Category Archives: General Thoughts

Cleaning Out the Trophy Case – Awards On Parade!

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Now that summer is winding down, it’s time to clean out my virtual blogging closet and get a bit organized….I’ve been spending time bingewatching Friends on Netflix and Supersize vs. Superskinny on YouTube getting outside, hanging with the kids, and just generally enjoying the long summer days before winter (which starts in October and often goes through May…MAY.  Why the eff did I move here, again?) sets in.

So while I’ve been firmly planted on the couch watching my glutes spread out and about having a fulfilling, meaningful life, a few awards and such have been piling up.  And yeah, I know I’m not obligated to take these on….but I find they serve two purposes:

  • They get the creative juices squeezed out of the driest of lemons – they make you write SOMETHING, and generally, something > nothing.  (Unless your writing is crap. But even then, better out than in, right?)
  • They give you an opportunity to give a nod to other blogs you enjoy.  (There are some real characters on here.  Wanna laugh?  Cry?  Nod frantically while yelling “THIS THIS THIS ZOMG YES THIS EXACTLY“?  It’s all on WordPress, folks.)
  • It’s free therapy.  You can chuck your mind’s ramblings on a virtual wall, and what you get back is validating, encouraging, enlightening, thought-provoking, and/or freakin’ hilarious.  For FREE, yo.  FREE.  (And free can be AWESOME.  Have I ever mentioned I met the hubs on a free dating site?  I’m like Choos on clearance, totes.  Or like stumbling on Prada at the dollar store.)

And yes, that’s three.  Or maybe two and a helper with that Common Core brain scramble.  I love this post about Common Core at suyts space – the pictures and the ensuing comments sum it all up nicely for me.  (See what I did there?  <snort>)

A few weeks ago, Chelise from Caterpillar to Butterfly was kind enough to nominate me for a couple of things.  First up – the Encouraging Thunder award:

encouraging1

Full disclosure:  We have three teenage boys in the house.  “Encouraging Thunder” sounds like passive encouragement for a belching contest.  OR WORSE.  (Which reminds me…Both of our Aim ‘n Flames seem to be empty – mental note to add to shopping list.  Along with Febreeze.  YAY BOYS.)

Rules for accepting the award:

  • Post it on your blog.  Check!
  • Add the Encouraging Thunder logo.  Got it!
  • Grant other bloggers the award.  Below!
  • Mention your purpose in blogging.  You can find that here in my first post.
  • Thank the person who nominated you.  Thanks Chelise!  🙂

Nominations:

  • I am learning a lot from Mr. Know Body.  Lots of medical stuff (likely not for squeamish delicate-flower types, but good info if you’re not terribly fragile.)
  • Also have always enjoyed The Persistent Platypus – she manages anxiety in a very open and extremely positive way. You can’t be in a bad mood after reading one of her posts. I promise.  🙂

Next up: Brighton Bipolar was kind enough to nominate me for the Blogger Recognition Award!  By the way, if you don’t read her blog – you totally should. It is filled to the gills with great info on all things mental health – lots of info to digest and share!

BR_AwardBlogger Recognition Award Rules:

1. Select 15 other blogs you want to give the award to. Do some digging if you must! Find those blogs. You cannot nominate yourself or the person who has nominated you. 

2. Write a post to show off your award! Give a brief story of how your blog got started, and give a piece or two of advice to new bloggers. Thank whoever nominated you, and provide a link to their blog. List who you’ve nominated in the post. Make sure to also attach the award itself! (You can do this by right-clicking, saving, and uploading the image above).

3. Comment on each blog and let them know you’ve nominated them. Provide a link to the award post you created.

4. Provide a link to the original post on Edge of Night. That way, anyone can find the original guidelines and post if needed, and we can keep it from mutating and becoming confusing!

Let’s get started….<rolls up sleeves and whips out fancy pen>

(Holy Frito.  Fifteen?? That’s a hella lot.  Lemme think here….I’m just gonna list some blogs I enjoy, learn from, or both):

  1. karmasarma
  2. betternotbroken
  3. Storyshucker
  4. The Ninth Life
  5. Walking After Midnight
  6. Daily Inspiration Blog
  7. Vogue Infatuation
  8. Navy Striped Peonies
  9. Slightly Imperfect
  10. Living to Thrive
  11. This Little Diary
  12. By Lauren Hayley
  13. Remember the Good Stuff
  14. Tati’s Galaxy
  15. adjust remembered

Whew!  I think that’s the first rule I’ve followed in awhile….Gah, following directions is EXHAUSTING.

<leaves for snack time and nap>

OK.  <steels self> Let’s git ‘er done.

Give a brief story of how your blog got started, and give a piece or two of advice to new bloggers.

Brief?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA  Have we met?  (Sorry.  Do I have to give the award back?  Because Kate is to brief as fish poo is to breakfast.)

OK, back on task here.  Hmm.

Well, the good news is that I already wrote about why I’m here, and why I started this blog.

Advice to new bloggers?  Hmm….

1. Join the community. Read at least three times as much as you write.  “Like” liberally and comment frequently.  Put yourself out there – virtually position yourself in the center of the room with a fabulous glass of red, a brilliant frock, and killer shoes – and mingle.

2.  Don’t try to cram every thought into your post.  It’s like packing for a trip.  Sure, you can ALWAYS pack one more pair of socks, but there comes a point where the zipper will kersplode, leaving the tourists and weary business travelers shaking their heads as your unmentionables roll down the conveyor.  Not the image you were gunning for.  (Clearly, I sort of suck at this one.  Both the point AND the analogy.  It ain’t full until I sit on it and pull the zipper with pliers to get it shut!)

3.  Remember why you’re doing this, and stay true to YOU.  Your writing isn’t mass-produced – it’s one-of-a-kind.  And sure, that MIGHT mean you’re the sequinned and bedazzled reindeer-and-turnips sweater that your dear Aunt Matilda knitted by hand – but you’ll be the ONLY bedazzled reindeer-and-turnips sweater out there.  You’ll find your voice, and it’ll be uniquely yours.

One more – the Just For Fun Blogging Award, created by whereshappy at a funny thing happened when I was learning myself! 

JustforfunawardDA RULZ:

  1. The questions generated should just be silly and fun.
  2. Invite any one you want to participate, but really think of those people that you find have a great sense of humor and are willing to just play along for a few minutes.
  3. Please link back to this page (ping me) if you participate so that I can try to see who is giving this a go and to see how far it reaches.  I have no problem with this being re-blogged, if that’s how you would like to share.
  4. This is just for fun and is just a way to get people to know each other better!  Seriously, that’s it.  Just have some fun with it, please!
  5. No is a perfectly acceptable answer for me and everyone else. If you think this award is dumb, then more power to you–I hope you have a wonderful day doing whatever floats your boat.

I like her style.  🙂  Plus, she digs Darren Criss WHO I TOTALLY MET IN PERSON WHEN HE DID THE LISTEN UP TOUR IN CLEVELAND.  It was my daughter’s 15th birthday present.  Happy Birthday to ME, yo.  Besides, he’s 18; it’s all legal, baby.

So I’m picking three questions from her list to answer:

What was the first concert you ever attended?  The Monkees revival tour, in Elmira, NY.  (Revival.  1986, not 1966.  JUST TO BE CLEAR.)  It. Was. Epic.

Who is your celebrity crush?  Since Darren Criss is taken….I loves me some Wayne Brady.  He is BRILLIANT.

I got to see him live at an HR conference in 2002 in Philly, and I almost GOT ON STAGE with him, too, but then some pushy harlot pretty much flashed him and I got lost in the shuffle.  Brush-with-fame sadness.

Seriously, his improv is ART. ART!  (Plus, he’s adorable.  Right?)  Incidentally….he used to stutter, and had anxiety as a child.  He also suffers from depression.   Despite these challenges, he’s freakin’ amazing.  Tremendous talent in a fine-lookin’ package….  😉

What is your go to song to sing in the shower?  Broadway, baby.  My first pick is the complete soundtrack of Andrew Lloyd Webber‘s Aspects of Love.  I can pretty much do the whole thing by heart.  But in a pinch, I can blast through Les Miserables or Sweeney Todd, too.  Nothing blasts through a crappity mood like singing about turning society’s derelicts and deadbeats into savory, craveable meat pies.  Right?   

Nominees for this prestigious award are Cat in the Cactus and Problems with Infinity.  Here are your three questions:

1. What’s your FAVORITE pair of shoes?  Describe them and tell me how you met.

2. The mail’s here!  What do you get SUPER EXCITED about seeing in your mailbox?

3. What condiment can you eat the most of?  Like, a shot glass full, or a bowl of?

These ladies are hilarious, so I eagerly anticipate their answers!  🙂

Well, that’s all for this one, folks.  All the candy has been tossed, the horses have been swept behind, and the bands have gone home.  (Why do they ALWAYS put the marching band BEHIND the horses, anyway?)

Over and out, peeps.

<flips light switch>

The Love/Hate Challenge: Part 6 – SHOOT IT SHOOT IT SHOOT IT

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I am pleased to announce that this is the FINAL INSTALLMENT of this challenge!  Loud cheers and huzzahs!

<faint slow-claps from two bored audience members>

I do enjoy these challenges – because although I like to write – and it’s good for me to do so – sometimes breaking the inertia and getting started is the hardest part, and these challenges give you somewhere to point your feet once you actually get off the mental sofa and open the front door.  But this one is starting to look like an evening gown in my closet that I bought for a fancy party four years ago – while I still love it, I need to get it to a consignment shop before it’s no longer fashionably relevant (and before I get too fat to wear it, and just looking at it makes me cry.)

lovehatechallengeDA RULES:

  1. List 10 things you LOVE
  2. List 10 things you HATE
  3. Nominate a few suckers to do the same

10 THINGS I LOVE and 10 THINGS I HATE (in unranked order)

PART 6:  THE FINAL CHAPTER

When I first started working on this series, I was having trouble coming up with ten different things.  (Now that I’m at the end, I have like six more things to write about…so I guess this challenge was a good starting point.)  But I was having trouble getting off the starting block, so I asked my kids for help brainstorming.

