Our meeting. Re: my hair. Keep in mind I’d just battled Orcs in the rain.

Last night, I attended a reading and speaking by the author with musical and comic relief by his brother Hank Green. To clarify, I didn’t mud wrestle John Green. Maybe I wrestled with Orcs, but more on that later. The event was brilliant. He read from his new book, The Fault in Our Stars. It’s about two teenage cancer patients. I don’t say muchabout John Green on the blog here, but am huge fan and kind of have a brain crush on him, which is probably why I don’t talk about him. It’s best to not mention author crushes too often, talk to them, look them directly in the eyes, or try and hug them. Especially if you’re a woman and they’re a man. I mean…unless they just happen to be huggers and they want you to hug them. BECAUSE I COULD TOTALLY DO THAT. Ahem. 

 Leaving my husband by himself with our three children for the evening takes a lot of orchestrating with homework/dinner/bath time rituals, so I starved off getting ready until the last possible moment. I was in our closet getting dressed when my husband came in. I showed him my outfit.

Me: This look okay?

Husband: Um…it’s kind of…short…maybe.

Me: I wore it to church Sunday. You didn’t say anything then.

Husband: It looks different tonight.

Me: The leggings I wore Sunday are dirty so I just have to wear regular tights with the dress. I can’t wear dirty leggings.

(For those of you uninformed on women’s leg ware, tights are panty hose and pretty sheer. Leggings are more substantial – a pair of tight pants to wear underneath the dress. I’ll go over cinching and at least three different types of scarf knots in the next blog post. You are welcome.)

Husband: Who are you wearing all this for?

Me: DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY JOHN GREEN? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?

Husband: ….

Me: Look, if Salma Hayek ever comes into town, you can totally wear whatever you want. I wish she were here in town right now, but I don’t have any control over Salma Hayek. I’m sorry. John Green is here. Now.

Husband: ….

I started digging around in the dirty hamper, because marriage is about putting your spouses comfort before your own, kids. Please don’t feel bad for me. I can dish out the stare that conveys a thousand words just as well as he can. I pull it out of my arsenal after the second hour of Skyrim playing has begun. 

Me: I’ll never impress John Green with dirty leggings.

Husband: (from the other room) I heard that.

Me: This is a ridiculous conversation. John Green is married.

Husband: So are you. 

Anyway. I got to the event very late, and it started pouring as I walked in. Great. I’d never dazzle John Green from afar with very wet hair, looking like I’d just battled Orcs in the mud. I got there, found my friend Crystal (who provided the picture. THANKS, CRYSTAL!) and we sat down in the back of the auditorium just as it all began. All silly thoughts of leggings and Orc wrestling melted away and I just got quiet. It’s hard to explain seeing someone you admire in person (even if it is on a stage).

When I went to the Decatur Book Festival and saw Libba Bray speak, she was beautiful, hilarious, and brilliant. Everything her books are, she was in person. John Green was exactly the same: intelligent, sharp, serious, but hysterical. While the crowd screamed around me, I sunk into my chair, ready to soak all the words in. One thing that stands out in my mind is what he said about writing our heroic experiences. This is paraphrasing, and he sounded a lot more intelligent, but he said that through the course of our life, our adventures will be on a much smaller scale. We’ll live these small acts of heroism in the ways that we take care of others and ourselves. It was wonderful.

At Libba Bray’s book signing this summer, I was oh-so-eloquent with, “Flarm… Hamina… Thanks.” I learned my lesson and actually shared the Salma Hayek story, thinking any man would enjoy being likened to Salma Hayek. He certainly laughed and said to tell my husband he thought my outfit appropriate and thanked me for coming to his reading looking so nice. That’s when I made my exit, stage right, with a stammering ”harka…yarm…gotta go.”

If you haven’t read any of John Green’s books, please check them out. This particular book tour is also raising money for Look to the Stars, a children’s cancer research fund.

Updates on My Year of Scary Living because I’m very serious about living scary.

1. I started researching venues in my area where I might be able to do standup. There’s a whole world and process I’m ignorant to so educating myself on how to get a foot in the door is important. 

2. I am writing the standup material and say it/work it out in my mind ALL THE TIME. This results in varying questions and thoughts: Will my parents care if I talk about them? Will my parents even come? Should I tell my parents I’m doing this? No, they really don’t need to know. I won’t tell them. This is a great idea. Maybe no one I know in real life should come? I’ll keep it a secret. No, if I bomb I’ll want someone to hold me afterward and that shouldn’t be some rando at the bar. Preferably. Well, if I’m crying hard enough I won’t care who’s holding me.

