Spring Break, My Ass
March 6, 2013 § 17 Comments
Some things need to be renamed around here, dammit.
For example: This week is our Spring Break, meaning my children don’t have school. Thus far, the term is a bit of a misnomer, as it’s neither spring (first week of March? really?) nor a break (because both kids have spent the week sick with the flu).
Let’s just call things what they are, shall we?
* * *
“The Flu Shot” –> Needle Full Of Fairy Snot
Oh yes, we got the shots. Back in October. A hell of a lot of good it did us. One child started complaining of aches the first day of the break; the other followed within 36 hours. After calling around, we discovered that a few of their friends were down and out as well. So basically it’s just like that movie Contagion, except sorely lacking in Matt Damon appearances. And if you’re not going to get to grab onto Matt Damon with one clammy hand and rasp, “Save me,” what’s the point in having a horrible virus? So, science nerds at the CDC or wherever, listen up: Either make me a vaccination that actually keeps the flu away, or bring me Matt Damon. You know what? Fuck the vaccine. Just bring me Matt Damon.
Hey, who doesn’t love needles. What’s that you say? This one serves no purpose whatsoever? Oh hell, shoot me up anyway — just for fun. And while we’re at it, how ’bout we hold down some screaming kids and shoot them with it, too. You know, just for kicks.
* * *
“Fever” –> Crimson-Faced Raving Delusions
When the nurse on the phone asked, “Does he have a temperature?” my son was actually standing in our kitchen, red as a bell pepper, ripping his clothes off and screaming, “SOMEBODY HELP ME! I’M ON FIRE!” Yeah, he’s got a temperature. It’s approximately one-hundred-and-three-point-crazy. This is more than “fever” – this is full-body hallucinations. I could melt ice cubes on my kid’s face. Hell, I could cook s’mores over my kid’s face.
And yet I didn’t. Because I’m a great parent.
I think my children’s fevers were so high that they actually believed they looked like this. Also they may have believed they were flying and that the sofa cushions were talking to them.
* * *
“Tamiflu” –> Rare Golden Butterfly Wing Serum
It took calling around to 12 pharmacies to get our hands on the virus-curbing drug. (Ultimately, the only place that had the elusive elixir was the Wal-Mart by the highway, where all sorts of interesting transactions go on in the parking lot, and I’m not talking about recipe swaps, youknowwhatimean.) Let me just tell you, when a doctor says my baby needs medicine and no one can seem to get my baby the medicine, this is how I handle it:
Actually, I hear it’s made of ground up Loch Ness Monster testicles,
which is why it’s so hard to find.
* * *
“Spring Break” –> Winter’s Final Fuck-You
Nature flipped us a middle finger a few days ago. Let me explain: We live in the South. My children almost never see snow. They were supposed to spend this week visiting their grandparents who live further north, where there’s lots of the exotic white stuff. So when the kids got Ebola and their travel plans got scrapped, so, too, did their chance at seeing snow just once before spring. Except: On Sunday, while they were both passed out blind with fevers, we had a freak cold front that brought… yep. Snow. Not much. Not enough to stick. But lots of pretty white flakes whirling outside our windows. And the kids didn’t see a bit of it, because it only happened while they were sick as dogs. And because Old Man Winter is an asshole.
Come on out, little flowers. It’s OK, it’s Spring Break. So it must be spring… That’s it. Lookin’ good. BAM! Take that. It’s STILL WINTER, SUCKERS.
Happy Spring Break!
* * *
Other Tidbits
- I decided to post a spring break update this week, because I realized it’s been one year since I Miss You When I Blink was born, and the very first post this time last year was a spring break recap. To all you goofballs who have stuck around to read this silliness over the past year, thank you.
- Many thanks to SkinnyScoop, which just announced its Top 25 Humor Blogs and included the Blink on the list. Nifty!
- On a non-humorous-but-kind-of-interesting note, I don’t know if you saw this article in the Wall Street Journal last weekend: The Tyranny of the Queen Bee. Personally, I’ve almost always had fantastic experiences working with fellow women. But I’ve heard lots of stories about queen-bee types and have encountered a few myself. Dr. Peggy Drexler, the author of the article, writes: “Something is clearly amiss in the professional sisterhood.” That reminded me of a poem I wrote, which was published last month by The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. (It’s also part of a neat project my writing partner, JD, and I are working on. Stay tuned for more about it later this spring — we’re excited to tell you more when the time comes.) Anyway, here’s the poem – anyone ever had an experience like this?
