is also holding a Utica Zoo sign, for some reason!)

Then we were cold and tired, so we hoofed it to the gift shop and The Nephew decided he wanted a scary lion thing that bit things and grabbed things but we convinced him that really he wanted a spelunker’s hat with a VERY cool flashlight built in (when I told him the word “spelunker” he repeated it and giggled – this kid LOVES learning, it is so good for my heart) and I got a NEW FRIEND!

His name is Trent. He is a very brave tortoise, and not at all afraid of Dumbcat. (Right after this photo was taken, Dumbcat randomly started purring and headbutted poor Trent right onto the floor. Oh, Dumbcat. That’s no way to treat your new housemate!) Don’t even mock my warm flannel PJs, yo. It’s going to be NINE DEGREES tonight. Where is my spring?!?!)

Then we all went to a diner and The Nephew had pancakes and french fries (which was an awesome combination, I thought) and I helped him clean up some spilled milk and I told him I was helping him because I loved him all the way to the moon and back, and he said “I love you TWO TIMES that!” and I kissed him on his little head because that made me have tears. Oh, do I love that child.

Then it was time to go home, and tonight I am ouchy from walking and ouchy from windburny but we had a lovely day. But I would recommend that you probably don’t go to a zoo in the winter that DOESN’T upkeep their paths, though. Total liability. Otherwise? Good times had at the zoo by all. Including the animals. They were probably so sad to see us go. We’re excellent zoo visitors. No one was as happy as we were. We won zooing!

The doing of all the things

Yo, people, s’up. I have been doing a million billion things, and have been attempting to put together a coherent post, but my brain’s not cooperating. So instead, I’ll give you a recap of what’s up around the old Lucy’s Football homestead, which might be interesting to…I don’t know, no one? Maybe no one. But it’s about all I can do, sadly; larger topics and/or themes seem beyond me at the moment.

I went on a my first internetty date. I am not going to go into detail, because that seems rude. Let’s just say that we weren’t a match, and that seeing one another will not be repeated. But, in more cheerful news: I now know I am capable of going on a date, like a normal human being, and carry on what is mostly a normal human conversation, and eat food without spilling it all over my top. All of this without dying of an anxiety attack. So, although it was far from a win romantically, it was a win personally. Will I be attempting this again? Um. Let’s just say that’s up in the air for the moment? There might be more craziness out there in the world than I’m prepared to take on at this particular moment. Or ever, actually. But we’ll see.

Do not like. Do. Not. Like.

I saw the Book of Mormon. It was one of the best musicals I’ve ever experienced, and I can’t stop singing the music at inopportune times. Which is…well, most of the times, because if you know the songs, you know they’re kind of vulgar, in the most cheery way. It was an amazing musical, and had a great story, and the production was flawless (but of course it was, it was one of the touring companies coming through town, they don’t do shoddy work, and if I told you how much I paid for my ticket, you’d probably choke on whatever foodstuffs you’re currently consuming) and it made me smile so much my teeth dried out at one point. There was a rude asshat in front of me who insulted the nice retired teacher sitting next to him, and I wanted to punch him in the smug American-Psycho-lookalike face, but other than that, just a perfect evening. The show’s worth all the hype, but if you don’t like cussing, don’t go (or you’ll end up like the people at intermission I heard talking in the hallway, all “This is so VULGAR! Did you know it would be so VULGAR? It’s just so VULGAR!” Yes. Yes, it is. The South Park guys wrote it. Did you think it would be about rainbow kittens? Come on now.)

Here, this will make you happy. “I Believe” from the 2012 Tony Awards. (Don’t worry. This isn’t one of the naughty songs. Totally safe for both work and more easily-embarrassed ears.)

I got to see meet Christopher Durang. If you don’t know who this is, you’re probably 99% of the population, so don’t be upset. Christopher Durang is a playwright who was very popular in the late 80s/early 90s (although he is experiencing a resurgence and won the Tony for Best New Play this year) and I was in two of his shows in college (and did a scene from a third in acting class.) He’s absurd, and sarcastic, and hilarious, and intelligent, and remains one of my favorite playwrights to this day. He came to one of our local colleges to give a talk, and I got to see him talk, and then he did a book signing afterward – and I didn’t even freak out. Well, inside. Inside I was freaking out. But I was calm and charming outside, and that is a TOTAL win. That’s the first time I didn’t freak out and make one of my idols think I wanted to wear their skin as a suit. I’ll blog more about it on the book blog one of these days.

He totally looked just like a normal, ordinary guy. I like that when you meet a hero in real life they can masquerade as a typical human.

I went to a science museum with The Nephew. We saw a planetarium, where the presenter was asking questions none of the kids could answer, so she opened it up to the adults, and all the adults were afraid to answer, so I totally answered, because I like being a smartypants and I have no shame (and The Nephew was SO IMPRESSED with me – “you knew that!” he said. Yep, kiddo, I totally did. I am a nerd. We know all the things) and we saw many exhibits about how light and sound and waves and energy work, and a butterfly house (but The Nephew was not impressed because the butterflies weren’t landing on him, so he was like, “I’m done with this now!” and ran out) and gigantic Lego pieces so you could build a life-size house, and many train sets to play with, and one of those machines that makes your hair stand up if you touch it but it didn’t work on me because my hair was already a mess but it did make me all static electric so I was shocking people if I touched them. We had a day of adventure.

Me & my best little guy being beautiful butterflies. He LOVED this thing. Something about putting his face in a butterfly face entertained the heck out of him. He’s a blogger’s dream.

I am living through a winter apocalypse. This is the strangest winter ever. GIGANTIC SNOWFALLS! ICE STORMS! POLAR VORTEXES! (Vortices? I don’t ever remember the correct plural of that, and I’m too tired to hit the Googles at the moment.) Yesterday it was 45 degrees here. today it’s 20. It’s enough to give one whiplash. I’m so ready for spring. (And in funny news, I’m hearing from some of my friends who live in places that usually get a lot of snow that they DIDN’T get snow this year. I think we got all their snow. Awesome. Of course we did. Dumb snow. Dumb ice. I couldn’t even get in my car to go to work Thursday. It was iced shut. Took until about noon or one to even thaw enough to get in. SO ANNOYING.)

OK, it wasn’t this bad…

For the first time in, eek, I don’t even know…almost ten years?…I submitted a piece for publication, and am working on others. I’m attempting to do some writing this year. If it works out, awesome. If not, I’ve written some things I’m proud of. I forgot how much fun it is to write things for potential publication. Fun and scary, all at once, actually. I’ve decided 2014 will be the year for trying things that are a little scary. So far, so good.

Dumbcat has been up to shenanigans – his latest thing is that he jumps on the bed at random hours like 2:21 am and 4:32 am and says “MEOW! MOM MOM MEOW!” and I say “oh, no no, Dumbcat, it is not time for this at all, Mom’s sleeping” and he said “meooooow” and I say “no no no” and he kind of sad-meows like “meoooooooow Mom you are the worst meoooooow” and then goes away for a little while and then comes back a couple hours later and we do it all over again. I’m not quite sure what this is all about. I think he just needs some attention, but it’s not so much fun when a person is attempting to sleep. Also, the other night my throw-rug in the living room was all rucked up and I went to straighten it and there was a dead mole under it. A dead mole! OK, a., how’d that mole get in my home? And b., why’d Dumbcat kill a mole and then hide it like a serial-killer trophy under a rug? (Also, moles are really kind of cool. They have velvety fur and you can’t see their eyes and they have little chubby paws and short tails. No, I didn’t touch it, but I had to pick it up with a paper towel to send it to its final resting place over the porch railing into the snow and so I took the chance to look at it, because how often does one get a chance to look at a mole?) So I’m somewhat impressed with his murdering prowess but also kind of sad about this poor little soft-looking mole who somehow got lost on his way to finding, I don’t know, grubs to eat, or whatever.

Clearly is wasn’t THIS mole. This is a cheerful mole; my mole was a DEAD mole.

I’m going to the zoo! After the science museum, The Nephew told his mom, “I want to go to a zoo with Aunt Amy next” and she said, “maybe in the spring, the zoos are closed now” and he said, “no, the animals aren’t gone for the winter. Call Aunt Amy. She can find us a zoo. I know she can” and you know, that kind of blind faith in me, that’s amazing stuff. So did I find a zoo? Bet your bottom dollar I did. We’re heading out of town to visit one next Sunday. There will be lions, and owls, and zebras, and sea lions, and ZOMG A HEDGEHOG!, and many tortoises, and SUGAR GLIDERS!, and teeny pygmy goats, and lemurs! The Nephew has never been to a zoo. So that means I got to take him to his first play AND get to take him to his first zoo. I’m pretty jazzed about this. Don’t worry, I’ve promised there will be many photos of us making animal-faces, and if I promise it, I’ll deliver. You know how much I love zoos and animal-faces.

Oh, I hope it’s this one! This is a FANCY hedger! Look at her bling!

There have also been other things, like dinners with friends, and all the working, and various projects I’ve been working on, and this, that and other things. Busy, busy me. But it’s good-busy, for the most part, you know? Just busy. Happy-busy. And with all this busy-ness, the winter’s flying by…which means spring’s almost here, and you know what spring means. TRIP TO EUROPE! I’m only 69 days away from my trip now (from the time of me writing this, I mean.) That’s like nothing. Just a little over two months from now! I AM ALMOST THERE!

