The Fastest, Funniest Book I've Ever Read

And I've read a lot of books.

I have a lot of books by comedians that go way back. I can read those books fast, but are any of those the fastest book I've ever read? Nope, nope, nope.

It would make sense that the fastest AND funniest book I've ever read would have to do with Twitter, since it is very fast-paced and, if you look in the right spots, funny, too.

 

Oh, Twitter, Twitter, Twitter. I like the Twitter. I honestly sometimes read my Twitter timeline and laugh out loud over and over again. True, true laughs. I arrange some of the people I read on Twitter into different groups- "Funny Favorites", "Favstar Users" (people who specifically use Twitter to write/read jokes), "Bloggers", "Comedians/Media VIPs", etc. Arranging the people I follow on Twitter into groups helps me to find what I want to find on Twitter quickly, which is a good laugh. That is the main reason I go on Twitter at all.

You know who else does that?

Kate Hall of Can I Get Another Bottle of Whine? and Norine Dworkin-McDaniel and Jessica Ziegler of Science of Parenthood. Now, they may also go on Twitter to get a nice soufflĂ© recipe, too, but I KNOW they go on there for laughs. I know because they turned a bunch of those Twitter laughs into a book.

This book.



You can get a paperback of it for $10.32. I would say this book pretty much is the best little gift you can give to a parent now at Christmas, at a baby shower or any time. It is truly funny, it can be read in short segments (bathroom reading!), it is clean humor (makes it easy to give to anyone), a great price and easy to wrap. I love things that are easy to wrap.

When I first received my box of books, I grabbed a copy and sat down to read it. If I hadn't had to go break up my sons' argument over a basketball, I probably could have read the book in one sitting. You just want to keep reading to the next section and, before you know it, you are all out of sections.

And, if I am being completely honest, I actually ripped the book open right away to find my tweets. I have a few in there, like the one below, thanks to Kate, Jessica & Norine asking me to be a part of this project. I was honored! Twitter has been a friend of mine for a while. I actually spoke about it at Blog University this past summer.

 
 

So, what is the point of all of this? I want to give three of you a copy of the book to keep or for you to give as a gift. All you need to do is leave a Facebook comment  by going to the link below. If you share the Facebook update, come back to let me know that in the comments. That will count as an extra entry. I will pick the winners next Friday morning so that I can mail them out on that Friday.


And, you better hurry. The book is flying off the shelves and even appearing in hit TV shows like The Walking Dead. It's only a matter of time before there are no more books left. See Jessica in her cameo appearance below? I'm pretty sure Glenn is running to get a copy he heard about in an abandoned Barnes & Noble in this picture and Jessica is letting him know she's got one, so there's no need for him to worry. That says a lot about Jessica that she's willing to subject herself to zombies for the sake of the book. What a selfless girl.

 


Looking for the perfect stocking stuffer? Try the 2015 Chrysler 200.



Finally, I sit in front of my laptop. I miss you, laptop. Your black, straight monitor and quick little keys have a special place in my heart. I have been wanting to sit in front of you ever since last week, but have had difficulty finding the time to do that. You see, the Thursday before Thanksgiving, I had to bid farewell to one of my favorite new friends. This post is all about that friend, so you'll be hearing more about her in a second. On Friday and in the days following, some of my favorite people ever came to visit. My family from Washington and Florida were here for the Thanksgiving break. So, as you can imagine, there hasn't been a lot of time to give to you.

Thanks to STI and Chrysler, I was able to give my own vehicle the boot for the week and drive in splendor and bliss. When I got back into my car, I felt like I was getting back into a really old station wagon with radio dials from the 60s. In actuality, my SUV is a 2008 and has a digital radio, but...it just doesn't compare. As much as I am grateful for its years of service, it just doesn't compare at all.

Here's my friend, though you must've have seen her when you started reading this post. I can't keep secrets well.

The 2015 Chrysler 200.



If you are going to use this as a stocking stuffer, may I suggest that you consider looking into a new stocking? One that is extra, extra, extra, extra (times 800) large? And not made of cotton or felt?  Or the other option? Just slide the key in there.

Instead of give you a long narrative about why this friend should be your friend, too, and be a part of your Christmas scene this year, I thought I'd just show you the pictures. I'd let them speak for themselves, but, I am a blogger after all. I must yap.

