Amy Durant's Blog, page 9

Do you think the internet has an Outrage button like Staples’ Easy button? BOOP! OUTRAGED!

Apparently my outrage button was broken over the past couple of weeks.

The internet has been ALL KINDS OF OUTRAGED lately. I mean, it usually is? Don’t get me wrong. The internet is always a little bit up-in-arms about something. I don’t know if we’d recognize it if it wasn’t. It’s actually ironic Dad thinks so little of the internet, as he (and his RIGHTEOUS CONSTANT FURY) would fit right in. He’d troll comment-boards with the best of ‘em. HE WOULD USE MANY ALL-CAPS!

But the two biggest outrages that happened (well, they’re not the “biggest” but they seemed to take up the biggest amount of Twitter/Facebook real estate)? I tried very hard to be outraged by them and just wasn’t. OK, fine. I didn’t try very hard. I think you’re either outraged, or you’re not.

So either I’m mellowing in my old age, or my outrage button has gotten worn out with the constant pushery. That may or may not be a euphemism; take it as you will.

Who can guess the two biggest outrage OUTRAGE WE ARE OUTRAGED! outrages that have been all over the interwebs in the last couple of weeks? Anyone? I mean, you won’t win a prize, or anything, but you can say you guessed correctly. I’ll give you bragging rights. I have no way to prove you right or wrong. And honestly, it seems like a silly thing to lie about.

If you guessed one of the things was the Miley Cyrus debacle, YOU ARE CORRECT.

I went days without watching this. Why? I didn’t care. (I still don’t. Not much at all.) I am old enough that Miley Cyrus and her ilk hold very little interest for me. She’s some Disney chick who’s trying to be a legitimate singer now, yeah? OK. Fine. Whatever.

Then sj was all, “Oh, just WATCH IT” and I was like “FINE I WILL” and she said, “Also watch the new Lady Gaga video” and that I gladly did, because that woman makes me happy. She is the best kind of kooky. And that new video is OFF THE HOOK. At one point she’s like a swan-thing. It’s INSANE and I LOVE it.

So I watched the Miley Cyrus video. OK, well, it’s not a VIDEO, it’s a clip from the MTV music awards. I like how MTV pretends it’s still relevant musically. That’s so cute of them.

I would show you a video of this, but there are none on the YouTubez. Just do a search, if you haven’t seen it. I’m sure you have. EVERYONE has.

Here were my thoughts while I was watching this.

Those teddy bear costumes look hot. I mean, WARM-hot, not sexxxxy-hot.
Why is Miley Cyrus sticking out her tongue so much? It makes her look dim.
This isn’t a very good song. She has a lovely voice. Maybe she should stick to ballads.
Is she wearing a fur bathing suit? My goodness but that’s impractical.
I think hair-horns are an odd choice. Are the kids doing this nowadays? Hair-horns and mismatched socks and getting drunk on hand sanitizer?

Also, YES. I KNEW she was reminding me of someone. HAIR HORNS ARE A MISTAKE IF THEY REMIND ME OF THIS JIM CARREY CHARACTER, MILEY.

Someone should have told her this was a terrible idea.
OMG, Robin Thicke looks really embarrassed to have to share the stage with Miley Gone Bad. When he sang the “you’re a good girl” line, he couldn’t even LOOK at her. You probably have to work pretty hard to embarrass Robin Thicke; I mean, he thinks “hug me” and “fuck me” RHYME, for the love of Pete.
Robin Thicke is wearing a Beetlejuice suit. Now I want to watch Beetlejuice again.
Stop doing that with that foam finger. That’s not what those are for. YOU DO NOT KNOW WHERE THAT HAS BEEN.
So THIS is twerking. Huh.
This makes me feel 150 years old.
Seriously, doesn’t this young woman have advisors who could have said, “This is a hot mess, girlfriend?” Because it’s like a spoiled child’s birthday party entertainment. “I want bears and a foam finger and a girl with HORNS in her HAIR and a BATHING SUIT MADE OF FUR!” and the rich kid’s parents are all “sigh sigh OK Sir Thomas Jamieson the Third Esquire.” It’s just all so MESSY. There’s TOO MUCH GOING ON. It’s making me scratchy and giving me ADD.
The audience looks really uncomfortable. I’m sure if I knew who any of these people were, it’d be funny that they’re all sitting there with poker faces on (p-p-p-poker faces) but mostly it’s just a bunch of people I’ve never seen before looking like they’re being forced to watch a mental breakdown. UN. COM. FOR. TA. BLE. (People kept posting a photo of the Will Smith family looking shocked, but I didn’t see them, and I actually – I KNOW! – know who they are, so maybe that was only if you were watching live, I don’t know.)

I just want to say, the Will Smith family really are beautiful, aren’t they? My goodness but genetics were kind, there.

As you can see, nowhere in this was I all “I AM OUTRAGED!” A lot of people, apparently, were. People cried racism (I’m not going to speak to that; I personally didn’t find it racist, but I’m also not going to vilify those who did.) People cried sexism (which, honestly, I’m not seeing…unless we’re talking about Robin Thicke. He did seem to be a little uncomfortably touchy-touched up there.) People were all “SHE IS OUT OF CONTROL” and “SHE IS ON DRUGS!”

Here are my thoughts. What do you mean, you don’t care. I don’t CARE if you don’t care. It’s my blog, I get to pontificate. Pontificatilly.

The kid grew up in a Disney bubble. It doesn’t seem she ever really had any constraints put on her, from her family, her handlers, etc. I mean, she needed to behave, for Disney, probably, in order to keep her contract – they sure do like the squeaky-clean image over there…but this was a multi-million dollar kiddo. I think she pretty much had her run of the place.

There used to be countdown websites to when she was legal, you guys. These were run by gross old pervs. I am not even kidding about this.

Then she grew up. She quit being a Disney princess and the real world knocked on the door and she was all, “I NEED TO STAY RELEVANT.” She’s, what, 20? People that age think relevance = being talked about. (Hell, they may be halfway right.) So she decided to do a thing on a highly-televised show that would generate a LOT of buzz, and that thing kind of made her look like a weirdo who stuck out her tongue too much. But she IS being talked about. So…she probably thinks it was successful. Will it translate to album sales? Don’t know. I’m not a record executive. I thought the song was terrible, but I’m not in the target age-range for that song, now am I? The last music I spent money on was Leonard Cohen. Did I mention I’m old? Yep. Old.

Here’s a sad thing: I kept watching her eyes. She didn’t look like she was having fun. She looked like she was planning her next move; like she was tactically strategizing where to move next, what would shock people most. She also looked a touch panicked, like the brooms got out of the sorcerer’s apprentice’s control. But she didn’t look like she was having FUN, dammit. Shouldn’t she be having fun? I mean, this is (I assume) her chosen career? I like to see performers having a good time. Like, with real smiles, that touch their eyes; with real laughter on stage. That makes me happy. That they’re getting to do what they’re passionate about for us. That it’s not just for a buck. That makes the artist in me happy, and I’m happier about dropping money on their music or shows.

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This doesn’t read “fun” to me. This reads “oh, this seemed like a REALLY good idea in the planning stages, you guys.”

If anyone told her this wasn’t the route to take – that there are other artists that started out young, and have carried reputable careers into their adulthood, like my beloved Justin Timberlake, or that there are other artists that reveled in shock-value, but still didn’t put a hot mess like that on the stage – like Madonna, or, yes, Lady Gaga – she didn’t listen, I guess. I was twenty once. I knew everything once, too. And I look back on that age and I just shake my head. I think a lot of us do. We were not all-knowing, at twenty, as much as we thought we were. I would imagine being a millionaire twenty-year-old is even worse.

Or maybe they didn’t dare tell her. Maybe she has a gang of sniveling yes-men and women around her.

Or maybe everyone genuinely thought this was a good idea. (This…yeah, I don’t think this is the case? But I’m putting it out there. It could have happened.)

I know a lot of people immediately went the OTHER way, too, and were all “DON’T YOU SLUT-SHAME HER! SHE IS A WOMAN! SHE GETS TO DO WHAT SHE WANTS WITH HER BODY!”

Yup. Not saying she doesn’t. Not at all slut-shaming her, and you’re right, she is a woman. Don’t even know that she’s slutty. (Is she known for sluttiness? I know there was a smoking-pot-no-it-was-just-salvia scandal a while back, but only because Saturday Night Live told me about it. That’s where I get most of my current events, much to Dad’s chagrin.) Just saying a furry teddybear bathing suit seems ill-advised, is all. So did my lace-edged footless tights in high school, which I also thought were sexy. I take that criticism.

Also, I am confused by this twerking situation. I discussed this with my high-school-senior cousin J. last week. I figured J. would have her finger on the pulse of the youth of Merka, being ONE of the aforementioned youth.

“I don’t know about that. I like country music,” said ever-practical cousin J., who is a ray of pure sunshine, and I want to put her in my pocket and save her from the sufferings that life will undoubtedly heap upon her, because she’s just goodness and light, and you totally want to protect that, you know?

Then Dad was all, “I KNOW ABOUT TWERKING IT WAS ON THE REAL NEWS!” and to my UTTER HORROR, he stood in the parking lot, put out his hands as if he was holding onto a walker, pooched out his ass, placed his feet far apart, and WIGGLED HIS BUTT. He looked like he was playing a game of charades and he was miming “old person who lost his walker and needed to get to the handicapped bathroom, stat.” Cousin J. and her adorable boyfriend utterly lost their shit. So. Thank you, Miley Cyrus; my father did twerking in the parking lot of the TGI Fridays last week because of you. HE DID THE TWERKING YOU GUYS. (Kind of worth it to see adorable cousin J., whose utter dream in life is to be Ariel at Disneyland – SERIOUSLY SHE COULD NOT BE CUTER, SHE WOULD BE THE BEST ARIEL – just collapse in gasping giggles all over the back of her mom’s SUV, though.)

Cousin J. would be better than this. She is just the best thing.

So, in summation:

I think the Miley Cyrus thing was stupid.
The Miley Cyrus thing made me embarrassed for her.
I think the Miley Cyrus thing was musically questionable.
However, I failed to be appropriately (per the internet) outraged by the Miley Cyrus thing.

Kind of how I felt about the outrage. Sorry. (Also, I LOVE YOU JON STEWART!)

