The Bloggess

Whoa there, princess.

July 6, 2014in Random Crap, weekly reruns

Victor and I usually fight over the right side of the bed because someone always eats cookies on my side of the bed. Usually I’ll try to stake out the non-crumby side but then Victor just pushes me over even though I keep explaining that crumbs are natural exfoliants and that he’ll smell like delicious thin mints all night but he never falls for it.

Luckily, I found a company that makes comforters just for selfish people like me:

Hey there, princess. — Well hey there, princess.

PS. Turns out that Victor is secure enough in his masculinity to not give a shit about princesses so instead I’m just buying this version so I can at least look super-fancy while sleeping on the couch.

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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

It looks very sweet but if you look closer it just says “NOOOOO” across it several times. Perfect for grumpy-ass mornings.

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the fantastic Jane Devin, who just released her latest novel, Bright Lines: A Life in Search of the Beautiful Ordinary. After a childhood spent drifting between foster homes and the care of his criminally inept father, Easton McNeil embarks on a search for all the ‘beautifully ordinary’ things he’s never had. Now an empty-nester, the man who’s always loved the idea of home sells his and embarks on a wholehearted mission to say yes. You should buy it. I just did.

Worst named fireworks ever.

July 4, 2014in Posts that will get me hate mail, Random Crap

I don’t know how other States do fireworks but in Texas it’s all-or-nothing. Literally. Either it’s illegal to shoot off fireworks because of drought, or it’s allowed and everyone goes insane and shoots off shitloads of pyrotechnics while young children run through the yard stomping out small fires. It usually involves booze, neighborhood idiots firing guns into the air, and the police. Most of us leave the actual firework-handling to that weird uncle who once blew off a finger because we suspect he has a greater appreciation for the danger and also because he has less fingers to lose now.

This morning we went to our neighborhood fireworks warehouse to stock up. This is the conversation we had with one of the firework clerks while Hailey was off choosing sparklers…

me: These are the most insane firework names ever. I like that they called this one “Scarface”. Truth in advertising, you know?

Victor: Do you have any Tinnitus M-80’s?

Clerk: I’ve never heard of that.

Victor: Do you have one called “The Burn Victim“?

Clerk: I don’t think so.

Victor: How about “Child Maimer“?

Clerk: I’d have to check in the back. I’m not really familiar with any of those.

me: Do you have any “Golden Showers” available?

Clerk: We did have those! But they aren’t making them this year.

me: Wow. Who would have thought Golden Showers would ever go out of style? How about…um…”Hair-Fire Inferno“?

Clerk: You mean the Flash-Fire Hair Braid? For kids?

me: Sure. (cough) For kids.

Clerk: They sell those next to the cashier.

Victor: And it looks like you’re all out of “Plumber’s Crackle”?

Clerk: Yeah. I don’t know why it’s so popular. It’s not really that exciting.

me: You said it, brother. But you have a lot of “Juicy” fireworks left. I don’t think I want my fireworks to be “juicy”.

Clerk: It’s a weird name but a pretty good display. We recommend pairing it with another firework in front.

me: Ah. Like a Juicy Plumber’s Crackle? That makes sense.

Victor: And your “Happiness Explosion”… Does that come with a “full-release”?

Clerk: Well, if any of your fireworks don’t fully go off you can bring them back for an exchange. If you want something awesome I recommend “The Saturday Night Special”.

me: And according to the box I assume it’s a bunch of loaded guns you heat up until they explode. WHAT COULD BE SAFER? Add it to the pile. And this “Ministry of Magic” set…does one of the fireworks turn into a skull and then all the Death Eaters show up at your barbecue?

Clerk: No, but that would be cool. I’d recommend some “Tomahawks” but I think we’re out.

me: “Tomahawks.” Seems a bit racially insensitive, doesn’t it?

Victor: Look underneath.

me: Well, at least they’re keeping it fair.

PS. As we were checking out we found what we assume was the “flash-fire hair braid…for kids”. We were a little disappointed. And relieved.

Happy 4th of July, y’all. Please keep your guns in your safes, your drunk drivers off the road, and your blown-off fingers on ice.

UPDATED: A small gif of the fireworks we set off tonight. No one lost any fingers but there were the usual amount of minor burns and I think we managed to blow up half of the moon.

Worth it.

Forgive them even if they’re not sorry. That’ll really piss them off.

July 1, 2014in Random Crap

What I say to my small daughter when she’s nine: Kids can be jerks but the best thing to do is to forgive them, even if they’re not sorry.

What I will say to my small daughter when she’s sixteen: You should forgive people even if they’re not sorry because those people sound like real assholes and it will piss them off like crazy if they realize you’re forgiving them for being the dickheads that they don’t think they are. Even better, just walk up to them and put a hand on their arm and say, “I forgive you.” Then walk away. And then you can feel better because you’ve fucked those assholes right in the head. And also because forgiveness is next to Godliness. Or cleanliness. One of those.

Regardless, forgive them and you win. Even better, forget them completely and then keep introducing yourself to them so they realize they’re not important enough to remember. Then look at the note you wrote on your arm which says “Stop saying hi to Potato-face. She’s an asshole to everyone and you always forget that.” Then nod to yourself and say, “Oh. Sorry, Potato-Face. Never mind” and walk off. That way Potato-Face realizes that you’re trying to being polite and gracious. And that’s important.