(Yes.  I should have known better.)

Me:  So I’m writing about ten things I love and ten things I hate.  What are ten things YOU hate?

Daughter:  My brother, my brother, my brother, my brother….

Me: <cutting her off>  That’s cheating. Your brother is ONE thing.  You can’t list him ten times.

Son:  OK then.  My sister’s face.  My sister’s head.  My sister’s mouth.  My sister’s singing.  My sister’s bu….

Me:  <cheerily> HEY!  Who wants ice cream?

Sigh.

The Love/Hate Challenge has been up WAY past its bedtime….time to shut out the lights and tuck this one in.

10.  I hate deer.  But I love messing with people.

Remember when Bambi first came out?  Wait…of course you don’t.  That was like, 1942 or something. But I do remember watching it in the movie theater.

Incidentally, did you remember that Bambi was a DUDE?  Next time I’m at a bachelorette party, and the fake-cop comes in to strip, I’ll try shouting “Take it off, Bambi” as I shove dollar bills in his general direction. I’m sure it’ll be super effective in getting his attention.

I also distinctly remember the scene when Bambi’s mother died. Strangely, I was the only one who leapt to her feet and cheered.

What?  You were sad?

Don’t be.

The only good deer is a dead deer.  And here is why:

Deer suck.

They really do.  They’re sort of like the rich teenagers on Gossip Girl (which I am NOT currently bingewatching with my daughter) – when people see them, they ooh and ah over how pretty they are, and everyone wants to get close to them and snap pictures to share on social media.

But then they randomly do totally b!tchy things like eat your flowers or randomly leap in front of your car when you’re zipping down the highway at 72 mph, and as you’re looking over the remnants of your petunias or your crumpled fender, you suddenly want to mow them all down with a fully loaded AK-47.

So far, I’ve been lucky – I haven’t actually struck a deer yet.  Since I grew up in rural PA, I recognize that I’ve beat the odds here.

But my time will come.

They’re all waiting along the highway, watching me, waiting for that PERFECT moment when I’m tooling down a nameless country road at midnight, juggling a refresh on Google Maps and a hot cup of Dunkin’.  Then – only then – they will strike.  And once they do?  It’s ON, futhamuckers.  It.  Is.  On.  You spill my coffee, we will have words.  <angles bazooka menacingly>

In the meantime?  I married into a family that hunts.  And while I support the swift obliteration of the entire species of glorified rats with antlers, I’ll admit I’m not the biggest fan of using them as decoration.  I mean, if you want to make an impact, hang the severed heads outside, where they can serve as a horrible warning to the survivors to stay the h#ll off my lawn.

(Side note:  My grandpa was a salmon fisherman, and once he cleaned the fish, he used to nail their heads to the pine trees by the garden.  He said it kept the snakes away.  I can’t tell you whether it worked or not, but you can bet your sweet bippie we never had any salmon digging up our gardens and dinging up our bumpers, that’s for sure.  To be fair, salmon skulls aren’t really all that cuddly.  Would YOU raid a garden decorated with this?)

fishhead

Fish heads aside, most folks insist on displaying their kill indoors. So my options are either to get used to it…or help them kick it up a notch.

I present Exhibit A:

antlerwig

Tragically, after running away to Vegas, Amber paid the ultimate price for hard, fast living.

Recently, my kids and I were at a birthday party for one of the hubby’s relatives.

Now, these are perfectly nice people….but after a while, I was frantically looking for a graceful escape route when the birthday girl’s grandmother monologued for TWENTY MINUTES about how relaxing and rewarding it was to…

…wait for it…

…iron.

Wait, what?

Iron?

Yup.  Everything.  Baby clothes, sheets, it’s all so soothing.  And she won over her husband because of how meticulous she was about pressing his underwear.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

I can’t even.

I think we still have an iron.  It’s stuffed in the back of the NOPE closet next to the bucket of Hell No and the box of Never Again.

I do remember the last time I ironed, actually.  It was October of 1999 and I was about 12 weeks pregnant with my son.  I was getting ready to go on a business trip, and my pants (already!!) didn’t fit, so I had to dig out pair of maternity pants.  They had only been in storage a few months, but were wrinkled beyond recognition, and iron repellant* hadn’t been invented yet, so I attempted to iron.

And promptly burned my arm.

And immediately quit ironing forever, because I was traumatically scarred FOR LIFE.  That shiz is dangerous, yo.

irontragedy

See?! SEE?!??!?

* Iron repellant = Downy Wrinkle Releaser.  If that stuff doesn’t work on an article of clothing, it goes in the Goodwill bin.  Ain’t nobody got time for dat.

Anyway.  After that absolutely riveting tale of uncreased unmentionables, the kiddos and I were bored.  And when my kids get bored…let’s just say I can either create a diversion, or become a victim.  I learned my lesson at the LAST family party, where my daughter stole my phone and updated the spelling dictionary to change over seventy-five common words to autocorrect to “poop.”  (She also changed her name to Her Royal Highness, and her brother’s to something unprintable. <shrug> She comes by it honestly, I guess.)

So we decided to play a game with the party balloons.  There were about a dozen trophies hanging on the wall.  First kid to score an antler basket wins $10.  GO!

It took about 10 minutes (it’s harder than it looks with 12′ ceilings.)   My son is $10 richer, and in my opinion, it was money well spent.

AntlerToss

The final nomination for this challenge is sonofabeach96 – because we recently bonded over coffee.  😉

And with that – CHALLENGE CLOSED. <mic drop>

The Love/Hate Challenge! Part 5: A Second Pot of Coffee

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Bear with me, folks – we’re on part five of six – I PROMISE I’m wrapping this up here.  Eventually.

Coffee was the subject of my last post, and I suspect will occupy the better part of this one.  But because my daily cup of personality allows me to spell it “morning” instead of “mourning,” it deserves a little extra love and attention.  So pour yourself a fresh cuppa joe, prop up your feet, and get comfy.

lovehatechallengeDA RULES:

  1. List 10 things you LOVE
  2. List 10 things you HATE
  3. Nominate a few suckers to do the same

10 THINGS I LOVE and 10 THINGS I HATE (in unranked order)

PART 5:  MORE COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE

9.  I love gas station coffee, and I hate Starbucks.

In my last post, I may have mentioned that I love coffee.  And while this is very true, I’m totally blue-collar about it.  As long as you’re drinking it black, I’m the furthest thing from a coffee snob that there is.

Confession:  I actually drink – and like – coffee from the gas station.

<passes smelling salts for delicate flowers who dead-fainted>

Hey, don’t knock it ’till ya try it – if you can’t find a McDonald’s, know that Sheetz, Holiday, KwikTrip, and SuperAmerica all have decent roasts – and they sell 24oz cups to tote it in.  WINNING.  (Side note:  Sheetz actually has some decent food, too, for a 24/7 gas station.  Certainly a few notches above Taco Bell, and deny all you want, I KNOW you are totally eating that shiz on the sly.  Taco Bell is the Walmart of fast food – the largest chain where <cough> “nobody” eats, EVER.)

My fave chain coffee is Dunkin’ Donuts.  I’m self-aware enough to realize that it was probably because I was raised on the stuff – I’m from the East Coast, and Dunkin’ dominated; back home, this chain is everywhere. Although Tim Hortons is seriously encroaching on the terrain; once we let him out of Canada, he started to spread like some sort of mutant coffee kudzu.  But if he chokes out Starbucks, I’ll consider it a symbiotic relationship and agree to peacefully coexist.

Side note:  Where you’re raised definitely influences your tastes.  I remember reading a study years ago (it was probably Consumer Reports, but do you think I can find it now?) with taste-test results for different brands of dark chocolate.  Hershey’s makes one called Special Dark.  You probably remember this as the also-ran in the bag of miniatures, left to grow stale long after the Mr. Goodbars and Krackels were gone.  (Except in my house, where Mom and I fought over them.  We also fought over the Brazil nuts in the Chex Mix.  Ah well.)  Although it tends to get mediocre ratings nationwide, Special Dark tends to be the favored brand of dark in the region surrounding Hershey, PA.  Whether they actually like it, or pretend to out of unfailing loyalty, I can’t say for certain, but if you know any Steelers fans, you’ll likely lean to the latter theory.   Because those people are in their own special category of uniquely nutzoid.  Green Bay and Dallas fans have NOTHING on loyalty next to Steelers fans.  Nada.  Zip.

Usually, I brew my own coffee at home.  I justify my addiction by supporting small farmers and/or local businesses while I’m getting my fix.  (Shout out to Velasquez Family Coffee, who delivers my monthly prescription subscription of beautifully delicious beans.  African Cinnamon is da bomb, but they’re all excellent.  Trust me.)

But if I’m on the road, and there’s no Dunkin’ available, I will happily hit the local fill station for my morning boost.  No matter how questionable the store appears, the coffee there HAS to be better than what I’ll find at Starbucks.

Ah, Starbucks.  The one chain coffee I canNOT stomach.

This isn’t a political statement, nor is it a protest against the overpriced blended dessert drinks made-to-order with a brutally bastardized handwritten approximation of your first name.

It’s simply because THEIR COFFEE IS TERRIBLE.

Aficionados of the swill will claim, with their noses pointed high, “it’s DARK roast…you must not like coffee that dark and robust.”  I raise my pinky delicately <snort> and call BS on y’all.  Folks, it’s not “dark roast” any more than charcoal is ebony wood, or broken glass looks JUST LIKE diamonds.  The Emperor is naked – in the name of decency, grab a tarp to cover the floppy bits.  THAT SHIZ IS BURNT YO.