We’ll continue with the other thing I failed to be outraged by tomorrow. Or the next day. Whenever I decide to blog again. I have these somewhat-busy evenings lately. That makes me sound like a lady of the evening, but it’s much less here’s-your-one-chance-Fancy-don’t-let-me-down than that, I promise. Just ended up with things to do after work lately, and that’s my blogging-time. In the meantime, you can try to guess what it might be. (Protip: if you guess Syria, you’re wrong. I don’t know anything about potential wartime scenarios. They make my head hurt when I try to figure them out, and when Dad tries to explain them, there’s a lot of shouting. It’s not Syria. Sincerely.)

A VERY IMPORTANT DAY of WONDER and MYSTERY!

Do you know what today is?

The day after Labor Day?

Well, yes. Yes, it is that.

National Skyscraper Day?

Huh. Who knew? Apparently, yes. Yes, it’s that as well.

The day Richard the Lionheart was crowned?

Yes! It seems so!

The day in 1777 during the American Revolutionary War when, during the Battle of Cooch’s Bridge, the flag of the United States is flown in battle for the first time?

ZOMG YES. Also? Cooch’s Bridge. Whaaaat?

(It’s also the day the Revolutionary War officially ended, 8 years later. Probably because people were still laughing about “Cooch’s Bridge” and therefore were finding it very hard to take the war seriously anymore.)

The day the first official game of polo was played?

YES! Tally-ho, you affected fancypantses!

The day in 1967 when traffic changed in Sweden from driving on the left to driving on the right overnight? (This was called “Dagen H,” per Andreas, and to remind people it was coming up, products were sold with “Dagen H” on them; one of the products? Ladies’ underpants. This made me laugh SO HARD and then Andreas and I had a long conversation about how that would not be at all sexy.) YES! It is that day! It truly is!

Is it, perhaps, the birthday of Ferdinand Porsche (if you think he invented telescopes, you’re way off-base) and a baseball player named Eddie Stanky (hee! did he live in Cooch’s Bridge?) and Whitey Bulger the mobster and Charlie “Tiger Blood!” Sheen and Shaun White?

IT IS ALL OF THOSE THINGS!

Is it also the day that my beloved E.E. Cummings died?

Sadly, yes, it is!

Is it Merchant Navy Day in the UK and Memorial Day in Tunisia and Flag Day in Australia?

YES YES YES!

What ELSE could it be, I wonder?

STOLEN FROM FACEBOOK BECAUSE LOOK AT THAT FAAAAAACE! (Sorry, Heather, seriously, THAT FACE!)

HEATHER’S BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!

Oh, that’s better than them all. ALL the times better.

HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HEATHER! Thank you for being my Under the Dome snarkmate and my hilarious internet friend and one of my favorite bookish people and for totally being up for making funny faces for sj’s blog posts and for being awesome and wonderful and for being YOU!

Have the best day!

Because I know you love it, here is a very special picture for you!

BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER!

That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts.

It is officially September! (And happy Labor Day to all my fellow Merkans!) Well, the calendar says so, anyway. The weather says it’s still summer. It’s all sultry-muggy with those late-summer thunderstorms that come out of NOWHERE and BAM you’re soaked. Thanks, summer! Where are my crunchy leaves? Where are my cool evenings? I know. I am impatient. It’s an issue.

WHERE ARE MY LEAVESSSSS?

BUT! No matter! I refuse to let you get me down, weather of disgustingness! Because it is SEPTEMBER! Which means FALL IS HERE, DAMMIT! Also, it means I have SO MANY THINGS TO LOOK FORWARD TO!

Somehow, the next six weeks have come together into the busiest, yet most exciting, weeks ever. EVER. I have more things coming up in the next six weeks than I’ve had the whole year, and they are all awesome, and I am SO EXCITED.

We’re going to save the biggest, most exciting thing that’s coming up next month for a later date once it’s official, and once those chickens are ready to be counted, because I don’t want to geek out over something that’s still in the end-stages of planning.  It would be too depressing if it fell through. So once that’s official, expect MUCH REJOICING. And general rah-rah geeking out.

So…what’s coming up, Amy?

I WILL TELL YOU!

Andreas-face-talking! Andreas and I try to face-talk with a Google Hangout thingy on a regular basis. Like, at one point, we both got crazy busy? And almost two months passed? And the next time I talked to him, his son had a whole head of hair! THIS IS MADNESS! That much time can’t pass again. I need to see Andreas’ face regularly. Andreas keeps me grounded. He’s like my constant from Lost, I think. So there’s totally an Andreas’-face-talking scheduled in this month. This makes my brain settled, because I have a crazy-busy schedule coming up, and I like knowing I have Andreas scheduled in there. Being all constanty.

Andreas is a very good constant, brotha.

Laura-visiting! Very, very soon, Laura will be here to spend the weekend! Think of all the fun we had when I visited for just a few hours and multiply that times DAYS! We have grand plans; we are going to hit up the best thrift stores in the Capital District, we’re going to a play I’ve been looking very much forward to for some time (and it’s directed by, and stars, some of the best talent in the area – I can’t think of a better way to welcome Laura to town!) and we will have delicious foodstuffs. I need to get cleaning, because this place needs a good scrubbing. And I need to get planning, because Laura’s never been here before, so I really want to showcase our wonderful area so she falls crazy in love with it. (I want everyone to fall in love with it here and wherever they go, tell people, “Albany and the surrounding areas, they are wonderful! What do you MEAN you heard it was gritty and industrial and depressing. NO NO CHARLIE. Apparently you didn’t have the best tour guide ever!”)

You will not meet a tour guide who loves this place more. I most sincerely guarantee this.

Chris-and-Kat dinnering! Later in the month, Chris and Kat are visiting! In case you are all “who? what? what the hell?” Chris and Kat are Chris F. Holm, who is one of my favorite authors (and a downright awesome human) and his wife Kat, who I sincerely just enjoy the hell out of and is so kickass and awesome and funny and intelligent. There is a conference here, and Chris and Kat are attending…and we are meeting up! We are totally having food at one of my favorite restaurants! I am most excited, and hoping my excitement won’t translate into me spilling food all over my top or saying something idiotic or get tongue-tied that I am HAVING DINNER WITH ONE OF MY FAVORITE AUTHORS YOU GUYS. (SIDE NOTE: when I told Dad this was happening, he was all, “What? They want to have dinner with you? That’s cool. Wait, are they killers?” and I said, “No. I’m quite sure they’re not killers.” And Dad said, “You don’t know. Probably this is what killers do. I bet this guy and his wife are BOTH female truck drivers” and I said “DAD. They are not FEMALE TRUCK DRIVERS. They are VERY NICE PEOPLE. They live in MAINE” and he said “Just because ONE AUTHOR you like lives in Maine doesn’t mean ALL authors that live in Maine are good, and besides, that author you like in Maine is a HORRORWRITER.” Dad doesn’t approve of horror. Also, one time Stephen King said something against Fox News, and therefore – DEAD TO DAD. So, Chris and Kat, I sure hope when you show up you are not female truck drivers. I hate when Dad’s right.)

Cousin S. visiting! This one’s got me over the moon. OVER THE MOON! So when I was a kid/teen Amy, one of my closest friends in all the land was my cousin S. Cousin S. is most honestly one of my favorite humans in the whole world. And she HAS been, since I was a wee Amy, all ponytails and big old glasses and nose buried in a book. We had so much fun together. We laughed until we cried. We GOT each other. We had inside jokes and secrets and she got me through some really tough times and even better, she was my family. How often is someone you love this much actually related to you?

This is cousin S. in high school. I stole this from her Facebook page. DO NOT KILL ME, COUSIN S.! I love you more than ALL THE THINGS. Also, look how beautiful she was. She totally still is, yo.

Then life happened, and we moved away from one another, and went to different colleges, and there was marrying and child-having and job-getting and moving far and moving closer and all the things that happen while life is happening and you keep getting all these gray hairs, and then you turn around and you’re almost 40 and you haven’t seen your most beloved cousin in over ten years and you keep in touch with Facebook, but it’s still quite sad that you’re so far from those two girls giggling into the wee hours of the night over Princess Bride jokes and cute boys. Those girls would be SO ANGRY that you allowed life to get in the way of your relationship. Well! After us hinting at it and dancing around it and thinking about it for years, we are totally doing this thing, yo. Cousin S. is coming to visit this month for a WHOLE WEEKEND. I haven’t even decided what we will do yet. She said she hates it here so I have to win her over. Well, if there’s anyone that can win someone over to the joys of the Capital District, I think it might be me. I’m up to the task. We will eat food and talk and talk and talk and have adventures and then talk more and Dad was all, “Oh, no. You girls. That’s going to be trouble, is what that is. SO MUCH TROUBLE” but he was just kidding. He couldn’t be more pleased. I am so excited to see cousin S. SO EXCITED. (I don’t think we’ll get in trouble. Probably.)

This is cousin S. NOW. Guess what she does, along with being awesome? RACES IN TRIATHALONS. No, I’m totally not even kidding. She’s one of the most kickass people I’ve ever known, most sincerely.

Mom and Dad visiting! Mom and Dad are coming for a weekend soon to pre-celebrate my birthday. We will have food and go shopping and marvel over the fact that I’m like the oldest. Then Mom will leave for Rome! Which she is very excited about!

BIRTHDAYING! YES! It is almost time (again? yes) for my birthday. Which of course means ALL THE CELEBRATION! OK, fine, it means I’m going to work all day then come home and probably blog…but still! BIRTHDAY!

Play-seeing! THREE plays this month. All of them with some of my favorite people. I get three fancy theatery lady-dates this month! On top of all the other awesomeness! I know, it’s almost too much. TOO! MUCH!

I’ve not yet decided if this is all TOO MUCH or if it’s JUST RIGHT. I’m going to go with it’ll be fine, as it’s all things I want to do. (Oh, also I have to work, of course. And do things like grocery-shop and laundry and clean and give Dumbcat snuggles and bring the car in for an oil change, which is totally not a euphemism, and get a haircut, and, like, LIFE-things. Those don’t stop. Well, maybe if you’re dead. I’m not dead, I don’t think. Am I?)

SO MANY ADVENTURES, you guys. With one big one to cap ‘em all off that’s going to stay under wraps for the time being. Chickens. Counting. You know. But we’re close. We’re REALLY close.

I’m so excited I’m bouncy. Sometimes I live a really exciting life, right? It’s a little hard to believe. It’ll all be something to look back on when we’re mired in the wilds of the winter and don’t want to leave the house, I’d imagine. YAY FOR ENJOYING THE HELL OUT OF THE AUTUMN!

