Day Three!

I’m going to run out of those exclamation points very soon! Because I’m totally phoning it in today!

I have two actual, paid writing gigs these days so today I need to redirect you to the other things I’ve been working on, I’m afraid, because I have to leave the house in five minutes.

First, we have an open letter to Justin Bieber. My pitch for this was totally off the cuff, I had three other ideas and felt like I needed to send in one more, so I said, “Or I could do an open letter to Justin Bieber explaining how to use a condom.” I guess editors like simple, straightforward ideas that don’t involve Kardashians.

Secondly, we have Did He Need to See That?, an exploration of my decision to let my son watch a little R-rated gem called Bridesmaids.

Up tomorrow: shoe photos and a little wardrobe remixing!

And don’t forget the raffle.

Day Two!

Today is my fifteenth wedding anniversary. Fifteen years ago today it was a Saturday morning and I was in a cold sweat. Our neighbor, Linda, was arranging chairs in the backyard, Jack was standing around laughing and being far too relaxed about everything, and I was on the phone yelling at the bakery that had no record of our order for a four-tier cake and finger food for 50+ guests.

It takes a lot for me to yell at someone. I sound exactly like my mom when I do, my voice drops a register and comes from somewhere deep in my chest. I think it’s hilarious that anyone takes me seriously in that state. It’s like I’m trying to sound like a yeti.

As soon as he heard that our cake was M.I.A. our other neighbor, Lance, ran to the grocery store and bought and decorated a sheet cake for us, which was ten times better than any four-layer strawberry-covered monstrosity I could have dreamed up.

Oh my God we look so young.

(The whole cake story is here.)

It seems like everything worked out because here we are, 5,475 days later. We’ve had some amazing times and some extremely rough times. But I’m not big on public displays of affection, I’m afraid, so there will be no sentimentality here today.

Yes, we were wearing sunglasses. It was bright.

Day One!

Well, here we are again, Day One of National Blog Posting Month. You will be seeing me here daily for the rest of the month, should you choose to stop by. I have to leave for work in fifteen minutes but I still have something for you! Which are:

  1. A link to a funny story I told on the first day of NaBlo five years ago, just to give you something more substantial to read, entitled, “Day One, Or Snatching My Child’s Nuts From the Jaws of Defeat,” and
  2. An addition to the raffle I started on Sunday:

It’s a little calligraphy case with ink and brushes and a brush stand and, well, you can see all that. It’s nice. Here’s that raffle link again! It’s running until Friday.

Travel broadens the mind, but coming back home warms the lap

Paul was released on DVD last week, which was a cause for celebration at the Kennedy Compound. Our DVD came in the mail and was quickly watched twice in succession. It’s funny and it’s clever and it’s rude and it’s hardly sexy at all, so maybe the R rating comes from Kristen Wiig, who plays woman who never learned to curse properly, saying things like, “Well, ain’t that a bag of tits.” (Also, have you seen this? I don’t want to over-Wiig you, but SO CUTE.)

Paul starts out at ComicCon, which takes place every summer at the San Diego Convention Center, and of course since I’d just been to the San Diego Convention Center for the lady blogger conference, I was all, HEY, LOOK! I KNOW THAT PLACE! WAIT! THE FLUORESCENT LIGHTS! HEY! THAT CARPET IS TOTALLY THE SAME CARPET! and other fascinating observations that enthralled my family.

A few weeks ago on Twitter I was all . . .

. . . and an hour later . . .

. . . until several days later . . .

(Note: BlogHer will be in NYC next year. Unskippable.)

And oh, the chore list I’m going to build for Jackson to earn his trip to ComicCon, it’s going to be twenty feet long. I’m going to have to buy a roll of butcher paper to list all the strange little tasks I’m going to make up for him to do.

On a side note: Look! I accidentally fried an egg in the shape of a heart.

So, do you want to hear about the BlogHer conference that I went to in San Diego? Then read on about how my trunk was full of Fussy t-shirts, and yet never once did it seem appropriate to haul them into the lobby of the Marriott and start laying them out on the floor to sell (one for $15, two for $20, special conference discount). I’d done it at BlogHer ’05 and BlogHer ’06 and driven home both times with a smile on my face and a pocket full of twenties. And my hand to God I wish I’d done it this time, too, but my plate was way too full (of eggs) (paleo joke!) to find the time.

It’s funny to go over my old BlogHer recaps, because slowly, after yearly exposure to masses of lanyard-wearing women, I am becoming one of those grownups who has learned to talk to strangers and socialize with something that looks like ease. But only because I’ve had some first-class conference buddies.