The last time I voluntarily drank a cup of Starbucks coffee was in 2005.  I had to make a long drive, and it was early in the morning on a holiday and I was bone-tired.  I was heading into a rural area (read:  nothing open, not even gas stations) and, out of desperation, made a regrettable decision – I pulled into Starbucks to grab a small cup.  Just a little, to get me through the drive.  I mean, it was either that or headbob my way into swerving offroad through the forest.

I did what I had to do.  I knew it wouldn’t be great, but how bad could it be?   I needed it, right?

I selected something called Christmas Blend.  Gamely, I raised the cup to my lips.  My sophisticated tasting palate has identified the composition of this brew, just in case you’d like to replicate it at home:

  1. Chop down a pine tree.
  2. Let it rot in your backyard for approximately 12 months.
  3. Burn it to ashes (be sure to leave the dead bugs, dog hair, and bird droppings!)  Grind well.
  4. Pour hot water over the whole thing and drink up.

Halfway through the cup, I gave up and chucked it out the window.  And probably killed an endangered turtle or something.

My aversion to Starbucks has gotten so bad that the very smell of it triggers my gag reflex.  It’s like morning sickness all over again, when the smell of the fireplace, of all things, sent me on a frenzied sprint to find a bathroom. (Hmm.  Fireplace = burnt wood.  Coincidence?  I THINK NOT, Starbucks.  I.  Think.  Not.)

If Starbucks is the only option available, I will actually make the risky and painful decision to <gasp> FOREGO coffee, even when I desperately need it (read:  mornings with boring meetings, mornings when I didn’t get much sleep, mornings in general, and mornings on days of the week ending in Y.)

I’ve attended enough local seminars to know which hotels have the hazard placard on the silver vat of caffeine:

hazardsign

Image obviously from http://www.starbucks.com

(Dear Hilton:  I used to be an HHonors Diamond member.  DIAMOND.  THIS IS HOW YOU THANK ME?)

Thankfully, Starbucks hasn’t ruined tea.  Yet.  So that’s still a relatively safe bet if you’re stuck in an endless meeting and can’t get out to bring your own.  It’s a poor substitute, true, but it might be just enough caffeine to keep you on the left side of regrettable decisions that get you fired, arrested, or both.

Of course, that might be a super effective way to get banned from meetings for a while.

<raises Friendship mug and winks conspiratorially>

One more and I PROMISE we’ll be done with this.

I pass the torch to Lauren Hayley at Madness, Sparkle, and Creative Flair.  She’s pretty busy but I suspect she has a lot to say, too. 🙂

The Love/Hate Challenge! Part 4: COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE

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And here we have part four of what was, for most bloggers, a simple challenge:

lovehatechallengeDA RULES:

  1. List 10 things you LOVE
  2. List 10 things you HATE
  3. Nominate a few suckers to do the same

(Really, this is getting ridiculous now.  Part FOUR?!?  Stand up and flush already!)

Like I said in my last post, it’s hard for me to condense “hate” and “love” into a compact form – it doesn’t do the words justice, ya know?

So do you think we can wrap this thing up here and ship it out?  Place your bets, peeps.  <dealer spins>

10 THINGS I LOVE and 10 THINGS I HATE (in unranked order)

PART FREAKING 4:  ALL ABOUT COFFEE

Coffee and I have such a long relationship, it gets its own post.  YAY COFFEE

7.  I love coffee, but hate when people pretend to love it.

Coffee and I have been seeing each other regularly ever since high school (really, isn’t that where most haunting life rituals and obsessions get started?)

I first picked up the habit to meet a dual need of 1) keeping warm yet 2) not ingesting any additional calories.  Every woman in America who’s ever flirted with dieting or food issues knows that coffee is pretty much calorie-free AND that caffeine keeps you both awake and kills your appetite.  Also, I’ve mentioned before that I have Raynaud’s Syndrome, and keeping your hands warm when you’re trying to play clarinet and march around a football field when it’s sleeting presents its own unique challenge.  (I usually failed.  But as long as you keep marching, nobody cares.  You can’t really expect a clarinet to be heard in a stadium filled with 90,000+ drunken fans, anyway.)

I drink my coffee black.  If you truly love coffee, you will too.  Adding sugar, cream, and sprinkles to it means you are drinking dessert. It’s a coffee-flavored milkshake – THIS IS SO NOT THE SAME THING AS COFFEE.

Now, don’t get me wrong –  I have NOTHING against dessert here, folks.  There’s a time and a place for it.  Just don’t lie to me and pretend you are drinking coffee.  Because you are not.

This is like the Pizza Lie, which I also hate.  If you tell me “we’re having pizza”, this will lead a gal to have certain…expectations.  Such as red sauce…maaaaaayyyybe white.  But there will be sauce on the crust.  There will also be cheese. No cheese = NOT PIZZA.

And there may be toppings within the realm of socially acceptable parameters.  Cured meats?  Sure.  Ham, chicken?  Also OK…but pushing it.

Veggies?  Slow down there, cowboy – there are a few that are OK, but this ain’t a free-for-all.  Feel free to chuck on onions, peppers, mushrooms, tomatoes, even olives, if that’s what puffs your sails.  But when your pizza starts to look like a not-so-cleverly disguised salad, YOU HAVE CROSSED A LINE.  Broccoli?  Oh hell no.  Cauliflower?  You’re joking.  Arugula?  I may have to stab you.

And don’t even TRY to pass off Thai Stir-Fry, Taco, or Cheeseburger as “pizza.”  That is food on a crust.  It may be edible.  It may not suck.  But it is not pizza.  Just like milkshakes who once participated in a flash mob with coffee ARE NOT COFFEE.  They’re…acquainted – a third-degree connection on LinkedIn at best.  But firmly in the category of Not Coffee.

8.  I love my coffee mugs, and I hate tiny coffee cups.

In my twenties (OK, and my thirties…and maybe a couple times last week) I drank a LOT of coffee.  This did not go unnoticed by my coworkers:  At one of my first jobs, the boss had handmade pottery mugs made for each of us for Christmas one year.  Everyone received a normal-sized mug except me.

Mine held HALF A POT OF COFFEE.  SCORE.

I drank three cups of coffee a day at that job.  (That’s a pot and a half, for those of you who haven’t had any coffee yet today, and/or don’t math, or both.)

Now that I’m older, and need to work a little harder at things that used to be easy (Sleep? I’m giving you the death stare) I’m down to just one cup of coffee a day.  (It’s about 24 ounces.  BUT TOTALLY COUNTS AS ONE CUP, just like when you pick the biggest slice of pizza in the box and count it as “one slice” on MyFitnessPal.)

For my daily commute (40 minutes without traffic – attempting this without a shot of caffeine is a hay bale on the NOPE farm) my mug of choice is a Bubba Keg, one of the only travel mugs out there that both holds a sufficient volume of coffee AND fits in a standard car’s cup holder.  Which doesn’t sound that significant, but you’d be surprised how hard THAT combo is to find.  I have a few older versions of this one:

BubbaKeg

Buy one at shopbubba.com. Really, go do it.

When I’m at home, and can get up for frequent refills (because cold coffee is just a black vat of sadness and disappointment) I rotate between these mugs:

coffee mugs

Note my champion photo editing skills. Snort.

From left to right:

A.  I got this one from a friend about 15 years ago as a gift.  I haven’t been in touch with her for at least 10 years – the only reason I keep it is because it’s incredibly sappy and, like, totally ironic to use first thing in the morning when I legit want to punch people smack in the happy.

B.  I bought this in NYC when I went to my FIRST BROADWAY SHOW EVAH.  My true soulmates will know which show this is.  The rest of you can no longer Drink With Me even One Day More.  Also note that this mug was from the ORIGINAL tour – not the recent refresh that generated the movie.  Which means that this mug is older than some of you reading this post right now.

This kind of blows my mind because that means this mug has survived <counting furiously in my head> FOURTEEN MOVES.  That’s gotta be some kind of physics miracle.  I mean, doesn’t everyone break at least six coffee mugs when they move?

C.  I got this from a local church as a welcome/guest gift around move nine.  I love the message – who can’t benefit from a reminder that they might be loved? – but it also sort of irritates the hubs, due to him being an avid nonbeliever.  So this is the mug I use most often.  Heh. (Hey, cut me some slack.  I’m reaching for this BEFORE I’ve had any coffee.  It’s either passive aggression or a body count.)

Anyway – the point here is that there are PLENTY of coffee mugs out there that hold more than a shot of java.  Hotels and conference centers of America?  I’m raising my eyebrows and pointing finger-guns directly at you.

You’ve noticed this, right?  When you have the “privilege” (read: lost the office Fantasy Football pool and ponied up by “volunteering” for conference duty) of attending an offsite training session, seminar, or conference, you’re rewarded with hard, unforgiving chairs in a room with the ambiance of a meat locker and the treat of mystery chicken in secret sauce for lunch…and to top of the indignity of it all, they serve a sad excuse for coffee in little baby-sized cups.  Your grandmother, upon spotting the array, would have picked one up, shrugged, and stuffed it in her purse to repurpose as a thimble.

Seriously, when you have an audience that has been involuntarily restrained for four, six, EIGHT FREAKING HOURS in a freezing-cold, mind-numbing coffin of monotony, is there some sick and twisted delight that meeting planners take in ordering coffee cups that would be an inadequate helmet for a window-bombing sparrow?

I don’t ask for much.  But at 8 AM, when faced with a full day of detailed, riveting Powerpoints and presenters who obligingly read them aloud to you word by word, GIVE A GIRL SOME SERIOUS JAVA or someone’s gonna get cut.

Hmm.  I guess I hate conferences, too.