 
 
I really can't decide what I love most about this car, but I can tell you that I really, really, really love the dual sunroof. I feel like I am almost driving in a convertible when both panels are uncovered. It just feels so light and bright in the car when they are open. If I could drive and stand up through the sunroof and yell "Hello, world!!!" at the same time, I would have tried it.
 
 
 
This little screen can be changed out to show your miles per hour, gas situation, some other fancy things and this screen showing the tire pressure. The week that I drove the car was a colder one for us down here in Texas. The tire pressure would fluctuate with the temperature and sort of stress me out. You see that "35" is a different color, right? That indicates that the tire pressure is a little bit lower than it should be. That tire would be fine later in the day and maybe another one would pipe up with, "I need more air! Give me air! Airrrrr!!!" The tires were all fine, though. It was just a weather thing. It would have been better for my heart rate to change this screen out.
 
 
 
 Don't EVEN get me started on the music situation. I was in love. Love, love, love. The sound quality was awesome and the selection was the best. I loved listening to the radio and satellite radio A LOT. Like I said before, I am driving a 2008 vehicle with minimal bells and whistles. I don't get to listen to my iPod as I drive along either. It was like visiting with an old friend again when I drove the Chrysler 200 for the week. "Adia" by Sarah McLachlan greeted me every time I got in because the music was not shuffled and she is the first on the list. I got to hear "All Cried Out" by Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam a lot, too, for that same reason. There was no complaining from me! Somewhere along the way, I hit shuffle and belted out "I Told You So" by Carrie Underwood. That girl can SANG.
 
I sure do miss that sound system.
 
 
 
This little panel is different than it is in most cars. Do you see that lower left-hand corner? That is the gear shift! It's a dial! Get outta town! And on the right? That's the parking brake! It's just a little lever! Unbelievable! I liked how dial-y this car was because it was just so simple to operate everything. Having all of the controls centralized like that makes you feel like you are a pilot or something or maybe sitting next to Sandra Bullock in Gravity. Tell me another car that makes you feel like that, huh? Huh?! Hard to do. Hard to do.
 
 

 
When you open up the center console, the electronic plug-in area is revealed. That console was so deep and spacious that I was almost tempted to fill it up and take a little bubble bath at the red lights. Fearful that I might get arrested, I decided not to try it. The other issue with doing that is all of the water might've rushed out of that hole at the top left. I LOVE that I could plug my phone in and sent it in its own little tray and out of the way. My phone liked sitting there, too. It was able to have some peace and quiet for once.


When the phone was hanging out below, I slid it into this special little area in the console made specifically for the phone (or maybe for a wallet?). Either way you look at it, phones and wallets are really made to feel special in the Chrysler 200.



My two boys, ages 10 and 6, absolutely loved riding around in this car. There was lots of room for their legs and drinks and backpacks. Lots of sports are played between the two of them. There was plenty of room for all of their gear in the back. If they needed to get something out of the trunk as we drove along, they could open up a little door to gain access to the back. They thought that was cool. Neither child is in a car seat anymore (THANK THE GOOD LORD!), so I didn't check out the car seat clickers that would've been nestled in the back seat but I have a feeling it was top notch.


I really have no criticisms of this car. I thought it was all-around awesome. I liked how I didn't have to put a ton of gas in it like I do with my SUV. I love how slick it looked and adored all of the extra features. My husband really, really liked it, too. I didn't take a picture of the steering wheel (what was I thinking??), but there are these two extra tabs on it that he said has something to do with shifting gears. He said that you see those types of gears in sports car. So fancy!

I just know that I loved the Chrysler 200 and would totally buy one for myself. Only, if I buy one, I don't think I'd get black interior. It looks AWESOME, but with two boys, it seems to show blades of grass and dirt unleashed from the bottoms of cleats a lot faster than other vehicles. Actually, now that I think about it, maybe that is actually a plus. Maybe I'd keep a car with black interior clean much better because I would notice the dirt and grass much faster.

Hmmmm....

Also? If you get one? Please don't spend 30 minutes looking around the inside of the car and inside the manual for instructions on how to open the gas tank. Hear me: You just push the door to the gas tank. You press in and then it clicks open. So simple. Let's keep it between us that it took me so long to figure out, please?

I believe the base price for this vehicle was around $26,000. My upgraded model was around $36,000.


Do You Wanna Play Some Kickball?