Here we see Alice. She is clearly not using her phone to send pleading text messages to God so that her family would arrive at the airport safely so they could limbo off to Legoland the next day. No, she’s not doing that at all. She’s just being adorable. Alice was my roommate the first night and my breakfast buddy and also my partner in luncheon comedy and book signing at the Bill My Parents booth. The BMP people bought 400 copies of Let’s Panic! and set us up with Sharpies and let us sign copies and talk to bloggers and give books away to them for free.

Here we see Erin. Erin is, historically, one of the most dependably funny and incisive bloggers on the Internet, and once Alice took off for Legoland, Erin totally anchored my roster. We talked and talked and talked and then we ate and drank and talked some more. And then we went off and ate and talked to other people, and then we came back together and ate and talked about what we talked to those other people about. I am so happy and grateful and lucky that Erin decided to come. And not only because she gave me a sock zombie.

This year’s Community Keynote was possibly the rawest and most unrelentingly emotional keynote we’ve ever had. (Transcript is here. Individual videos of readers should be posted soon, and they’ll be worth watching.) You can read a post online and find it touching, but when the person who wrote it breaks down in tears while telling you about her fifteenth year sober, or sneaking art onto the walls of a cancer ward, or realizing her children were all going to grow up and leave someday? It took me crumbling through four introductions with a runny nose before Sarah leaned over and whispered to me to open one of the little zipper pouch giveaway bags on the table–oh, we had a tissue sponsor this year! Brilliant. I also have to hand it to the humor bloggers, they had some heavy lifting, bringing the crowd up from that deep, heart-softened place over and over again. But they did it.

Friday ended with Erin, Doug and Georgia watching me shovel hors d’oeuvres into my face with the sad understanding that chicken skewers and zucchini niblets would no doubt be my dinner, and then finally pouring myself into bed at 1:00 a.m. I’ll have plenty of time to prepare for my panel about how to retain your sanity while running an online community, I remember thinking before I dropped into a black, dreamless, dehydrated sleep. But as soon as the first question came from the audience at 3:00 p.m. the next day, a couple of things came into stark relief before my eyes. One, my throat was sore from yelling over party music for two nights in a row; two, my sister panelists were still actively engaged in running their online communities, whereas in the time between accepting the invitation to speak on this panel (October 2010) and actually being on the panel (August 2011), I had so thoroughly scrubbed NaBloPoMo from my mind that I barely remembered what it was I used to do every day, five times a day, 365 days a year to keep it chugging along; and three, judging by that and all subsequent questions from the audience, a good deal of the women looking to us for advice had far more professional experience on the subject than I did. Also, the room was cavernous, and I still haven’t gotten the knack of speaking conversationally to someone whose face is 100 feet away from me. However, I did, possibly, manage to say a couple of useful things, and make at least one person laugh, and not cock up the entire event by falling asleep at the table. [Transcript is here.]

I honestly can’t believe anyone but the masochists are still reading, so let’s wind things up on a cuddly note. I will not enable your pain another moment, no matter how satisfying you find it!

Lunch and other important topics

What did I just have for lunch? I’ll tell you: it was the end of a bag of Veggie Booty, a small container of quinoa salad from Cantwell’s, and 1/3 of a Debbie’s brownie accompanied by some Yogi Tea or other that Jackson chose last time we were at Whole Foods. It’s the sort of no-effort lunch that I excel at. My husband, on the other hand, came home at noon and cooked. Since lately we discovered something in his astrological chart that explains his drive toward culinary achievement, I don’t feel quite so lax in comparison. Well, yes, I do, actually, but I can blame my indolence on the lack of Virgo in my astrology!
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Survey Says!

The other night a friend and I were talking about how in the seventies we grew up with what seems like a far greater awareness of cultural events that took place before we were born than kids do now. Maybe it was because we only had six TV channels (and one TV) so we either had to watch what the adults were watching or go outside and blow something up, whereas now kids have far more control over what the media can embed in their skulls. It’s a trade-off: Jackson can gleefully ambush me in Call of Duty, but he has no idea who Andy Rooney is. And maybe that’s okay, maybe in the long run it’s more useful cultural currency for him to know more about gaming than a grumpy old man who laments the disappearance of typewriter ribbon, but it does concern me a little. I want him to find all kinds of things interesting, not just the stuff that’s targeted to his demographic. If you’re beginning to suspect this means I’m going to force him to watch Ethel Merman movies all through the holiday break YOU WOULD BE CORRECT.

Out of curiosity, I whipped up a quick survey for us all. See how you do!
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Just One Nipple!

This is a page from a magazine my mother received when she left the hospital with her first child in 1953. The drawing accompanies an article called “So You Can’t Afford a Nurse!” I don’t know anyone who brought an actual nurse home with her baby, did that used to be a thing you did? For normal, healthy babies? It sounds like a thing that Modern, Scientific People would have done when faced with the medical anomaly that is a helpless, pre-verbal human. And God forbid you’d put your own unsterilized nipple in its mouth.
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