It’s a good tip for writers either way

June 29, 2014in Random Crap, weekly reruns

Victor: What are you doing?

me: Reading.

Victor: Shouldn’t you be writing?

me: I’m reading about writing.

Victor: That doesn’t really count.

me: This book says you shouldn’t be afraid to kill your characters.

Victor: You write memoirs.

me: Yes, but technically my memoirs would be more exciting if I started killing people.

Victor: Hmm.

me: I mean, I’d only kill off people who deserve it, obviously. Like people who interrupt me when I’m reading.

Victor: Point taken. Carry on.

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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

Juanita Weasel Plate. For cupcakes and shit.

What you missed on the internets:

Kick-ass stuff I pinned.

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by SilkWords, which is moving to a new reader-vote option. It’s like choose-your-own-erotic-adventure except you get to vote on what the character does next and then the author writes the next section of the story based on winning votes. This way you know you’re not the only person choosing the really questionable option. The latest one is here. You should check it out.

It was NOT a squirrel.

June 27, 2014in Random Crap

Hailey and I saw a weird-looking creature when I was dropping her off at camp today. On my way out I talked to the guy at the guard station…

me: I just saw a really weird-looking animal near the tree-line. It was like a big nutria but with a giant, bushy tail.

Him: You probably saw a squirrel.

me: I know what squirrels look like. This was like eight squirrels put together. And it had a fox tail.

Him: Oh. You mean a fox-squirrel?

me: Are you just fucking with me right now?

Him: Well, what do you think you saw?

me: It was like a woodchuck, maybe? But with bushy tail.

Him: A whistle-pig?

me: Are you making fun of me?

Him: Whistle-pig. That’s what we called woodchucks when I was a kid. They’re also called “Land Beavers.”

me: Fine. Then I think I just saw a whistle-pig with a swollen tail.

Him: Unlikely. Yellow-bellied marmot.

me: Excuse me?

Him: Yellow-bellied marmot. That’s more likely what you saw.

me: Do they have giant tails?

Him: No.

me: Well then that wasn’t it. It had a big, bushy tail.

Him: Sounds like you saw a squirrel.

me: *sigh*

There’s a moment.

June 25, 2014in more than meets the eye

Several weeks ago I had surgery to stitch up a hernia in my stomach. It was supposed to be very simple but the recovery for me was horrific. Worse than labor, or gallbladder surgery, or stepping on a floor made of loose LEGOs. I had complications and developed a seroma, which is a “tumor-like collection of serum from damaged blood and lymphatic vessels after significant tissue disruption or trauma.” It sounds worse than it is but it hurts like a bastard and I’d end each day exhausted and teary and unable to take complete breaths without flinching. I might need more work done to fix it but they often go away on their own so my doctor decided to wait. So we’ve been waiting. And this weekend I was able to walk around and leave the house. And Monday I could sit up from laying down without wanting to scream. And Tuesday I felt almost normal for several minutes at a time. And today, if I’m not moving, I feel good. Really good.

The point is…today I feel okay for the first time in what feels like ages, because time – when coupled with pain – drags by so slowly. I still hurt, but more like someone punched me, or like other people probably feel when they do too many sit-ups. I can finally sleep without waking myself up thinking I’m being stabbed, and I can completely forget the pain for several minutes at a time. That sounds small, but if you’ve ever pushed through pain that doesn’t stop for weeks at a time then you know the blinding relief that comes with a few minutes of peace that doesn’t accompany the nauseous dizziness of narcotics. There’s a moment when you feel aware of the absence of pain, and that simple moment is such a wonder that it’s practically euphoric. And you remember what it’s like to not hurt. What it’s like to live. And it is so beautiful there aren’t words for it. It’s so incredibly easy to forget what it’s like to breathe when you’ve been holding your breath for so long.

It’s the same thing that happens when I come out of a rheumatoid arthritis flair-up that puts me in the hospital. It’s the same relief I feel when I pull myself out of a depression that lasts longer than a week. After a while you forget exactly what it’s like to feel good again, but then when you come out the other side, it’s dazzling.

I’m writing this to remind myself of the light. Of the dazzle. Of the fact that it’s worth trudging through the muck because the way out is so much better than you can remember. It’s like the first shower after a week in the woods, or the sun on your skin after a month of night. I’m writing this because I know I’ll be in dark places again and I’ll forget how wonderful it is to emerge. I’m writing to remind you that if you’re struggling now, it will be good again. It will be so much better than your lying, forgetful brain remembers. And I’m writing to tell you that if – right this moment – you are healthy and well then you should stand up and do something wonderful to celebrate it. Go walk barefoot on the grass. Treat yourself to a good book. Call or visit someone you love. Make plans for a trip. Eat a chocolate ice cream bar. Enjoy the sun.

And if you don’t see the sun right now, keep trudging. It’s there. It’s blindingly magnificent. And we’re waiting for you. Promise.

Just remind me of this the next time pain or depression lies to me.

Deal?