I wrote.
Category Archives: Blogging
Finally!
Before I announce the winner, I wanted to post the “Author’s Picks” for the drawing. I also included a few picks of my own. If I ever do this again, I’m just putting ALL of the names in a hat because choosing is hard and I feel all guilty inside that everyone couldn’t win and dudes, I’m so not cut out for these things because I’m more of a “French fries for EVERYONE!” type of girl.
That said.
Here we go.
Presents are the best way to show someone how much you care. It is like this tangible thing that you can point to and say “Hey man, I love you this many dollars-worth”.
I’m thoroughly enjoying reading all of your “random facts.”
I’m also suffering from extreme guilt as I’m reading them because I know I can give the book to only one person.
And that just sucks.
That said, here’s how it’s going to go down. I’ve asked the authors, Kathy and Joelle, to read through the comments and each pick 5. I’m going to pick 5 as well. Then, I’m going to put those 15 names into a hat and draw a name.
I’ll leave the comments open until Monday morning and The Winner will be announced sometime on Tuesday.
This has been so much fun for me that I’m thinking of doing another giveaway very soon. And this one will be awesome, for it will be a basket of “Y’s Favorite Things.” Kind of like Oprah’s, except not really anything like it at all. First of all, Oprah can’t fit her things in a basket, because her favorite things are plasma tv’s and digital cameras. MY favorite things most certainly can (and will!) fit in a basket because my favorite things consist of things such as “fabric softener” and “fritos”.
I bet you can’t wait for that.
LOL@ My Contest Skills.
Remember when I told you that my blog was featured in a book? And that I was also the technical editor of that book?
Well…
I have an extra copy of the book and I’d like to give it away. If you’re looking to start a blog, or if you have a blog, but would like to learn how to do more with it, you really do want to have this book. (Hell, I learned things I’ve been trying to learn for years. It is awesome. I promise you.)
I have tried to come up with some kind of WILD AND KAH-RAAAAAZY contest, but here’s the thing: I suck and am the least creative person you will ever meet, SO! If you’d like to win a copy of the book all you have to do is leave a comment.
But! There’s a twist!
The comment has to be a random fact about YOU.
I’m not sure how I’ll pick the winner just yet, because I suck, but I’ll probably base it on the comment that makes me laugh the hardest, or cry the most tears, or quite possibly the one that makes me want to be a better person.
Bonus: I’ll throw in an autographed can of bean dip! (Signed on the lid! With a Sharpie!)
Comments are now closed. Winner will be announced soon!
Like, did you know that I have famous friends and stuff?
A few months ago, two very good friends of mine–Joelle and Kathy— shared some exciting news with me.
They were writing a book.
I was so thrilled for them for a thousand reasons– mostly because I love them dearly.
Kathy was the first person to design my first blog and Joelle designed my current blog. Their work is truly outstanding because they are unique (stop copying them, FUCKERS).
Imagine how (beyond) thrilled I was when they asked me (ME!) to be the technical editor of their book.
And imagine how I fuh-freeeaking thrilled I was when they included my blog in their book. (And also? I got a special “thank you” at the beginning of their book. And YES, it made me cry.)
I love them both and couldn’t be more proud of this book and not because I had a small part in it, but because these two women have been long overdue for this kind of recognition.
Now, what are you waiting for? Go buy their book already.
Whoops! That was rude. What I meant to say was “Won’t you please go buy their book already?”
My son just asked me what we were having for dinner and I said “Chicken Vaginas”. I blame Blogher.
There are about a million things I want to write about my time in Chicago at BlogHer–and with the exception of ONE thing, they are all good. And I will write those things, as soon as my children stop making me pay for leaving them for 4 days and my neck stops punishing me for not taking my meds so that I could have “a drink.”
Until that happens, I’ll leave you with a picture that pretty much sums up how much damn fun that I had while I was there.
I’m telling you, if you ever need (hotel room) party planner, I’m your girl.
(P.S. Anyone who has pictures from the 2603 party, I’d really appreciate if you can send them to me.)
(P.S.S. If you were there and I didn’t get a chance to say hi, because there were 203590 people there, please say hi now. And no thanks are necessary for The Burger. HA HA.)