 
 
My boys like Frozen as much as the next girl...er, boy? We all love it. I see Olaf and Sven in our future this Christmas in some form.

Everyone knows the Frozen songs. How could you not? I just heard on the radio today that Idina Menzel is coming in concert in 2015. Frozen on Ice is a big thing. Elsa dolls are everywhere. EVERYONE knows the Frozen songs.

Well, maybe not my 90-year-old grandmother.

"Nana, what magical, dangerous power did Elsa possess?"

*crickets*

I'd totally stump her. 

"My mother's name was Elsa."

She'd bring up a tangent like that one, I betcha. Her name was Elsa, but everyone called her Elsie. Poor thing didn't know back then that Elsie would go on to be the name of a cow and Elsa would be the name of a character in a major Disney hit movie. I almost feel sorry for her in those faded pictures I've seen.

Everyone else just about knows all the songs, though. Everyone else has heard Anna sing to Elsa about building that snowman at least a trillion and a half times. It was about halfway to that point for me when I heard different lyrics in my head that apply to my life with my sons, ages 10 and 6. 
 
I had to write them down. That's why I have this blog, you know. It's for me to write things down that really make no sense in normal life. How could I let a friend know that I have other lyrics to the Frozen snowman song? Would this be something that I would bring up to them or to my husband or to the lady that helped me at Walgreens today?
 
The blog is supposed to fit all the things that have nowhere else to fit in normal life.

If I were to re-write the Frozen song "Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?" to reflect a typical day in my house here in, ahem, Nettlesdale, it would go something like this...

Do you wanna play some kickball?
Come on let's go outside and play
Mom said we can't play inside anymore
We've put a hole in the door 
She said we need to take the ball away
So happy we're brothers & best buddies 
'Cause when we get caught
We get to take turns looking mom in the eye
Do you wanna play some kickball?
It doesn't have to be kickball.
 
Mom: Go outside, boys.
 
Boys: Okay, bye.
 
Do you still wanna play kickball?
Or ride our bikes or hit some balls?
It doesn't matter what we do
Mom just wants us to 
(When can we go back in our home?)
Keep each other from feeling lonely 
And not do things that make her fume.


Now we're bored. Let's go hide!
(Tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock,tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock,tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic- tock, tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock)

 
Mom: "Boys? BOYS???
 
 
 
BOYS?!?!?
 
 
I can FINALLY see you hiding out there!
Been worried sick wondering where you've been.
I said 'Go outside', not 'Hide & make me think you've been taken', because I was trying to repair the hole in the door you kicked in
I'm glad you love each other
You've no idea how happy that makes me 
But, next time, what are you gonna do??"


Say "Wanna go OUTSIDE and play some kickball?"

(Gooooood boys.)
 
(I might start singing this to them every night.)


The Anniversary Dinner Gone Wrong



On November 20th, my husband and I will be married for 15 years. So, naturally, to celebrate this big, important milestone, we celebrated our anniversary at a new Italian restaurant in town. With my two sons. And my mother-in-law. Oh, it was fine. I didn't mind. We can count this as our anniversary dinner. For now. I have my sights on a restaurant meant just for the two of us down the road.

This is real life.

We decided to visit this restaurant because it was referred to us by my sister's in-laws, which happened to be there! They just can't get enough! (They just can't get enough. They just can't get enough... Where's Depeche Mode when ya need 'em?) My parents tried it before us and my dad said it was "very, very, very good". My dad doesn't usually use that many verys. (The last time I can remember him using so many verys was when he said, "I'm very, very, very, very, very, very, very, VERY surprised you went out to centerfield to play softball and left your glove in the dugout." Truth. Every word of it.) The place is pretty close to us, in a strip center and a not very expensive. We like all of those things. So, on Saturday night, we ate there.

Since we were there to celebrate our anniversary, I asked the waitress for a wine menu.

"We don't have a liquor license, but there is a liquor store next door."

Well, hot dog. It's BYOW.

(That's one lucky liquor store.)

So, I walked over to the liquor store without hesitation and did my best impersonation of a person who gives a rip about the wine she picks. I tend to stick with the "pinot grigio" because I just learned how to pronounce it right not too long ago and it tastes pretty good. I don't get into all of that wine mumbo jumbo, which should not come as a surprise since I once wrote the post All Wine Is Basically The Same, Right?

