and twitter, because seriously? check it out!
Not nearly as hilarious if you don't recognize that man, but I know him well, and I barely do. Go, alter loved ones, hilarity will ensue.
Oh, hi! It's August. Sort of snuck up on me. If you're not watching the Olympics, you're missing some nail-biting gymnastics action. Did you know there's a 33 year old woman competing for Germany? That's like 58 in gymnast years, so it's pretty amazing. Also, the men are going to medal, despite being the underdogs. Just watch.
You may have also noticed that things are quiet over at oddcoupling. It's just the frustration of our plans being on indefinite hold, because jobs? They are limiting and highly annoying. Eventually, there will be blissful cohabitation, and you will hear all about it. For now, you will have to be happy with our individual nonsense...or his, at least, because he actually writes more than once a month! Occasionally I'll drop by here and have something to say, I'm sure. Just busy busy busy.
My boyfriend may have alluded to the possibility that I'm having an affair with my iPhone. While that seems weird and highly unlikely, not to mention kinky in the nerdiest way imaginable, I do love it as much as one can love an object. It's everything I thought it would be back when I first began imagining all of the cool things it would do.
It does all that stuff and more and will only become more impressive as more apps get developed for it.
Its most impressive feat so far? It inspired a rare post here. Cool huh?
Well, I was hoping my next post would be from my super awesome brand new iPhone. Unfortunately, I just cannot bring myself to wait on line for 3 hours in order to obtain that little piece of deliciousness. Yes, the lines around here are STILL that long. While I'm a huge fan of Apple in general, this is one area where they have caused a huge letdown. They have not handled the demand of this new release even remotely well. So HMPH to that whole situation. I'll let you all know when I get my hands on one, likely in the next week or so, when the hype has quieted to a dull roar. In the meantime, if you are the proud owner of the new iPhone, I'd love to know what new little applications are most helpful to you. This little GPS helper looks especially good to me, and will probably be the first thing I shove onto my phone. I always always get lost and forget where everything is. My sense of direction just needs a little help sometimes.
Right now, I'm watching the season premier of Project Runway, so I'm temporarily content. Every season, the designers get exponentially more badass. I will pick my favorites and let you know who the winner will be later.
After well over a decade of not doing much physically except for yoga, I would say I'm in pretty good shape. I was a very competitive gymnast as a kid, though, and have always wondered how able my body would be to do even a fraction of the stuff I did back then.
Well, wonder no more. I took an adult gymnastics class today, and I have to say, it was ridiculously fun. Turns out, muscle memory totally works, and after the first 30 minutes, my body started to get with the program, and I pulled off some basic, yet solid tumbling. Sure, after only a couple of hours, I started feeling the muscle aches, but that is a great sign to me of how much my body needed that extra workout. It was at the 12 hour post-tumbling mark that I realized I might be crippled for the next day or 4. I hurt everywhere. The good kind, that makes you feel you've accomplished something in your body, but also the kind that is really really sore, like so sore I'm afraid of what waking up is going to feel like. I'm still going to go back at least once a week, because I'm a glutton for punishment. Also because I can't believe how much fun flipping in the air is, and I'm a little surprised that I have kept myself from that feeling of flying for this long. What was I thinking?
This weekend, I should be headed to Chicago, but I couldn't pull it off. After moving and all of the expenses that incurred, it was just not meant to be this time around. Sorry to those of you I would have loved to spend the weekend with, especially my man, who is forever patient and took the news much better than I would have in his place. I owe all of you a round of drinks. We were considering Vegas at the end of the summer. Anyone care to meet us there?
In other news, the new iPhone is released tomorrow (technically today if you're the sleeping type), and I will finally be collecting my piece of Apple phone goodness. So very excited. I look forward to my first blog from my iPhone. I'm sure it will be extra delicious just because of the source.
Yeah, right there.
Stop squirming and take it.
Shut it right now or I'll cut you.
Yeah, that's how daddy likes it.
I blog-rape you!