Sisterhood
It’s dawning on me now that we are not
Thelma and Louise, Laverne and Shirley,
Cagney and Lacey, or Oprah and Gayle,
We don’t sing “R-E-S-P-E-C-T,”
Or “Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves,”
Or even “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar,”
We don’t “stick it to the man” together,
Or hammer away at the glass ceiling,
Or break down the walls of the old boys club,
Because there is no solidarity,
No sacred girl code or “hos before bros.”
We’re the only two females on this team,
And in front of everyone it was you
Who sent me out of the room for coffee.
Can’t Repeat the Past? Why, Of Course You Can… With a Badass Theme Party
February 25, 2013 § 25 Comments
Is anyone else counting the days until The Great Gatsby movie comes out? Have you watched these trailers 40 billion times?
No? Just me, then? OK.
One of the reasons I’m so excited for this Baz Luhrmann flick is that it just LOOKS so good. Visually, I mean. Beautiful people in beautiful outfits walking around in beautiful settings, all vintage-fabulous. Plus, it’s got that nerd-cachet, what with being an adaptation of a great book. Very much my cup of tea. Or glass of prohibition-era moonshine, as it were.
Anyway, what I hope most of all is that someone will have an over-the-top Great Gatsby party to celebrate the premiere and invite me. Because if there’s one thing I love, it’s a bygone-era theme party. Also, I really want to turn around and go, “Gatsby? What Gatsby?” every time someone walks into the party.
A few years ago, to celebrate the start of the third season of Mad Men, we hosted a Mad Men party (yeah, us and every other household in America, whatever). It was, if I may say so, legendary — as were the hangovers that followed it. From the bar to the food to the music to the behavior (the hundreds of Parliaments masquerading as Lucky Strikes in my mother’s antique silver cigarette boxes were supposed to be props, but tell that to a bunch of drunk Don Drapers) … it was the party to shame all parties we’d ever had before. And the outfits – oh my word, the outfits.
^ I wanted to recreate that scene for the party, but I ultimately decided against it, because (a) guns at a party, and (b) filmy peignoir set in public.
We haven’t had a Downton Abbey party, but only because we just finished watching seasons one through three last week. Give us time.
Honestly, although Lady Mary always looks to-die, I’ll probably dress as one of the maids, because I really like those little caps and aprons. Plus the maids have better props, and I’m partial to a get-up with props, if you know what I mean… which is that I like to carry a tea tray.
Now, to be honest, not every attempt at theme-dressing has been such a smashing success. When my husband and I moved into our first house, we were a good bit younger than all the responsible, child-rearing adult neighbors around us and didn’t know a soul. So we were tickled to be invited to join the neighborhood supper club. As we understood it, the group met every other month at someone’s house for dinner, and there was always a theme. A THEME!
So, fast-forward a few weeks. Our first supper club invitation arrived in our mailbox: Please join your neighbors for dinner this Saturday evening. And dress accordingly… it’s a Disco Inferno.
![DISCO INFERNO! [Cue me, hyperventilating with excitement.]](http://imissyouwheniblink.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/discoball.jpg)
DISCO INFERNO! [Cue me, hyperventilating with excitement.]
Night of the party: We made our way up the driveway of the party house. (The neighbors are going to love us, aren’t they? Oh, they totally are.)
We rang the doorbell.
A man answered the door.
The man stared us up and down. “You must be the new neighbors,” he said.
We looked at him, in his khakis and polo shirt, then looked past him, to the living room where EVERYONE WAS IN SWEATER SETS AND BUTTON-DOWN SHIRTS LIKE IT WAS JUST A NORMAL FUCKING DAY.
So, yeah. Unspoken rule of supper club? Nobody ever dressed up.
Except us that one time. Because when we embarrass ourselves, we do it UP. Go big or go home.
Anyway. That’s one reason I’m super excited for the Gatsby movie. I am already planning the outfit. I just need the party.
(See? I have always loved a theme party. I don’t know what the occasion was here, other than my mom and my aunts thinking it would be funny to doll me up in someone’s slinky dancing dress and pose me in front of the piano like I’m a lounge act, but this is the first recorded evidence I have of me in theme-wear.)