I get to go to a couple of these a year.  You’ll know if I’m ever at one you’re attending.    I’m the chick walking in ten minutes late, muttering obscenities to herself while balancing three miniscule cups of coffee to the last remaining seat in the front row.

Feel free to introduce yourself.

AFTER the cups are empty.  AFTER.

So…I’m not quite finished yet.  Dealer is collecting chips from those of you who bet red.  I think one more post will do it.

And today’s nominee for this challenge….Walking After Midnight.  Because she hasn’t posted in awhile.  <poke poke>  😉

The Love/Hate Challenge! Part 3: Ride Away from the Fat Wagon

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So about…uh…two weeks ago, Chelise from Caterpillar to Butterfly nominated me for the Love/Hate Challenge:

lovehatechallengeDA RULES:

  1. List 10 things you LOVE
  2. List 10 things you HATE
  3. Nominate a few suckers to do the same

And this challenge has dragged on for awhile, partly because I procrastinate, partly because it’s summer, partly because I haven’t been traveling (so I haven’t been stuck in an airport with absolutely nothing to do but dodge creepers, germs, and crappy food), and partly because I can’t keep it short once I DO start. (Like here in this post I already have over 100 words and I HAVEN’T EVEN STARTED ACTUALLY SAYING ANYTHING YET.  Man, I am exhausting.)

Part of the problem:  If I feel passionately enough about something to LOVE or HATE it, there is NO WAY I can explain that in less than a bound dissertation.  I mean, if you truly HATE something, how on earth do you adequately describe THAT in under 200 words?  Or under 500?  If it’s only one page, isn’t it more like “slight irritation”?

Anyway.  Taking another swing at the verbal piñata and makin’ it RAIN, baby….

10 THINGS I LOVE and 10 THINGS I HATE (in unranked order) – PART 3:

6a.  I hate butter.

I can hear the <whoosh> of people rushing to click “unfollow” now.  Yeah, I know.  It’s pretty much un-American to not like butter.  But hear me out.

It’s Oprah’s fault.

I was a fairly normal, butter-loving kid, who grew into a butter-eating teenager (well, when I was eating at all; at that point, if I remember correctly, I was in the middle of my 900-calories-a-day diet.  So I was quite aware of the calorie bomb that is butter – but I still ATE it, because sometimes ya gotta.)

It was November 15, 1988 when everything changed.  That was the fateful day that, despite a schedule chock-full of band, choir, AP classes, and boys, I just happened to be home from school, and just happened to be watching TV, when Oprah strutted out on stage with a black turtleneck, size 10 Calvin Klein jeans, and…this.

Anyone else remember this? (If your answer is “No, I wasn’t born yet” – shut it.  You can watch the clip HERE.)

As a teenager who, at the time, barely moved the big weight to the three-digit notch on the doctor’s scale (slam some water and wear boots and a sweater so the school nurse gets off your back, you know the drill) – this was life-altering.  I was HORRIFIED.  The Radio Flyer Lardcart was a GIANT DEATH WAGON OF BUTTER that, in addition to being un-heart-healthy and just plain nasty, WOULD MAKE ME FAT.

And ever since then?  Every stick of butter brings me right back to…

Mmmmm…don’t you want some TOAST right now?  <gag>

Looking back on this now – with the perspective and experience of twenty more years of dieting since then – some thoughts/observations:

1. Oprah lost the weight after four months on a liquid diet.  I seem to remember it was Medifast, but I can’t find a source to confirm.  What she DID share:

“I had literally starved myself for four months, not a morsel of food, to get into that pair of size 10 Calvin Klein jeans,” Winfrey recalls.  “Two hours after that show, I started eating to celebrate, of course, within two days those jeans no longer fit!”

1a.  It took you TWO days to grow out of those?  Color me impressed. I can bust a button in a week, but two days is ACHIEVEMENT, yo.  Not that Oprah is known for doing things halfway.  But still.  !!

2.  It’s a little mind-blowing to realize that you can be one of the wealthiest, most socially dominant women in the WORLD, with every resource and support available to you, and still not have whatever it takes to have a normal relationship with food.

That’s…powerful, yet humbling.  Depressing, yet oddly reassuring.  I mean, if SHE struggles with this…doesn’t that give me permission to, I dunno, maybe not beat myself up quite so hard if I can’t do it?

Folks, this is Oprah.  She can do ANYTHING.

And she’s just as human as the rest of us, putting on her pants (and Spanx) one mortal, flawed leg at a time.

I don’t know whether to high-five her, or give her a hug.

You can read Oprah’s Weight Loss Confession here.  It’s a little stilted, and I detect the faint smell of false bravado from her accounting of it all, but what struck me was this quote from her trainer (Bob Greene):

“She didn’t really learn how to be happy. I think she learned more survival tools and not how to be happy,” he says. “That’s where Oprah has a lot of work to do.”

Well.  Huh.

That’s why I started this whole blog dealio in the first place.

Because that’s where I have a lot of work to do, too.

3.  Size 10?  Are you kidding me, Calvin?  They’re AT MOST a 6, prolly a 4 nowadays.  Gotta love vanity sizing.  <eyeroll>

OK.  On to a “love”….

6b.  I love riding my bike.

Generally, I support the principle of physics that states, “An object on a comfortable sofa stays on a comfortable sofa.”  (Or starts to LOOK like the comfortable sofa.)  Suffice it to say I’ve never really been a fan of exercise.

But I’ve always loved to ride my bicycle.

My first bike was a hand-me-down from one of my cousins.  How it worked in our family was that you learned to ride on THIS bike:

schwinn

Note: Not actual bike. Pic borrowed from http://ratrodbikes.com where some dude named “dogdart” was selling it. But he’s in PA so it COULD HAVE BEEN MINE YO

…and then, on your 10th birthday, you got a 10-speed bike – NEW, from the little bike shop downtown, which incidentally was owned by the dad of a girl who rode my bus and sat next to me in band, and we weren’t really friends because she was popular and I was fat, so she was only my friend on the bus for the four years her parents forced her to play clarinet.  And her dad was also my parents’ tax accountant, and eventually he went to jail for tax fraud or something, and his daughter dated the high school football captain who ended up calling her a slut and breaking her heart, so I guess being popular isn’t all glitter and unicorns.

But I loved that bike.  It looked a lot like this one:

Photo from http://www.sweatershoppe.com/

Also not actual bike. Original is currently mummified in my parents’ basement. Photo borrowed from http://www.sweatershoppe.com/

That bike was my ticket to freedom.  It was my getaway car – I’d hop on that thing and be off on an adventure.  It wasn’t unusual for me to take off for four, five hours at a time, just riding along, stopping to pick wild blackberries on the side of the road or catch crawfish at the creek.

Later, when I got a speedometer, I got to see how far – and how fast – I could go.   I grew up in PA, which is very hilly – those gears came in handy, and the payoff was zooming downhill, at 30mph.  (Without a helmet.  Between that, riding in the back of the station wagon without seat belts, and sleeping in death-trap cribs, how did anyone survive childhood in the 70s and 80s?  Never mind roadside pesticide blackberries, copperheads under the rocks at the creek, and generalized Stranger Danger.)

Once I got to high school, I quit riding so much.  But years later – after college, marriage, two kids, and a painful divorce – I got a gift:

Actual photo. You can tell by the craptacular background.

Actual photo. You can tell by the sucktacular composition and the general lack of housekeeping.

It was another hand-me-down bike…but it was in pristine condition, purchased by a friend who had more money than ambition (she also smoked a lot and drank a lot – while I don’t judge, I suspect this hindered her desire to hop on a bike.)

I didn’t use the bike much at first; it sat largely unused for several years.  But recently, I’ve rediscovered the sorts of things you can explore while you’re escaping from the world for awhile:

Lake1

At the top of a hill in rural Wisconsin. A REALLY BIG HILL. #worthit

bikeflowers.

Like a little firework burst.

bikeflowers2

I love these. They’re like little snowballs. IN SUMMER.

swans

Tucked behind a small bend.

On a bike, you’re not focused on exercising.  The goal isn’t necessarily to burn calories.  (Yeah, I track them.  When an hour of hard riding burns off like four Oreos, you take credit every calorie you can get.)

When you’re standing on the pedals to kick a hill’s butt – when you’re flying down the other side, drinking in the thrill of the speed and the relief of the breeze – when you’re taking in, free of charge, all that nature has to offer – you’re not worried about the size of your thighs and the bulges around your waist.  You aren’t beating yourself up over the amount of space you occupy.

You can just…be.

You’re free.   At least for a little while.

Even if it’s temporary – even if life keeps me tethered to a lot of heavy, messy, cumbersome things –  I’m so very thankful that I can remember what it feels like to fly.

Six down, four to go.  Light.  Tunnel.  ONWARD!

Today’s victim select recipient is Mermaid in a Mudslide – she has such a variety of topics, I suspect she’d be all over something like this.  Plus, her posts make me smile.  🙂

The Love/Hate Challenge! Part 2: I Hate Cantaloupe and Toothpaste Food

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Because of my inability to “keep it short”, this is a continuation of the Love/Hate Challenge I started in my last post. If Chelise at Caterpillar to Butterfly is still reading, she’s probably regretting nominating me.

lovehatechallengeDA RULES:

  1. List 10 things you LOVE
  2. List 10 things you HATE
  3. Nominate a few suckers to do the same

I got through three of these in my last post…seven to go.  So…let’s talk about FOOD!

10 THINGS I LOVE and 10 THINGS I HATE (in unranked order) – PART 2:

4a.  I love ice cream…

Ice cream is kind of a no-brainer.  What’s not to love here?  It’s creamy, it’s cold, it’s sweet, and if it’s done right, it has lots of chunks of candy, fudge and peanut butter in it. If it’s done wrong….wait.  Ice cream is never wrong.  Never mind.