Happy week, everyone! Plan something spectacular for your fall. Fall deserves it. It’s really the best season. No, seriously, it totally is.

Kind-of-Sort-of-Ask-Lucy a.k.a. I CAN ANSWER THAT! (Volume 16)

I know, I’m cutting this close, yo. It’s almost the end of the damn month. I got busy. SO BUSY. Like, a million things all happened at once. What the hell, life, why are you so weird.

So, in case you don’t remember, or are new here, or have recently had a traumatic brain injury, 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. There are not a lot of questions this month. Which is kind of good, because it’s totally an hour before bed and I’m wiped out.

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 I mean, listen, I like the traffic, but then I just feel bad, thinking of all these poor lost souls, all, “Where’s the bathroom?” when they ended up in the coat closet. DON’T PEE ON MY COATS, YOU.

do mix girls like asian guys 

Well, this is just a weird-ass question. My thought is, first, what’s a “mix” girl. Like, a girl who really likes mixers (either the appliance or the things you put into drinks or the dance?) Or are you referring to someone with mixed racial heritage? If it’s the latter, do you know what “mix” girls like? Men who don’t call them “mix” girls. Also, another thing girls like? Men who respect them; who are intelligent and funny and kind. If you’re also Asian? Well, fine, then. It’s more the person inside of there than the person outside of there. I’ve fallen for men who were not at all traditionally-attractive, I suppose you’d say – because they made me laugh. Or were amazing writers. Or one of a million other things, and only later, looking back on the situation, or on photos, did I even think, “Oh, he wasn’t so hot after all, I never noticed that.” The kind of girl you want won’t notice those things. Promise. There’s chemistry, or there’s not. You’re welcome. Stop saying mix girls.

what are the effects of huffing spray paint 

Brain damage. Paint all over your face. People laughing at you. Imprisonment. Your mug-shot being all over the internet. DO NOT HUFF. Huffing is idiotic. Seriously, at what point in history did people come up with these ways to get high, drinking hand sanitizer and huffing and making drugs out of cold pills? You people are super-creative. Imagine what could happen if you used your smarts to make the world a BETTER place? You’re welcome, don’t huff, you dork.

is evil noise music ruining children 

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I Googled “Evil Noise Music” and this came up and the kid with the hat is making me laugh. A lot. I don’t know if he’s evil, but he’s FUNNY. What’s happening in this photo, any guesses?

EVIL NOISE MUSIC! Well, I don’t know. My grandparents hated The Beatles and yelled at my mom for listening to them and said they were terrible; my parents hated the music my brother listened to (rap, it was a lot of rap, for a while) and tolerated most of mine (mostly because my music was 60s stuff with some whiny Debbie Gibson and New Kids on the Block early on – DON’T YOU EVEN JUDGE, like you didn’t do the same thing, have horrible peer-pressurey taste back in the day) and I’m sure someday I will hate what The Nephew listens to. Just let it go, unless it’s really violent or cussy or misogynistic. The more you yell at them the more they want to listen to it. And in twenty years, it’ll seem tame. Sincerely. You’re welcome. Hee, evil noise music.

help i am dating a man with fearful attachment style 

FEARFUL ATTACHMENT STYLE! Did they listen to a lot of evil noise music as a child?

Oh, sorry. Apparently this is really a thing. Wikipedia tells me actually called “fearful-avoidant attachment style” (attachment style? This is a thing now?) and it means they are “somewhat uncomfortable getting close to others, want emotionally close relationships, but find it difficult to trust others completely, or to depend on them, and sometimes worry that they will be hurt if they allow themselves to become too close to others. People with this attachment style have mixed feelings about close relationships. On the one hand, they desire to have emotionally close relationships. On the other hand, they tend to feel uncomfortable with emotional closeness. These mixed feelings are combined with, sometimes unconscious, negative views about themselves and their partners. They commonly view themselves as unworthy of responsiveness from their partners, and they don’t trust the intentions of their partners. Similarly to the dismissive–avoidant attachment style, people with a fearful–avoidant attachment style seek less intimacy from partners and frequently suppress and deny their feelings. Instead, they are much less comfortable initially expressing affection.”

Here, I found you a handy chart. How did I not know this was a thing until today?

That’s a lot of stuff, yo. What if you agree with half of these things? I’m half of these things. Am I fearful or avoidant? HELP ME WIKIPEDIA. (I just checked out the styles and I’m like half this and half “anxious-preoccupied” and now I feel like a crazy. Also, what the hell, attachment styles. When did THIS become a thing? Oh, the 60s and 70s. OF COURSE. Damn hippies.

But this is about you. I don’t know how to fix your relationship, my darling; perhaps go to therapy. This person sounds sad to me, and hard to get close to. I get the trust issues. See, once you let someone in, and you 100% trust them, they can hurt you 100%. And that’s so, so hard to allow. So it’s a lot easier to wall yourself off. But then again, if you do that, you’re denying yourself access to other people…so it’s kind of sucktastic all around. 

Therapy. Or break up, I suppose. You’re welcome. I’m sorry.

how many times do you shave in a week 

Well, THAT’S nosy. It depends on what I’m wearing and what weather there is. DON’T YOU EVEN JUDGE. If I was in some sort of relationship where someone was seeing my euphemisms, I’d care more? But NO ONE IS. So I let it go. Who even cares, the cat? The cat doesn’t care. He’s VERY hairy. He probably thinks it’s COOL that I don’t shave more. And YES, future husband who I’m sure in a meet-cute sort of scenario is reading this RIGHT NOW, once we’re all hot and heavy, I’ll totally shave more. I promise.

Wait, are you one of those shaving-pervs? Andreas gets like a billion hits because ONE TIME he posted a photo of a lady shaving her face. YOU PEOPLE. Not everything is sexy!

I didn’t really answer your question, Nosy McGurk. I don’t know. Sometimes 3 times, sometimes not at all. It varies. You’re welcome, mind your own business.

is the island of misfit toys a concentration camp 

Spotted Elephant is disappointed in you.

Whoa. Way to take THAT into a very dark place. Is that what we’re saying now? No, I don’t think I’d compare that to a concentration camp; you do know what went on in the camps, right? I mean, we didn’t SEE any toys being subjected to that. Maybe more of an internment camp, if you need to put labels on a children’s show. But invoking the Holocaust is lazy writing. You can do better. I have faith in you. You’re welcome, try harder next time, ok?

what are the lyrics to the poem there once was a girl from nantucket 

You’re naughty, is what you are. I’m not going to tell you. You can Google that shit all on your own. But I do want to say this: the words in a poem are not “lyrics.” They can be words, or lines, or stanzas, but they’re definitely not lyrics, because that’s what SONGS have. So I’m going to assume that’s why you’re HERE, and not somewhere REALLY finding out what happened in Nantucket. (HINT: search “there once was a MAN from Nantucket;” you’ll have much better luck. I promise.) You’re welcome, you naughty duck.

why do temps test have such stupid questions 

Temps tests? Like, tests to be a temp in an office? I don’t remember them being that hard. I was a temp for YEARS. I temped-to-hire for a while; I temped here and there for a while. It was easy and I didn’t mind it much. It was kind of nice, moving around day to day. Never long enough to get annoyed by people. (What, shush it, people are totally annoying.) All I remember was a typing-speed test, and they interviewed me originally. What kind of questions are you being asked? Are you sure it’s a temp agency and not a practical joke or something? You’re welcome, I’m totally curious right now.

Whew! Got it in under the wire and can still get to bed in time to get…well, SOME sleep. Not ENOUGH, but SOME.

Until next month – may all your questions be answered, and I’d say I hope you dance, but I don’t wish that on anyone, you know? Dancing is totally hard unless you’re coordinated.

I’m pickin’ Valentine, ’cause on the morning line, a guy has got him figured at five to nine

I realize this is SUPPOSED to be a QUESTIONS post, and that’s COMING, I promise, but I totally ran out of time to write it because I’m in super-hyper-planning mode for a VERY EXCITING DAY-TRIP I’m taking tomorrow with one of my (and your!) favorite people in all the blogiverse.

WHAT COULD IT BE WHAT COULD IT BE?

Well, when you’re reading this tomorrow, I’ll be in my car…heading for…

*TRUMPET FLOURISH*

I’m going to the races, baby!

One of my most most MOST favorite things about living where I do is being so close to one of our country’s most historic racetracks. I’d never been to the horse races before moving here. Roommate C. said, “Oh, we can go to Saratoga!” one summer, and I was like, “What? No. Horse racing? I hate gambling. That’s silly. Those poor horses. This will be dumb.”

NO NO NO CHARLIE!

Saratoga is AWESOME. It is STEEPED WITH HISTORY. You get there and it’s like you’re in olden times. People smoking fat cee-gars and people stomping around mad they lost and people running to the betting windows and HORSES! And JOCKEYS! And FAIR FOOD! (OK, it’s not really FAIR food, it’s TRACK food, but the two are practically the same thing. You can get an overpriced sausage AND a fried dough AND one of those ginormous watery lemonades with the half-lemon in it! Or like a $12 teeny tiny cocktail if that’s your thing. It’s not mine. Who pays $12 for a cocktail when you can SPEND THAT MONEY ON THE PONIES?)

Once I learned how to bet, I was the BEST at it. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Betting is super-hard!” Not if you use The Amy Method.

I’ll share it with you. I’m not bogarting the method.

Most people pore over the racing forms and the programs and compare jockey stats and how many wins the horse has and how well it runs on mud vs. how well it runs on clay or whatever ARE YOU SO BORED YET? Because I totally am. YAWNITY YAWN YAWN!

The Amy Method is this:

Read all the names of the horses
Pick the names that have “cat” or a variant of “cat” in them because you love cats
If there are no “cat” names, pick names that are awesome in other ways (literary, pun-tastic, remind you of someone you love, have someone you love’s name in the name, sound really funny when you say them out loud with your mouthhole, etc.)
If you end up with too many and you’re going to be betting on like, all the horses, narrow it down by what color silks the horse and the jockey are wearing (purple and green silks always are best because they’re my favorite colors)
ALWAYS put some money on the longshot, because that poor horse, you know? I always root for the underdog. Or, well, in this case, the underhorse. (Also, if he comes in, YOU WIN! Usually quite a little bit of money!)