* * *
On a completely unrelated note, for those of you who are into the penguins: The Random Penguins Shop is now open on Etsy. Get your birds on paper! There are currently 10 varieties of notecards available — as well as multi-packs of stationery, which make a nice little gift for your weirder friends — with more possibly to be added in the future.
Fashion Is Taking Women Down
February 18, 2013 § 35 Comments
In my research for an upcoming column on magazine ads and spring fashion (oh yes, we’re going there again), I spotted an alarming trend — one that needs to be addressed before we talk about anything else: Fashion seems to be causing women to collapse.
I don’t mean economically collapse or morally collapse or anything deep and metaphorical like that. I mean, chicks are literally falling down. Look what all these hot new outfits are doing to the women who wear them:
(Pardon the bad photography, by the way. I was just snapping pics while reading my latest issue of Elle magazine.)
* * *
It starts with a little stumble. “Hey, do you guys like my new jeans? I’m just going to sit down here on this ch… this cha… Oh, help me, someone, I’m so weak…”
* * *
Then there’s the denial phase. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just going to lean on this wall here. Everything’s fine. Sure, my legs went out from under me, but whatevs, this dress is spanktabulous, so suck it, everybody wearing last year’s sundress.”
* * *
Before long, there’s no choice but to hit the ground. “Dammit, where did that floor come from? Who put a mirror there? Are those my legs? Is my thigh really that thin? Or do I have an arm growing out of my ass where a leg should be? Why can’t I get up?”
* * *
It could happen to anyone. Even Kate Hudson. “I’ve fallen. And I’m not talking about the fact that once upon a time I was Penny Lane in Almost Famous and it was totally the greatest movie ever and now I’m stuck doing Ann Taylor ads. I mean I can’t get up off this chaise. Is my head still attached? Is this my face?”
* * *
It could even happen on a boat. “You guys? Hey, you guys. Back here. I’m feeling kind of dizzy. OK, fine — you gals keep an eye out for dry land. I’ll just be right here, resting and floofing out my hair while no one looks at me.”
* * *
You can only hope to be among good friends when it happens. “Oh, Veronique, did you stumble backwards again? Here, you rest on Natasha’s knees and I’ll take your purse and go get you a Diet Coke.”
* * *
If you’re lucky, you’ll land right on your friend’s tropically-clad crotch. “Hey, Marguerite, take my purse, will you? This outfit has knocked me flat out. I think I need a Diet Coke.”
* * *
If you’re unlucky, well… you end up like these girls. “But Lady Dracula, this shoe-shine thing hurts my neck, and Delphine doesn’t look too comfortable either. Why won’t you take my purse and go get me a Diet Coke?”
* * *
In the end, it can feel downright hopeless. “DAMMIT, Renee, don’t just stand there all slumpy and morose. Can’t you see my legs have frozen this way? I gave you my little red purse — now go GET ME A FREAKING DIET COKE. Renee? Renee?”
So ladies, the lesson from the fashion industry is this: Always look good. But not too good. Or you’ll end up paralyzed and helpless.
* * *
PS: Hey gang. A reader (Amy from Kid-Free Living - who’s pretty damn funny herself) nominated the Blink for a Top 25 Humor Blogs listing. I think what you do is follow this link, then scroll waaaay down to the listing for I Miss You When I Blink and click “like” on it to vote. Y’all know I feel kind of weird asking for votes, so don’t fret if you don’t have time; but if you like clicking things, feel free. And THANK YOU, Amy! That was awfully kind.
Here it is: Skinny Scoop Top 25 Humor Blogs
Don’t Buy Heart-Shaped Crap: Make a Mixtape
February 4, 2013 § 39 Comments
The Valentine-fuss this time of year can be a bit of a pukestorm. Personally, I find it all a little silly, but maybe that’s because I have kids, so the whole thing just reminds me of torturously supervising the handwriting on Barbie / Batman Valentine cards and finding the dust of shattered candy hearts in the bottoms of bookbags, I don’t know.
That said, even if you’re not into the Valentine thing, your beloved might be, and you may be on the hook for a gift of some sort. STOP. Do not pick up the teddy bear dressed in a Cupid diaper. Do not touch the heart-shaped card. (Barf.) Do not wrap up a gift in a box at all. I say, go old-school. Reach back to the days of the mixtape, and let the music do the work for you. Here are a few ideas to get you started.