I have a long history with ice cream.  Growing up, we always had some in the house.  It was a staple, just like eggs, cheese, and peanut butter.  It was Dad’s favorite late night snack; if the container was mostly empty, he’d just sit in his recliner with the thing, scooping along the sides as they melted with a sleeve of Ritz crackers.

We rotated through a few flavors in the freezer – chocolate, Rocky Road, Neapolitan (with the chocolate gone and the vanilla half-eaten, leaving the freezer-burnt, Barbie-pink artificial strawberry third left to fossilize.)  Typically, we also had Breyer’s vanilla, which is absolutely the best vanilla on the planet.

Now, I KNOW what you’re thinking – “Vanilla?  Isn’t that kind of…dull?”  Well, Breyer’s was born in 1866 and they do vanilla right, with real cream and flecks of vanilla bean (OK, for all I know, it’s dirt and cockroach legs, but it tastes so good I really don’t care.) And vanilla is ONLY boring if you don’t have a can of Hershey’s syrup handy, or a jar of peanut butter, or even some REAL maple syrup to put on it.  (Yes, my Pennsyltuckey roots are showing.  But if you haven’t had peanut butter on ice cream?  You are seriously missing out on genius culinary artistry.  Life is short – put it on your shopping list, like, NOW.  You’re welcome.)

I didn’t meet Ben and Jerry until college, and while they work their hippie labels, trendy names, and boutique flavors to tempt me into an illicit threesome of debauchery, I will always have a spot in my heart for my boy-next-door Breyer’s.

4b. …and I hate cantaloupe.

You know how sometimes, life chucks you an unexpected curveball, and people halfheartedly attempt to demonstrate their superior coping skills by saying, “Well, God is showing us He has a sense of humor”?

Well…yes.  Yes, He does.  I have proof. It’s cantaloupe.  Which is CLEARLY the practical joke of fruit.

I mean, look at it.  First of all, it totally looks like a giant eyeball wearing fishnets, which SHOULD be cool, right?!  Check it out.  It’s totally watching you when you don’t look directly at it:

Picture borrowed from http://www.health.com/health/gallery/0,,20676415_15,00.html

Picture borrowed from http://www.health.com/health/gallery/0,,20676415_15,00.html

And then you slice into it, and SURPRISE!  Bright orange – my FAVORITE COLOR!  So far, so good….this should be AWESOME!  And BONUS – it’s one of the healthiest foods out there, solving world hunger, complex math equations, and leaping tall buildings in a single bound.

So you taste it, anticipating deliciousness.  And…

MOUTH ASSAULT!  MOUTH ASSAULT!  ABORT! ABORT!

Because you’re a dignified, refined adult, you run to the garbage can and hork the slimy blob directly into the trash.  You proceed to scrub your tongue with a nearby napkin, alternating with water to flush the residue away.

Obviously, this melon has gone bad.  I mean, people can’t be eating this and actually ENJOYING it, right?  You write off the horrific experience as an exception and go on your merry way.

And then, a few years later, you see a group of people digging heartily into a fruit salad.  The offending chunks of orange toxic waste are present, as are normal fruits you DO like – grapes, pineapple, watermelon.  You shrug, scoop out a serving, and dig in.

Nope.  NOPE.  NOPENOPENOPENOPENOPE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOPE

<ptoo>

You look around.  No one’s eyeing you sideways, stifling a giggle.  People are just standing around…EATING this stuff.  They look perfectly, disturbingly normal.

This has gotta be Candid Camera, right? Or the Twilight Zone?  BECAUSE YOU CANNOT SERIOUSLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT PEOPLE ARE CHOKING DOWN THIS SHIZ AND ACTUALLY ENJOYING IT.  Unless, like, there’s a case of alien possession or mind-altering radio waves zapping around from cranium to cranium.

Because what you’re ungraciously spit out tastes NOTHING like fruit.  Fruit is sweet and cool and juicy and makes your face smile.  This?  This is nasty.  MY FACE IS NOT SMILING.  This is NOT FRUIT.  It’s clearly the mutant forbidden love child of a lonely skunk finding comfort in an abandoned gym sock in a compost pile.  (This could TOTALLY happen, yo.  Totally.  Happen.  Compost piles can, like, spontaneously COMBUST – you add the heat energy to some genetic material and BOOM, foot fruit is born, and you chuckleheads are actually EATING THIS STUFF voluntarily.)  <gags>

5.  I love chocolate, but I hate mint chocolate.

Totally uncreative to say I love chocolate, I know.  But since it’s self-explanatory, perhaps I won’t need 1000 words to describe it.

(I make no promises.)

Chocolate is serious yum.  It’s a hug for the brain.  And it plays so nicely with, like, everything.  Peanut butter.  Oats.  Coffee.  Fruit.  Chili flakes.  Orange peel.  Ice cream.  Nuts.  Ants. (Yes.  Ants.  Seriously, try ’em.  They’re like little Rice Krispies in cocoa bathrobes.  Just don’t think about eating the legs and you’re good.  I swear.)

Chocolate is never an inappropriate reaction.  Bad day?  Good day?  Tax season?  Lottery winnings?  Delayed pizza delivery?  Basement flooded?  Found a quarter?  ALL CALL FOR CHOCOLATE.

I love it all. Dark, milk, everything in between.  Heck, I’ll even eat white chocolate.

Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, I should mention that a few years ago, I thought white chocolate was an abomination.  I mean, technically, it isn’t really chocolate at all.  Sure, it has cocoa butter in it, but so does suntan lotion, and we all KNOW that THAT is not something you want to be eating, no matter HOW good it smells.  (Seriously.  Don’t eat it.  Smells good, tastes like a candle.  Please do not ask me how I know this.)

I was convinced that white chocolate was an impostor, taking the good name of chocolate in vain, using the label to front its political agenda to the masses to push for acceptance.  But then Reese’s came out with a white chocolate peanut butter cup.  And, well, peanut butter, so I ate one a few.

And, you know what?  Not bad.

White chocolate will never be my first choice, but as I’ve matured, I’ve come to accept its place on the confectionery spectrum.  So I promote tolerance for chocolates of all shades and hues.  I frequently and enthusiastically celebrate diversity with chocolate.  And you should, too.

Except….DO NOT BE PUTTING MINT IN MY CHOCOLATE.

Mint in chocolate makes me cry.  Why would you do something so terrible to something so good?  Mint does to chocolate what Westboro Baptist did to Christianity.  The combo is an abomination that has no place in civilized society.  END OF DISCUSSION.

I mean, let’s be logical here.  Mint is the flavor of mouth-cleaning things.  Toothpaste.  Floss.  Mouthwash.  (Although I much prefer cinnamon for these things, you can hardly find them anymore – seriously, was there a boycott, or a cinnamon shortage/bark blight or something? –  so I’ve resigned myself to the sub-par mint varieties.)  We use mouth-cleaners to signal the end of eating for the day.  No more food, the meal is over, time for bed.

So you get chocolate – the food that you can never, ever get enough of – the food that you ALWAYS have more room for – mixed up with mint, the food finish line?

So, so wrong.

You’re sending your brain a damaging mixed message, not unlike the one that most women’s magazines send you, where the cover blares the incongruous dual signal that you’re supposed to drop ten pounds this month while baking this delicious coconut chip 3-layer cake for your family.  IF YOU LOVE THEM.

So don’t be putting toothpaste in my food.  It sends a sick, twisted message to our impressionable youth.  Plus, that shiz is nasty.

Five down, five to go.

P.S.  Speaking of hybrids – did you know there’s a cat breed called a Cheetoh?  FOR REALZ.  And I totally want one.  BECAUSE KITTENS.  Go to HERE and look!  (It’s like an embedded petting zoo, yo.)

Today’s select victim nominee is Heather at peaceof8 – because she writes pretty much how I think I sound when I talk, although after this rant she may not find that terribly flattering.  Ha.  😉

The Love/Hate Challenge! Part 1: Let’s Talk About The Weather

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I mentioned in my last post that Chelise at Caterpillar to Butterfly was kind enough to nominate me for two things.  This second bit is a challenge.  I’m gonna have to break it into chunks, because once I get ranting, it’s like planting zucchini – once it sprouts, it NEVER STOPS COMING.

lovehatechallengeDA RULES:

  1. List 10 things you LOVE
  2. List 10 things you HATE
  3. Nominate a few suckers to do the same

OK, nice and simple.  Except…ten is a lot.  Like lots of a lot.  And I don’t want to just regurgitate stuff I already wrote about.  That feels…kinda lazy, and sort of missing the point of the challenge, no?

Plus, “hate” is a pretty strong word.  Do I really HATE hate ten actual things?  Maybe we can agree to use “hate” here like we do in the common vernacular, versus its actual, too-dark-for-my-blog meaning.  Kind of like my kids do with “literally.”  (No, you will not literally starve to death if we don’t eat now, and you will not literally die if we do not buy this dress.)  So here, “hate” literally means “strongly dislike.  Mkay?

This may take awhile….

10 THINGS I LOVE and 10 THINGS I HATE (in unranked order):

1.  I hate to be cold…and I love being warm.

I despise being cold.  In addition to getting cold easily, and needing more layers than most folks, I have this lovely condition called Raynaud’s Syndrome that turns my fingers into Frosty Pops when it’s cold outside:

raynaudsAnd by “cold,” I mean anything under 40 degrees.  Which, in the Midwest, is fall/spring weather.  For winter, 20 is a warm day, and I would cry except the tears would freeze and glacier-slice my nose off.  Which might scare small children.

“So why did you move to Minnesota?”  BECAUSE I’M AN IDIOT.    (Well, technically, it was for a job, but I got the job because of a boy…but that’s a story – which, incidentally, still ends with “because I’m an idiot” – for another day.)