HERE I COME, MAGICAL FINNISH ISLANDS!!!

Happy week, you guys. Hope you’re all in the midst of grand adventures. The best kind of adventures at all. Hope to be back soon.

An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 32)

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

Howdy, people! It is now officially almost the end of February. Really all this means to me is that I’m one month closer to going to Finland, and one month closer to seeing Andreas‘ smiling face in PERSON, you guys! (Well, again, as I’ve already seen it…and I see it every couple of weeks when we chat on the Google…but this will be better because it will be in the LAND OF FINNS!) Really I’m just tolerating this winter to make it through to the spring. Because the spring will be AWESOME.

Aw, these interspecies friends are ALSO waiting for spring!

Things have been cuckoo-bananas-crazy around these here parts, with many things going on and much, much busyness. But all is well, just a little hectic. Expect at least ONE post about ONE of the things going on sometime soon, because I have many photos that will make you glow and awww and squee. Once I get a few minutes to write about it, that is. Right now, I’m sneaking this in while I’m watching television and keep getting distracted by the pretty moving pictures.

So, just in case you’re new (and if so, hello, new friend! Sorry I don’t blog enough. I used to blog more. Maybe I will someday again), 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 32th one. That’s kind of impressive, if you think about it. If you’re interested, search for the others; they’re stellar.) Why do I do this? I think I feel like I have to, at this point. Like, maybe if I stopped, the earth would just stop SPINNING.

I got a lot of search terms this month, but they were mostly all variations on pervy things and Facebook questions (and someone was stalking my blog by typing in “Lucy’s Football cats” and “Lucy’s Football sex” and “Lucy’s Football Finland” and that’s nice, but who are you and what do you want with me? So after narrowing things down, we’re left with not many search terms or questions this month. I’m cool with that. I’ve got the attention span of a gnat right now, yo.

OK. Are you wondering what search terms brought people to the old Football this month? Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be? We’re just going to list them all out one by one this month, since there aren’t many of them. Switch things up a little. See how we like that. I don’t usually dig change, but I’m willing to try anything once.

“but fuck finland” Well! That seems rude. What a rude thing to say! I love Finland. One of my favorite humans of all the humans lives in the Finland. Also, Finland has awesome things like delicious chocolates, and reindeer, and the midnight sun, and raccoon dogs, and hedgehogs. Finland is filled with awesomeness. Don’t use naughty words about the land of Finns, yo.

a poem that will make mom not whoop daughter Oh, I think maybe you’re putting too much weight on a poem. If your mom is about to “whoop” you, no poem’s going to make her stop, kiddo. What, she’s going to read “The Road Not Taken” or “A Dream Deferred” and be all, “I shall not hit my child today?” Poetry does a lot of things, but I don’t know that it’ll stop a whoopin’, darlin’. Sorry to tell you.

accidentally posted blowjob video tumblr I can’t even imagine how this accident occurred. Sincerely. I’m so befuddled. Did you think you were uploading a video of a kitten, or something, and WHOOPS THAT’S OUR PERSONAL TIME! OK, first? Don’t record your sexytimes. I know it seems like a good idea (ok, no, no I don’t) but IT IS NEVER A GOOD IDEA. And second, don’t ACCIDENTALLY POST THAT ON TUMBLR. I don’t use Tumblr much. Can’t you just take that DOWN? I mean, anyone could have uploaded it, and saved it, and is now getting…inspired…by your artistic endeavor…but just take it down. At least MORE people won’t be “inspired” by it, you know?

This is the proper face for when you come across some of the things that are online that shouldn’t be. Trust me on this.

bdsm marionette picture OMG NO. Come on now. Marionettes are creepy enough as it is. Now you want one all tricked out to, what, spank you or whatever? You’re a sick mammajamma. Go elsewhere for your kicks. The only kicks you’re getting around here are in the bum. And not the saucy kinds, either.  Urgh.

chuggington gangster Is there a gangster on Chuggington? Or are you calling Chuggington a gangster? The Nephew doesn’t watch that show anymore, I don’t think. Strangely, the last time I saw him he kept singing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle song, and he laughed when I told him I saw that movie in the theaters. He laughed harder when I said, “I’m very old, The Nephew.”

Chuggington is very nice, so this was the scariest character I could find, and only because it’s a monkey and I hate monkeys.

david busters yolo bears Dude! It isn’t a BEAR, it’s a HAMSTER. And it is AWESOME. Friend K. came over a while back and was all, “Why do you have that…thing…on your table that has a YOLO shirt” and I was all, “K.! IT IS A YOLO HAMSTER!” and she laughed and said “Only you would have a YOLO hamster on your kitchen table, Amy.” Also, it’s Dave and Busters, not David Busters. Come on, now.

Here is MY YOLO hamster! You can be jealous. It’s ok.

do you like my eyebrows Yes. I do. I think they’re fantastic. You’re lovely. Don’t ever doubt it, you!

female sounds of ecstasy Oh, honey. No. Just stop. You’re searching for this on the Googles? Don’t even bother, ok? The ones you’re going to find are weird fake porn, anyway. You know who makes realistic sounds of female ecstasy? REAL WOMEN YOU ARE INTIMATING WITH. Check that out sometime. It’s unparalleled.

finns kill reindeers Yeah, I think they do. I know Andreas has mentioned the eating of reindeer meat before. I think it’s a thing there. (It’s probably like hunting deer here, I’d think?) But, not to worry. Santa’s reindeer are fine, I think. They’re not in the land of Finns. They’re at the North Pole. Santa-ing.

This is the happiest reindeer EVER! Don’t kill him, Finland!

forehead ecstasy and passion What’s up with all the ecstasy searches this month? I think I blogged about the DRUG Ecstasy once. Are you confused about the difference? And listen, I know we have a lot of erogenous zones, but I don’t know that the forehead is one. If someone was all rubbing and licking my forehead, I think I’d start giggling and tell ‘em to get off. Just my prerogative, though.

grade 12 essay on what is happening to our young people?they disrespect elders,etc I’m not doing your homework for you, kiddo. You need to use your brain, ok? Or it will atrophy and melt out of your ears. Also, what a terrible essay topic. I would argue the opposite of this. I think adults always say this, in every generation, and you, Grade 12er, will say the same thing about kids your age when you an older person. Your teachers should come up with something better. Probably don’t tell them I said that, though, you’ll end up in detention.

hardest sheet music ever EVER? Man, that’s subjective. The answer is, ALL OF IT. Mostly because I can’t read music. But if anyone who does read music wants to chime in, please feel free.

in darkness and secrecy representivity Ha! I don’t know what this means, but I like how it’s phrased. It sounds like something from the code of conduct from a secret club. Are you inviting me into your secret club? I’ll think about it. Thank you, kind searcher!

SPECIAL PEOPLE CLUB! I need to watch this movie again. Like, immediately.

morning porn OK. I’m curious. Is morning porn different than afternoon or evening porn? Like, would the naked laydeez be eating waffles, or something? Would you be in a different mood in the morning, porn-wise, than you would be when the sun was higher in the sky? This is all very interesting to me, in kind of a psychological way, honestly. Anyone have any ideas?

passenger singer sounds like speech impediment OMG HE’S BRITISH. It’s not a SPEECH IMPEDIMENT. What would you even think if you went to England? That they ALL have speech impediments? I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry, to be honest. Also, British accents? Sexy as hell. Why are you thinking they have lateral lisps, or something?

Also, he’s adorable in a beardy way, right? Right.

people you may know are they stalking me? or am i stalking them? This is such an existential question. Are THEY stalking YOU? Or are YOU stalking THEM? Well, I can answer this for you, because, as you know, I am apparently the Facebook guru of the internet. (And of the real world, I guess. Two people have contacted me this week in the really real world asking me Facebook questions. I guess I’m more user-friendly than the Facebook help section. I’m ok with that.) NEITHER OF YOU ARE STALKING ANYONE. There was a rumor a while back that the people in the “people you may know” are people who have searched for you; I find no evidence that this is anything more than a rumor, although it may be true, I suppose. I’m just not a huge conspiracy-theorist. No one’s stalking. You all put way too much weight on Facebook. It’s just social media, yo.

the proof is in the pudding bitch RIGHT IN THAT PUDDING! BITCH! This made me snort-laugh. What a thing to say. “How do I know you love me, Charles?” “THE PROOF IS IN THE PUDDING, BITCH!” “Um…what pudding? What does that even mean? Do you love me, or don’t you? Why’d you just call me a bitch?” “Man, that catchphrase really backfired on me, I think.” AND SCENE. (Also, don’t put anything in pudding. Pudding is delicious as-is, and also you might choke someone if you put that proof in that pudding. Wait, is that proof a euphemism? I don’t even want to know.)

upstate ny hunting cabins sale Are you trying to buy my parents’ cabin? It’s not for sale. Don’t touch it. It’s my thinking-place, and my zen-place, and it smells like pine, and I love it there. You can’t have it.

There you have it, internettians. Got it in just under the wire. This month has kind of kicked my ass, so I’m impressed this happened at all. Hi-YA! On to March! Here we go!

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!)

Breaking out is hard to do

I am in an abusive relationship, and I need it to stop.

We’ve been together for a long time. It showed up when I was about twelve, all excited about life and ready to start my teenagerdom, which I would, without a doubt, totally win. I was very much looking forward to this new adventure, which, I was sure, would bring a boyfriend, and the ability to fill out a tank top like no one’s business, and a new cutting-edge teenage attitude.