Can’t-Go-Wrong Songs
The Luckiest – Ben Folds Let’s start out mellow. This is for that person who makes you think, “How did I end up with this good fortune? Are you real? Am I dreaming? And if I am dreaming, can you make doughnuts rain down from the ceiling? Because that’s about the only thing that could make this any better.” Good work, Ben Folds.
Fire and Dynamite – Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors Are you kidding me? Is there a more romantic, more beautifully nerdy, more perfect compliment than, “You are a novel in a sea of magazines”? I mean, wha-? It’s good that this phrase wasn’t around when I was a single woman. It would have gotten me in quite a bit of trouble – because there is no end to the list of depravities I would commit if someone said that to me. And then probably word would get out that all it took was that one phrase, and then dudes would walk up to me in bars all the time and say it, and then I’d just be a big ol’ whore. So thanks, Drew Holcomb and your neighbors, for not writing this song until I was safely off the market.
* * *
Not Just Romance
“I love you, man.” Friend-love. It counts.
The Ring – Sarah Harmer This is gratitude love. It could be romantic love, but it could also be for a friend or mentor or something: “And I got up in the ring, because I had you in my corner.” Fun fact – I went to see Sarah Harmer play live PURELY to hear this song. The entire show was nothing but requests. I screamed my little heart out – “the ring! the ring!” – and even got my husband in on the yelling – “THE RING! THE RING!” – but she never played it. Thanks for dashing my hopes, Sarah Harmer. Don’t come crying to me when you have a special humor request and I don’t grant it. What’s that? You want a guitar joke? Oh, I’m not telling those today, but thanks for stopping by.
You’ve Got The Love – Florence and the Machine Here’s a good multi-purpose love song for any playlist. Not too romantic. This could go out to anybody – your Valentine or your friend or, hell, even your parents or God. Oh shit, I said hell and God in the same sentence. Oops, now it’s shit and hell and God. Dammit. [clamping hands over mouth]
* * *
Slightly Off-Center Love Song
Wait. Is it… go into the light? Or don’t go into the light?
I Will Follow You Into The Dark – Cadillac Sky Dark is for sure. This one’s about death. But somehow it’s still really sweet and uplifting. It’s about not being lonely. It’s like that pact they’re always making in the rom-coms – like, if you’re not married by 40, and I’m not married by 40, we’ll marry each other! And then wacky hijinks ensue. Except this one’s more like, “If you’re all alone when you die, and I’m all alone when I die, my soul will follow your soul into the abyss, ‘k?” Everyone knows the Death Cab For Cutie version, but I also really like this one by Cadillac Sky.
* * *
The Cheesiest
Skip this section if you are lactose-intolerant. And try to work on being more tolerant.
Your Song – Ellie Goulding Oh, COME ON. Don’t roll your eyes. Elton John made this a classic; Ellie Goulding does a nice cover. Bonus: This song gives you a great line to use anytime you forget some key piece of information about your loved one – such as their favorite cupcake flavor, eye color, or name: “You see, I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue… anyway, the thing is, what I really mean – yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Smooth.
When You Say Nothing At All – Alison Krauss Once, in a music class, my professor started crying when this song played. And because I was a supercool 18-year-old, I got all uncomfortable, like, “OMG, a man is crying. This is, like, so weird.” But that’s not the point. The point is: If you really want to mush it up, this is the mushiest thing on wheels. It’s for that person whom you can just look at, and they look back, and you’re like, “I know you know that I know that you know that I know that you know that I know what you’re thinking and you know what I’m thinking, so yeah.”
* * *
Deep Thoughts
Will there ever come a day when I can use the words “deep” and “thoughts” in a sentence and not think of this? Probably not.
Stubborn Love – Lumineers This one gets a spot on the list for this statement: “It’s better to feel pain than nothing at all. The opposite of love is indifference.” Hmm. Very philosophical, Lumineers. I think I agree with you fellows, but I’m not sure. We’ll debate it later.
February Seven – The Avett Brothers I’m not even positive I get what’s happening in this song, but there’s something going on here: “I went on the search for something true. I was almost there when I found you.” PS: Scott Avett, I love you. Call me.
Heart’s Content – Brandi Carlile This wasn’t the first song that grabbed me on the Bear Creek CD, but it’s got a hold of me now. “Here’s to you and me, and in between.”