The good news is that it’s July and it’s WARM outside. It’s been close to 90, and I’m sitting outside as we speak just to soak it all in.  I cannot get enough of the WARM!

Unfortunately, the hubs (along with most normal humans, come to think of it) doesn’t like it much warmer than, say, 78.  That’s the tipping point for me where, if the sun’s out, I MIGHT be able to leave the sweater at home…as long as we’re not going anywhere, like out to eat, or shopping.  In that case, I’ll need to bring the sweater – or a parka – along for when we go back inside.

Which brings me to….

2.  I love my space heater, and I hate air conditioning.

So the building I work in used to be a window factory.  They eventually went out of business.  Why?  Well, in short, their windows totally blew goats.  In the summer, when the sun is shining, my office very quickly gets up to 84 degrees.  (Which is 100% hunky dory in my book – this is the first place I’ve EVER worked where I could actually wear seasonally-appropriate short sleeves in the office and not be looking to supplement my body heat with an auxiliary bonfire built from junk mail and personnel files.)

But in January?  I GET ACTUAL FROST ON MY WALLS. SOOOO NOT OK BRO.

So since I’m a unique, delicate orchid, I got special permission from HR* to have a space heater.  I crank that sucker ALL.THE.TIME and year-round.  (Yes, even in summer – my office will get up to 90 and BONUS!  Nobody stays more than five minutes!)  HEAT HEAT HEAT!  Aaaahhhhh.

*Yes.  This is the department I run.  I did ask myself very nicely, though.   And, after much deliberation, my request was approved.  Our HR team ROCKS!

Back to the sweater in my purse.  I live in the Midwest, where the temperature is below freezing pretty much from October through April, and for two of the three last winters, we’ve had snow in May.  Yes, you read that right.  Snow.  In.  May.  IN MAY PEOPLE!

So why, for the love of all things good, pure, and holy, must you attempt to replicate our annual deep-freeze INDOORS in the summer?  Do you not recognize the sheer insanity of recreating the Arctic Circle INDOORS WHEN YOU GET IT FOR FREE SIX MONTHS A YEAR?  Al Gore is TOTALLY going to smack you upside the head with a sustainable hunk of bamboo.

Sigh.

So I keep a sweater in my purse, just in case there’s an emergency and I have to go to the drugstore to pick up medication, or get groceries, or need new shoes.  It’s all about survival, peeps.

3.  I love sunshine, and I HATE SNOW. 

This is probably obvious, and somewhat redundant, given the first two.

No surprise on the sun here.  Sun = Warm.  But beyond that, I’m a big believer in the whole seasonal affective disorder thing, too.  You know how it is in the winter….

You wake up, and it’s dark. You drive to work…in the dark.  You drive home AFTER work…in the dark.  Day in, day out, for months on end.  By Valentine’s Day, we’re all a bunch of grumpy, pale vampires, just looking for an excuse to sever a random artery.  (I think this is why we began the tradition of passing out cards and chocolates in the shape of a heart.  So we don’t all kill each other.  Even though we want to kill SOMEBODY.)

So let’s talk snow.  I used to LOVE snow.  Snow was beautiful.  Snow was EXCITING!  When snow was a-comin, the energy was palpable.  People would be abuzz with wondering how much we’d get and what would be closed, and then when the snow DID come, we’d all stay inside all day and just watch it fall.

Aaaaahhhh.

So when I had a chance to take a job outside of Erie, PA, I jumped at the chance.  Erie gets TONS of snow!  And I LOVE snow!  SNOW SNOW SNOW!!!!

What I didn’t know at the time was that snow in Erie (a.k.a. “The Snow Belt”) is NOT like snow everywhere else.

You see, when it snows in Erie?  Nothing special happens.  Nothing’s closed, nothing’s rescheduled, nothing’s delayed.  If you venture to the grocery store, you will still be able to find bread, milk, toilet paper, and all of the ingredients to make chili.

In other words, it’s just another day.  Just another day….with snow on top.

And let me tell you what a day in Erie is like:

Get up early, because the weather is probably terrible.  Dig out car from 4-6″ of snow.  Drive to work while another inch of snow falls.  After working a few hours, tackle nature’s slip-n-slide to get some lunch.  Brush two more inches of snow off your car.  At day’s end, scrape your windshield and dig out from 3″ of newly fallen snow. Drive home in a whiteout.  REPEAT EVERY F#@$#NG DAY BETWEEN OCTOBER AND APRIL.

I wish I were joking.  I moved there in mid-November, and by Thanksgiving we had THREE FEET of snow.  THREE.  FEET.  And it just does NOT stop.  And if you’ve absolutely HAD IT and just canNOT go on another day, you can’t even freaking hurl yourself off your roof to end it all, because you just land in a snow pile.  You’re not dead; the closest thing ya got is making a snow angel.

I lived outside of Erie for three long, cold, brutal, hellacious winters.  And eventually, I moved to…Minnesota.  Yeah, it’s stupid cold here – but you don’t have to shovel cold.  (The tradeoff is that the ground is frozen solid, so there’s nowhere to bury bodies….)

Spring always comes.  Eventually.  No matter what that stupid groundhog says.  Right, Punxsutawney Phil?  RIGHT? <cocks gun menacingly and shows him THIS>

So – that’s three.  Seven love/hates to go.  I’m gonna nominate my soulmate fattymccupcakes because she’s hilarious, and because I bet she has some ideas for this that I can steal be inspired by.  MWAH 😉

The Liebster Award! a.k.a. Cube Cat, Aliens, and Grammatically Correct Memes

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8

I am embarrassingly late in responding to this generous nomination from Chris at Surviving the Specter.  Which is actually OK, as I am never on time for anything.  If I’m ever on time, or early, please assume what you are seeing is an alien apparition of me, and blast me to confetti with lasers.  For the planet.

Anyhoo….the award.  Chris was kind enough to link to some history behind this, so I’m stealing that to share, too.  GO TO HERE FOR HISTORY KTHX

liebsterpicSo, like all awards, this one has some rules, too:

liebsterpic_001OK, if we’ve met…that is too many rules.  And I get to the middle of #2 before I suddenly remember it’s been a REALLY long time since I made pie, and speaking of pie, my cat is so fat that he’s no longer round…he’s…a box.  I know cats like to SIT in boxes, but…WHOA MY CAT IS MAGICAL AND MORPHED INTO A SIZE 14 NIKE AIR BOX

OllieboxAdmittedly, without the swoosh.  Seriously, though, the dude needs backup lights.  I’m a terrible cat momma.

<slap> Focus.  RULES!

OK…did #1 already.  Here are Chris’s questions for me:

1.   In what state and/or country do you live (if outside the U.S.)?  I commute daily between the state of Confusion and the state of Denial.  Geographically, I grew up in PA, but nine years ago, moved here:

stay-for-the-car

 AND EVERY JANUARY I QUESTION MY SANITY.  <sigh>

2.   What is your favorite genre of music and THE band that goes with it?
OK, there is NO WAY I can pick just one.  What I like depends on the barometric pressure, the moon phase, and how much I weigh today. 

When I sing (did I mention I’m in a band?) I love ballads and good, throaty jazz.  On the radio I love P!nk and Ed Sheeran – I totally want to fix up my daughter with him, so they can have a flock of adorable redheaded baby girls and start a traveling quintet.  (She’s seventeen; it’s almost legal.  I just want what’s best for me her, ya know?)

3.   What is a life quote of yours?  I posted about this before – it’s also my favorite shirt:

shirtfront4.   Where do you find solace?  Like that corny Johnny Lee song, I look for it in all the wrong places – at the bottom of a giant bag of popcorn, inside a cereal box, in the arms of Ben and Jerry.  I don’t ever FIND it there (you’d think I’d learn to look somewhere else first….)

Where I actually FIND it varies.  In nature, it’s around water, or around giant rocks.  Sometimes it’s at the end of a run, hike, or a bike ride.  Sometimes it’s on the clearance rack at the shoe store.  Oh – and in butterflies.  Seeing a butterfly makes me feel peaceful.  I have convinced myself that butterflies are spirits coming to check on me to make sure I’m doing OK. (Sorry, Grandma, for bouncing you off my windshield the other day.  Love you.)

5.   What are three triggers you have?  Well, if I’m in *that* mood, I can make anything a trigger.  But through therapy (and wild guesses) I have identified some common triggers that make me feel fat AND give me an insatiable desire for ice cream, popcorn, and an entire jar of peanut butter:

  • Feeling irrelevant among my loved ones (especially the kids when they don’t “need” me.) 
  • Feeling self-conscious or un-confident. 
  • Any of HALT:  Getting too hungry, angry, lonely, or tired.  Or hormonal.  But that ruins the cool acronym.  THALH?  HALT-H? (uh, no, that sounds like a hemorrhoid cream.  Let’s just stick to HALT and assume hormones are in the mix.)

6.   Insert your favorite meme in the space below- Well, it’s NOT the one above.  That one just makes me sad.  And cold.  I like this one better:

helltoupee(Note that I got the little booger thing over the E there.  I keep it classy, yo.)

7.   What is a coping mechanism you use to combat your mental situation? I do my best to take care of myself – getting regular exercise and adequate sleep (or trying; some nights it’s more like “well, just lie here and rest….SHUT UP, BRAIN, your ONLY JOB for the next seven hours is to BREATHE.”  Suffice it to say it doesn’t always work.  OK, it hardly ever works.) 

I also try to remind myself that it’s cyclical; I know Sunday nights will be bad, as will every 4th or 5th week.  I just keep repeating to myself, “In a few days, this will be better….” over and over again.  I really should write myself some Post-It notes or something, right?

Oh, and I swear.  A lot.  Violently, rapidly, and voraciously.  F#@% YEAH!