This method will make the people you are at the track with SO MAD AT YOU. Ignore them! They don’t see the awesomeness. Not yet, anyway.

Then it’s time to bet. Some people like to go to the automated better machines. NOT ME! I like to talk to the people at the booth, because when they see how excited I am to be there, they are so nice. They’re used to dealing with jerkity jerks. (Also, make sure you get one of those programs they have at the gate that tells you how to place your bet, because it’s SO asshatty to go to the counter and be all, “Um…I want to bet on Ocean’s Pride?” Because that is WRONG. You have to say “Race 2, $2 Show Ocean’s Pride.” Then they’re like “DAMN! This lady KNOWS HER PONIES!”

This is what the tellers’ booths look like. Old-timey, right? I LOVE THIS.

Also, learn how to box things. I don’t know exactly what that is, but one time I was at the track with a coworker and she taught me about it (it’s like picking who will come in first and second in whatever order, and it’s like $8) but somehow this is a magic bet and it wins you all the money. I never won large sums until I started doing this thing. Also, heh. Box.

Then you hang out for a long time and THEN IT IS TIME FOR THE RACE! You can watch it on the little TVs that are spread all over, or you can go right up to the rail and then the horses run past you all thundery-footed and that’s exciting and there’s a big scoreboard in the middle of the track that tells you who wins and if you win all the money.

See, in the distance? BIG SCOREBOARD!

SOMETIMES, with The Amy Method, you lose (like, let’s say probably a lot of the time) but DAMN did you have a good time not overthinking the ponies. Sometimes you win, and then you feel the BEST, because you didn’t even have to worry about mud or whatever, and the people you were at the track with look at you like you’re a crazy psychic, and you can totally do the Dance of Joy and say “I TOLD YOU CATDANCER WOULD WIN!”

NOW WE DO THE DANCE OF JOY!

Here, I’ll tell you who I’m betting on in some races tomorrow, so you can see my method IN ACTION.

You can click to embiggen this, I think.

Who are we picking in this race?

As you can see, there are (sadface) no cat-names.

However, there IS a “Pleasant Woodman” and that’s both a reference to Dad (well, he’s not “pleasant” but he’s a “woodman”) and also “woodman” is a very good euphemism. We also have “Orchestra Leader” which reminds me of someone I enjoy very much as a human. SO, we’re betting on THOSE two horses. I don’t care about the other ones because none of them strike me as exciting.

In the NEXT race…

What have we HERE? Well! The answer is CAT FEATHERS, baby! We always bet on cat-horses, remember? Now, we also have Opera Heroine, which is very theatery, and the two of them are both favored to win (although Opera Heroine might be scratched tomorrow when I get there…stupid “Take Her Tothe Top,” what the hell kind of name is THAT? Dad was all, “Tothe? What’s a Tothe?” and I was like, “It’s To the, only SMUSHED. I HATE that horse.”) so I’m going to BOX those two horses, and if they come in first and second, I WILL WIN SOME MAJOR MONIES!

I am also betting on Cubist and Lillehammer, because they are long shots, and because Cubist is artsy and Lillehammer sounds European and I love it.

So I’m totally going to win like a kajillion dollars on THAT race.

Oh, I mentioned Dad. Why would I have done such a thing?

DAD IS COMING WITH!

Yes, it is TRUE! I planned this whole fun day for myself because last year I was poor and unemployed during Saratoga season and didn’t get to go, and so I took a half-day tomorrow and was taking MYSELF to the track and was going to have the best solo adventure, and then Dad was all, “I want to come!” and that’s even MORE fun! Although he takes the ponies super-seriously, So there might be some grumbling and/or yelling. He bets like all the money, and says “We’re not here to EAT (or pee, or laugh, or tell stories, or point out people in funny pants), we’re here to BET!” and, well, I’m there to bet, but I’m also there to have the best time ever. So it’s going to be kind of Mutt and Jeff Go to the Races tomorrow. (He also gets SO MAD if I win and he doesn’t. He’s all “THIS IS RIGGED! I HAD A SYSTEM AND YOU PICKED YOUR HORSE BECAUSE HIS NAME HAD CHOCOLATE IN IT AND YOU LIKE CHOCOLATE!” Sometimes he throws his little racing receipt papers on the GROUND! It is all very violent.)

Sometimes, when the horses are waiting to run, they get ALL FRACTIOUS in these starting gates, and KICK AND KICK! It is all very worrisome.

Then we are meeting one of my favorite cousins and possibly her kids for dinner a little way away and then I will come home and I will be all tired but also the most happy because SARATOGA!

I know. It’s all the most fabulous.

I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes. If I win all the money, I won’t change. I promise. Except maybe I’ll make you all start calling me LADY Lucy’s Football, and I’ll buy a gold-plated litter scoop for Dumbcat.

(Dad said, “You’d better not tell those horses about Helper Mule. They won’t win any races for you. I think racehorses and Helper Mules are having a FEUD.” Hee! I would like to see that feud!)

HAPPY THURSDAY TO YOU! I’ll think of you when I’m betting across the board on the #5 horse in the 5th race. (If I lose, I’ll send a scowl your way, too. Why’d you tell me to bet on THAT horse, interwebs? Sheesh.)

An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 26)

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

Welcome to August! (And almost welcome to September, because MAN did I put this off til late. Whoo!) I am very excited about the end of summer. Fall means the onset of sweaters and cooler days and crunchy leaves and that smell of burning and decay and the onset of winter. Fall is my favorite. Fall makes me feel so invigorated and alive and filled with infinite hope. I know you’re supposed to feel like that in the spring. I’ve never been what you’d call “regular.” I deal with it.

So, just in case you’re new, 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 (this is the twenty-sixth one. That’s a lot. Eventually, if I keep this up, these posts will be OLDER THAN ME. And I’m pretty old. If you’re interested, search for the others; they’re stellar.) Why do I do this? I’m easily amused by nonsense, I suppose. Some people like religion, I like nonsense. It’s my thing, yo.

So I’m going to break you down into categories and address you in groups, except for those of you who get your OWN SECTION. Now, don’t go thinking those of you in your own section are special. NO ONE IS MORE SPECIAL THAN ANYONE ELSE. You’re all special snowflakes. Revel in your specialness. REVEL, I SAID!

So here we go. This month’s searches ran the gamut from odd to weird back to odd and then a little funny, then right on back to odd again. Just as I like it.

Category the First:  This is very good advice, John. Listen up.

“don’t do things that will kill you” john bytheway  

My favorite part of this: the “by the way.” Hey, John, BYTHEWAY, stop being an asshat and DON’T BE KILLY TO YOURSELF. Sheesh. Stop touching electric fences with your TONGUE, John, bytheway, and also STOP PULLING THE MASK OFF THE OLD LONE RANGER, bytheway! You’re really a danger to yourself, John, bytheway.

(I used to love someone named John. He was beautiful, but not at all right for me. But so, so pretty. Sigh.)

Category the Second: I’m totally an expert on this, yo.

“thyroids levels and “calcium”  

armour thyroid saved my life      

Here’s how my doctor explained it: you have this thing called the parathyroid attached to your thyroid. Your parathyroid metabolizes your calcium. In some thyroidectomies, they’re able to save the parathyroid; in some, it just dies off. In mine, it died off. If I don’t want to be a stooped old woman when I get old, I need to take mega-calcium supplements daily, eat lots of calcium-rich foods, and get my calcium levels checked regularly to make sure I’m doing a good enough job. It’s not work for the faint of heart. Luckily, cheese is calciumy. YUM CHEESE.

I don’t use Armour Thyroid. That’s the brand-name thyroid medication. It’s EXPENSIVE. I use generic synthroid or some such shit. It’s like $5 a month. Works fine. I’m all about generic medication. But when I first had to get thyroud medication, my roommate was researching it and she was all “AMY. Get Armour Thyroid. THAT IS THE BEST NAME FOR A MEDICATION EVER. Your thyroid! It will be like from MEDIEVAL TIMES!” and I laughed SO HARD. She’s the best, C. is. But, yes. It will save your life. If you need thyroid meds, you’d better take them, or things start to get weird. I forgot mine when I went on vacation once and was all, “I can do without these!” and NO NO CHARLIE. I ended up having to go to the ER for an emergency refill because THINGS WERE GETTING WOBBLY.

Category the Third: Sigh. Yes. Yes, I am going to get Facebook searches til I die.

a guy from my childhood is appearing in friends you may know on fb      

all kind of women showing as people you might know on fb        

how can i tell if someone unfriended me on facebook or canceled facebook?     

how long does a people you may know keep people who searched you                

how to know, how too much person to open my profile in facebook       

letter of requesting facebook friendship               

what should be done if the people u may know have disappeared           

These are a LOT of questions. I will do my best to answer them. But listen, you GUYS, these are not IMPORTANT. You’re stressing over NOTHING.

Yes. People from your childhood SHOULD show up in your “people you may know.” As you MAY KNOW HIM. You DO know him. What, exactly, is confusing you about this? IT MEANS FACEBOOK IS WORKING CORRECTLY FOR ONCE.

All kind of women, huh? Good job, ladykiller. Big ones, small ones, tall ones, short ones, I assume? Well, send ‘em friend requests, if you want, I don’t know what to tell you, here.

You can tell if someone unfriended you if you used to be friends and you go to their page and it says “add friend” on it. You can tell if someone BLOCKED you if you used to be friends with them, they’re not on your friend list anymore, and you search for them but they’re no longer on Facebook, but you ask your friend Myrna (I assume you have a friend Myrna; doesn’t everyone?) “Are you still friends with Joe Unfriendly?” and she says yes. That means Joe Unfriendly blocked your ass so you can’t see that he even has a page anymore. You can tell if someone deleted Facebook if he/she has disappeared from ALL your mutual friends, no one knows what happened, and you see them skulking around town and you’re all “Sad Sam, what’s up, we’re no longer Facebook friends?” and he’s like “I HATE YOU AND YOUR STUPID FACEBOOK FAAAAACE!” and runs off sobbing.

Your grammar is atrocious, darling, but I think you think the “people you may know” is people who’ve searched for you. Which is not the case. The people I may know right now are my cousin’s new boyfriend, one of my college’s crush’s (that came across terribly – a boy I had a crush on in college, and there were more than one of them) family members, and a random friend of my brother’s. None of these people were searching for me. Why the hell would they be? Those people in your sidebar are there because Facebook is weird. That’s all. Stop overthinking (and maybe take a grammar brushup class.)