Hold On To What You Believe – Mumford & Sons OK, those of you old enough to remember the days of actual mixtapes (I mean, obviously *I’m* not old enough to remember something so ancient, but you know… I’ve heard legends), remember how cool it was when someone would throw in a “bootleg” track? It was always some song they got from their friend’s older brother’s college roommate, who recorded it at a concert. Here’s the bootleg for this playlist, one of Mumford & Sons’ many love songs – a complex one – that’s not on either of their CDs.
* * *
Let’s Get It On
Let’s play a game: First one who can say “let’s get it on” with a straight face wins.
Lover Tonight – Will Hoge Will Hoge could growl the list of ingredients on the back of a package of fruit roll-ups, and it would still sound like a love song to me. The VOICE. Man. Oh, true story: The last time I went to hear Will play, it was in a teeny-tiny bar, and when he got to this song everyone went quiet EXCEPT the 7-foot-tall douchebag mofo standing directly in front of me, who turned around and started talking really loudly to his friend for the WHOLE SONG. And that is the story of how I almost killed a man with my bare hands but didn’t.
Dance Me To The End of Love – The Civil Wars This remake – which beats the stew out of the original, incidentally – is for after dinner. Slow dance. Spill a little wine. “Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long.” Dance me, indeed. If you’re still dancing by the time this song ends, you’re doing it wrong.
Wait. What were we talking about? Oh, music. Right. So anyway…
* * *
Shiny, Happy Love
Actually, I think it would be hilarious to make someone a playlist that’s all really dark, minor-key pieces from murder movie soundtracks and just hand it over with a totally normal expression.
Simple Song – The Shins Can’t beat this image: “My life in an upturned boat / Marooned on a cliff / You brought me a great big flood / And you gave me a lift”
Scissor Runner – Jenny and Johnny Let’s end on a perky note.
* * *
OR…
Because songs about hating people are funny, too.
If all those songs made you physically sick, it’s cool. No judgment here. In fact, this one’s just for you. We’ll all raise our glasses and sing it with you, too — here goes:
I Hate Everyone – Get Set Go
Drugs, Water, Balloons, and a Suitcase
January 28, 2013 § 29 Comments
I was having trouble with a metaphor.
I was trying to explain to someone how much I need good conversation in my daily life, how grateful I am for it. I’m talking fun, smart, two-way, challenging, question-and-answer conversation. I don’t just like it. I need it.
So I said, maybe I am addicted to conversation. Like a drug.
No. Not meth. Come on. I’m too vain to have meth teeth.
A hit of great conversation can make me feel lit-up, productive, happy. Too long without it, and I’m anxious, down, unable to get untangled from my own thoughts. Written or out-loud, either way is fine, but I’m picky about quality. Boring small talk just isn’t the same. If I can’t get the good stuff, I’d rather not have anything and just deal with the shakes.
Aaand… that’s as far as I got with that metaphor. (I’m not very up on my lingo, what with not doing drugs of any sort these days.) So I tried… I need good conversation like water.
More than half full.
Yes. That’s it. Like water. I thirst for great conversation. Without it, I’ll dry up and blow away. With it, my leaves… oh dammit, now it sounds like I’m a plant. That’s not what I was going for. Metaphors are hard.
And then it came to me: balloon animals. My need to make good conversation is like a need to make balloon animals.
There. That’s better.
Hear me out: A need to make balloon animals on a regular basis is something a lot of people don’t understand. Balloon animals are probably considered non-essential to most. Frivolous to some. But they are important to me. (In this metaphor, I mean. Where they represent conversation. In real life, I don’t give a shit about balloon animals.) Metaphorically: When something good or bad or funny or interesting happens, I breathe it in. I hold it inside and let it fill up my lungs for a while. Then I reach a point where I have to blow that breath out and make it into something I can see. I need to show it to someone else and say, “What do you think of this?” Some people are keep-it-all-inside people. I am a balloon-animal-it-out person.
I’m happy to make balloons into just about anything. If you have a dog, we can make balloon animal dogs. If you like music, I will make you a balloon guitar. If you are a book lover – and oh, how I love a book lover who also loves balloon animals – let’s read a book and then make the characters out of balloons. Hell, I like to make balloon animals just for fun.
(Is this working? The balloon animal thing? Or should I go back to “drugs” or “water” or just “conversation”? I think I’ll stick with it a bit longer, see how it goes.)