Seconds later, I was back with my wine in a brown paper bag like I was headed to a street corner by myself. It wasn't a great look, but I don't think the patrons cared or were surprised, seeing as almost all of them had a bottle of wine on their tables, too.

We drank a glass.

Seriously, like one glass, which is why it's CRAZY that as I was lifting my salad bowl up and then setting back down, I broke the wine glass. As I type this, I can't, for the life of me, remember why I was moving my bowl back down. I wasn't pretending I was holding Bowl Weight Lifts. "And up and down and up and down and lift! LIFT THAT BOWL HIGH! HIGHER! Now, breeeeeeeeeeeeathe..." I wasn't doing that. Who knows? All I know, is that the dingdang wine glass cracked. Crazy enough, the wine didn't spill out. The waitress came to take the wine glass from me, but can you believe she took the whole wine glass and didn't pour the remaining wine into another glass? What a waste! I mean, hey, if there had been glass particles in there, so what? What's a little glass going to do to your digestive system??

So, that was sort of a scene.

Everything was made right and I went back to eating my Pasta Bolognese. Now, here's the deal, I loved that restaurant. I did. The bread was OFF THA CHAIN. Off it. Completely off the dingdang chain. The house salad was so, so good. Next time I go, I'm going to ask the waitress to bring me a glass of that dressing and save the tea for someone else. The Bolognese sauce was good, don't get me wrong (don't do it!) but I wasn't a fan of it being over spaghetti noodles. I thought it was supposed to be over penne pasta or something. Oh, I have no clue. It was good but about 15 bites in, I bit into something hot. I guess it was the pepper flakes that hot shots sprinkle on pizza. Why these people can't be satisfied with parmesan cheese, I have no idea. Why the need to scorch your mouth?

Those red peppers I am certain were in my pasta sauce Saturday night.

I can't take spice.

I can't do it.

I go from zero-to-Matt-Foley-sweat in 2 seconds if I eat something spicy.

"I need water! I need tea! OhmyGOSH, this is hot!" and on and on I went as I gulped whatever I could find, except for my restaurant neighbor's unsweet tea. (I am not a fan of unsweet tea.)

"Kelley, it's not hot. It's PASTA SAUCE. You just had too much wine," my husband said to me.

"I've had, like, a HALF OF A GLASS. The pasta sauce is HOT."

"It's pasta sauce."

"It's hot."

"Sauce."

"Hot."

"Sauce."

"Hot."

My mother-in-law reached her fork over to see if I was a filthy liar and, of course, she didn't get any of the hot bites.

The waitress walked up a second later, though (she said she heard me going on about the spice), and said that she had noticed spice with it, too, so I totally won one that one. My husband won't admit it, but, yeah, I won that one. Me. Winner.

But, that was sort of a second scene.

And then my 10-year-old son burped. And giggled.

"You don't burp like that in a restaurant! Say excuse me!" I hissed.

And the waitress heard.

And giggled.

SCENE THREE.

And, not one to really love only making three scenes at a restaurant if at all possible, I made a fourth one. I wouldn't have made it, except that I noticed the toilet was stopped up in the ONE public restroom at the place. I came out of the bathroom REALLY fast when I noticed that because I wanted no one blaming me for being the toilet stopper upper. I'm really sensitive to people thinking I did something in the bathroom that I didn't. One time my husband blamed skid marks on me in college right in front of all of his college roommates because he thought it was funny. Just so, so, super funny. They thought it was hilarious and one of them actually did it!!

"I'm sorry to bother you again, but the toilet is stopped up. I didn't see a plunger in there or I would've totally un-stopped it up for you. I'm sort of a pro at that. You just stick that thing in there, push down 2 or 3 times and BAM, done. No, no, no...not because of anything I do, but, you know, well, anyway... I'm good at it," I quickly blurted out to the wait staff.

"Oh, don't worry about it, ma'am. We'll take care of it."

Those nice people had to go next door, probably to their BFF's place (the liquor store), and borrow a plunger. Isn't that crazy? They didn't have one of their own. No one has yet to stop up the toilet, but it was stopped up when I got there. Wouldn't you know it? I think they need to stick that thing right smack dab beside the toilet and move on with life. They could dress it up like I suggested in my post, Where Do You Keep Your Plunger?.