Again, TERRIBLE GRAMMAR. Are you asking how you know if too many people have opened your Facebook profile? What’s too many? And you don’t have any control over that. Lock it down; make everything you can on it invisible (if you do it right, pretty much all people can see is your name, your cover photo, and your profile picture) and let it go. If that STILL bothers you…deactivate your Facebook. That’s the way it WORKS, you see. ANYONE CAN SEE YOUR PAGE. Unless you block specific people. That’s just how it IS.

Are you asking how to write a letter requesting Facebook friendship? Here’s a tip: no one cares. I thought people took it more seriously when I started. I’d friend request them and send them these nice “OMG! How have you BEEN?” private messages. Which were mostly ignored. NO ONE CARES. They either accepted or ignored my requests. Facebook isn’t life or death, even though sometimes it seems like it. I know. It’s a shocker.

What should be done if your people you may know disappear? Well, from my searches, it seems most people WANT that to happen…so you should PROBABLY rejoice, is my thought.

Category the Fourth: Odd

america airport “people are so fat”          

are you obsessed with spencer reid quiz               

cat face teeth    

forced boob job sissy hypno       

halloween “eats a little girl”         

mr rogers neighborhood lesbian sweaty               

narrative on the best news i ever received          

Are American people ONLY so fat in the airport? Are they not fat on, say, the sidewalk, or perhaps in an elevator?

OMG, now I need to find this quiz and take it. DAMMIT. This isn’t even a thing. I AM SO HEARTBROKEN RIGHT NOW. I would obviously have been VERY obsessed with Spencer Reid. I would have WON this quiz.

Cat face teeth? The hell?

Here are Dumbcat’s teeth, are you happy with this?

[image error]

He HATED that I touched his face. He’s giving me such a look of “yu betrayed mee, Momme.”

I don’t even…forced boob job, and ALSO sissy hypno. There are a lot of things here. SO MANY THINGS. I’ll let you guys decide what’s up. I haven’t a guess.

Does the holiday itself eat a little girl? That seems improbable.

I watched a lot of Mr. Rogers, and I’m quite certain there were no sweaty lesbians involved. Was there another version of Mr. Rogers I’m not aware of? Wait, no. Don’t even tell me. I don’t want you to ruin my childhood memories. I have so few good ones.

How the hell could I write YOU a narrative on the best news YOU ever received? And I’m not writing you a narrative on the best news I’ve ever received, because it’s none of your business, is why. This is a weird search. Are you trying to cheat on homework? You are, aren’t you?

Category the Fifth: You are always welcome to search for this here. ALWAYS.

biology sneaky fucker frog           

I will never fail to rejoice when someone searches for sneaky fuckery here. I am very proud of Sneaky Fucker week. I always will be. Please always feel free to check out sneaky fuckery here. I’ll meet you with cookies and perhaps fruit punch and a comfortable chair.

Category the Sixth: Ha! I will NOT!

don’t make me get my pan flute      

     

OMG. I will NOT make you get your pan flute, Zamfir! Please don’t torment me thus!

Category the Seventh: It’ll do that.

fox news ruined my dad

It’s made mine a little hard to deal with, as well. I’m not saying I don’t love him. I do. Very much. But every single conversation contains a variant of “PEOPLE LIKE YOU ARE RUINING MERKA! I SAW IT ON THE NEWS! THE REAL NEWS!” and I have to sigh and say “Oh, Dad. Oh, Dad, Dad, Dad. Maybe you should start watching something less angrymaking.”

Fox News puts things on the air that upset people who think they’re the gospel truth; they do this for ratings. Fox News, to me, is just about the lowest of the low, and they utterly disgust me. I don’t say this lightly. Not at all.

Category the Eighth: Hee!

happy nude reindeers

porno crushing her ovariez

she stalking in her sleep it’s keeping me awake

she won’t leave me alone “at work”

short story about demons in hell laugh kookaburra

that cruel joke called life

you half crazed wombat

Aren’t all reindeer nude? I mean, they don’t wear little footie pajamas, or something. Although that’d be HILARIOUS. Also, the plural of reindeer is just, well, reindeer. And I find that all reindeer are happy. Just because they’re reindeer. Andreas says I will not get to see reindeer when I visit him. This is a sadness. I do so like reindeer.

THIS IS ONE HAPPY REINDEER!

OVARIEZ! Those are like ovaries, only more badass. Because of the z. Do you want to WATCH a porno about crushing someone’s ovaries – sorry, OVARIEZ? Or DID a porno crush someone’s OVARIEZ, like, it was on someone’s ovary-area and it was just a super-heavy DVD or something and CRUSH? This is odd. And also, I know men like to think “I AM SO HUGE I AM AN OVARY CRUSHER!” but…um…do you have the most basic idea of how anatomy works? You’re not going to be crushing ovaries, my darling. It is not a thing you will be doing. Not even a little bit. I guarantee you this. They’re not even near where you put…nevermind. I’m sad you don’t know this, and sad you think you’re so megamassiveginormous you’re going to, I don’t know, core a lady like an apple, or something.

I like the idea of someone stalking in her sleep. All peeping in windows but not remembering it in the morning. If someone stalks in her sleep, does it make a sound? Also, if someone’s stalking in her sleep, how is it keeping you awake? (You know it’s “talking,” right? OK. Cool. I think I like your version better, though.)

She won’t leave you alone “at work,” huh? What about “at home” or “in the grocery store?” She doesn’t bother you there? Well, I’d talk to “HR,” then, so she’ll “stop messing with your TPS reports.” “You’re welcome.”

Are you looking for a short story about a demon in hell and a kookaburra laughing? Because now it’s all I want to read. Someone write me one of those. That’d be good, I think.

OMG THAT CRUEL JOKE CALLED LIFE! DOOM! GLOOOOOM! Listen, sweet potato, sometimes life seems terrible? But there’s a lot of beauty in there. Just look. And once you learn how to see it – and I assure you, it’s everywhere – you’ll start seeing it more and more. It’ll be in the smallest things – the curve of a tree branch, a quick smile on the face of someone you love, a peal of laughter from a distance, a particularly lovely turn of phrase, a bird shadowed against a still blue sky. Life may well be cruel at times, but for all the cruelty, we’re given a lot of beauty to make it bearable. You just have to know how to look.

I’m so going to start calling people “you half-crazed wombat!” as an insult. It’s going to be my new thing. Look out, world!

This one looks a little crazed! Would you say half-crazed? Perhaps.

Category the Ninth: Oh, what’s this? I want to know about this, please.

meme still waiting lloyd dobler  

Oh, this needs to be a meme. Is this a meme? I’m going to go search RIGHT NOW.

No. It seems it is not a thing. But this is, and this is CORRECT.

I don’t want a regular guy. I want the boy with the boombox and the trenchcoat. I have since 1989. I keep waiting for him to show up. He won’t look like Lloyd Dobler, when he does? But he’ll have a Lloyd Dobler heart. That’ll be enough.

Category the Tenth: Andreas, what’s going on in your land of Finns, exactly?

go nude finland                

miss nude finland      

Andreas, why so many nudity-related Finland searches this month? Is this something I need to know about before I visit next year? Listen, I think you’re peachy but I’m not down with walking around naked. I like clothes on my body, yo.

Category the Eleventh: Welcome, my friends from foreign lands!

лодка-трансформер         (boat-transformer in Russian!)

وقت النوم كرتون              (bedtime cardboard in Arabic!)

I LOVE FOREIGN SEARCHES! They make me feel SO COSMOPOLITAN. These are total keepers, too. Boat-transformer and BEDTIME CARDBOARD! I don’t know what they mean, and have NO IDEA why they brought people HERE, but I am DELIGHTING in them!

There you go, my most precious pumpkins. All the search terms! Enjoy. WALLOW in them. Just utterly SQUISH your TOES in them.

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 person behind the words

I know, I’ve been inexplicably missing. WHAT HAVE I BEEN DOING WHERE HAVE I BEEN AM I OK?

Yep, I’m ok. Busy few days, yo.

There was the wedding of panic-attacks (I did end up leaving right after the ceremony; thank you all for your kind comments. The ceremony was beautiful. Utterly gorgeous. I’m so glad I made myself go to that part, at least. I was sobbing throughout – but it was only maybe 50% panic-attack crying. The other 50% was seeing two people I love so, so much marrying one another; making that leap into the forever with each other. I’ve known the bride for almost a decade now, the groom for three years, and I don’t know if I know two people who are more well-matched. The universe got it right when it put the two of them in the same place at the same time that day three years ago so they could meet. Sincerely.)

Then there was work on Saturday, which wasn’t INSANE, just BUSY (usually it’s so bad I want to collapse and weep after, so that was ok.) I then ran home and made ALL THE COOKIES.

Why, do you think, did I make all the cookies? I mean, it’s not like a single person could eat all these cookies alone, could they? So what, exactly, could have been my impetus for ALL THIS BAKING?

(Yes, they were as good as they looked, thank you very much. I’m an EXCELLENT baker. I kind of half-ass everything else, but I take my baking VERY seriously. Ghirardelli chocolate chips and EVERYTHING, you guys. I’m not screwing around with my cookies. That’s not a euphemism.)

Well! I made all these cookies for a VERY GOOD REASON:

SUNDAY WAS LAURA DAY!

Laura is one of my fellow Booksluts. We’ve known each other for a while, and I knew she lived in New York, but it was kind of just a thing I KNEW, not something I was all ABOUT. (I’m easily distracted, leave me alone.) Well, Laura is moving away soon, and we started talking about it, and I realized…well, shit. Laura lives two hours from me. When she moves, she’ll be STATES away from me. It’d be FOOLISH not to take a drive on a lovely summer day for a couple of hours to meet someone I very much wanted to meet and talk to face-to-face, right?

Let me talk to you a little about Laura. Laura is a brilliant writer. Not just her reviews, but her creative writing. Listen, you guys – she’s about to blow UP. Give it a year or two? You’re going to be like “Oh, Laura? From the Booksluts? The one who has an award-winning short-fiction collection out? Yeah, I knew her when.” I know that sounds really over-the-top (and I’m a total exaggerator) but in this case, I’m not exaggerating in the least. The woman can WRITE. She has these words and phrases in her that are so bright and so crisp and so fresh – I can’t even tell you. Here, read one for yourself. You’ll see. She has a head full of poetry and words and light and shadow and explosions of wonder.