However, I woke up one morning with a huge red swelling to the right of my mouth. I’m not talking about some cute little blemish. No, sir! Not me! Everything about me has always been very go-big-or-go-home. So I’m talking about – well, have you seen those photoshopped photos, the “before” photos in the late-night acne product commercials? I mean, you can tell they’re photoshopped. The eyes always look like they’re on the wrong level, and the acne looks cartoonish. Well, I looked like one of the cartoonish acne before-photos on late-night television.

I have my doubts about Proactiv. I think if you need to market on television at 3 am, you probably aren’t very good.

Mom and Dad were all “uh-oh, sorry for the genetics, kiddo” because there are very few photos of them from high school, but the ones there are show a couple of pretty miserable teenagers with really rocky complexions.

Well! This was not acne’s only appearance. Oh, no! It decided once it arrived, it’d set up shop. It was like those disgusting phlegm-monsters in that cough medicine commercial that makes me disgusted. It packed little greasy suitcases and moved on in. My face was its resort town, and it decided to live it on up. No part of my face was exempt, either! Forehead and nose and chin and cheeks! Once, close enough to my lip so it swelled up as if I’d been stung by a bee! Sometimes, right on TOP of each other, like it was living in little apartment buildings! Sometimes? In my ears, so my ears would swell up like a boxer’s! And sometimes it’d take little vacations and move onto my back or chest! And it HURT. Imagine huge swellings on your face and back and chest, sometimes more than one in the same place, as if you’ve been stung by a number of angry wasps. OUCH.

Ugh, seriously, I hate these commercials. STOP MAKING MUCUS TALK.

It got so bad at one point, someone stopped me in the hallway at school and asked me what had happened. “With what?” I asked. “Were you in a fire?” he asked, in a hushed tone. In a fire! Well. Isn’t that nice! YOU MADE ME LOOK LIKE A THIRD-DEGREE BURN VICTIM, ACNE. What the hell did I ever do to you?

Thanks for the reminder, helpful sign!

My parents, who’d suffered through the same thing, finally were grossed out enough that they brought me to a dermatologist, who visibly recoiled when I walked through the door. Nothing ups the self-esteem like having a doctor who DEALS with such things for a LIVING recoil as if you’re Frankenstein’s MONSTER.

BACK! BACK I SAY CHILD OF SATAN! Oh, it’s my next patient, come on in, then.

Back in the late 80s, if you had terrible skin, they prescribed you Retin-A. I don’t know if they still do such a thing. (Apparently they do, but don’t have babies while using it, or their skulls will be too soft, and I assume babies with Play-Doh skulls are bad. Also don’t get waxed, or it will PULL YOUR TOP LAYER OF SKIN OFF. Good grief.) I also got this…I don’t know, alcohol solution I had to dab onto my face. These things had to happen every morning and every night after I washed my face. Also, I wasn’t allowed to go out in the sun, or if I HAD to go out in the sun, I had to wear like SPF 1,000 sunscreen. (Retin-A thins the top layer of your skin. Somehow this stops your acne. I am not a doctor. I don’t know how that works. But this skin-thinning thing also makes you burn in the sun, and you can’t get waxed, and your face gets really, really red when you first start using it.)

Good grief, it still looks the same 20 years later. Who’s your PR person, Retin-A? Time for a packaging overhaul!

I was somewhat skeptical, but at that point, I would pretty much try anything.

Well! Come to find out, RETIN-A WAS MADE OF MAGIC. I don’t remember how long it took, but one day I woke up and although my face was a little red (and I had to hide in the shadows like a vampire-person) I HAD NO ACNE. All the acne had taken off for sunnier climes. I LOOKED LIKE A HUMAN AGAIN. At one point, I even got a – GASP! – BOYFRIEND. (A few of them, actually. Well, not at the same TIME, I wasn’t a teenage WHORE. They were nothing to write home about, in retrospect, but at the time I felt like this was the BEST THING EVER.) One of my mom’s friends, when she and my mom were talking about my skin problems one day, said, “Amy has skin problems? You’d never know! I was just saying to my husband the other day she has just the most beautiful complexion!”

I HAD WON! I HAD BEATEN ACNE!

Yes, I looked JUST LIKE THIS! Oh, wait, no, Retin-A doesn’t turn you into a model. Sorry. Sorry.

I stopped using the medication in college – my doctor didn’t think I needed it anymore, and it was very expensive on our prescription plan – and all was well for quite some time.

Until probably four or five years ago.

Acne! YOU TRICKED ME! What IS this shit?

Apparently, what this shit is, is ADULT acne. It is ACNE that appears when you are an ADULT. It is the ghost of terrible complexions past COMING BACK TO HAUNT YOU.

Oh, stop. I had to.

It’s not as bad as it was when I was younger – oh, thank goodness – but it’s very hard to be almost 40 years old and have the occasional breakouts of a teenage face. It’s very embarrassing. I mean, yes. Odds are good that people aren’t going to make fun of you now (what kind of asshole mocks you for breakouts when you’re an adult? we know better now) and you know (hopefully, at least, if you’re female, although I’m sure men can use cover stick if they want to) tricks with makeup to downplay the fact you’ve got a gigantic blemish on your chin or your cheek or whatever.

And NOW, adult acne, you complete wanker, you have decided to pop up OVER ONE OF MY EYES and I’m waking up with ONE EYE SWOLLEN SHUT EVERY MORNING BECAUSE OF YOU and it takes like TWO HOURS for that swelling to go down and I LOOK LIKE SOMEONE BEAT ME UP or maybe THE ELEPHANT MAN. Dude, I have to go out in PUBLIC like this. SOMEONE IS GOING TO ASK ME WHAT IS WRONG. “Oh, just a gigantic pimple above my eye, like normal almost-middle-aged women get all the time,” is a thing I will not love to say at all.

I look a little like Rick from the Walking Dead after he got all beat up, which is nice, right? Very classy.

My mother’s still getting you adult acne. SHE IS IN HER 60s. THIS IS NOT RIGHT. Somehow, my dad avoided this and his torment ended when he was in his late teens, but me and my mom? We’re still sporting the skin of teens. Sad, sad teens who don’t get asked to the prom.

Acne, you’re going to have to take a hike. I think I’m too old for Retin-A (and at this point in my life, if I don’t get waxed, I’d have a whole other problem to deal with, called My Eyebrows Have a Mind of Their Own and Would Make Me Look Like a Yeti) but there must be another solution. And I’m calling a dermatologist. Tomorrow.

You don’t get to win, bub. I have an excellent prescription plan this time, and I’m a lot angrier than I was when I was a teenager. If you’re not going to leave, I’m going to kick you out. I’m changing the damn LOCKS this time, acne! I am not going to my grave with you still in my life!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go figure out the best eyeshadow to go with one normal eye, and one eye swollen 3/4 of the way shut. I’m thinking a kicky bejeweled eyepatch. Arr, matey. Walk the plank.

Pretty sure everyone would just think it was a fashion statement and not ask me what was going on, right? Right.

This happens. This is something that happens.

I am watching Magnolia. It is my favorite movie. This probably says a lot about me; mostly about the fact that I can relate, all-too-well, to broken people, to people with flaws that run deep and don’t ever let them go, not completely.

I’m watching Magnolia today because Philip Seymour Hoffman died, and I wanted to see him in one of my favorite roles of his, in my favorite movie. I wanted to just have a minute to say my goodbye to someone whose work I respect a great deal, and whose death I’m taking maybe a little too hard because that’s a thing I do. I am talking to someone I love about how much this movie means to both of us, how much it affected us back in the days when we weren’t yet part of each other’s lives, and I am crying over this movie, and I am crying over this particular magic, this thing that brings people together at just the right time, in just the right place.

Magnolia has the recurring theme of coincidence, and connection, and how we’re all intertwined; how the smallest action can turn into the one thing that your entire life hinges on. I like this. This is the magic I hold onto in life. This is what I hang around for; those little moments where you can almost see the greater plan peeking through the velvet curtains at the edge of things.

The movie starts with some stories of coincidence, each one harder to believe than the last: a man killed in Greenberry Hill in London by men named Joseph Green, Stanley Berry and Daniel Hill; a scuba diver killed by a firefighting airplane flown by a man he’d coincidentally run into a few days prior; and a teenager attempting suicide by jumping off the roof of his building, only to have his mother accidentally shoot him as he falls past her window – and land in a net put up to save window-washers, so he wouldn’t have died, after all, had he not been shot.

After each of these stories, the narrator tells us “and I would like to think this was only a matter of chance.” Until the last story.

And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that this is not just “something that happened.” This cannot be “one of those things”… This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can’t. This was not just a matter of chance. Oh, these strange things happen all the time.

I’m going to tell you a story.

Once upon a time, I lived across the country. That iteration of Amy was not one I am proud of. I suppose you need to learn from your past, from your mistakes, to form the person you are today; if that’s the case, the mistakes I made, and troubles I dealt with, while living in the western part of the country, built a big old foundation upon which to position this life, the life I am proud of.

I worked at a theater there, for a while. I was one of the broken people, while there. I drifted. I was lost. I was doing what I could to survive. I was in and out of disastrous relationships and crushes on the least-likely candidates. I cried a lot. I was one of those thousand-yard-stare people you kind of see on the periphery.