3. The guitar playing is still pretty scary and painful. My pinky finger SUCKS. It totally needs to shape up or I will WHOOP on it. I don’t know what the ring finger is laughing at. It’s right there behind the pinky finger. The entire hand cramps up and that’s just inconvenient. STUPID HANDS. I’m kidding. I love you, hands. Don’t leave me.

4. My 3yo went to school just fine. He didn’t cry and his teachers said he did great. Go him! I spent two glorious hours “at the office.”

5. I bought a navy peacoat. The buttons are shiny and fabulous. I’d like for everyone to call me “Sailor” from here on out.  For those of you who don’t care that I’ve replaced my granny cardigan with a peacoat, I’m very sorry BUT THESE ARE MY FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS.

6. To add to my Year of Scary Living, the Stud and I are going Vegan for a while. He has a history of heart disease, high blood pressure and bad cholesterol in his (very immediate) family. He’s on medication for it some of the issues, but we’d like to achieve the healthiest of livings possible. We’ve done a lot of research and are planning on doing a 30 day challenge and see what we think afterward. It will be a food adventure of sorts. I say all this, but just last night while watching a documentary on ancient Rome, we shared a bag of chips and cheese dip.

Me: We’ll go Vegan tomorrow.

Him: Totally.   

6. I think I’m done now.

7. I love you all.

8. Bye.

Went back to work today after a GREAT Christmas holiday. For those of you who don’t know, I work for a ballet company. I love it. I didn’t anticipate how excited the girls would be today. When the first group arrived (they were all mostly four or five) it went like this: 

Ballerina 1: You look so different.

Ballerina 2: And tired.

Ballerina 3: Why do you look so different?

Me: Is it my hair? I got bangs. (I totally did)

Ballerina 1: No. That isn’t it.

Me: I have on lipstick?

Ballerina 1: No. You just look so different.

Ballerina 2: And tired.

Ballerina 3: Why do you have on your same old shoes? Didn’t you get new shoes for Christmas?

Me: No.

Ballerina 4: I got a dog toy for Christmas.

Me: Very cool. Does it bark?

Ballerina 4: No, it’s a toy for a dog. And I don’t have a dog. It squeaks and it’s awesome.

Me: ….

Ballerina 3: WHY DO YOU LOOK SO DIFFERENT?

Ballerina 2: And tired.

Me: *sobs*

I didn’t really sob. YOU DID. And Ballerina 2 is a knot tyer from the fourth level of hell. She’d make the most accomplished Eagle Scout weep.

All of the children around me have been extra funny lately. It must be all the sugar. While our family played at a park this holiday season, another mother was struggling with her child, throwing a horrible tantrum. I don’t say this to tsk tsk because WE’VE ALL been there.

My six-year-old went up to her and said, “It is *so* hard,” and nodded her head in sympathy.

Then I was with my niece, who is two, and she asked me to put a little watch on her. She was so proud of it, walking around like a woman in a new pair of hot high heels. Only she didn’t appear to be in pain or suppressing any form of buyer’s remorse.

Me: What time does your new watch say?

Her: 30:Kitten

This year is different. I turn 29 in January - the final year of my twenties. The past two years, I’ve adopted a ”DO THINGS THAT SCARE ME” mentality. I’ve loved it. I’ve hated it. I’ve done things I wouldn’t do again. I’ve done things I’d repeat in a heart beat. I’ve discovered a lot about myself and still have so much more to learn.

My resolution - and I’m not going to call it that - I’m going to call it A Year of Scary Living - is to intensify what I’ve done. Times a jabillion (actual number).

Most of you read about the guitar I got at Thanksgiving. Before the year is over, I want to feel comfortable and

Like this. Only without the fishnet stockings and very short skirt. Maybe I already own that top.

competent enough to play it in public. If the public will have me. If the public won’t have me, I’ll put myself playing on youtube. But let’s shoot for the kind of public humiliation that can’t go viral. Yes? A Year of Scary Living.

You all might roll your eyes at this, but I guess I consider myself something of a humorists. In high school I loved being in plays and performing on stage. Give me a sheet of paper and a character and I’ll memorize the words and practice the delivery until it is hammered into perfection. I would like to combine the humor with the onstage aspect this year and do some standup comedy. If the standup world will have me. If it won’t, I’ll put it on youtube. A Year of Scary Living.

The following isn’t huge because I’ve been doing it all along, but I want to write EVERY DAY and not feel guilty about the time it takes away from my family. I think I use my family and the guilt as an excuse not to write sometimes. My youngest is SO BORED with only me around in the mornings before I go to work. Sure, he enjoys the one-on-one time for a while, but most days he asks to go to school with his older siblings. So I’m giving up feeling guilty and putting him in school for ONE MORNING (baby steps) a week. I will use that time to sit in a coffee shop and write. A Year of Scary Living.