Guest Post: Brought To You By The Letter Y
Being asked to write a guest post for someone whose blog you love is probably the most nerve-wracking thing you can be asked to do. Well, short of “go over there and sunbathe next to Jessica Biel,” of course. But when you’re asked to write a guest post, all of a sudden you forget how to be funny. You forget how to be witty and cool. Hell, you forget how to write.
(Oh, you thought I was writing this? Ha! Think again! I’ve actually employed my largest cat Charlie to tap away at the keyboard for me while I dictate to him from this comfortable fainting couch here. More tea, Charlie! More sandwiches! And slice the cucumber thinner this time! No opposable thumbs? Don’t give me that!)
Anyway, hi. I’m Holly. I write over at Nothing But Bonfires, where I talk frequently about living amongst the crack whores in San Francisco with my impossibly cute graphic designer boyfriend, Sean. Just to clarify, we don’t live with the crack whores, just near them—two blocks away from where it starts to get slightly sleazy and where men with wild eyes and matted beards will come up to you and say things like THE SPINACH OF YESTERYEAR IS FAR SUPERIOR TO THE SPINACH OF TODAY. (Oh, they’re not hardcore vegans. They’re just crazy. I think most of them never came down from The Great Acid Trip Of 1967. And likely haven’t showered since then either.)
We’re learning to quite like it, actually, and have really sort of settled in. The other day, in fact, as we walked out of our apartment building (in broad daylight, I might add), Sean pointed at a woman standing on the corner and said “that woman is a whore.” And I said “Sean! You don’t even know her! What has she ever done to you? Don’t insult her for no reason!” And he said “no, she really is a whore. She’s a prostitute. I see her on that corner all the time.” So apparently we now have, as well as a neighborhood dry cleaner and a neighborhood grocery store, a neighborhood prostitute. Should I bake her some cookies as a welcome, do you think? Ask her how business is going? Suggest a slightly more modest skirt on account of the fact that I really don’t need to see anyone’s knickers before noon on a Saturday, and especially not before I’ve had any coffee?
(Oh yes, I did. I just said “knickers.” I may have forgotten to mention it, but I’m British.)
But anyway! This post isn’t about me, it’s about Y—lovely, glorious, hilarious Y, whose blog I can’t even remember how I found, although I feel sure it had something to do with Amalah. I think perhaps Y left a funny comment on Amalah’s site, and I thought “damn, this woman should be my best friend immediately. She could make me laugh to the point of vomiting! What other criteria is there when looking for a friend?” And so I clicked on over to Y’s blog—following the premise of there’s more where that came from!—and damn, if she didn’t have me at “aerobic dancing.”
My god, I love aerobic dancing. Not that I’ve actually done it since, ooh, 1997, of course, but I just love the idea of it, all that choreography and synchronicity, the fact that you’re really just dancing the way you dance in your bedroom when the Violent Femmes come on the radio and no-one else is around. I frequently challenge Y to a dance-off, in fact—I’m all “bring it, yo! I will get you with these jazz hands!” And she’s all “oh, please, bitch—have you seen me do The Worm?” And I’m all “pah! The Worm? Ever heard of a little thing I like to call…the Grapevine?” And this, of course, is all over e-mail, which makes it doubly nerdy. In fact, when Y created a Typepad account for me so I could log in and write this post, she made the password “danceoff.” This is why, even though we have never met, I frequently feel the urge to hug her. Tightly.
But anyway! My post wasn’t going to be about crack whores and hugging, it was going to be about Y, and all the things that are not as cool as Y. And so I hereby present you with a special list, a list of things that may begin with the letter Y, and yet pale in comparison to the real Y, the one who, by the way, I could totally take in a dance-off.
For example: yaks. Is there anything special about yaks? I think not. Apart from the fact that they are found in Tibet, of course—which always gives ordinary things a certain sort of cachet, does it not? I mean, I bet even the telemarketers in Tibet are kind of awesome—yaks are sort of pedestrian, don’t you think? You know, as long-haired humped domestic bovines go. (I totally had to look that up on Wikipedia. Don’t worry.)
Also, there is yogurt. Yogurt is not as cool as Y because there is always a sense of ambiguity surrounding the way it should be pronounced. I, for example, say “yogg-urt.” But recently—inexplicably!—I have found myself saying “yoge-urt,” mostly to be understood by Americans. And also to fit in, because, you know, one’s self-esteem does take a terrible knock when one is asked “what? what? what? I don’t understand what you’re saying!” four hundred times by the employees in the dairy aisle at Safeway. This is how I started pronouncing “basil” the American way. It just became easier in the end.