I loved my time at the theater, though. It was brief – probably 8 months, all-told – but it seems longer, in my mind. I found family there. For someone as lost and alone as I was, this was huge. I had people, and I had a place to go, and I felt like I belonged. I was still broken, and I was still lost, but I had a tiny corner where things could be alright. (Theater’s saved me many times, and I have no doubt it will again – this is a good example of one of those times.)

But I screwed it up, as I did many things back then. Things got hard, and I got nervous, and I eventually shut myself off from everyone I loved there. I left and didn’t go back. I had reasons, which were varied (and kind of ridiculous, and even as screwed-up as I was, I knew they were ridiculous) but when the going gets tough, a lot of times, I just put up walls and make ‘em thick. No one gets in. I don’t go out. And I can pretend I made that choice! I don’t need anyone! But really what made the choice is the fact that I’m depressed and I’m freaking out and it’s easier to not have anyone in your life when that happens. People are just a complication, right?

I think I ended up saying goodbye to maybe two of the theater people when I left the state. I didn’t even think that might be hurtful. I just wanted out, and I wanted to get back to where I thought I could rebuild, and things might start to be ok.

And things were ok. More than ok, actually. I got my fresh start, both due to the change of scenery and a change in me. I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I wanted to be someone else – someone who didn’t hide, someone who had friends, someone who had more blue-sky days than black-cloud days. It’s amazing how far a change in attitude can take you. It wasn’t overnight – the person I was hung around longer than I care to admit – but eventually, I shed most of her off, I kept what worked, and I became the person I am now: flawed, sure, but happy. And happy begets happy. Happy draws IN happy. It’s something I never knew, and something I was so joyful to discover.

I compartmentalized who I used to be; I didn’t shut it off, because you can’t deny things that happened, but I didn’t let it color me, either. I’m friends with a few people from those days in the now; BFF is one of them, and Mer another. They’re my best takeaways from that time, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I’m peripherally friends with a few others on Facebook, but you know how Facebook is. You like a status here and there, but it’s what you put into it, and we’ve grown too far apart to mend those fences. I don’t know that we really care enough to, honestly.

Remember the dating site? Yeah, that’s going about as well as you might imagine, but that’s not the point of this story.

The dating site sends you a list of people it thinks are good matches for you. (Strangely, most of these people are what I would consider exactly the opposite of a “good match,” but that’s neither here nor there.) The other day, I was idly paging through them (an audio track of me doing this would be “no,” “ugh, OMG, no,” “where are your CLOTHES?”, and “Why does this site think I want to date a 62-old-man?”) and I saw a photo of someone that looked very familiar.

Now, I’d assumed at some point I’d run into someone I knew. It was kind of inevitable. It’s a big area, but not THAT big. I’m not going to DATE anyone I kn0w – if I wanted to date people I knew, would I be on the dating site to begin with? – but it wasn’t someone I knew from HERE.

It was someone I knew from the theater from all those years ago. J., who’d run the theater; who’d been the one who took me in to begin with, who gave me the family I was too closed off to accept as fully as I should have. I hadn’t seen J. in twelve years. We weren’t Facebook friends. We’d dropped off each other’s radar. Not out of spite or any sort of hard feelings; I liked J. I just lost touch with J., and then compartmentalizing that part of my life hadn’t led me to look up people from that time. Honestly? I didn’t know if they’d remember me. I’d been a bit of a ghost. At first, didn’t even believe it WAS J. – I did a Google seach first, to see if he really was in the area.

Because what are the odds, right? What are the odds that someone you were close to twelve years ago, all the way across the country, would show up in your list of people on a dating site you just joined?

But it was him. He was here, somehow. And after sending him what was probably the goofiest message ever (but, in my defense, he replied with an equally “ZOMG!” email) we met up for dinner the other night.

Dinner became over three hours of talking and catching up and laughing and utter amazement over the fact that it had been twelve years and here we were, and we both looked pretty much the same (few more gray hairs, maybe, but it wasn’t like we were unrecognizable to one another) and how was he here? And what had happened in the past twelve years? And we caught up over food and the time melted away and I remembered some of the good things from all that time ago; that everything wasn’t terrible, not all the time, and the good things I brought forward with me were the things that made my friendship with J. still work.

(And before you all get excited: no, this is not a love connection. I care about J. a great deal, but it’s never been THAT kind of relationship, and never will be. Solid friendship with nothing more behind it. Sorry to burst your bubble, all of you rooting for me to find love on the interwebz.)

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I totally told J. “IT WOULD BE LIKE KISSING MY BROTHER” then I realized I probably had to say that was from a movie or it was just a really rude, or slightly incesty, thing to say.

J. is here working at one of the local colleges, rebooting their theater program. (Can’t think of anyone better to do it; he’s got this energy that just beams from him.) Things have been going well for him; he’s also had a good twelve years. He also realized he needed a fresh start and took his life in a different direction. And I have to admit, it was nice to tell him what I’d been up to; I didn’t have much to be proud of then, but now I can say things like “writing for the paper” and “traveling to Europe in the spring” and “published a book” and MEAN all of them.

And J. and I made plans to get together again, and soon; if the world hands you a coincidence like this, you don’t waste it. You grab that puppy with both damn hands. I can’t wait to introduce him to the theater scene; the first time we met, he took me in, and made the introductions, and I was just given the chance to return the favor.

And there is the account of the hanging of three men, and a scuba diver, and a suicide. There are stories of coincidence and chance, of intersections and strange things told, and which is which and who only knows? And we generally say, “Well, if that was in a movie, I wouldn’t believe it.” Someone’s so-and-so met someone else’s so-and-so and so on. And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that strange things happen all the time. And so it goes, and so it goes. And the book says, “We may be through with the past, but the past ain’t through with us.”

If the past ain’t through with me, I’m cool with that. I take the magic of the world where it’s given. If the world wants to bring back an old friend when I’m finally at the point in my life when I can appreciate him? I’ll take that magic. With thanks. And tears. And wonder.

Kind-of-Sort-of-Ask-Lucy a.k.a. I CAN ANSWER THAT! (Volume 19)

Howdy, folks! How do you feel about answering some questions today? Super-good? Yeah, me too. It’s like giving back, right? That’s supposed to make you feel good about yourself. And it’s much less scary than, say, giving a ride to a hitchhiker with one eye and a knife poking out of his belt. No, that wasn’t a euphemism.

We didn’t get a ton of questions this month, but we got some doozies. We always do, round these here parts. It’s inevitable, really, much like the sun coming up, the tides to-ing and fro-ing, and Dumbcat starting to beg for treats around 6pm even though treat time is 8pm, because he cannot read a clock.

So, in case you don’t remember, or are new here, or maybe your mom left the parental control off the laptop when she went out with “Uncle” Harold, here’s a quick rundown of what’s happening. Because the search terms posts tend to be insanely long, I break them up into two posts: an open letter to people who find my blog accidentally and a post with just the QUESTIONS that drive people to my blog. And I answer those questions to the best of my ability, and I give advice, some of which is more serious than the rest. Yesterday was the search term post, so, as you can see, today’s the question post. Nice how that works, yeah? Sure is.

So, yet again!

Welcome to…

Kind-of-sort-of Ask Lucy.

Subtitled: I CAN ANSWER THAT!

These are all ACTUAL SEARCH TERMS that brought people to my blog. So these people totally need my help, obviously, because they came to Google SEARCHING FOR HELP. And they obviously didn’t find it, because they ended up here. And as much as I like the traffic, I do feel bad for people who are weeping and wailing because they’re lost and alone and somehow trapped on Lucy’s Football island, even though it’s a wonderful place to be.

how many times a week to shave hands men Whoa whoa whoa. Shave your HANDS? OK, I know some men who have, like, super-hairy backs or chests or even shoulders or something, and they get waxed, sometimes, but I have to honestly say I’ve never heard of any man shaving his hands. Help me out, people, anyone ever heard of this? My answer for this is never. Never times a week. Leave your poor hands alone. You’re welcome, waxing’s better for such things, anyway.

how to make statue from string I think you build a structure from balloons, then wrap the balloons with string soaked in either glue or papier maché, then you pop the balloons and the structure stands on its own. You’re welcome, aren’t you glad I know things like this because I did set construction at theaters for years and years?

See? Like this, only larger-scale. Easy enough.

i was alienated from my mother by my father and stepmother how to fix Jeez, it’s like you’re living a terrible fairy tale. I’m so sorry. Talk to your mom; explain the situation. It might take some time to repair things; things don’t just get back to the way they were overnight. Be kind to your mom. Apologize. And what’s going on with your father and stepmother? They sound a bit wicked. Maybe distance yourself from them for a bit until everyone grows up a little? You’re welcome. Good luck, cherry blossom.

is a cat a rodent Oh, Andreas will love this one. No, a cat is not a rodent. A mouse or a rat is a rodent. A cat is a feline. (Also a carnivore, I suppose, if you want to be all sciency.) You’re welcome, you know you can Wikipedia these things, right?