She’s also funny as hell, quick-witted, kind, and so intelligent that it just makes you so, so happy to talk to her. She’s a total find.

So into the car with the cookies and some beverages for the drive! Off I went to the wild, wild west of New York (where I had never been, actually! Well, I’d been in the area, but not on my own, and not for years, and not from this direction, so it was all new!)

It was a very pretty drive. Very green. There was a river to watch for a lot of it with these weird bridgey things in it that I asked Dad about and he was like, “Those are parts of the old canal system, I think. Cool, right?” and he was so jazzed I’d noticed them. There were funny signs to notice like the signs for things at the rest stops, like the one that touted “FRESH FUDGE!” (as opposed to old, decrepit fudge? Who pulls off the highway for fudge? Good grief, fudge is like the easiest thing to make ever) and another one that said “HISTORY HAPPENED HERE!” (here…at the rest stop? What history could have happened at the rest stop, someone famous peed on the seat? I told Dad that, and he said, “History happened in the AREA, Amy. Not at the REST STOP. You’d be so wacky to go on a trip with. You’re way too literal.”)

(It was PROBABLY something like this, but my imagination likes to go in other directions.)

I pulled off at a rest stop and nervous-peed (I wonder if, when I’m famous, I’ll get a “HISTORY HAPPENED HERE” sign?) and then I was in Laura’s area! Which is kind of gritty and cool and working-class and I totally want to go back and have an adventure there. (And there’s a ZOO there. You KNOW how I feel about zoos!) And then I was into Laura’s little town! AND THEN I WAS AT LAURA’S HOUSE!

Laura was sitting outside and she was ADORABLE! She was so excited to see me even though I almost butted right into someone’s car when I was parking because I’m awkward, yo. And (this is totally strange) usually, I’m petrified of meeting new people? Even knew people I adore? Like, I almost ran away before meeting Andreas, and we’d been emailing a billion times daily for MONTHS? But I was not the most nervous to meet Laura. I don’t know if it was because I’d used up all my panic from the wedding earlier in the week, or I’m calming down as a human (yeah, right) but I was only a LITTLE nervous. Which was nice. That seemed normal. Who’s not a little nervous when meeting a new person whose writing you admire so, so much and who seems so awesome?

Laura is this…she’s this force of nature. I don’t even know how else to describe her. She’s got this awesome retro look to her, all bobbed hair and red lipstick…but also this rockabilly look that doesn’t even dip a toe into hipster douchebaggery. It’s all Laura. It’s totally original and amazing and she’s so confident in her skin. I was just in utter awe of her. She shines like the sun, you guys. I can’t imagine people NOT wanting to be around her. I would think she would pull people to her like she was the center of the universe and they were all just orbiting her in amazement. You know how people say someone’s an original, and people are all “Yeah, yeah. WHATEVS?” Nope. Laura IS. She’s got this mind that just comes UP with things. And they are FILLED WITH AWESOME. Awesome that shoots off RAINBOW BEAMS. I can’t even describe.

And all of that…it sounds kind of scary, like “ZOMG I WOULD BE DAUNTED BY THIS PERSON!” but NO. Like, the OPPOSITE. She makes you feel immediately welcomed and loved and important and comfortable. The comfort level is IMMEDIATE.

In a sentence – Laura: I liked her very much.

Laura and I met up at about 11. We spent the day talking. We did eat at one point (in-between talking – she is an AMAZING cook, and the cookies were a hit!) but mostly? We talked. We talked until we got gravelly-voiced with it and then we talked more. We talked about books and writing and people we both know and people we didn’t know; we talked about both problems and things we were rejoicing in; we talked about huge things, and we talked about tiny things. We talked, which led to more talking, and that would lead to another thread of talking, and we’d be off on ANOTHER thread of talking. We’d talk until we were like “OMG I HAVE GOT TO PEE” and then run off to alternate bathrooms and pee and then meet back up for MORE talking.

I was planning on leaving around 3. Then 3 came and went, so I planned on 4. Then 4 came and went. At 4:45, I was like “ZOMG I HAVE TO GO!” because poor Laura had a party to throw AT HER HOUSE and I was taking up ALL HER TIME. But the talking. SO MUCH TALKING. Like, important talking. The kind where you have your heavy load, and the other person also has theirs? And you say, “Hey, I’ll help you carry yours, if you help me with mine, you cool with that?” and when you each shoulder the other person’s load, it’s like that load, it’s so, so light now. It’s like it’s almost not there anymore. That kind of talking…that kind of person…how often does that happen?

(Totally stole this from Laura. We didn’t take enough photos. SO MUCH TALKING!)

(Also, Laura lives in an awesome old house that has the best energy ever, and people were in and out and there was so much love in that house and it was so safe and so warm. It was home. That was a home. I was just beaming the whole time. Oh, AND? I wore a skirt. ON PURPOSE. And you know what? I LIKED IT. I think more skirts and/or dresses will be worn by me in the future of my life.)

Leaving was very sad. Because – well, listen. A lot of you are internet people. How often do you click with other internet people? Or with ANY new people? As you get older, it’s harder to get that click. When we’re young, we make friends left and right…but when we grow up, we get shut off. Our hearts die, you know? The Breakfast Club got that part right. We don’t trust as readily. We see people as competition, not potential allies, or even friends.

Laura was a click. Laura was a TOTAL click. A big old click, and it was so sad to leave.

However, I will see her soon; she’s coming to see ME, for a whole WEEKEND, and we’re having a huge Albany adventure. Shopping and theater and all the food and I’m going to tour her around Albany until she either falls in love with it, or is all, “Amy. YOU ARE OBNOXIOUS. STOP.”

I then drove home and marvelled at the pretty drive again and then I was here and Laura wrote this very nice post about me HERE, which made me a little weepy, and Andreas’ comment made me even MORE weepy, and how do I know the best people ever? How is this even a thing? I don’t deserve this at all.

(At one point in our day of fantasticness, Laura was all serious-faced “Listen, and ABSORB this: YOU ARE KIND OF A BIG DEAL.” And that made me be all “Nah.” Then I was all “blush.” Then I was all “Nah” again. Because who can’t take a compliment? That’d be me. But my dearest Laura: I promise, even if it hasn’t sunk in yet, it is in my head. It is not forgotten.)

Also stolen from Laura. These are all the photos we took. Are we not lovely? I ADORE these photos.

Counting the days til I see you again, Laura. You are magic and wonder and joy and fantasticness and light, and I am so, so happy I know the person behind the beautiful words now. Because the person behind the words? Is more beautiful than the words are. And those words are pretty damn beautiful, so how beautiful does that make that person? Thank you for an amazing day. Thank you so, so much.

This is not my idea of a good time

Imagine you’re walking down an abandoned street in a town you’re unfamiliar with. It’s night; there are a lot of alleys off the street you’re walking down, and there are noises in the alleys that imply there are people down there. The noises sound menacing. You hear a scream off in the distance; a portentous chuckle not too far from where you’re walking. People whispering from one of the openings ahead.

What emotions are you feeling right now? What is your body urging you to do in this situation?

Most likely you’re not seeing this as an fun adventure. Your fight-or-flight has kicked in. Your startle reflex is high. You want nothing more than to be out of this place; your heartrate is up, thumping away in your ears, your nerves are jangling, you’re attuned to every little thing around you, ready to jump at the slightest noise, touch, scent.

You want out. You might walk faster to get out of here; if you’re really freaked out, you might run. If you know you’re going to have to be in this situation, in this place again, you’re going to probably avoid this street, and you’re going to go another way, or stay home altogether.

Now: imagine something so much nicer.

A party. Everyone’s wearing nice clothes; there are frosty beverages, but no one’s really over-imbibing. They’re just drinking enough that the conversation’s flowing and there’s a lot of laughter. People have gathered into small groups, two, three, four or more; everyone’s very happy, talking a lot, if there’s music playing, it’s low enough in the background that it’s not distracting. Every now and then someone’s voice spikes up over everyone else’s in a laugh or a joyous cry. Snacks on the tables, never a long wait for the bathrooms. It’s a good party. It’s a party everyone would like to be invited to.

How does this make you feel? What emotions? What’s your body telling you to do?

Calm and happy; you’re having a good time, you’re among friends, you’re relaxed and safe. This is a good place. This is something you look forward to for weeks. This is something everyone likes. When this ends, people are already talking about when and where the next one will be.

What, exactly, is wrong with someone, then, when the second scenario creates the same emotions as the first one does? (Or – and this is even better – the first scenario is LESS SCARY than the second?)

The thought of a party like this causes an increased heartrate, sweaty palms, and an upset stomach; actually having to (heavens forfend, and only if you really, really can’t avoid it) attend one means you spend the days leading up to it in an heightening state of panic, characterized by the inability to sleep, headaches, and nerve problems (such as jumping about two feet in the air when a coworker taps you on the shoulder when you’re not expecting it.) Once you’re there, you’re the person in the darkened street. You’re in fight-or-flight mode. You’re sure everything is out to get you (including yourself; everything you say/do/are is wrong, and you’re a total embarrassment to life.) If there’s a room no one’s in, you hide in it, but someone always finds you. Mostly what you do is sit very quietly, like a deer in headlights, and hope no one sees you. Or talks to you. But they always do. And usually in that pitying “oh, this poor dear, she’s so lonely and sad and pathetic” way.

This is social anxiety, kiddos. No, it’s not just “being shy” or “hating people” or “not being good at parties” or whatever. It’s social anxiety. And it sucks. Like, sincerely, sincerely sucks. Because going into a social situation is, to those of us who have this, to me, akin to going on live television naked, and the studio audience consists of my high-school nemesis/bully who is screwing my current-day crush. While they both talk about me meanly. And laugh. (DAMN, but they’re multitasky.)

Here’s one of the (many) things that sucks about social anxiety.

You are constantly having to defend yourself. Because no one believes you have it.

Yes, I have trouble going to parties, and actually haven’t been to one in years because of it. But also, yes, I am active on the internet, and can function (albeit somewhat nervously) in smaller social groups, or (even more strangely) larger groups of people I don’t know at all. And I SEEM like I’d be a lot of fun! “Amy!” people say. “You must be SO MUCH FUN TO HANG OUT WITH!”

If I know you really well, and it’s just a few of us or just the two of us – yes. I’m a barrel of friggin’ monkeys to hang out with. If we’re at a large party, I’m in a corner trying not to vomit. I am not fun. At all. I am not HAVING fun, and I am not fun to BE with. Sometimes I’m crying. Why? Because no reason at all. Fear. Nerves. Straight panic.