The final thing might not seem that scary to some of you, but it is for me: I want to be more fashionable. I know, I hear the collective “Whaaaaaat?” across the internets, but I’m a big fan of “safe” and clothing falls into that category. In person, I’m quite shy and my clothing kind of reflects that. I don’t do daring things with colors or patterns and jewelry just hasn’t seemed sensible with extreme child-rearing. My work isn’t the type where I really have to dress up. Most days I’ll wear a nice pair of jeans, a basic shirt, and a cardigan. My building is cold and maybe I’m a grandmother. Long story short, I LOVE looking at cute clothes and accessories, but am just too scared to make any kind of fashion plunge. It’s so much easier to go with what I know than take a risk. I’m welcome to fashion suggestions or tips. I stalk modcloth.com and ordered this dress from them.

Pardon the mess.

WOULD TOTALLY DO IT AGAIN, but it was such a “Is this cute on me? What shoes should go with it? What jewelry? WHAT IF I DO IT WRONG?” These things shouldn’t be so stressful, but I’m uncomfortable with lots of attention and the wrong kind of attention would just be GAH. NOBODY LOOK AT ME. I’M CLIMBING INTO A HOLE. The Stud and I were walking around Target one evening, being our regular sexy selves. I saw a display for ULTIMATE CARDIGANS and told him, “That is what I need. Not just a cardigan, but an ULTIMATE CARDIGAN.”

So, this is my Year of Scary Living 2012: Guitars, Comedy, Putting my youngest child in school so I can write for one day WOW that’s a mouthful to say, and Fashion. More items might be added. Like a body building competition.

Stay tuned! Thanks for reading. You’re all beautiful!

Take care, everyone!

The CHICKtionary by Anna Lefler

This is  a hilarious. It includes more than 450 words, ranging from “A-Line” to “Z-Snap.” But the book does more than just provide definitions. It offers interesting comments, examples, and comic relief.

An Excerpt:

Backrub, noun

1. A soothing, therapeutic massage of the shoulders and/or back that is ideally administered by a trained professional, but can also be quite pleasurable when given by a motivated amateur (preferrable neither an employee of yours nor the person who signs your paycheck). 2. When placed in quotation marks, “backrub” takes on a different shade of meaning, namely an excuse for a man to apply his hands on you in hopes that his skillful caress will work you into such a lather of desire that he’ll soon be penning one of those Penthouse Forums letters.

People were startled by my laughter as I read this. I want to be Anna Lefler someday. Thankfully, I’m already married, blonde, tallish, and have children. I feel downright rotten for all those women waiting on mail-order grooms. They have to wait that much longer to achieve Leflerdom. 

Ketchup Is A Vegetable: And Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves by Robin O’Bryant

“A book about motherhood that will make you nod with recognition, while simultaneously reminding you to schedule a hysterectomy.” -Jenny Lawson, The Bloggess ”With the humor of Bombeck and the warmth of a best girlfriend, Robin O’Bryant gives every mom permission to not be perfect. The chapter on road-tripping with three tiny children and a flu-stricken husband was one of the funniest things I’ve ever read. Pour yourself some “mommy juice” and enjoy meeting Robin and her “chicks.” -Celia Rivenbark, NYTs best-selling author of “You Don’t Sweat Much for a Fat Girl.”  

 

The Monster Princess by DJ McHale and Alexandria Boiger.

  

Lala dwells in a cave that lies deep below the ground, worlds away from the castle where three beautiful princesses live. She is the best krinkle-nut digger by far, but she longs for more: the dresses, the parties, the royal life. Up, up, up Lala climbs and sneaks into the castle. She tries on the princesses’ gowns…and is caught. But the princesses dress Lala up and let her attend a ball. She stumbles. She bumbles. She is laughed at. Can Lala find it in her heart to forgive the girls who tricked her? Will Lala find out what it means to be a real princess?

 

I picked this book up for my niece and was enchanted. If you know a little girl or have a daughter you must, must, must give this book to her. It is a perfect story of self-acceptance and forgiveness.

 

In order to win these books, all you have to do is tweet/facebook/batsign about the giveaway and tell me you did so in the comment section. The winner will be randomly selected through some kind of computer generating picker mechanism that hasn’t reached consciousness. You have until midnight (central time) December 20th.

 

Merry Christmas! And because this is an inclusive blog, Happy Hanakkah. 

When A Victim Treats His Mugger Right

“An electric guitar,” I heard myself say and eyed my panty pile. It was rather pathetic looking. “And panties. I need panties. I have exactly four pairs.”