This is also a feline; it will, however, eat your face.

is amy a common name? Unfortunately, yes. I think it’s less common now, but in the 70s, when I was born, it was the #1 girl’s name. There were so many Amys of my age that I was just one of many. I had a locker right next to an Amy who had the same last initial as me, as well. I’m not a fan of my first name. I wish it was something a little more jazzy, frankly. But it’s too late now. I’m not changing it. People would just be too confused if I showed up one day and was Zoë or something. You’re welcome, please name your kid something more original.

should i shovel snow if i’m sick Nice way to try to get out of something, trickster. I mean, if you’re DYING, no. Probably not. But if you just have the sniffles, sure. Get on out there and shovel that terrible white stuff. It’s awful while you’re doing it, and it hurts your back, but on the bright side, it’s excellent exercise, and when you’re done, you feel very accomplished. You’re welcome, stop dog-ate-my-homework-ing your household chores.

the best hooker for a spaceship OMG! The best hooker! Well, the answer is obviously Inara from Firefly. But she wasn’t as much a “hooker” as she was a “Companion.” I’m curious, are you building a spaceship? And populating it with hookers? You’re welcome, and also a little weird.

No question, this is the one you want.

whats worse porn or literotica Well. Worse is a little subjective, isn’t it? Is there anything wrong with either, if used properly? I mean, if you don’t get all obsessive, or think they’re real, or expect real women or men to act the way they do in porn/literotica, or read/watch really violent things and then act them out with unwilling partners, or something. I don’t judge these things. I assume everyone likes some sort of porn. It’s the way the world works. You’re welcome, don’t be so hard on yourself. Not a euphemism.

why always stupid people got big mouth Why always, indeed. Well, I think it’s that you’re annoyed by them, for whatever reason, so they seem super-loud and bothersome. Maybe someone you love seems stupid to someone else, and therefore would seem big-mouthed to that person, you know? It’s all in how you see it. I mean, it could also be that the stupid people have low self-esteem so are louder, I suppose. There are a lot of ways to look at this. You’re welcome, maybe invest in some earplugs?

why am i such a shut in I need more info. Are you injured, and therefore can’t leave the house? Are you suffering from severe agoraphobia? Do you hate people? If you don’t like how shut in you are, do something to change it – and that’s usually get out. Look in the paper and online, find something you like to do that’s going on, and go to it. Don’t let it daunt you. Go with someone, or go alone, but have a good time. And each thing you go to gets less scary and less scary until they’re not scary to go to at all anymore. Seriously. Or, alternately, get some medication that makes going out of the house easier to deal with. Worked for me. You’re welcome; I hope things get better for you.

why are lane bryant stores so expensive Because they know they can charge us more; there are very few good plus-sized stores out there, and people will pay a premium for nice clothes that fit (somewhat) well. (I recommend shopping elsewhere; I’ve had excellent luck at thrift stores, Peter Harris Plus, online, and Target. All for a fraction of what I’d pay at Lane Bryant.) You’re welcome; if they’re overcharging, choose to spend your money elsewhere.

why people shouldnt have butterfly knives Because they’re easy to hide away and ultimately stabby, I think. Not really sure. If you ask Dad, he’d say “THE GOVERNMENT!” or “BECAUSE OBAMA!” so don’t ask Dad. You’re welcome, maybe buy some nunchucks.

Yeah, THIS doesn’t look dangerous at all.

On a scale of one to ten, one being WTH WAS THAT and ten being THE BEST THING EVER, how helpful were those answers? 4? I’ll take it.

Until next month – may all your questions be answered, and may your February be warmer than your January. Because no one likes the frozen wasteland of tundra of his January. NO ONE NO ONE.

An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 31)

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

Well, here we are. End of the month. What, already? I know! January kind of sped right by. I wish the rest of this frozen wasteland of a winter would do the same. Seriously, it’s like we’re paying for some sort of sins right now with this cold. WHY IS IT SO COLD? Good grief. The other morning, after cleaning off my car, WHILE wearing gloves AND a hat, might I add, it took most of the drive to work for my fingers to warm up, and they were all ouchy so I was convinced I had the frostbite. IT IS 2014. I SHOULD NOT BE GETTING THE FROSTBITE IN 2014.

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I’m going to be the “I can’t get up I CAN’T GET UP!” kid soon, seriously.

However, even though if you go outside you will probably die of cold (my favorite coworker A. said, when he ran out to the convenience store across the street the other day, “ALL THE BLOOD IN MY BODY FROZE THE MINUTE I STEPPED OUTSIDE!” so we keep picking on each other about that whenever we come in from outside. “How’s your blood? So frozen?”) there’s no rest for the wicked. We need to help the lost searchers. I mean, what if we didn’t? Would they just be wandering around all week, sad-faced and lonely and whimpering? I wouldn’t like that. Not even a little.

So, just in case you’re new (and if so, hi! Where’ve you been?), 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 31th one. Whoa, it’s not too much longer that these posts are going to be older than I am. Can you even IMAGINE? If you’re interested, search for the others; they’re stellar.) Why do I do this? Um. Community service? Maybe it’s like community service? Sorry, I don’t know. I got nothing.

We’ve got enough search terms and questions for two posts this month, so aren’t we the most jazzed? We TOTALLY are. JAZZ-HANDS! Come on, everyone, let me see your jazz-hands. Not you, Ding Dong Joe, not until you Purell the hell out of them. You’re just filthy, bub.

OMG JAZZ HANDS TURTLE THIS WINS THE INTERNET TODAY!

OK. Are you ready? Hang onto your hats. If you don’t have a hat, go get one; all your heat leaves through your head, you know. Mom said that, so it MUST be true.

Facebook stuff and such

advantages and evils of facebook in our life Ooh, EVILS and ADVANTAGES. Do you think you might be overthinking Facebook? If you don’t like it, don’t use it. If you DO like it, KEEP using it. Don’t worry about it so much. Advantages: keeping in touch with your far-flung loved ones. Evils? I don’t know about EVILS. I mean, there’s pervs, but where aren’t there pervs? People on there are annoying, sometimes, sure – but, guess what. People in real LIFE are annoying, too. Calm down. It’s social media. If you think it’s evil, shut down your account. There. I fixed it.

facebook ruined a generation Hey, I think you and the person above are a LOVE CONNECTION! Yes, people are maybe a little more self-absorbed on Facebook – it lends itself to that, doesn’t it? – but I don’t think it ruined anything. Mostly because I don’t think the generation is ruined. I’m honestly exhausted of all this talk of this generation’s no good, that generation’s no good – they’re FINE. Leave the kids alone. People used to say that about our generations, back in the day. It’ll all work out.

Hey, look, Disney saved a whole lost generation! Impressive, no?

facebook show wrong people you may know ….how to change So…you don’t know the people you may know? WHOA. This is MIND-BLOWING. Why would you want to change it? Seriously. If you want to see people you might want to be friends with? Tip! Click on the “find friends” thing. It’s like “people you may know” only they’re mostly all relevant. (And mostly all people I don’t want to be friends with, but that’s probably just me, I suppose, since I hate most people.)

Is this me? I’m a real-life person, right?

adventures of real life people I am real! I have adventures! I like that this search term brought you right here. All the adventures! I hope you enjoy them. Most of my adventures involve me doing something foolish and/or ridiculous. If you like such things, you’ve come to the right place!

I’m not sure what these mean, but I like them.

ask lucy bad face Is that my new name? Lucy Bad Face? Or do you ask me something, and I MAKE a bad face? I think that should be my gangsta name. Bad Face Lucy. Don’t you mess with Bad Face Lucy! She’ll mess you up but good!

baltimore lil one feel me i’m stupidly I don’t even know, but this makes me happy. Is it song lyrics? I know a lil’ one in Baltimore, and she’s just about my favorite lil’ one. She has a smile that could knock you on your butt, that kiddo. She is glorious.

blah blah blah don’t listen to me love love love the wifi to my love if life’s too my love is the shhh to email this to me to leave do i have something inserted in me where like a receiver retriever what the hell is going on what am i mixed up in by accident of course Yes, this entire sentence showed up in my search results. No, I don’t know why, either. It has many words that lead you here, like shhh and email and probably inserted because sometimes I’m naughty and euphemistic, but mostly I’m wondering, who typed all this into a search engine? And why? To what end? I have to admire this type of fortitude, though. It’s impressive.

Hee!

bitch please i ride a unicorn BITCH PLEASE. I RIDE AN IMAGINARY CREATURE.

Huh. I guess this is a thing, then. Who knew? (It’s “a” unicorn, babe, not “an.” Unless that’s a weird British thing. Is that a weird British thing?)

What? What is this?

kill the trust wallpapers What’s “kill the trust?” Is it a thing? I am the first to admit I don’t know about things. I’m very much out of the loop and old and new memes always pop up and I’m like, “WHAT IS THIS?” and then I usually giggle at people’s ingenuity. So now I have to search for “kill the trust.” Nope, not a thing, so I’m just as lost as I always, but I did find this, so not all is lost. Thanks, internet!

I don’t think they are.

buffalo ny people are rude I know a number of Buffalo people (what are they? Buffalonians? No idea) and they’re nice as can be. I have no issues with the people from Buffalo. I was in Buffalo twice – once for a visit, once driving through – and the only complaint I have is that the time I was driving through I got crazy lost, but that was my fault, not Buffalo’s. (I am TERRIBLE at maps, and this was pre-GPS times, and it wasn’t easy to read a map and drive alone at the same time. However, I made it across the country this way, all alone, like an intrepid pioneer. I’m still proud about this. Young Amy rocked, sincerely.)

Crafty!

homemade lite brite with cups I was curious about this, but apparently it’s a whole THING. Like, you need a light table and a bunch of cups. I don’t want to make one or anything. I would, however, like a Lite Brite. Remember how much fun those were? I always wanted one, but the only cool toys that everyone else had that my family had were a Rubik’s Cube, a Simon (OH, how I loved that Simon!) and a Cabbage Patch Kid. (Mine was a redhead with braids and her name was Janet. She was the best.)