“Oh, well, you could be having fun if you TRIED harder!”

No. I couldn’t be. Because my brain utterly will not let me; it shuts the hell down. Or, I suppose, goes on overdrive.

“Well, maybe you just need a drink. That helps everyone.”

Yes. That helped me for years. I was a HELL of a lot of fun when I was drunk. It helped me forget I was afraid of social situations. And then I realized it was helping me right into early alcoholism, and I refused to lean on a crutch that was actually less of a “crutch” and more of a “thing I needed to both get out of bed in the morning and get back to bed at night.” The crutch became a wheelchair and the wheelchair was threatening to become either that thing they strap Lecter into when they want to take him out into public, or a coffin. Either way, probably best to walk away from that crutch before it bludgeons you into the inability to function, right? Right.

I get severe stage fright having to talk in front of groups; however, I can act in front of people with no problems in the least.

“THIS MAKES NO SENSE!”

Actually, it makes tons of sense. If you’re acting, you’re using someone else’s words. People are judging your ability to act, and that’s it. There are also (usually) other people on the stage for them to concentrate on other than you. If you get in front of a group to talk, be it to give a speech, or present something, or to read something you’ve written, or what-have-you, people are not only judging you, they’re judging what you’ve written. They’re judging a LOT of things. That’s terrifying.

When people HAVE seen me in social situations, I seem like I’m fine. I’m not rocking in a corner; there are stories floating around about having seen me at parties functioning, being friendly, funny, and fine. Therefore, I must be lying about this, and just don’t want to attend parties because I’m a terrible human being and/or a huge bitch.

Well, both items in the latter might (eh, fuck it, they sometimes are) be true, but just because you saw me being personable ONE TIME at a party doesn’t mean inside I wasn’t petrified. I’m a very good actress. I can pretend to be someone I’m not, if I have to. I can pretend I’m not petrified; I can bite back the tears (and the vomit.) I can tell entertaining stories and I can laugh and I can be engaged in what you have to say. And the minute, THE MINUTE, I wave my last wave and am all, “Oh, my, yes, we will HAVE to do this again!” and drive off, I’m a shaking mess, and no, we don’t do it again, because I was LYING to you. I was NOT having a good time. I wore the mask of someone having a good time. While you were enjoying yourself, I was working. Does that sound like fun to you? Because it wasn’t. Not even a little. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed and cry a little, ok? And why the hell would I want to put myself through that AGAIN?

I really, really thought this would get better as I got older. In a super-fun (in a not-at-all-fun way) twist of fate, it’s gotten worse. To the point that I sometimes get paralyzed at the thought of these things. I have a wedding to go to, and I just found out there’s going to be at least an hour of socializing before the food gets served.  Now, I was cool with going to the ceremony, going to the banquet hall, eating, then immediately leaving so I didn’t get sucked into the drinking/dancing/having to make small talk part of the evening. I attempted to plan ahead. It’s how I handle these things. I specifically asked if there would be downtime before the food; I was specifically told no. I assume I was misunderstood, or perhaps I misunderstood the answer.

I’m therefore leaving right after the ceremony. I’m pretty sure no one will notice. A lot of people will be there. I’ll just walk like a lady with purpose. Maybe people will think I left something in my car. It won’t matter; by the time anyone notices I’m not there the night will be in the wee hours, anyway.

I am furious about this. Not at the setup of the wedding – that’s probably how weddings work, I’ve only been to a few in my life, my friends tend to live in sin rather than make it official – but I’m furious at MYSELF. I’m furious that I can’t celebrate my friends’ special day with them like everyone else who will be there. I’m furious that I have a broken brain and I can’t make it behave for a few hours so I can make nice and go to a damn wedding reception. I’m furious that people think I’m making this up because I don’t WANT to be there. Because it can’t be an actual PROBLEM. It’s easier to just think I’m an antisocial bitch, not someone standing outside the pretty party wanting so, so badly to go in, but it’s like there’s a force field around it: one, that, if you crossed it, your entire body would rebel, and you’d start panicking, freaking out, getting physically ill.

This is an illness that takes lonely people and makes them MORE lonely. So it nicely goes hand-in-hand with depression. What are you going to become if you desperately would like to connect, but your brain just won’t let you? Well. I’d think depressed, probably.

I also hate feeling out of control, and I hate hate HATE feeling weak. And this makes me feel both of these things. What’s wrong? Oh, nothing, being around people makes me have a panic attack, like a Victorian lady swooning on the couch, is all, I’m getting the vapors, where are my smelling salts. I hate complaining to my friends; I feel like in doing so, they will run screaming for the hills because ANNOYING. Why the hell can’t Amy have a NORMAL problem? No. SHE IS SCARED OF SOCIAL GATHERINGS. Shun the nonbeliever. Shunnnnnn.

I like being the strong one. I like being the no-nonsense one. I like being the one all “I will solve that with COMMON SENSE and also a little SPIT AND WILLPOWER.”

I am quite aware I need to go to the doctor at some point and get some Xanax and maybe some therapy. The last time I attempted to do this, the therapist told me the only problem was my attitude and to get more sleep and exercise and THAT was dismissive and shitty, so I haven’t been back. I’m sure there are good therapists out there. I just have this thing where, if you fool me once, shame on you, but if you fool me twice, well, that won’t happen, because I’m long gone after the first time and you’re dead to me. So therefore, all of therapy is dead to me. I realize this is not the best way to approach life.

I’d love to give you some sort of pithy ending to this, but I don’t have one, other than this, I suppose: please, for the love of Pete, stop being a dick to people who have actual problems THAT YOU CANNOT SEE. The depressed person isn’t just “sad” and she will not just “snap out of it.” The person with social anxiety isn’t “antisocial.” YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON IN SOMEONE’S HEAD. Stop judging them. Everyone has something they’re dealing with. Either help them or get the hell out of the way, but don’t make it WORSE.

That’s all the pithy ending you’re going to get out of me. I’m tired. My body’s been on high adrenaline for days in a row. I’m like a sniper waiting for the target to step out of the treeline. AND THIS IS ALL BECAUSE OF A WEDDING. I just want to sleep for a week.

Also, I think it goes without saying that none of the rest of you can get married, or, if you do, you need to livestream that shit because it’s just way too stressful for me to attend. As it’s all about me. Me, me, me. Me, the antisocial bitch who hates everyone.

Back to watching the treeline for those damn targets. It’s exhausting, but my brain tells me we’re nowhere near done. You can’t just walk away. You never know when that wily badguy will step out of those trees. And when’s a brain ever been wrong, I ask you?

…mermaid dancing…is a little different. You usually start on the ground.

I have no time to blog this week. MY MOST ABJECT APOLOGIES MY FAVORITE PEOPLE.

Also next week is the worst. But after that I think I get to breathe again. Maybe.

Well, ok, not the WORST. They’re all things I WANT to do. There are just a LOT of things to do. Fun things, but a LOT of them. One that requires – are you ready for this – THE PURCHASING AND WEARING OF A DRESS.

I KNOW. Please stop gasping and fainting. I can wear dresses. I’m allowed. I am a lady, even if I really, really like wearing khakis. Like, so much, guys. SO MUCH. They are beyond comfortable.

So, without further ago, because I am running out of time and trying to write this while watching a movie and also emailing and also doing a million other things…

THINGS THAT HAVE MADE ME HAPPY THIS WEEK SO FAR

(What, you were expecting things that made me miserable this week? I COULD do that, but how depressing would THAT be to read? No. Let’s stick to things that made me happy. Thanks.)

SHOPPING SUCCESSFULLY!

Now, as you all know, I am not a good shopper. I often lose at shopping. QUITE often. And it makes me frustrated. And itchy. And a little sweaty.

HOWEVER, I had to go to the mall this week for a VERY EXCITING THING. Ready?

Here was me on Monday…

(Well, my hair didn’t look like that. My hair only looked likes like that when my hairdresser does it. This is only for a comparison.)

And here’s me NOW:

QUICK WHAT IS DIFFERENT?

No, not the hair. Or the clothes. Or the necklace. Or the makeup. YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT!

What was that? Someone in the back?

YES! CORRECT!

I GOT NEW GLASSES!

I am crazy in love with them. They make me so much happier than the last ones, which were Transitions and scratched and an annoying shape and I hated them. These are flattering and pretty and stylish and ZOMG they are totally Dolce and Gabbana. I KNOW. (People say that’s a fancy thing, right? Like, they make purses or something, right? I don’t know such things. I think the fanciest name-brand of anything I own is like Fashion Bug brand or something.)

ALSO, I had an eye exam and the optometrist told me I was VERY PHOTOGENIC. He was talking about my eyes, but I took it as a total compliment. (He also told me I had EXTREMELY healthy eyes, and showed me some photos of NON-healthy eyes which were TOTES ICKY, you guys, and made me squeal disgustedly and delightedly. I liked him a lot. He told me gross stories about working in the hospital and was VERY entertaining. He won optometry.)

So after an epic win of glasses-buying (which was kind of expensive, despite my eyecare plan), I went dress-shopping. Gulp.

Now, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to find anything, because I have the WORST LUCK with shopping. But I have a wedding to go to on Friday. And it’s the wedding of friends K. and A.! And I would very much like to look like a pretty lady at said wedding!

So I tried on dresses. Trepidaciously.

AND YOU WILL NEVER GUESS WHAT OCCURRED!

I found THREE PRETTY DRESSES!

I had to narrow it down to two, because they were not CHEAP dresses. But I bought two dresses. One for the wedding and one for when Laura visits in September and we’re going to a fancy dinner and then to a play at the fancy theater like LAY-DEEZ.

This is the wedding dress (because it’s going to be HOT that day, yo, and the wedding’s outside):

SO CUTE. No, I’m not wearing heels with this. Don’t ask. I have shoes with a PRACTICAL SLIGHTLY-RAISED RUBBERY HEEL. That’s as good as you get from me. I would tip, otherwise.

And for my lady-date with Laura:

SUPER-SEXY. Also the cleavage in this dress is INSANE. Laura, we’re going to be the HOTTEST LADIES ON THE TOWN, sincerely.