8.   When you sit down to write a blog post, where does your inspiration come from?  Alien probes, subliminal messages from the government, pesticides, and high fructose corn syrup.  Or the hubs, my Facebook feed, funky shoes, and my cats.  (I’m not anywhere near as deep as a Pennsylvania pothole.)

9.   Right here, right now, say something to the person who has hurt you the most, beginning with, “I promise to…”  I promise to not junk-punch you if I ever see you again.  Mentally (as I mentioned elsewhere today) I’ll be dumping week-old clam chowder on your head, but I promise to appear to be cordial.  You KNOW that’s generous; I suggest you take it and back away slowly.

10. What one regret do you hold onto that you wish you could let go of?  I sincerely wish I had been kinder to my college boyfriend. 

He was my first relationship after a badly broken heart, and I used the relationship with him to play out all my anger, anxieties, and frustrations of the prior one.  I relentlessly messed with his head and repeatedly broke his heart – simply because my former boyfriend had broken mine.  Essentially, I used the poor guy to get my revenge on my prior love.  I know it was a crappy thing to do, but I was far too broken myself to recognize it. 

So Dean, if you’re out there, I’m sorry – you were a decent fellow who always deserved so much better. 

11. What’s the most valuable piece of advice someone has given to you?  “You miss all the shots you don’t take.”  Apply for that job, ask that guy out, bid on the shoes!  The answer is always NO unless and until you ask!  

OK, so now I have to list some folks to take on my questions list.  I’m sure you’ll find this stimulating and thought-provoking.  <snort>

  1. What is your favorite shoe?  (If you can’t answer this, we cannot be friends.)
  2. You won a million dollars.  What random gift would you send me?  (Wine is never the wrong answer)
  3. If you were going to go to a deserted island, and could only take three things, WHY WOULD YOU GO IN THE FIRST PLACE?
  4. What’s the scariest thing on your bucket list – and when are you doing it?
  5. What movie, song, or comic book hero most closely represents YOU/your life?
  6. What did you want to be when you grew up?
  7. You have to give up one of your five senses.  Which do you sacrifice and why?
  8. You have a seven-week sabbatical from work – paid time off.  Whatcha gonna do?
  9. What skill do you wish you had?
  10. What do you find most intimidating?  Most motivating?
  11. Do you believe in ghosts, spirits, the afterlife?  Why or why not?

NOMINEES:

whereshappy

tatisgalaxy

sinsandsecrets

peaceof8

8 + 3 = 11 so I think we’re all done here.  School of Close Enough gives me a B+, so…peace out, y’all.  🙂

What Your Incessant Quiz-Taking Says About You

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22

Unless you live under a rock – one not equipped with satellite internet – you’ve probably stumbled upon a veritable potpourri of assessments, quizzes, and tests.  My social media streams are absolutely polluted with them; trying to purge your feed of their appearance is as productive as attempting to cure Rapunzel of head lice – no matter what you pick, spray, smother, block, and hide, MORE JUST KEEP HATCHING.

Most of these are “entertainment only” (read: meaningless time suck) and have become a bit of an invasive species, subject to a quick “share” and “forward.”  (Even on LinkedIn.  Come ON, people, that’s the ONE corner of the internet that should be a save haven from “Which Kardashian Is Your Style Icon?”)

But others are actually somewhat – and surprisingly – insightful.

1.  The Glorified Horoscope.  These are the zebra mussels of the internet.  Once your social media stream gets infected, you either have to burn all the boats and set fire to the ocean, or just try to wait for it all to eventually, slowly die off.

You’ve probably experienced this:  one of your Facebook friends takes a quiz, and “shares” the results, inviting you to take the quiz, too.  By day’s end, roughly 42% of your friends have shared THEIR results, and the thing spreads like a bad stomach bug, barfing all over your NPR newsfeed and obscuring the new pictures of Pluto.  Just when you think it’s petered out for good, your mother’s results pop up on your feed, and then all of HER friends get in on the game.  Sigh.

These quizzes claim, in a matter of minutes, to offer you valuable insight and self-awareness as to

<insert mystical music and cloud of patchouli>

~WHO YOU REALLY ARE~

Yes, it’s true – in moments, you can find out which character from Friends you are – AND which one you should date, or what your taste in seashells, color patterns, or flowers indicates about what’s really going on inside your noggin.

We all know that these are nonsense, right?

Well, apparently, Monica was spot-on marrying Chandler, and lily lovers are wickedly independent and have killer shoe collections.  I mean, HELLO! <ring ring> Validation calling!

(Okay.  I took a few.  Don’t judge.  You know YOU wanted to.)  <runs to the interwebz to find out the correlation between Shredded Wheat and my penchant for backpacks>

The beauty of these things is that they’re as substantive as cotton candy, and the descriptions are written in such a way that a good hunk of them can pretty much apply to anyone.  Like daily horoscopes and fortune cookies, they’re closer to “one size fits all” than any piece of clothing can ever claim to be.

2.  I’m psychic and/or magical.  There are some other “quizzes” that claim to

<cue filmy scarves and hammered dulcimer tones>

~READ YOUR MIND~

Here’s one example:  Pick Pocket Money Trick.  Use this on your friends and you can MAGICALLY guess how old they are AND how much change they have in their pockets!

MAGIC.  I’m sure Ellen’s people will TOTALLY be begging you to be on her Tuesday show. <eyeroll>

People – this isn’t “neat” or “clever.”  IT’S MATH.  If Common Core focused on teaching THIS kind of logic, maybe we’d be raising a society of rational human beings instead of a plethora of entitled, egocentric, everyone-gets-a-trophy, forever-on-Mom’s-insurance-and-cell-phone-plan progeny.

But I digress.  Because I’m a geek (see Shredded Wheat, above) I actually convert these things into algebraic equations FOR FUN.

So here we go.  Let’s say I’m 29 (SHUT IT) and that I have 76 cents in my pocket.

  • Age (A) = 29
  • Coins (C) = 76

We also know that the answer is a four-digit number – so “the first two digits” means your age times 100 – this pushes your age into the thousands and hundreds column, and  will leave the last two digits (the tens and the ones) for coinage.  Our formula looks like this:

((2A+5)*50)-365+C+115 = 100A+C

Let’s solve the parenthetical expression on the left:

100A + 250 – 365 + C + 115 = 100A + C

Now let’s math out the numbers that don’t have A or C on them – 250-365+115.  Guess what that equals?  ZERO.

100A + C + 0 = 100A + C

See?  Wasn’t that fun?

Side note:  I was a math major for a whopping three days.  Still got it.  <strut strut>

If the above was complete gibberish to you – well, you probably have other talents.  Like maybe you can parallel park, or get past level 452 in Candy Crush.  Or maybe you’re just really pretty.  🙂

3.  Insightful Personality Assessments.  If the above just isn’t doing it for you, there really are some fairly useful tools out there on the Interwebs to help you learn more about yourself.  I swear I’m not feeding you some HR brainwashed psychobabble here – these can be extremely helpful to your own spiritual (and career) development IF you are open and receptive to understanding:

  • more about yourself and how you respond and react to others.  (Good AND bad) AND
  • how your <ahem> unique quirks and foibles are perceived by others, AND
  • how others react to YOU, and modifying your approach in the spirit of furthering communication.

In other words, everyone’s different – and different is OK.  Coexist and all that.

Most HR folks – or employees occasionally subjected to HR folks outside of annual benefits enrollment – have probably taken some form of Myers-Briggs-based assessment as part of “professional/career development.”  If you haven’t gotten your “letters” (i.e. ENTJ, INFP, etc.) yet, you can take a simplified version of this test at 16personalities.com.

Although I don’t love this methodology (because in one session, I (deservedly) was given the nickname “Steamroller,”) I took a whack at it.  It’s highly subjective, of course – but interesting all the same.

What am I?  The Debater.  What I found the most interesting (read: accurate):

ZOMG I DO THIS TO THE HUBS ALL.THE.TIME.

I also learned:

  • I rip apart arguments JUST FOR FUN (see algebra above…yeah.)
  • Arguing both sides helps me understand them better.  But I more do it because it amuses me.
  • I sometimes hurt people’s pwecious widdle peewings….and I don’t really care.  (And this can damage relationships.  Uh.  Duh.)
  • I’m not a huge fan of conformity or grunt work.  (Really – are there people who live to file?)

To be fair, this wasn’t really earth-shattering.  I’m pretty self-aware – flaws, pits, and all.  But it feels somewhat…I dunno, validating?  to see that I’m not a walking freak show.

(THERE ARE OTHERS.  BE VERY AFRAID.)

Chris from Surviving the Specter got me thinking about these assessments the other day.  His blog led me to The Enneagram Institute, where you can take the RHETI (Riso-Hudson Test.)  If you only take one quiz on this page, TAKE THIS ONE.  It’s quick,  free, and pretty thorough for the price!

What I like about this:  There’s TONS of detail in the explanation/description of your “type.”  Also, if your scores are close, there’s an entire section on “misidentifiers” – so you can see if #2 or #3 really fits you better.  I had one score just barely above three others, which were tied – and reading the misidentifiers helped validate my label.  (This seems to be my lot in life….I guess it comes from my need to argue every side of things, being The Debater and all.)

So here’s my rainbow: HybridPersonalityWhat I learned:

* I have a basic fear of being trapped, and need to sustain some freedom.  Interestingly, when I was a baby, I HATED my playpen.  Mom would plop me in there and I’d scream and cry like I was being stabbed.  But, interestingly…if she left me in the room with the playpen, with the side DOWN so I could get in and out by myself, I’d happily crawl in and sit in there and play ALL DAY. Hmm.  No metaphor THERE.  </sarcasm>

* I’m not terribly intellectual, but my brain moves really fast.  (Again, no huge enlightenment there – I’m reading Cosmo, not Tolstoy.)  Often, it won’t shut off.