Only the coolest kids had these. I was not the coolest, sadly.

Naughty!

hot college swim team yay sex OMG! Yay, sex! Yeah, I’m down with that. Yay, sex. And yay, swimmers. I loved a swimmer once. They are hot. I can’t deny that. But this search term is a little less hot. The team’s not all popping out of the water and getting it on in the locker room, you guys. Stop that.

how wild people sex Ha! This made me laugh so hard. How wild people sex? Do you want, like, a manual? And it could go different ways. Like, how WILD people sex, or how wild PEOPLE sex. This is a little conundrum, this one. Also, no idea how it got you here. I don’t know that I have an answer for you, either. How wild people sex? I would assume pretty wild, but not SO wild, maybe?

litotica nothing but the but t Nothing but the but! t! That space there makes this for me. I was all over giggles about this. People search a lot here for literotica. What’s funny is, I’ve never blogged about it, that I know of, and the only mention of it is in these search terms. It’s like a snake eating its own tail. (Also, this is “litotica” which is kind of funny and poorly-spelled.)

literotica mom and son alone in storm EW EW EW NO. I think that mom and son would NOT GET UP TO NAUGHTYTIMES. Seriously, just when I think people can’t weird me out more, things like this happen. Although the storm was a creative little touch. Adds some urgency to this incestuous mess.

sex, women wee wee inadvertently If you can’t say “urinate” you can’t have sex. I just made this rule and I stand by it. Also, it’s called female ejaculation, and it’s not urine, you troglodyte.

sextoysyo dot com SEXTOYSYO! Listen, if I ever need to purchase some sex toys, I’m so buying them here. It’s like this site is made for me.

sexy zebra sleep room Sexy zebra? Like, is the zebra wearing a peignoir? This is very strange. I know some people think animal prints are sexy. I find them to be trying too hard. You know what’s sexy? NOT TRYING TOO HARD.

SEXY ZEBRA! Does it worry you that this is actually a thing? Worries me, a little.

Well! I am…pleased for you?

i am so busy doing nothing I am never busy doing nothing. I wish I was. I’m terrible at it. I want to do nothing, and then I realize I need to blog, or email, or a million other things. I am busy multitasking, for the most part. That’s usually what I’m busy doing.

Methinks the searcher doth protest too much

im not interested in love People say this a lot, but I’ve yet to meet someone who really means it. If love showed up for someone who’s said such a thing, they’d accept it. It’s easy to say you’re not interested in it, especially when it seems everyone has it but you, but it’s a very human thing, to want love, to want to give love in return. It’s not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign you have a heartbeat. Embrace it, darling.

Yeah, sometimes, I suppose.

life plays a cruel game It does seem like this, doesn’t it? Life is sometimes terrible. And it sometimes seems like it’s all out to get you. We’ve all had those days (hell, or weeks, or months) where it seems like everything’s piling up against you. But life’s not playing a cruel game. It’s just the way things are. There are highs and lows, and your high will come. Promise. Life swings around. That’s one of the things I’ve learned over the years: things tend to balance out, eventually. Just stick to it.

Oh, well this is appetizing.

log bologna meat Nothing I like more than calling my food a log. YUM.

I beg to differ.

no such thing as too much tequila Oh, yes there is. There SO is. Also, a tequila hangover is a bad one. I’m unfortunately one of those people who can rate hangovers by the alcohol consumed, and a tequila hangover’s not quite as bad as a champagne hangover (that one rated the worst ever in my book) but it’s nasty. It’s a nasty, greasy, disgusting hangover and you’re all “NEVER AGAIN” until the siren song of MORE TEQUILA happens. Take this from someone who used to be in a very serious relationship with José Cuervo, please. He’s a terribly abusive boyfriend.

See? Even this weird old band knows about this.

Aw! This is flattering!

please write me a notification for my birth day I don’t know you, or when your birthday is, or I’d do this. I love birthdays. And I love that you wanted me to remember you on it. Pretend I did, ok? BEEP BEEP IT IS YOUR BIRTHDAY! HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS TO YOU, STRANGER!

All of them? I think all of them.

plus womens department stores that will sell to crossdressers You’re not going to find too many stores that turn away business. I suppose really snotty stores might go all Pretty Woman on you and sneer, but mostly, the point of stores is, they want you to spend your money there, because it’s how they stay in business. And listen, when I worked at the plus sized clothing store in college, I LOVED when men would come in and shop. They were so nice, and would model things for me and we’d talk and chat and laugh and I always looked forward to them coming in. So I suppose if larger stores are snotty, go to smaller ones? I’d also assume stores in larger cities would be more accepting than stores in smaller towns, but that’s just a guess.

Are you hinting that Dumbcat should have his own blog?

siamese lynx point blog Sometimes Dumbcat guest blogs here, but he could never keep up his own blog. He’s too busy sleeping, licking himself, eating treats, and making weird meows because he misses me when I leave for five seconds and he hasn’t seen me. I think this might be as CLOSE to a Siamese Lynx Point blog as you’ll find, though. What a claim to fame! I’m really pleased by this.

Whew! There you go, January, I kicked YOUR butt all over town. In celebration, here is the best thing on the internet today.

LOWL! I want to hug this owl, providing he didn’t peck out my eyes.

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!)

The wages of bloggery = ADVENTURE!

Howdy, blogosphere. Are we good? Good, good. Is it spring yet? No? Dammit.

I have a story! No, seriously, I totally do.

So sometimes, as a VERY IMPORTANT BLOGGER* (*not at all important) I get emails offering me things from companies who want me to blog about them. I’ve been offered sunglasses (which are useless to me, as I wear glasses); bumper stickers (I don’t care for bumper stickers, I feel they’re the lazy man’s way of shouting while driving); sex toys (I don’t even); and business cards (for a while there, people were giving business cards away to bloggers, and I just didn’t – and still don’t – understand who I would give those to, unless I went to a blogging convention of some sort.)

Problem is, other than the fact I didn’t really WANT any of these things (well, let’s be honest, I was curious about the sex toys, if only to make fun of them on the blog) is that in order to GET them, you had to SHILL them. You had to put an ad for them up on the sidebar of your blog, and you weren’t reviewing them, but advertising them. Totally against the terms of service of WordPress. We’re not here to be advertisers. (Try to tell that to all the spammy blogs out there that never get shut down, somehow…but technically, that’s a big old no-no.)

Now, we ARE allowed to accept things to fairly and honestly review them. Books, for example. You know how book bloggers write “I received this book from the publisher in exchange for a fair and honest review?” That’s totally allowed. Still not allowed to put an ad on your blog for them (at least, I don’t think you are…or maybe that’s just if you’re running WordAds, which I am, because I sure do like making pennies a month with those suckers…PENNIES a MONTH, baby!) but you’re totally not violating any rules by honestly reviewing something that was gifted to you.

Thing is, I’ve never been offered anything but books, so it was kind of a moot point, really.

UNTIL A FEW WEEKS AGO!

I got what I thought was possibly a spam email (I get a lot of those on here) offering me what seemed to be something TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE. So I asked a billion questions, because I don’t like to be fooled. And come to find out…IT WAS A REAL THING!

Guess what I get to do in April?

GO ON A TRIP OUT OF STATE AND STAY IN THE MOUNTAINS FOR FREEEEEEE!

Probably won’t be staying here, but let me pretend I will be for a couple of months, ok?

Nope, totally not even spammy, you guys, I’m like a big deal or something!

OK, so the email offered me a stay in Vermont in a farmhouse so they could get more exposure for this new outdoorsy program they were running there (hiking, cross-country skiing, yoga, snowshoeing, etc.)

I immediately thought, “Oh, this is like the time Dad got roped into going to a timeshare presentation when I was a kid and we went to Florida, and we had to sit in this room and listen to this man talk at us for like four hours, and we were SO BORED, and Dad was SO ANGRY that he was tricked like that.”

So I asked this nice lady a billion questions, like, “Do I have to snowshoe, or can I just stay in the room, maybe?” and “Is this like the time I had to sit through a timeshare pitch? That would make me so mad” and “Wait, HOW in the mountains are you. You have, like, TVs and wifi and bathrooms that are indoors, right?” and “You do know I’m not, like, a SERIOUS blogger, right?” and “Is this a scam? Come on. You can tell me.”

Luckily, she did not think I was crazy, and she wrote back to me answering all my questions in a “you’re not at all crazy, blogger lady” manner, with links to the site, and where I would be staying, and an actual itinerary and dates I could stay and everything. And…even BETTER…I could bring a GUEST! Now, who do I know that loves outdoorsy things, doesn’t care if I act like a loon, and likes to have adventures?

You know I’M not going to do this. I had to find SOMEONE who might.

You think no one, don’t you? Who do I know that likes the outdoors? And you’d be all, “NO ONE,” and you’d be CLOSE to right, but you’re overlooking ONE PERSON and that person is MOM!

Mom was VERY EXCITED when I invited her on a Vermont adventure and she only asked if we were going to be killed or asked to listen to a timeshare presentation about ten times. (Listen, we’ve all been quite scarred by this timeshare presentation situation. It was a very monumental point in our communal past as a family.) I told her she would have to do all the outdoorsy things (because the woman who emailed me was all, “um, we’d LIKE if you at least TRIED some outdoorsy things?”) and I could do the other things like eating and sleeping and maybe yoga and then Mom was all “I want to yoga!” so that’ll be a fun thing. Also there’s a masseuse, but Mom and I hate being touched, so we’re undecided about the masseuse. “Do you think I can leave all my clothes on for the masseuse, and ask him or her to please not touch my feet?” I asked Mom. “They’re going to kick us out of this place,” she laughed.