Then there are yams, which, eh, whatever, they’re pretty much just sweet potatoes. And yellow fever, which also obviously sucks. And yodeling, which is nowhere near as cool as aerobic dancing as far as dorky hobbies go, and yo-yos, which always get tangled within the first two hours of being received in a Christmas stocking. Yachting I don’t particularly care for, nor am I a great fan of Yonkers, yuppies, yawning, or the YMCA song.
Which I guess just makes it official: Y—our very own Y!—is, quite simply, the new Y. Any questions?
Walking is Important
Remember last year when I wrote about the interview that I did for Alpha Mom?
Well, I thought (hoped? prayed?) that they had forgot all about that video and that I’d never see it online because oh, I DID THE MONKEY. But, guess what?
They didn’t forget.
The video is up.
I DID THE MONKEY.
I don’t have much to say about it except that what I said about The Liquor? Was a joke. I probably should have said something like “ha! ha! KIDDING!” But, I didn’t
OOPS. [Doug Heffernan Voice]AWKWARD[/Doug Heffernan Voice]
Also? I “walk”. That is what I do for “me” time.
I walk.
Because I am a Winner.
Test
This is a test of the “Oh my GOD I’m about to go all Half Latina on some hosting company ass if this thing does not start loading already” system. This is only a test. If this were an actual post, I’d be talking about how sad I am that my son now has a Man Voice because wasn’t it just yesterday that he was my little baby boy?
My Fingers are Too Tired To Type a Title.
There was a time where I would use this blog to vent every frustration, to work through every fear, every emotion. Whenever I was feeling sad, I’d sit down and write through it, sometimes sobbing the entire time I was typing away at the keyboard. I’d feel better almost immediately after writing it, and almost always regret having written it 5 minutes after hitting “publish.”
Writing was therapeutic for me. It has been since I was a little girl. There’s just something about writing through a particular emotion that I have always found comforting. When I suffered a severe depression in 2003, I learned that while writing through my depression was a valuable tool, I needed professional help as well. So, I went and got me a psychiatrist, a therapist and various prescription drugs (which I no longer take.)
I also learned that when you’re open with your thoughts, your emotions, your fears, your mental illness, people will use that shit against you. They will twist your words, they will mock you, they will call you names and so on and so forth. Now, I’m not a sensitive person. I’ve developed pretty thick skin over the years. I’ve had to in order to survive in my family. We’re a pretty brutal bunch and it’s not uncommon to be teased about everything from my weight, to my overly protective nature, to the way that I dress. I have learned to laugh at myself and to even take it a step further and be self deprecating every chance that I get. I’ve also learned that when complete strangers say nasty things, it’s more about them and their insecurities than it is about me. But, not always— I certainly give people a hell of a lot of material to use against me.
I have recently found myself extremely guarded about what I post online. I think it was good for me to pull back a little. However, I think that I’ve taken it to the opposite extreme. I’ve been avoiding writing about anything that involves my “feelings” or “the sadness that I feel deep within my soul because the life as I knew it has been completely turned upside down and my husband is depressed and not helping at all to get us out of this situation and I am the only one obsessively looking for a house we can afford and trying to get a better job and saving money and why isn’t he helping me? Does he want to live with my parents forever?” and instead writing about things like van heaven! And bean dip! Because hahaha! No one can use bean dip against you. (Except, they totally can, because did you know that the reason we don’t own a house is because I spend all of my husband’s money on BEAN DIP! 8 dollars a day to be exact!)
I recently confessed to Liz that I find it hard to write the way I used to, because I feel more guarded and protective of my feelings. She said something that I think about almost every day.
“You have to speak your truth.”
And she’s right. She’s right because I have hundreds of saved emails from women who have written to me to tell me how much they can relate to the things that I write. I’ve had women tell me very personal things that have made me weep because I know how they feel and NO ONE should feel that way about themselves. I have emails dating back to 2005, because those emails have meant the world to me and sometimes, when I’m having a really bad day, I’ll go back and read them. I feel so grateful to every single person who has taken the time out of their lives to send me an email telling me their stories, or offering their moral support, or giving me advice, or telling me their praying for me and my family.