Mostly, moving. Sure, I only actually moved for two days a couple of weeks ago, but moving is a process. For those of you who haven't put yourselves through this particular torture in quite a while, please allow me to refresh your memory. If you have a bit of a control issue, this will more closely speak to you in particular.
There is the sorting and labeling and organizing of all your worldly possessions before you even collect your first cardboard box. This will inevitably lead to the culling of your things, things that you thought just hours before you started were perfectly useful. Now they are just more things that need to be bubble wrapped, taped, padded, stacked or whatever, and sentimentality tends to lose out over the sheer amount of work it is just to move all that stuff from point A to point B.
9 pairs of shoes were sacrificed. Those ridiculous platform shoes I bought for $20 6 Halloweens ago to be hippy/mod chick? Probably didn't need to bring them the last time I moved. The lucky recipient of that Salvation Army box will be super groovy.
Once things do start making their way into (clearly labeled, organized by closet/room/use) boxes, it starts to feel like there is a light at the end of the tunnel. However, the oddest thing happens. That self-satisfied smirk gets repeatedly wiped off your face every time you open a drawer or closet door you haven't been in for a while and you see that there are 469 things you completely forgot about. Things you need. The boxes start to multiply and if you're even a bit of a procrastinator, you will find yourself on moving day, watching the bulk of your items be lifted out of the apartment and into a truck while you unceremoniously start chucking "last minute" things into even more boxes.
My kitchen alone was packed into 9 boxes. My new roommate is a chef. Besides his clothes, the only material possessions he brought to the move were kitchen related. Thank God for the large amount of kitchen cabinet space in my new apartment.
Other things that are awesome about my new apartment:
Soaring ceilings, large rooms, including bathrooms. I have so much cabinet space in my bathroom, I almost felt sorry that I threw away so many unused hair/skin products while packing. I have a good excuse to go buy more delicious beauty product now, though. I can't waste all of that good cabinet space. That would be irresponsible. There are children in China with no cabinet space!
Patio. Not some tiny little apartment balcony, but an actual patio, with a table, 4 chairs, and thanks to my man and my very sweet father, my brand new grill. The patio is large enough that with all of that stuff and some planters out there, there is still plenty of room to play fetch with my dog every morning. It's huge.
Even though this place is temporary until my man and I make our way into our new place together, I really like it here. I'm certainly not looking forward to making another move anytime soon, but it will be even more worth it next time. My roomie will be someone I can't wait to wake up next to every day, and for that, I will subject myself to the cardboard box torture. Besides, I'm totally going to make him do all the hard work.
Marc grew up in Newark, New Jersey. His jewish neighborhood flanked on either side by immigrants from all over. The melting pot this country promised people looking to start a new life. His father was strict and old-fashioned, but his mother was the heart of the family. She only had two children and they were her everything. He was a bit rebellious, very smart, but bored by school and not susceptible to authority. He was growing up in the perfect time, because his generation was all about pushing boundaries. Civil rights were being battled for, the lines of society's norms being blurred on a daily basis. He grew his hair long, smoked lots of pot, and played rock and roll. Not polished and clean, like the Beatles, but a little rougher, a little more homemade. They would dub it later "garage band". He and his friends from the neighborhood were some of the first to come together in that scene.
For a time, he moved onto a huge piece of land with other like-minded people. They wanted to change how things were done, not taking a job in some corporation and putting in 30 years, retiring with a token gold watch. They wanted to create things. The farm, they called it. Outsiders called it a hippy commune. That was fine with them. Straight-laced people would come visit, like a living museum. Tourists, they would buy homemade candles and bring back stories to their friends about hanging out at a commune with all those long haired, pot smoking hippies. The tourists were great, supplied much needed cash flow. Some of the other people on the farm were from wealthy families, gave it all up to live this new dream, but friends and family from their white picket fenced neighborhoods would visit, and the multiple worlds melted into one. That's the world the girl came from. Sheltered, certainly naive, but smart and pretty. She loved that he represented everything that was different. The complete opposite of the navy blazer clad boys she was used to. They ran away together and got married. Young and figuring it out along the way. He had to make sacrifices, especially when they they were about to become parents. He cut his hair, he took a "real job". He grew up.