And and AND, guess what ELSE there is?

A FARM TOUR!

YOU CAN TOUCH GOATS!

Goats!!!!1!

Oh, you know I’m all over this goat thing. Goats are the best. Mom thinks they look like demons and make all the poop but I told her she had to be nice to the goats because goats are my buddies and she said FINE but she wasn’t going to TOUCH the goats and I was like “good, you can take pictures of me touching goats and also BEING a goat and making GOAT HORNS with my FINGERS” and she said she would.

I also told her we should put her photo on the blog and she was like NO NO NO but in a kind of curious way so I think we could work on her about this. “They don’t want to see ME!” she said and I was like, “Oh, sure they would” and it’s not like Dad and his “THAT’S HOW THEY GET YOU!” thing about having his photo on the interwebs so I think maybe we might be seeing Amy’s Mom! Won’t that be fun? Sure it will! (Amy’s Mom looks like Amy only thin. I’m completely serious about this. Genetics can be cruel.)

Dad was all, “WHY WOULD YOU BRING YOUR MOTHER” and I think he was jealous I didn’t ask him and I was like, “Old man, you hate hotels, and also outdoorsy forced cheer, and you would never do yoga and you would be all complainy. Mom and I are going to have an ADVENTURE” and he was like “GRUMP GRUMP GRUMBLE GRUMP.” Aw, Dad. Feelin’ all left out.

So! Yes! Mom and I are having an adventure in the spring, and we are MUCH EXCITED! So stay tuned, my little tater tots. Will I get eaten by a yeti? Will I get to pet all the goats, or just a few of them? Will I really hike, or just nap in the room? SO MANY QUESTIONS! SO MUCH EXCITEMENT!

You know I’ll have an adventure here. Or maybe get up to shenanigans. Or both.

Troubleshooting and chatting it up with Amy’s Dad

Dad’s in Florida. He’s in his condo by the ocean for two full months. He left at the beginning of January and has been there, therefore, for most of the month.

Dad is bored out of his skull.

His people don’t arrive until February (my aunt and uncle, his sister and brother-in-law, are arriving then, and his cousin is visiting then, and I think he’s going to visit another cousin then – yes, my entire family has become a flock of snowbirds) so Dad’s been hanging out at buffets and the American Legion (do NOT ask him if they’ve given him a fez; he’ll just yell “THEY DON’T WEAR FEZZES!”) and walking on the beach and getting scratchers at the 7-11 and – best of all – calling me up at all hours to tell me things. Or texting me. Or emailing me weird links, like “You should read this good site, do you know about this?” and it’s MSN.

Dad said he’s not doing well on the scratchers this year, and therefore I will no longer have an inheritance. Oh, well, I wasn’t betting on one, anyway.

So I thought you would enjoy a glimpse into the type of conversation Dad and I have been having lately. You like such things, right? Right.

Oh, a thing you need to know for this to make sense…

Dad bought a laptop so he could take advantage of the free wifi in the condo. Dad’s never had a laptop before. Or high-speed internet. It’s like Dad was released into a very big playground. Or the ocean. Without a lifevest. Or a map, to completely muddle this metaphor.

So, I had the day off today. I had car work to get done, which got done a lot sooner than planned (also, goodbye, savings! sniff), so I used the day to do all of my usual after-work errands like grocery shopping and laundry and such, so I don’t have to do them after work this week. I was PROACTIVE! And when I got home Dad sent me an email to call him RIGHT AWAY so I did. (Dad + boredom + high speed internet = lots of email, you guys.)

So of course I called him. It’s a day off. Lots of time to talk to Dad.

Me: Hey, old man. What’s up?

Dad: Stop calling me that.

Me: Fine. Howdy, young lady, what’s shakin’?

Dad: Not at all better.

Me: But funnier.

Dad: Not really. I have a computer question.

Me: I will answer that!

Dad: You broke my computer.

Me: That’s more an accusation than a question.

Dad: Remember you made me put that antivirus on here?

Me: Yes, so you didn’t get viruses and no one stole your identity.

Oh, Dad would HATE this.

Dad: It gave me a virus.

Me: The antivirus gave you a virus. No, I don’t think that’s how that works.

Dad: No! True story! Ever since I bought it, the computer keeps shutting down if I walk away for ten minutes.

Me: Huh. That’s weird. Did you change any settings?

Dad: What does that mean, settings. No. I put on this virusy virus thing.

Me: Well, go into the settings of Norton and see if one of them says “sleep settings” or “power saver” or something.

Dad: That is SMART. Where are Norton settings.

Me: I don’t know, I’ve never needed that. Click on Norton? It’s probably at the bottom of the screen or something.

Dad: It WAS! You’re good at this.

Me: Yeah, I’m totally an IT guru.

Dad: It says I need to sign into Norton.

Me: Sign into Norton, then.

Dad: It says I don’t know my password.

Me: Do you know your password?

Dad: No.

Me: Did you write down your password when you signed up?

Dad: I did but I wrote it down wrong.

Me: Well, that’s unhelpful.

Dad: There’s something to click if I forgot my password! Should I click that?

Me: Yep.

Dad: This is exciting.

Me: SO exciting.

Look at my excited face. LOOK AT IT!

Dad: I am resetting my password now.

Me: Maybe use the one you wrote down, then you already have it written down.

Dad: Man, you are really good.

Me: Yeah, I’ve got brains to spare.

Dad: SOMETHING IS WRONG! SOMETHING IS WRONG!

Me: Uh-oh. What’s wrong, jellybean.

Dad: It sent me a reset link and then I reset it and then it said it was wrong AGAIN.

Me: OK, well, there’s something wonky with Norton. Try again tomorrow.

Dad: That’s not a solution.

Me: Turn the computer on and off?

Dad: That is also not a solution.

Me: Oh, it surely is. Turning things on and off fixes more than you know.

Dad: I’m just going to give up now and go watch television and think about how terrible my life is.

Me: Do you want me to try to talk you through the computer settings and see if those somehow got screwed up?

Dad: No. I HAVE TO GO NOW.

Me: OK. Bye. Love you.

Dad: Grumble grumble grumble grump love you bye.

TWO MINUTES LATER!

THE PHONE RINGS!

Me: Yo, s’up, Pops.

Dad: I got into Norton.

Me: How’d you do that?

Dad: Don’t even know.

Me: Fair enough.

Dad: What do I do now?

Me: I don’t know. Let me ask the internet.

Dad: How does the internet know about my computer problems?

Me: Because the government’s watching you.

Dad: I KNEW IT!

Me: Foolish. Because other people often have the same problems you do, if you Google problems, they can help you.

Dad: But then the government knows you’re having a problem.

Me: *sigh* Yes, there’s always that. Oh, ok, here. Someone had the same problem. I’m going to talk you through how to fix this, ok?

Dad: STOP TALKING SO FAST.

Me: I wasn’t…ok. FIRST. CLICK. ON. NORTON.

Dad: Well, if you talk slow, I just feel stupid.

(Eventually I talked Dad through clicking some boxes and unclicking some other boxes and setting some things. This took a very, very long time. Pretend there’s a musical montage here, or something.)

Dad: Is this even going to work?

Me: I don’t know. I’m not there. Try going to your desktop and changing your power saver settings there, too.

Dad: What’s a desktop?

Me: Like, if you turn on the computer, before you open the internet. On my computer, it’s where I have that big picture of The Nephew scowling because I love his attitude.

Dad: I don’t have this on a desk, though, it’s on a table.

Me: NOT THAT KIND OF DESKTOP.

Dad: I found the control center. Is it there?

Me: I don’t know. Is it?

Dad: THIS IS SO HARD.

Me: It would be easier if you were HERE and I could SEE the computer, yes. Yes, it would.

Dad: Your brother just sent me gibberish email.

Me: What does that mean?

Dad: He sent me an email that said “IDK what a good price is.” What is IDK.

Me: I don’t know.

Dad: Should I look it up online? Did he make a mistake?

Me: Oh, this is like an old comedy routine. No. It MEANS I don’t know. IDK equals I don’t know.

Dad: Why didn’t he write I don’t know?

Me: It’s textspeak.

Dad: But it’s an email.

Me: Yeah. It’s a thing people do.

Dad: You should write a whole thing out and not confuse your father, is what I think.

Me: Write him back and say LOL.

Dad: I will not say LOL.

Me: Ooh, say YOLO.

Dad: I DO NOT SAY YOLO. Is my computer fixed?

Me: I guess you’ll see the next time you don’t use it for ten minutes in a row.

Dad: If Norton ruined my computer I’m going to call them up and yell at them.

Me: Oh, they’ll like that a lot, I think. You’ll be very popular.

Dad: Your governor hates me.

Me: What? Is this related to what we’ve been talking about at all? I think I have conversational whiplash.

Dad: No. Look up what your governor said now. He wants to kick me out of our state.

Me: Shush, I like our governor. He’s all gruff and cranky and passionate about things and I think if you make him mad he’d either punch you in an alley or shoot you in the face.

SO MAD!

Dad: LOOK IT UP.