I am sorry if you’ve sent me one of those emails and never received a response from me. Truly sorry, because as many excuses as I could give you for not responding, there really isn’t an acceptable excuse for it at all.
I’m not even sure where I’m going with all of this because what I was TRYING to say is that I want to find a healthy balance in which I write about things that are important to me (like my weight “issues” and my “feelings” ) and at the same time hold some things back because, really, The Internet doesn’t need to know everything.
One of the reasons that I love having this blog is that I can go back and read about things that my boys said and did four years ago. Things that I probably would have forgot about had it not been for this blog. I love reading how I felt when I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant with my daughter, or when Tony told me he wanted to “put a cup on my ass.”
The truth is my life is pretty shitty right now and I am sad most of the time. Not depressed, sad. That doesn’t mean that I am unable to find “joy” in my life, it just means that sometimes, I get sad. I’ve avoided writing much since moving in here with my mom because I’m really working hard on holding my true feelings prisoner inside of my head and pretending that “I’m FINE!” because if I say how I really feel or let that shit out, I don’t think I would ever stop crying. So, I save my tears for my pillow at night and put one foot in front of the other with a pretty little smile during the day.
PigHunter isn’t doing well either and has chosen to isolate himself from me and go to bed early instead of helping me get the hell out of my parents house. I try not to get upset with him, because I know he’s depressed and feeling like he’s failed his family. (because contrary to Popular Assholes on the Internet Opinion- he DOES share some blame in this situation, but I don’t air that stuff here because he’s a good man, an incredibly good father and I love him.) The truth is, we’ve both failed and this has been a huge wake up call for me. Most days I straddle the line of wanting to shake him and say “YES,YOU SCREWED UP, BUT SO DID I AND WE CAN MAKE THIS BETTER! HELP ME MAKE THIS BETTER!” and wanting to just squeeze him so tight and weep and tell him how proud I am for everything he’s done for this family and how it isn’t the end of the world, but the beginning of a new life for us.
The good news is that, with the exception of Gabby at bed time, the kids are as happy as they’ve ever been here at Grandpa and Grandma’s house. They can swim in the pool! Or play video games all night with their uncle! And the only chore they have is to clean up Bandit’s poop! It’s like an extended vacation! I was really worried about Ethan, because he was so devastated about leaving the only house he’s ever known, but he loves it here and I couldn’t be happier about that.
The other day I was in my room with Gabby and my dad called me. I asked him what he wanted and he said he wanted me to come and sit next to him. I got nervous, expecting another sermon on how all of this was happening because I had fallen away from God and if I would just get right with Him, things would start falling into place in my life.
But that’s not what happened. My dad hugged me and said “I love you, Mija.” And I said “I love you too, dad.” And then, he started to cry.
“Dad, don’t cry! Why are you crying?” I said, trying to fight back my own tears, because, “I’M FINE!”
“Because, I love you and I hate to see you hurting this way. I hate seeing you stressed out and constantly worried. You’re my daughter, I love you and I want the best for you and I am sorry that you’re going through all of this.”
Totally didn’t expect that. I wanted to cry, I wanted to just let it all go and tell him just how sad I really feel, but I didn’t, I held it in, except for a little tear that escaped and fell down my cheek while my dad openly wept for me.
He then started to pray for me in a way I’d not heard him pray before. Instead of asking God to “deal with me” for my sinful ways, he asked God to bestow his love and joy upon me. He asked God to show me his kindness and to take away all of my burdens and fears. I just sat there, not knowing what to say or do, fighting back tears because my dad could see through the facade and recognized how sad, nervous and stressed out I really am.
To see my dad break down like that was strangely comforting, to know that he loves me and worries for me.
I needed to know that and I definitely needed that prayer.
And what I really need now is to stop talking about this already and go back to holding it all inside because it’s much safer there and all of this crying makes me look even uglier than I already feel.
But! Before I go, I want to leave you with a little “treat.” (Yes, I am calling it a treat.) Remember a while back I had written another really long post and I told you about some tapes my mom found that contained recordings of 6 year old me singing songs about Jesus?. Well, my mom had those tapes put onto a CD and I just listened to it and now, I am going to share it with all of you, because I know you want to hear me singing songs about Jesus.
Enjoy.