Not everyone wants a balloon animal. Some people don’t see the point. Some are too busy. Some people, frankly, just aren’t any good at it – you hand them a balloon animal and they can’t figure out what it is. I’m sorry, but I can’t make balloon animals with a dumbass who can’t tell a balloon giraffe from a balloon hedgehog.
I am most delighted when I pull a balloon out of the little suitcase of balloons I drag around (does this count as a new metaphor, now that we’ve introduced the suitcase?) and say, “Watch this!” and — wiggity-wiggity-twist — a balloon monkey or frog or piglet or bear appears; and I hold it out in my hands, and someone takes it, and they say, “Oh, I know exactly what this is.”
Then, in the absolute best-case scenario, they reach into their suitcase and pull out a balloon and say, “Here. See if you can figure out this one.”
Yep. That’s it.
* * *
PS: After I wrote this, I had this thought: What if you were addicted to literal balloon animals? Like you got the shakes if you didn’t have a balloon animal in your hands at all times? That would be funny. I mean, sad, I guess. But funny.
The Not-In-My-Bucket List
January 23, 2013 § 74 Comments
Here are a few things I will never do:
* * *
1. Go On a Cruise
I am having a visceral reaction just looking at this.
“But WHAT?” you say – “Cruises are fabulous!” I totally believe you if you think a cruise is a great time… for you. No judgments here. Float along your merry way – you have my blessing. But trust me when I say they are not for me. Don’t get me wrong: I love to travel. Name the place, I’ll join you. Let’s go. But not on a cruise ship, OK? And yes, I know how crazy it is to swear off something I’ve never even tried, but hear me out:
- 75% of the time I get on a boat, I vomit, because I get motion-sick. Fast boats, slow boats, doesn’t matter. I hate throwing up. The only thing worse than throwing up is throwing up while you’re dizzy, because you’re like, “Is that the floor? Wait, no, that’s the ceiling. Why are the clouds spinning?” And you end up barfing into your own ear and then falling down. And by “you,” I mean me.
- I am a germaphobe with a vivid imagination, meaning I am unable not to think about the fact that being on a boat is basically like being in a floating trashcan, where everything you touch has been touched by hundreds of other people, who just keep touching things every day of the cruise. All however-many people, just stuck on a boat. Touching stuff.
- I don’t like to be forced to spend large amounts of time with large numbers of other people. Nothing personal, other people. I just don’t want to be loaded onto an enormous raft with you.
- People say, “Getting there is half the fun!” Not to me. I really would rather just BE there. You know what I’d rather do than circle Greece on a ship? Be in Greece. So, yeah, if there’s a quicker way to get to the actual destination than to take a slow-motion germ barge of vomitous hell, I’ll take that. Thanks.
* * *
2. Go Bungee Jumping / Skydiving
Wheeeeee…. Let’s jump out of a perfectly good plane and try to fly without wiiiiiiings!
Yeah, no. I took physics once. I don’t do free falls. End of story.
* * *
3. Shoot Something
If I *were* in the habit of shooting stuff, would I look like this in my handy holsters? Girl, you know it. Sadly, the world will never get to see that spectacular sight.
I know there are people who dream of taking down the elusive prey – the 30-point buck or rare albino tree rabbit or amazing four-winged duck or what have you. This is not me. I have friends who hunt, and I’m fine with it; if you’re humane and respectful in how you do it and you eat what you shoot, OK. But personally, I don’t want to shoot a gun. Not at an animal. Not at a person. Not at a target shaped like a clown. I just don’t. I’ve made it this long without ever having to, and I’m cool with that.*
(* Now, don’t let this make you think I’m defenseless and you can carjack me just because I won’t shoot. I have other means of protecting myself. I can stick a car key through an eyeball faster than you can say HOLY SHIT, LADY, THAT WAS FAST. Also, I know how many pounds of pressure it takes to rip a scrotum clean off a person, and I’m not squeamish in self-defense situations. So keep your carjacking balls away from me.)
* * *
4. Eat Something That Is Still Alive
Oh, goddamn, it’s like I’m back on the boat. Make it stop.
Delicacy, my ass. I love a good culinary adventure and will generally eat anything put in front of me, but if it’s still swimming, crawling, or calling for its mama, it’s a no-go. I don’t care how tiny and rare and gourmet it is or if it has winged fins made of gold.