*  When I’m stressed, I become critical and perfectionist-ish.  <picks up megaphone> Cue the eating disorder!

* I have chutzpah.  THE SITE SAID SO.  And “chutzpah” is one of my favorite words on the planet.  Coincidence?  I THINK NOT.

The details of my type (Type 7, The Enthusiast) are here, but don’t read about ME – go get your own test done.

I know these tests are oversimplified. I know it’s silly – bordering on ridiculous, really – to think that all of planet Earth could be categorized into eight or sixteen or even 1600 “types.”

But if you’ve ever taken the time to find out what your finger length or your wall color “says” about you – why not invest a few minutes in discovering what you “say” to others?

Rather than comparing yourself to a fictional character or a zoo animal, have a look in the mirror.

Study what you see.

Get to know YOU.

Warts and waterfalls, flowers and flaws.  All of it.

Be fabulous, just the way you were imperfectly, wonderfully made.

I mean it.  Or I will totally find you some more algebra to do.  I HAVE MATH AND I KNOW HOW TO USE IT.  Heh.

Dragon’s Loyalty Award and Random Katie Factoids

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What’s better than your run-of-the-mill, everyday WordPress blogging award?  AN AWARD WITH DRAGONS.

I wanna be a dragon.  You can fly.  You can cook your food by breathing on it.  AND YOU CAN FRY MORONS BY BELCHING ON THEM. I mean WHAT is a better response to being served a heaping serving of steaming asserole than to insta-char the jerk into a silent block of carbon?  *POOF* and YOU’RE a briquette….<mic drop>

(Side note:  I actually wrote about how charcoal briquettes came to be once.  Never accuse me of not having diverse interests.)

A hearty thank you to Chelise at Caterpillar to Butterfly for the nomination!  (Chelise writes about codependency recovery – she’s a good read – plus her name is like the BEST. DRAGON. NAME. EVER.  Right?)

dragonsloyaltyaward

THE RULES:

  • DISPLAY THE AWARD CERTIFICATE ON YOUR WEBSITE
  • ANNOUNCE YOUR WIN WITH A POST AND LINK TO WHOEVER PRESENTED YOUR AWARD
  • PRESENT 15 AWARDS TO DESERVING BLOGGERS
  • DROP THEM A COMMENT TO TIP THEM OFF AFTER YOU’VE LINKED THEM IN THE POST
  • POST 7 INTERESTING THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF.

The rules, the way I’m doing them, because NO ONE TELLS A DRAGON WHAT TO DO:

THE RULES (Dragon Kate-style <roar>):

  • DISPLAY THE AWARD CERTIFICATE ON YOUR WEBSITE (I’m good with this one.  Copy, Insert, CHECK.)
  • ANNOUNCE YOUR WIN WITH A POST AND LINK TO WHOEVER PRESENTED YOUR AWARD (That makes sense. No reason to be all ninja about it, right?  Although a ninja/dragon battle would be super rad.)
  • PRESENT 15 AWARDS TO DESERVING BLOGGERS (Uh…do I even KNOW 15 people?  Maybe I’ll divide that by, like, three.  Because three’s a crowd, and when you have three people, you ALWAYS end up with two against one.  Thus, three ALWAYS divides, so I come up with five.  Because math.  It’s legit.  Common Core says so.  It’s explained at a simple fourth-grade level here.)
  • DROP THEM A COMMENT TO TIP THEM OFF AFTER YOU’VE LINKED THEM IN THE POST (That feels like cheating.  Like making the Easter eggs beep and buzz so you find them before they self-ferment into noxious holiday grenades.  If they deserve the award, they’ll find themselves mentioned here.)
  • POST 7 INTERESTING THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF.  (Um.  Well.  The odds are better that you’ll find seven more interesting things on a pack of gum, or in a toddler’s diaper.  (Hey, my kid ate crayons.)  But I’ll try.)

So here are my 15/3 nominees:

fattymccupcakes, because she is freaking hilarious, and because she told me the other day that I AM HER NEW FAVORITE.  You may commence the weeping and gnashing of teeth now.

luvbearlvx, because he actually DOES cry, plus he claims I need to up my snark game.  <thunk> GAUNTLET DOWN, BRO.

The Persistent Platypus, because she went on a diet this week and diets suck, so maybe dragons will cheer her up.

Walking After Midnight, because we are coffee soul sisters #teamDunkin

Remember the Good Stuff, because she writes a lot of feel-good warm fuzzy things that are always a pleasure to read.

And now, since I know you’re all just dying on the vine waiting for my seven fascinating personal factoids that will enrich your life and resolve global warming:

1.  My all-time favorite letter?  Q.  Q and I have a lot in common.  Loving Q means you’re never lonely, because Q is always with U!

<insert three-hour time delay while Kate pleads guilty at Bad Pun Prison>

Q is HIGHLY underutilized.  When I’m trying to mess with someone’s typing, it’s easy to approach from the side and sneak in a few random Qs when they’re typing.

Q Q Q qq QQ

See?  Immediate hilarity.  YAY Q

2.  I collect frogs.  In addition to having them all over my office, I have one on my laptop:

laptopone on my car:

FrogTruck(Shout out to Vinyl Disorder for the decals.  They rock.  Clearly.)

And one on ME! (I’ll let you guess where.  NO, it’s NOT on my butt, you sicko.)

frogtatt

I love the tropical poison dart frogs.  Cute, but deadly.  I can relate to that.  And then there’s the acronym that can be a soothing reminder to the scathing voices in my head:

  • Fully
  • Rely
  • On
  • God

We could all use more frogs.  PLUS THEY EAT BUGS.  Bugs suck.  More frogs = fewer bugs.  Winning!

3.  My fingers are double-jointed.  I can bend the tops without bending the middle joint….

freakfingersFREAAAKKKKYYYY

And so is my thumb.  The top of my thumb bends back 90 degrees.

weirdthumbIt also “clicks” when I bend it back to a normal position.  Over and over and over again.  It’s super fun when you have people around you who hate, with the fire of a thousand suns, the sound of knuckles cracking.  <click click click> They cringe, cower, and eventually cover their ears and hide under the table, curled up in the fetal position shuddering and weeping silently.

Heh.  <click click click>

4.  I can’t pronounce the work “coagulate.” When I say it, it sounds like “co laj a gate”.  It’s a sickness.  I can’t fix it.  I don’t even try any more. 

5. I have two birthmarks.   One is a strawberry hemangioma on my upper right arm. I was quite self-conscious about it when I was a kid – I mean, it looked like a moose had randomly given me a huge hickey.

The good news is that the doctors have reassured my parents that it will TOTALLY go away by the time I’m twelve or so.  (Seeing as how I’ve turned twelve three times, and am edging uncomfortably close to Twelve Number Four….I’m less optimistic.)  

The other is a flat, brown mole on my left ring finger.  If there’s a dermatologist in the room, it usually catches her eye, because apparently, it looks a lot like cancer.  But it’s been there all my life.

chocfingerWhen I was a kid, I fondly called it my chocolate mark – I told people that was born with the label that, like, REQUIRED me to eat chocolate ALL DAY LONG.  (This had the effect of distracting them from the moose hickey, which, while interesting, will never be chocolate.)

6.  I am allergic to cockroaches.  This seems to be pretty unusual, given the odd looks I get when this comes up in conversation.  Which happens more often than you’d think. 

How did I discover this?  In college, I got a summer job cleaning dorm rooms.  (High glam here, folks.)  I started breaking out in horrifically disfiguring hives periodically.  It’s a unique look that the world wasn’t quite ready for – understand this was 30 years before Lady Gaga, and we’re not quite ready for her, either.  Think having your entire lip swell up is chic gorgeous?  Try HALF YOUR LIP.  Stunning.

So off I went to the allergist, where they performed a scratch test.  Essentially, they draw a grid on your back, and put a drop of allergen in each box.  Then all the allergists come over and play Hive Reaction Bingo: They randomly select different allergens, and when the square is called, they take a needle <shudder> and just barely scratch your skin so the drop seeps in and the aforementioned allergen infects you.  Whoever’s square flares up the most wins a prize – probably a tongue depressor and a lollipop.  And, of course, bragging rights. Obvs.

So it turns out I’m allergic to dust mites, birch trees, and cockroaches.  It’s quite the icebreaker.

7.  I’m deathly afraid of canned biscuits. 

biscuitsofdeathBECAUSE THEY EXPLODE.  You gently tap them on the counter, and JUST when you’re starting to feel the beat, BOOM!  Biscuit blams out of the container and scares the ever-loving shiz out of you, causing you to scream like an evil clown with an ax just popped out from the broom closet.  Out of sheer terror, you drop the can and it crashes to the floor, taking with it your ruined dreams of dinner and world peace.

I don’t eat canned biscuits anymore.  (Because gluten, and because chemicals.  Delicious, toasty chemicals.)  But, when I used to, there was only one way I could possibly get the dough out of the can:

  1. Gently, slowly peel label back JUST A LITTLE BIT.  Gently.  Slowly.  STOP when you start to see brown paper.
  2. Hold can in right hand.  Stand next to countertop, minion, little brother’s head, or other hard surface.
  3. Use left finger to plug left ear.  Shrug right shoulder up to plug right ear.
  4. Squinch eyes shut as tightly as you can.
  5. Begin chant of “LALALALALALALA” to cancel out surrounding biscuit explosion noise.
  6. While chanting and holding position above, whack can firmly on counter 3-4 times.
  7. STOP.  Peek cautiously out of one eye. If can is open, relax and access biscuits.  If can is still intact, IMMEDIATELY return to Step 1.  Repeat steps 1-6 until you see biscuits.

So there you have it – the seven most interesting things about Kate.

Dragon-approved.

Really.  Go ask one.

And bring marshmallows, just in case she doesn’t feel like chatting.