Don’t look at me like that from the other side of the computer, judging me. We wash often. Like…every other day.

“Guitars and panties?” he said. “This sounds like a blog post you should write.” (and so you see I am)

We already own an acoustic guitar and I have a mediocre ability playing it. I’ve always wanted an electric one, but couldn’t justify paying for it when I hardly play the one we do have. Since we moved, I’ve played it more. Maybe if I had a sexy electric one in front of me, I’d want to play even more.

A few days later, I called my brother Kevin* up (for he is an excellent guitar player, owning an electric guitar, a bass, two acoustic ones, and a stand up bass he’s affectionately named “Ms. Otis”), and asked to borrow one of his for a while, just to feel things out. Then he and I could go shopping (because he is so knowledgable - a walking 6’4″ Google for guitars) after Christmas for mine.

He agreed and showed up Thanksgiving Day with this.

I’d never seen it before.”Where’d you get this?” I asked.

“It belongs to Amelia* (his wife). She never plays it and its been in our attic forever.”

I turned to Amelia. “I didn’t even know you had an electric guitar.”

She nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever played it. Ollie Green* gave it to me in the 10th grade and my father didn’t like it. He thought the stickers Ollie put on there were too suggestive or provocative. So I told him I’d take the stickers off and would keep it.”

She pointed to an area of the guitar where she tried to remove the stickers a little too hard.

“A few things,” Kevin went on. “The bridge was totally knocked out of place, sticking up, and the back piece is missing. I secured it with this wire, so it should be okay.”

He turned the guitar around and showed me what he’d done.

“Will I need to ground it before plugging it in?” I asked.

*crickets*

Kevin continued. “After you’re comfortable playing this one, I’d be happy to go shopping with you.”

I shook my head. “I want this one. How much do you want for it?”

Kevin and Amelia stared at me, but I was ready to buy it from them. I’m not saying I won’t want another guitar SOME DAY at some point and time, but for the purpose of “learning” and owning one, I wanted this Charvel.

See, Ollie Green graduated high school with me. We didn’t know each other that well, but we ended up attending the same University, and hung out more then. He joined a fraternity and asked me to an informal social – as a friend (I was dating my husband at the time and even then, people would refer to me as “married”) - and I got to know him better.

As Kevin and Amelia told me the story of the guitar, Ollie appeared in my mind’s eye wearing baggy jeans, smoking a cigarette on the quad. I wanted to find him on facebook, to tell him that I had his guitar, but couldn’t find him. 

I wanted the guitar because it was used, because of the scratches, and because of the story behind it. Ollie Green has dropped off the face of the earth. I’ve barely thought about him in ten years, but I’m thankful to have a piece of him, a memory of a friend. Here. Now.

And good grief, I have played this guitar. My fingers feel like they should be bleeding. Oh, the hand cramps. Of all the body parts I’ve cursed, I never thought I’d shout, “CURSE YOU PINKY FINGERS. WHY ARE YOU SO WEAK?” But I have. I am addicted to playing it. After 10+ years, it is brought to life, and I am in love with the life it is giving to me.

Is there something you’ve bought or kept, simply because of the story behind the object?

And I plan on buying my panties new, free of sentimental history. Thanks.

*Names changed for their protection on the internets. You freaks.

Yara Jones doesn’t believe in sea monsters—until she becomes one.

When a hurricane hits her island home and she wakes up with fins, Yara finds herself tangled up in an underwater world of mysterious merfolk and secretive selkies. Both sides believe Yara can save them by fulfilling a broken promise and opening the sealed gateway to their realm, but they are battling over how it should be done. The selkies want to take her life. The merfolk want something far more precious.

Treygan, the stormy-eyed merman who turned Yara mer, will stop at nothing and sacrifice everything to protect his people—until he falls for Yara. The tides turn as Yara fights to save herself, hundreds of sea creatures, and the merman who has her heart. She could lose her soul in the process—or she might open the gateway to a love that’s deeper than the oceans.

Karen is hosting a giveaway of a signed copy and other fun sea creature things on twitter, but you have to choose a sea creature to root for. There are merman and selkies and gorgans and sirens…oh my!

If you go to Karen’s website - http://karenamandahooper.blogspot.com/ - she’ll better explain how to participate in all the fun and you can track what sea creature team is leading. If you want to forego the contest and simply buy the book (and why wouldn’t you?) you can order it on Amazon, Rhemalda Bookstore (Karen’s publisher), and Barnes and Noble.

As for me and my side, I CHOOSE SELKIES!

Turn off your gadgets and sing some (out of tune) Ozzy together!