(Regarding the picture above, from Wikipedia: This tiny octopus is served “still squirming on the plate.” Also: “Because the suction cups on the arm pieces are still active when the dish is served, special care should be taken when eating sannakji. The active suction cups can cause swallowed pieces of arm to stick to the mouth or throat. This can also present a choking hazard for some people, particularly if they are intoxicated.” HO-LY gag reflex, Batman — let’s go play a joke on some drunk people.)
* * *
5. Conquer Extreme Physical Goals
Look at all the equipment it takes to go on this recreational joyride without dying!
Again, let me be clear that I’m not judging others here. I get that, sometimes, an emotional goal gets all wrapped up in a physical goal, like, “If I can climb the tallest peak in the world while eating nothing but beef jerky and wearing only boots and a utility belt, it will symbolize that I am finally over my divorce and I have a fresh start.” OK. If that’s what you need to do, God-speed and climb safe. But these things, they are not for me. I feel like reason compels me to respect the category of Things Human Bodies Weren’t Meant To Do. Sleep in a tree for 60 straight days? Dive to the deepest point of the ocean and look into the eyes of the shark that never sees light? Hike across the Sahara blindfolded? No, thank you. I’d like to live long enough to do the things that actually are on my bucket list.
I mean, you know. Never-say-never and all that. But still. Never.
The Difference Between Alone and Lonely (And How To Avoid the Latter)
January 17, 2013 § 19 Comments
Let’s take a little stroll, shall we? (No, no… you don’t need to do any stretches. This is just an Internet stroll. So just keep sitting right there in your chair and crack open another Diet Coke. You’re good.) Here we go:
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We’re going to start at Loop Letters, where a few writers (including me) have pieces running this week. Mine’s the one called “What I Was Doing In There,” and it’s about a job I had as a student – an internship where I spent most of the summer sitting in a closet. (Don’t miss the intro by Whitney Collins and the other essays by Monique Alice and Tarja Parssinen, by the way. They are an absolute hoot, and you will snort your coffee. Click over and see.) An excerpt:
That story is about being alone — literally alone in a room by myself for long stretches at a time — but it’s not about being lonely. (I didn’t really feel lonely sitting in a closet all summer. I actually enjoy being alone a good bit.) Being alone is different from feeling alone.
And sometimes, I admit, I feel a little alone in my weirdness. I mean, let’s be real: I make up conversations between myself and famous people. A lot. I also sit around drawing birds and making up stories about how they buy uncomfortable underwear and get drunk at parties and embarrass themselves. That’s pretty weird.
So that brings me to our next stop:
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I can’t believe I’m about to quote Lena Dunham, but I am. (She inspires mixed feelings in me. On one hand, I love that she’s so honest and balls-to-the-wall in her work. On the other, her characters on Girls are a bit whiny for my taste. Also, I sort of want to tell her to stand up straight and cool it with the coy pigeon-toed awkwardness, because she’s 26 for God’s sake.) Anyway, here’s what she said after accepting one of her Golden Globe Awards the other night:
“Making this show – and the response to it – is the most validating thing that I have ever felt. It’s made me feel so much less alone in this world. I can’t define it. Thank you.”
I wanted to high-five her. Then maybe fire her stylist.
Anyway, moving along on our tour…
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Allow me to introduce you to Sebastien Millon:
Have I ever told you that when I was 13, I co-wrote/illustrated a comic strip called “Ralph & Coco” about an unrequited, one-sided love affair between an alien and a palm tree? No? Well, I did. (I know. You can see how I just sailed into my teen years, an 80-pound badass high on the drug of my own coolness.) So you can imagine how delighted I was recently to discover a guy who draws asshole bunnies, gangster baby bears who deal cocaine, and the panda who invented ninjas.
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Of course, I also love The Oatmeal.
Read the whole great comic about being a writer / content creator, and you will understand how I spend much of my time.
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And finally, one more stop. This…
This was made by a Twitter-friend I’ve never met, an adorably strange Irish lass named Hazel Hayes. I can’t explain why it makes me laugh so. I just love that someone had the thought, “What if I were to film a pretend talk-show about a craft project with profane peanut-gallery commentary from a stuffed dead otter?” and then actually DID IT. It’s totally fucking weird, and I love it.
I see these people out there, and I think, nope – I’m not alone at all.
You just gotta find your fellow weirdos.