Marc came into fatherhood with some trepidation, but as soon as his daughter was born, everything changed. This, he realized, was how he could do things differently. Be a different kind of father. Involved, honest, emotionally available like his father was never able to be. It was hard, their daughter was often sick, and by the time their second daughter was born, their young marriage had been strained by all of the responsibility, and the differences that once made them so attracted to each other became hurdles they couldn't quite clear.
He had already given up the rock star dream. He had a family to support. The only time he played the guitar was to sing lullabies to his little girls. Being a good father was made more difficult with the pending divorce, and he didn't want to be an absent father, with weekend visits. It soon became clear that decisions needed to be made. His estranged wife was prone to bouts of depression. Emotional highs and lows she didn't recover from easily. He knew his daughters would be more stable with him, but he also knew that if he fought for custody, it would be a long, hard battle. He consulted friends and his family, and was told time and again that yes, it was the right thing, but his chances were slim. In the end, he won that battle, was able to raise his girls surrounded by the women in his family who taught him how to be both mother and father. He made sure that the door was always open for their mother, to be as involved as possible. It was never his intention to keep her out, only to shield them from the bumps he saw in the road for her, to allow her to grow up before she tried to raise them.
I have no idea who I would be today if my father hadn't made those decisions. The sacrifices he made in order to make sure my sister and I were safe and healthy were enormous. My gratitude for that will never be expressed properly, I just don't have the tools to do it justice. Some men were born to be fathers. I am fortunate that my father is one of those men. I don't always call when I should, let weeks go by without telling him I love him. I am my father's daughter. The traits he instilled in me are the ones I am most proud of. I know I should tell him those things more often. I don't think he knows about this site, so he will likely never read this. But today I will call. Today I will tell him I love him and I hope he hears all of it in those three words. Happy Father's Day.
Idea from Abigail via Schmutzie via Shannon
The concept:
1. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
2. Using only the first page of results, pick one image.
3. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into Big Huge Lab’s Mosaic Maker to create a mosaic of the picture answers.
The questions:
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food? right now?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. What is your favourite drink?
7. What is your dream vacation?
8. What is your favourite dessert?
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. What is one word that describes you?
12. What is your flickr name?
**edited to add**
13. Where is home?
What can I say? I like the number 13.
1. Stormy Elizabeth, 2. Hinamatsuri sushi, 3. oooold tree, 4. ♫ YO Yo yo, there's no place like a green penthouse... so i told the genie i wanted to be well hung. ^o^ ♫ nah... wildlife from singapore♫, 5. Jaime Lees @ Atomic Cowboy, 6. DORAEMON in Brown, 7. weekend inspiration, 8. Pumpkin Brioche Bread Pudding, 9. mom n baby, 10. Views Aren't the Same Without You, 11. playful Cai, 12. Welded Rose of DeKalb, 13. Jersey City Across the Hudson
I love Top Chef. That said, was it really necessary to have the first part of the finale replete with piglets? Piglets are awesome as long as they are running around looking all cute. Sliced open or spinning on a spigot, though? That will just make me avert my eyes and whine about it. Which means I spent a great deal of the first half of the show not actually watching, but listening to figure out when it would stop already. Please only display ugly things to be butchered and eaten in the future. Like brussel sprouts. Hideous creatures, those things.
Thanks.
I realize that some people think piercing the ears of a 2 year old is wrong for various reasons. We shall agree to disagree. My ears were pierced when I was an infant. I was never sorry my mom did that. Lillian loves loves loves jewelry. Her only complaint after her earrings were in was that she wanted to try 27 other pairs of earrings on. But, of course, she has to keep them in for a while to be sure they heal well. She is so fabulous.