Other things that have made me happy this week that are NOT spending-money-related (because there are some, I don’t JUST spend all the money all the time, just SOMETIMES):

Dad’s coming to visit next week! We’re totally spending the day together!
I get to have dinner with The Nephew and his mom next week! He starts school after Labor Day. Can you imagine? My best little guy is SCHOOL-AGED! Whoa!
Making Dad laugh until he dropped the phone by dropping a random (albeit, very funny, she says humbly) sexual innuendo in conversation (when Dad says “that’s a good one!” I feel like I won an Oscar)
Watching Pitch Perfect. SHUT UP. It is funny and quirky and heartwarming and A CAPELLA, you guys. I have all the love for a capella. Plus it stars this chick:



This is Rebel Wilson, who I fell crazy in love with in Bridesmaids and she only had a LITTLE role, and look at her in THIS. She is WONDERFUL. She made me laugh SO SO HARD, you guys. She wins everything.She is CRAZY FIERCE.

I have a total crush on her.

And I want to be her character in the movie. See? I even told Twitter last night.

@niidasholm Fat Amy is my spirit animal.

— Amy (@lucysfootball) August 22, 2013

(Her character in the movie’s name is Fat Amy. WATCH IT. Sincerely. I thought it might be awful, too, but it was so much fun. Except sometimes it was stupid and there was vomiting. I don’t care for stupid sketch-comedy vomiting.)

OK. I am going to bed because lately I have not been sleeping properly and also I’ve been gritting my teeth a lot which means I’m stressed so I think I need some downtime, yo. I’m going to go to bed early and see if that helps. Happy day, all! I hope all the things made you happy this week. If not, just stare a little at Rebel Wilson. She’s the most sensational.

Gnomes and creepy dolls and mountains and missing restaurants: a day of adventure!

So! Sunday was a day of ADVENTURE!

(I think it bears noting that the cat apparently does not want me to write this post. He keeps putting his paw on my hand so I’m finding it hard to type. YOU STOP THAT, CAT! You are being PESKY!)

How close Dumbcat is to my typin’-hand. Look at him being a creeper. I think he wants to start his own blog.

So, Sunday. Sunday was a day a little over TWO YEARS in the making!

I joined Twitter out of utter boredom (and the acquisition of a smartphone) in May 2011, and the lovely Bronwyn was one of my first Twitter friends. We were both members (still are, actually, no need for the past tense) of the Geek Girls Book Club, and chatted on Twitter, which moved to us becoming Facebook friends and her being a loyal (and hilarious) reader of my blog (and sharing it with all of her coworkers, which I love…the idea of the whole office reading my ramblings makes me smile. HI, BRONWYN’S OFFICE!)

When she told me that she and her boyfriend Steve would be only an hour and a half from me for a wedding in August, well, THAT was exciting! I have a car! I am willing to travel an hour and a half to visit one of my most long-term internet people who I enjoy so, so much! Eeeee!

So top-secret plans were made, and squeeing was done, and then it was Sunday! So off I went for the Catskills, which I had driven through, and come CLOSE to, but never all up into. I was about to get all up into the Catskills’ business, yo.

You know what’s in the Catskills, right?

RIP VAN WINKLE! I was keeping an eye out for little men playing ninepins in the mountains, but did not see any. They are pretty good at hiding, however. They might have been there THE WHOLE TIME.

The trip to the Catskills goes like this:

Highway

Highway

Highway

Driving through a very curious town called Catskill

CRAZY TWISTY ROAD WITH FALLING ROCKS AND HAIRPIN TURNS ZOMG

Small town with way too many dolls in the store windows

HUNTER MOUNTAIN!

The highway part was boring. You’ve all been on a highway. If I have to explain a highway to you, you’re probably Amish, and what are you doing reading a blog?

Catskill was a hoot. It was like a town from back in the day, and the companies had VERY FUNNY NAMES.

First, there was…

BEER WORLD!

(When I saw this coming up, I thought it said “Beef World” and I giggled, then I was all, “OMG BEER WORLD. That’s even BETTER! A whole WORLD of beer!”)

Then there was…

HOEBOWL!

OMG, you guys. HoeBowl. This made me laugh so hard. Even funnier, it’s kiddy-corner from Beer World, so you could go to the World of Beer, then go get your Hoe on.

Then there was a sign I didn’t get to take a picture of, because driving, but someone was selling rabbits? And the sign was all hand-lettered and it said:

RABITS FOR SALE

And I seriously was DELIGHTED and said, “RAY-BITS!” and kept saying it for like ten miles. “I sure would like to buy me some ray-bits! George, tell about the ray-bits again! TELL IT, GEORGE! Oh, Lennie. You’ve heard about them ray-bits like a million times.”

This just made me laugh until I cried. This kid was PISSED. And decided to ruin it for everyone, apparently.

Then it was time for the twisty-turny roads. Seriously, once? I had to drive through the Colorado Switchbacks? And it was the scariest drive of my life, because sometimes a moving truck would be coming at you and there wasn’t a guardrail and so therefore there was nothing between you and a plummet down a very steep scary mountain? (Granted, it was gorgeous, though. I was able to enjoy some of the pretty in-between weeping and gnashing of teeth and praying.)

Pretty! BUT SO SCARY.

This drive wasn’t THAT scary, but it was similarly hairpin-turny. Drive a little TURN! Drive a little more TURN! NARROW ROADS! Other drivers CLIMBING ALL UP YOUR ASS-AREA!

At one point, we all had to stop, and once they let us go, there were a lot of cops and such and it seemed maybe someone had gone off a bridge or something, so that was reassuring.

But then you get views like this? So…kind of worthwhile.

So, finally I got to the town of Hunter, where there are a ton of little shops, and then took a turn for Hunter Mountain, where Steve and Bronwyn were…AND THERE THEY WERE! Right in the parking lot! The timing couldn’t have been better!

There was much huggery (I totally even hugged Steve, but he was ok with it, so that won him points – I mean, if you let someone who’s pretty much a total stranger hug you, you’re a winner in my book) and we decided to go to dinner at a place called Happy Asia, until we realized it was really called YUMMY Asia, at which point I of COURSE didn’t want to go there because I was SO looking forward to being happy, and this place was no longer going to make me HAPPY, it was only going to be YUMMY, but Bronwyn assured me that with how YUMMY it would be, it would MAKE us happy! Smart lady, that Bronwyn.

However, apparently Yummy Asia no longer existed. (I promised Steve and Bronwyn I would research this Yummy Asia situation, and I’ve got nothing, other than there’s only one Yelp review, and it’s from a year ago. I guess they closed all middle-of-the-night secretly? Sadtimes.)

We walked around, and there were SO MANY DEAD-EYED CREEPY DOLLS in the store windows. We were all, “Those are definitely there to steal your soul.” Also there were a lot of creepy masks. Not FUN masks, but CREEPY ones. This town might have been haunted.

So we went to a place that promised MUCH CHEESE on the sign (listen, if a place promises a lot of cheese, you go there, I think) and we ate and ate and talked and ate and laughed and talked and ate more and had a great time. (Yes, there was cheese. We didn’t order ALL the cheese, but we could have, had we wanted to.)

Do you know what I like?

I like when a person is who they are online. You know, like you get to know someone online, and then you meet them in person, and you think, yes! That is that person. That person didn’t pretend to be anyone they’re not.

Bronwyn is TOTALLY the person she is online. Only – and this is awesome – even BETTER. Because you actually get to talk to her FACE. She’s beautiful and funny and fierce and intelligent and she is, and I say this without the slightest hint of sarcasm, a total ray of sunshine. She absolutely radiates positivity. She makes you feel special just hanging out with her. She’s got this amazing energy. She’s a rare and beautiful spirit. Do you know anyone like that? And how, when you meet them, there’s just this bright light in the room? That’s Bronwyn. She’s a very bright light. She lights up everything she touches. She utterly glows.

Steve is…well, listen, I was totally ready to be judgey. Anyone who knows me at all knows I am VERY HARSH on a., new people, and b., people who are dating people I care about, because I want the loved ones of MY loved ones to be as fantastic as they deserve. And the verdict is…STEVE WINS! (Hee, if Steve’s reading this, I probably scared him. SORRY, STEVE! I was building up DRAMATIC TENSION!) Steve is funny and personable and handsome and intelligent and thoughtful, and Steve and Bronwyn together are really a fantastic couple. They play off each other well; they really, really like each other. It’s kind of joyous to watch them together. It makes your heart happy. And to see one of my friends happy – that makes ME happy. Steve! You are aces with me. I highly approve.

So we ate and laughed and talked about things both fun and serious, and life and mutual friends and blogging and romance and such, and got to know each other even more, and it was really a wonderful time. I was so, so glad I got to do it. Say what you will about the inclusive or divisive nature of the interwebz, it brings amazing, like-minded people into your life, and I love it for that.

On our way back to the car, we found some strange paintings which might have been the little men playing ninepins in the mountains. So, as you do, we molested them.

I think he liked our attention. He was probably lonely. (He totally looks like he’s molesting poor Bronwyn here.)

Steve! Steve is an excellent goofy-photo poser. You know I like a good goofy photo op.

DO NOT MOLEST THE GNOME. (Isn’t Bronwyn FABULOUS?)

Shush, you would have done the same thing if this guy was crotch-level to you. I mean, look at his shocked facial expression. It’s like if you turned down this photo-op, you’d be CURSED.

Then it was back to the hotel so Steve and Bronwyn could get on the road (they had a long trip ahead of them, and it was getting late) and it was time for me to get back on the road for home!

Again, many hugs and goodbyes and it was sad to leave. BUT! We are now face-friends, which is even better. And hopefully we can do it again someday!

It was a VERY SUCCESSFUL DAY! Thank you, village of Tannersville, for putting up with our shenanigans!

It was so nice to meet you in person, finally, my lovely Bronwyn! You are an absolute joy and I adore you. And Steve, you are fantastic, and listen, I don’t like ANYONE. So you win!

(Oh, AND, on the way home, I entered a time warp? Some asshole was creepin’ up on my ass on the twisty road, so I pulled off at a hiker’s parking spot to let him and his belligerent truck by, and my GPS said I would be home at 8:57, but when I pulled BACK on the road, it said I would be home at 8:52. WHAT THE HELL? It’s those little men in the mountains, I know it.)

YAY FOR ADVENTURES! (Guess what? I’m going on another one! THIS COMING SUNDAY! It’s going to be even FARTHER away! Ooh! Aah!)

Happy Tuesday, everyone! Have an adventure. I DECREE IT THUS.