I was so grateful that someone else in the restaurant was making scenes of their own. That someone was unknown, but they still were embarrassed inside. I mean, THEY STOPPED UP THE TOILET! I was just grateful that, after my walk through the restaurant with a large brown bag, breaking the wine glass and acting like I needed someone to dump all of the Gulf of Mexico into my mouth so that the spiciness could be conquered, someone else was actually making a scene, too. Finally, it was somebody else's tu--

"Mommy?"

"Yes, son?"

He leaned over to whisper very, very, very quietly, "We stopped up the toilet. We were playing in there and put too much toilet paper in the toilet."

And, there you have it, my friends.

Scene FIVE.

Next year, we'll just celebrate our anniversary outside the hot dog warmer at gas station. Maybe we'll splurge to make it extra romantic and get matching Icees.


Everyone has a made a scene at a restaurant before, right? Don't make me feel all alone!


The Bowl: A poem


Oh, bowl of mine,
You ain't that pretty.
You're from another time
When lots of people were named Betty.

Still, if you broke?
Well, I wouldn't be happy.
You belonged to my folks
Which is why this bad poem is about to get sappy.

When I look at you, 
I don't see a 70s circle of brown.
I see you like a timeline of food.
Turning my frown upside down.

You remind me of love,
You remind me of my parents.
Which is why people out of the way I'd shove,
If I ever saw you at a store on clearance.

Pretty sure they bought you in '72.
An era of thick mustaches, tinted glasses and plaid.
With love, they prepared food in you
And fed it to me when I was good (and when I was bad.)

When I see you, I think of my carefree youth,
A time when I was so tiny, sassy and dependent
I think of you holding my favorite "melted corn" (what I called creamed corn- the truth)
It's crazy- you are so remniscent.

You also remind of my caring and loving mom that I'd beg
To let me help her make breakfast.
So, she'd give me a spoon and crack into you lots and lots of eggs
That I could stir, stir, stir while pretending to be my parents.

You also remind me of imagination and chocolate ice cream
And times with Lisa, my younger sister.
We'd share it at the butcher block table & dream,
Of a day when we'd be older, wiser & richer.

So, though you aren't a gorgeous sight,
I will always, always keep you close by, 
You remind me of happy, in-the-way-back-past family times,
And inspire me make good, positive memories for the two boys of mine.


What is the point of blogging?



We all have different answers to that. If you don't write one, maybe you could tell me what the point is in reading one. If you are looking for a quick answer to my question that isn't "Everyone has different reasons" or "It helps us feel connected and heard and unafraid and inspired and entertained", I'm afraid I can't help.

My boys are always, "Are you blogging, Mom?" or "She's probably blogging!" I'm all, "Boys, PLEASE." My 6-year-old thinks texting is called blogging. I hardly ever blog anymore, especially not when they are awake. They need to get with the program. It's like when they say to my husband and me, "Don't fight!" when we are barely having a disagreement. They don't realize how bad it really could be. Just like blogging, they don't realize how often I could blog. Once or twice a week? Or even a month? Please.

Here I have this blog but sometimes I wonder why. Why do I write these words and why do I care?

Over the years, I have loved this blog. I don't want to let it go and, still, today I want to cling tight to it.

But, why?

A blog is sort of like you being the person at the lunch table and not letting anyone else talk. You just blab, blab, blab away while everyone looks at you.

I don't want to be a blabber.

Sometimes I want to drop kick this blog to my old alley way behind the house I grew up in. That same alley way where a truck hit my sister and she flew through the air like a rag doll.

She's okay now.

In fact, she just had a baby on November 1st. She is more than okay now. She is the happiest I have ever seen her.

But, yeah, sometimes? Drop kick this blog is what I feel like doing.

Why do I write the dingdang thing?

Here's the deal: I don't care about going viral. I don't want to be controversial. I don't want to capitalize on the latest thing. I don't want to reveal all my family's secrets or things the kids are doing that they may not appreciate that I shared when they're older. Things like that. Zilch desire.

Sooooo...here I am, but what is the point of my blog if it isn't to make me internet rich and famous? 

And here you are. Still reading.

That is why I still write it, I think. You read it even though I am nothing special. I am just a person like you. I'm just writing things down a little more often.

I really think I write it because you read it. If I wasn't here, though, you would read something else. In fact, in a nanosecond, you will be reading something else and you will have forgotten you were here. I know because I do the same kind of thing errrrday.