With all of the other impending changes surrounding me, I thought it was time for the scenery around here to get a fresh new design. It's not quite finished, as there is some tweaking to do, and the header will continue to change monthly, as always.
If you're reading this in a feedburner of some sort, please, come on in, check it out. I'm bound to have broken some things in my need to rearrange (clumsily) a perfectly good template to suit my own needs. Feel free to let me know if things look wonky.
Thanks to the folks who originally designed this, and to the other folks who formatted it for blogger. I hope you feel comfy around the new place and you return often.
As hard as it may be to believe, my man actually has things to talk about other than me and our impending move. Despite certain people trying to prevent his hilarity from reaching the interwebs, he has overcome, and MYTGOD is back. Lovely new digs, don't you think? If you have stumbled here without realizing who or what mytgod is, I must warn you. It's offensive and immature and also it's hilarious. If you don't get it, that's fine. Please don't send hate mail, though, because it will only fuel his need to prod you into a politically correct frenzy.
P.S. He uses the word "vagina" a lot.
My brain works in a semi-obsessive way when it comes to any end of the emotional spectrum. Stressful? Excited? Either way, I tend to let my mind wander down the road of whatever is inspiring that emotion. So it only makes sense that my mind, and plenty of free time has been trained on home stuff. Design, color, furniture, it's all at the forefront of my brain, which is all a too-long explanation to say:
This kitchen cabinet/organizer thing is so beautiful, I want to lick it. And then I want to own it and organize every cooking utensil and small appliance I have, and then find more stuff to organize in it, because look! So much room! Who needs regular stupid kitchen cabinets anyway?
I saw this list of 7 Skills Every Woman Should Master over at Mighty Girl. I wanted to do my little part to help get it to 75, like the original Esquire list for men version.
Accept a compliment
Don't apologize or act coy. A simple heartfelt "thank you" will do.
Ask for help
It doesn't make you a frail damsel in distress. It just makes you human.
Let go of a grudge
Some people do things that will piss you off. That's ok. You've done plenty yourself to piss others off. You don't have to be bffs. Just let it go.
Leave the house in a state you are unaccustomed to
If you're the type of girl who never leaves without lipstick, go run some errands with a naked face. If you only wear make-up on special occasions, try putting some on before you go to the grocery store. Either way, it's good perspective on interacting with others while feeling slighty off your normal game.
Be a superfan of a sport, even if only for a day
Pick a team someone you care about loves. Wear the colors. Cheer and shout. Whether in the living room with them, or sitting at the game live. I dare you to not have fun. It's infectious. In the midst of the Triple Crown, this could be the best time, because horse races are super quick, and horses are pretty.
Listen
Without interjection, without a story of your own that is reminiscent, without advice. Simply listen attentively.
What skills do you think are important for women? (For those of you who did not click over, yes, the blowjob was already covered)
Today, we shall revisit my eyeball, since it was so fascinating before. Or because it's my eyeball and it hurts, so you get to read my bitching about it.
Spending the weekend with the family was great. I got to see my amazing, cutest-kids-in-the-world nieces (I shall torture you with the cuteness in a moment), and check out some possible future places to live. All good stuff. The only downer was that I seem to be developing allergies, mostly in my itching eyes, which I haven't experienced since I was a kid. Then last night, after bath and story time with the kids, my right eye became increasingly irritated. Starting with an itch that wouldn't go away and progressing to a slightly stabbing feeling as if there was a small shard of glass stuck in there.
The man and I went to dinner, where I proceeded to leave the table on several occasions to prod at said eyeball, sure that if I could just get out whatever was stabbing, it would be all better. By the end of the night, it was red and swollen and put me into a miserable mood. By the time I woke up this morning, I looked like someone punched me in the eye. Fun.
Straight from the airport to the eye doctor, and I was informed that I have a gross and highly contagious infection. AND allergies. Sweet. More so because my man almost surely will get it, being that he had his fingers all sorts of near my eye, trying to fish the non-existent thing out of it, and my little tiny nieces with huge eyeballs may also have gotten it, which breaks my heart.