Me: Oh, so he said extreme conservatives don’t belong in New York State. Huh.

Dad: I’d like to have him come upstate and say that! WE WOULD TROMP HIM!

Me: I don’t know. He seems pretty badass. He might punch or shoot you. Or give you a really dirty look.

Dad: When he runs for president you’d vote for him.

Me: Is he the Democratic candicate in this scenario?

Dad: Well, duh.

Me: Then yes, I’ll vote for him.

Dad: Who are you. WHO ARE YOU. I am so disgusted.

Me: I am going to watch television now, and write a blog post. Are you good?

Dad: Yes. Don’t tell the internet where I live.

Me: I won’t.

Dad: Or put up photos of me.

Me: Nope. Won’t.

Dad: Or tell them what I like to say or do or wear.

Me: OK. Noted.

Dad: THAT IS HOW THEY GET YOU.

Me: Yes. I’m sure it is. Go play on the beach, bub.

Dad: I might call you later.

Me: OK. I might answer.

Dad: GOOD. You SHOULD answer! If I call you ALWAYS should!

Don’t worry, interwebs, Dad will have friends to play with soon. Only a few more days. I think he will manage to retain most of his mental stability with people to interact with. Hopefully, anyway. I mean…

Crap. Gotta go. Phone’s ringing.

Someone’s doing this wrong. It may well be me.

In an attempt to be a normal human, and to take 2014 by the horns (THE HORNS, people!) I decided to do something that might be a gigantic mistake.

NO, I didn’t dye my hair blonde. Don’t be absurd. I look terrible blonde. Tried it once, in grad school. I looked like I was wearing a terrible wig. I immediately went to a salon and had them fix it because it was too embarrassing to leave the house with. (Well, obviously I had to leave the house to go to the salon…I wore a hat.) Then I did it AGAIN years LATER but that time it was an accident. So I just dyed it back myself, because I was poor then. Anyway, in summation: I’m not a blonde, nor will I ever BE a blonde.

Yeah, I didn’t even look this good. There might have been weeping, though.

Nope. What I DID do is sign up for online dating.

See, here’s the thing: you don’t meet a lot of people hanging around your house. You meet your cat, and sometimes the old guy who lives downstairs and coughs a lot and Dad talked to him once and said “he’s just waiting to die, his wife’s dead and he’s so depressed” and I said, “how did you find all that out from talking to him for, like, five SECONDS?” and Dad said, “Well, I might have guessed parts of that.” You sometimes meet package deliverymen and Chinese food deliverymen and maintenance men. None of these people are really dating potential. This isn’t a porn. No one’s showing up at my door asking “Did anyone call for a PLUMBER?” and then bow-chicka-wow-wow music’s going to start. Also, ew, that’s how you get the clap.

So even though the last time I tried this online dating situation I had…well, let’s just say the worst luck ever…I decided to give it another go. It would be nice to date someone. Or maybe a few someones. See what happens. It is a thing that people do, right? This dating thing? Yes. Yes, it is.

So with the support of my friends, who were all “that is a very good idea! You do that! You will meet someone awesome!” I filled out pages and pages of questions and silly blurbs and whether I liked dogs or cats (WHY MUST I CHOOSE?) and how very, very much I love long walks on the beach and getting caught in the rain and laughing like those people in the online dating commercials while eating pasta by candlelight. Online dating commercials about meeting the love of your life on the internet can’t lie, right? RIGHT?

However! I have learned some things from the online dating site that I think are important for people to bear in mind when attempting to online date. And I thought, should I share them with the internet?

Well, what the hell else am I going to do with them? The cat doesn’t care. He’s napping at the moment. As he does.

THINGS YOU LEARN FROM ONLINE DATING

(Note: I’m not telling you WHAT site I signed up for; I think they’re all pretty much the same, other than you pay for some, and you don’t for others, and there’s one that hates the gays and athiests. Or at least it used to. I think I remember reading it grudgingly decided the gays and athiests had money to spend, too, and therefore changed things up a little bit.)

Many people can’t spell and make no attempt to do so. It’s not going to surprise you that I actually have it written in my profile that I’m a grammar nerd and there are extra points given to people that contact me that write well. Actual emails I’ve received on the site: “YOUR PRETY,” “what r u doin,” and “its cold in winter.” Yes, I realize that sometimes, a very good heart beats within the body of a person who cannot express themselves in their native language, but it still makes me cringe. Also, if your entire profile paragraph is an all-caps “TWO HEATS BEET AS ONE I AM LOKING FOR MY SOLEMATE” and you “flirt” with me (don’t ask, these sites are kind of ridiculous) I’m not replying to you. I’m not a cobbler. You’re going to have to keep looking for your solemate, my friend. All my best to you.

People can be very aggressive and persistent. One guy “flirted” and then “favorited” me and then sent me a message (which was “ANY LUCK HERE?” and that’s not at all off-putting) and we were not even a little compatable so I sent him one of the pre-written “no-thanks” responses and then the next time I signed on he immediately popped up as wanting to chat with me so I clicked the “I’m busy” button and seriously, dude? I feel like maybe you’re chasing me down the sidewalk. Down, boy. DOWN. (Also, why so interested, when I don’t meet any of your criteria? You wrote those damn criteria. If you hadn’t written you were only interested in young, young women and “no fatties” I MIGHT have replied, but since you did, I was all, “nope” and wrote you off as a dick.)

The particular site I signed up for doesn’t seem to understand how “matching” works. You put in your criteria (like, age and such) and the site’s supposed to send you daily matches, only my matches aren’t within my criteria, so either I’ve broken the site, or they don’t care what I like. Or maybe they know better than me. Do you think the site knows better than me, and I’d really love dating a 60-year-old with kids the same age as I am? I guess we could hit up the Golden Corral for the Senior Buffet. Thrifty!

My new husband! Only a couple years younger than Dad, so they could be besties!

People are either very vague or very specific in what they’re looking for. Some people don’t fill anything out, so you don’t know if you’d fit their criteria at all, and some people are all “I want a woman who’s 5’7, athletic and toned, with red hair, green eyes, 20 years younger than I am, liberal, only has a high school education, and has a cat.” This seems extremely limiting to me. Who is this person? And does she exist? I think you might have better luck contacting Warren to build you a Buffybot.

There you go, boys, I found you your perfect match.

Apparently quite a few people don’t bother to read the information you took time to post. I get contacted by people regularly (that sounds braggy…please note that it’s not. These people are not anyone I want to hang with) and then I look at their profiles and the person they’re looking for is my exact opposite. Did you read my profile? Or did you just notice I’m female and live in your area? I’m confused.

Having conversations with these people is like pulling teeth. OK, anyone who emails me knows exactly what kind of emails I write. They look very much like one of my blog posts. I don’t know how to reply to an email of “yup” or “going to get food now.” How do you even answer that? You could start some sort of new conversation, like “let’s talk about your favorite cheeses” or something, but I’ve found in the past you’re not allowed to be kooky until the person’s known you for a while, or they think you’re insane and run off screaming. So apparently I’m in for a lot of back-and-forth of “Hi”/”Hi”/”How are you”/”Good”/”Weather’s nice today”/”Yes”/”How was work”/”Busy”/”Here too” and SINCERELY, I’m climbing the walls with boredom at this point.

Sooooo booooooreddddd

Stop asking for more pictures. OK, I have pictures up on this site? But not, like, ALL the pictures. I’m undecided about whether or not I’m going to stay there, and also I find it creepy to put a billion photos on a dating site and then a stranger could see me at the grocery store and be all, “OMG, YOU ARE LOOKIN’ FOR LOVE ONLINE I RECOGNIZE YOU YO” or something. So people email me and their opening gambit is, “do you have more photos?” and what’s funny is, THEY hardly have any photos so I’m not sure if they want tit-shots or what the point here is. One guy was displeased and was all “I’m quitting the SITE” when I told him nope and one guy was all “OK, cool” but I’m pretty sure our conversation about dinner, weather, and such has come to a natural conclusion so we’ve broken up and I’ve already gone through the five stages of grief and I’ve come out the other side a better person for it.

What have we learned?

I’m very bad at this. I have been informed by a friend who does this on the regular I need to be more open-minded in order for this to work, and also maybe it would help if I lowered my standards a little. The former, probably. That would be better in a lot of aspects in my life. The latter…I don’t know. How can you force yourself to be attracted to someone? I’ve only had my mind changed twice, romantically, about someone (I mean, from my first impression to falling for them) in my life, and I’m kind of old. Maybe some people can become attracted to someone after some time and getting to know someone, but I’m weird about such things. I like the click. Everyone who’s important in my life, who’s been long-term important in my life, either romantically or on a friendship level: there’s been that click, where it’s like meeting someone you’ve known all along but have been separated from for whatever reason, and then you found them again. Is that naïve, waiting for that? Yeah, maybe. Is it likely I’ll get over that? Probably not, but I suppose anything can happen.

If anyone wants to tell me a., how to do this correctly, b., if there’s a dating site for internet geeks who like books and where people can SPELL, dammit, where I would be in high demand, or c., that they have a brother/cousin/male BFF I’d be perfect for, I’m down for all the advice. Comment it up, yo.

Stay tuned, jellybeans. WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT. Will Amy go on an actual out-of-the-house date with one of these people? Will she give up and delete her whole profile because the whole thing gives her the willies? Will she be psychokilled by an internet murderer? ONLY TIME WILL TELL.