(This may be your first day here and you're all, like, "Ew!" in your best Jimmy Fallon voice. "Ew! Mushy! Too serious! Not funny! Ew!")

I would feel sad if I let the blog go.

Or maybe not?

So, what is the point of this post? I guess I am just checking in. I'm wanting the cleaning crew here in the Break Room to know I appreciate how often they re-stock the vending machine. I want Rose at the front desk to know I've noticed every time she hasn't forgotten to water the ivy in the macrame holder.

I think mostly I'm wanting to be transparent as I contemplate the future of this place. Can I give it what it needs to be a thriving blog? I haven't updated certain pages in a while. I haven't written posts about hitting five ducks, getting Chinese foot massages, the lack of female hibachi chefs at Benihana, what I do at Home Depot when my husband shops there forever and ever, sort of meeting Adam Levine (but not really), why Mister Rogers stresses me out, ridiculous shoes worn at Disney World, inventive Ben & Jerry names or Pepto Bismol in a long time. I had more time for inspiration when I wasn't working outside of the home part-time, carting my kids around to practices so much, navigating the world of two elementary school-aged boys that I love with all of my heart and trying to figure out 4th grade math homework.

Do I want this to be a thriving blog anymore or do I want to...not do that?

The truth?

I think I'd miss it.

I think I'd miss you.


Why do you blog or why do you read blogs?
 
 
 
Let's talk about blogs, baby. Let's talk about you and me. Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that blogs may be. Let's talk about...blogs.


The Four Types of Huggers: Which One Are You?

There are basically 4 types of huggers out there. Actually, there must be 7, if my Venn diagram means anything. I hate when I screw up a good Venn diagram. I'm pretty sure I make a Venn diagram at least once per day and this is the first one I've screwed up. You've got to give it to me that I get so many Venn diagrams right.


 

Actually, I think there are just 4. If a screwed up Venn diagram is what really sets you off, then this is probably where we should part ways. I have never been able to be really close to people who have really high Venn diagram standards.

Here's how I see the huggers:

The Back Patter: A pat is essentially a "there, there". So, I think a hug from a patter can sometimes make you feel like a preschooler. "There, there. It's okay that you peed on the circle time rug right in the middle of our 'hot potato' game. There, there." You see, that kind of statement is always followed by a Back Patter hug. If you get one of those kinds of hugs as an adult, you might have flashbacks to that time you peed on the circle time rug. It can be very uncomfortable. I think a patter also wants you to know that they have somewhere to be. When the last pat has been given, it is time to move on with life. I guess this can be said of all the hugs, but that last pat just seems sort of final. "THE HUG IS DONE!" it seems to yell out.

The Back Smoother: I can only take so much smoothing. I had an opportunity to watch a doula/midwife in action recently. She wasn't mine. No babies over here. No, ma'am and no, sir. I was just watching the doula/midwife lady in full swing. This doula was a Certified Smoother. The Soother Smoother is a good nickname. She wasn't giving hugs. She just did a lot of smoothing movements on the arms and legs of the person having the baby. I would not have been able to take that. I do not like to be smoothed on the arms or legs and especially not during a hug. I mean, one swipe? Okay, one swipe. If you must swipe, FINE. More than one swipe is a full-out smoother. Maybe you like to be smoothed. We're all different.

The Back Squeezer: I am a fan of the light squeeze. I know someone who is a fan of the super-tight-almost-squeezed-your-spleen-out squeeze. That kind of squeeze could stand to scale it back a notch. I like to keep my organs. (I once lost a spleen at a family picnic after being greeted by some Back Squeezer family members.) I become less a fan of the squeeze the longer it lasts because oxygen. In general, though, I like Back Squeezer hugs and I give them.

THE SHOW-OFF: One minute she's squeezing and the next second, patting. Before you know it, she has put a smoothing in there. She squeezes-pats-smooths and then switches it up to a pats-smooths-squeezes. The finale is a squeepatooth and that can really blow your mind. This person makes you feel like you've just been thrown in a dryer.

Hey, they're all hugs, I'll admit. Hugs are nice and connect people with each other. Some people love them. Some people don't like to be hugged. Some people squeeze out spleens.
 
 

Which one are you?

 
 
(We talk about things over on Facebook so the spammers don't win.)


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