Holding my breath for the next week or so, really hoping that those eyes don't get all red and ouchie.
P.S. You know you have a good man when you look completely disfigured and he
a. does not run screaming
b. does everything possible to help
c. gives you his sunglasses, even though he has to completely warp them to fit your tiny head, so the rest of the world doesn't stare at your disfigured eyeball.
It's been slowly happening...the mainstream media is getting it. Bloggers have a lot to say, and they are reaching such a wide audience. An audience that buys stuff and who influences others to do so. As I watched the infamous dooce creator, Heather, being interviewed this morning on the Today show, I was a little surprised at how slow they've been on the uptake. Unfortunately, Heather was subjected to the interview stylings of Kathy Lee, who admittedly knows zero about computers, much less the nature of blogging. Because of the mommy-blogging topic, Kathy Lee couldn't help but express some "concern" about blogging about and posting pictures of kids up on the internet. Because being a tv personality who constantly spoke about her children for years on tv is so different? Luckily, she mentioned this at the very end of the segment, and Heather handled it with class, despite being cut off for the next puff piece about home fashion.
I'm not a mom, but I've posted pictures of my nieces plenty. And while I'm not about to put up their address for potential sickos, I simply don't see what the big deal is. A kid who has been on a popular website is no more a target for predators than the kid walking around with their parents at the local mall.
Now that the mainstream has picked up on the power of blogger moms, how long will it be until they begin to recognize that non-moms have the power to affect the marketplace as well? Some niche businesses have been smart enough to see it, like in poker and tech gadgetry, but I think it's still in the baby stages with most of the marketing world. What type of blogger will be the next to carry the weight of the mass media?
Ok, boys. You're in luck. All the secrets of the universe, or at least the ones in women's heads, are about to be revealed to you.
We sometimes push, just to see how you will react
Some of you may have figured this out to some extent. Most of you don't really get why we do it, though. Usually it's little things, little insights into what you're thinking, since you are so great at communicating that sort of thing without our espionage. Sometimes, though, and this is important: things that may seem like they are unimportant, are indications of larger issues. Also, this behavior can be completely subconscious. I have, at times, only realized after one of these conversations that I was pushing those buttons.
Not ALL women are on the fast track to marriage and baby making
Some women, many more than you all realize, don't actually have that hunt-a-man-down-to -marry-and-procreate-with gene. Some of us are happy just to find someone we connect with and enjoy that person. If the natural progression of that relationship leads to the rest of it, then that's fine, but if it doesn't that is ok, too. That being said, you need to know where a woman is on this issue. Assuming she feels one way or the other about it is a dangerous thing, because if you're with a woman who has no long-term intentions, and you act as though your future together is all mapped out, this will freak. her. out. Conversely, if you do happen to be with a woman who is picturing happily ever after, and you don't acknowledge any future together at all, she will quickly grow tired of you coming on board. The good news is that there is a very easy solution to the confusion. Have a conversation.
It's not that your opinions aren't important. It's just that our opinions are important,too, and maybe you haven't made it clear that you have heard them
Whenever I talk to a guy who claims his wife/girlfriend is bossy or overbearing, I ask the same question. When was the last time you told her you agreed with her? More times than not, those men assume that their ladies are trying to throw their weight around, when in reality, they are just trying to make their point (maybe repeatedly), because those men never simply say, "yes, I agree" or "that's a good point".
It's ok to argue, but if that is the main source of the passion in your relationship, something just aint right
We all know people who are in that kind of relationship. They are either fighting or they can't keep their hands off of each other. Some people, and women are certainly as guilty of this as men are, feel like if there isn't drama, there isn't passion. Passion is also in the little things. It's in the loving glance, the hand on the small of her back in a crowded room. If your relationship is constantly hanging by a thread of high emotion, it's not because the intensity is so great that it overshadows everything else. It's because the everything else might be missing. The common ground that sustains a relationship might be muddy. That kind of thing can be fun for a while, but it never lasts.
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