Hey! Did I mention I’m guest posting at Glamour.com today?
That’s weird …
Hey! Did I mention I’m guest posting at Glamour.com today?
That’s weird …
Just when the whole marriage thing and the seeming impermanence of it all had me bummin’, someone steps off that pier and takes another grand leap of faith. And mine is renewed.
My step-sister is getting married. Is this not THE best engagement photo EVER?? It was taken minutes after her boyfriend proposed on the Brooklyn Bridge. Crazy kids.
I’m having a hard time multi-tasking. I have something in the works, Doogs … something I’m SO excited about, I can barely contain myself. Lately, it’s consumed nearly every thought.
Which is kind of the way I operate. Obsession is my friend. (In other words, Caution: Post Suckage Ahead.)
At any rate, I’m really working hard to try and get it up and running as soon as possible, and I’m crossing my fingers that you’ll love it.
For lack of a decent post, I give you the Jonas Brothers Sing-Along. I know there are more than a few of you who love these guys — sadly, it wouldn’t be right to make fun of you considering my unnatural preoccupation with Edward Cullin. I don’t know the song, so you’re spared the agony of listening to ME sing, but you Closet Karaoke Enthusiasts will enjoy.
Growing up in a mountain town, you learn to make your own fun. Which sounds like such a cliche, I know, but it’s true.
In high school, most extracurricular activities — legal and, otherwise — revolved around the outdoors. In the winter it was skiing or snowmobiling. Tubing on Peet’s Hill. Oh, and Hookey-bobbing. Which just means hanging onto your friend’s car bumper while the driver pulls you along icy streets. Alcohol and a complete absence of common sense go a looong way.
In the summer it was waterskiing and floating the rivers. It was sitting in natural hot springs [keeping a watchful eye out for bears]. Flyfishing. And cliff jumping.
The key was to point your toes and keep your hands at your sides. Forget this important detail, and … well … we’d all heard the stories of people splitting the bottoms of their feet and the palms of their hands wide open upon impact.
Sometimes, we’d go well past dark, gathering around a bonfire on the bank opposite the cliffs. Inevitably, someone would rally a few fellow idiots willing to throw caution to the wind and jump blindly into the night. Those of us who chose to stay dry [and continue drinking], would aim our car headlights at the face of the cliffs, sit back in our lawn chairs and watch for a split-second glimpse of the jumpers before they disappeared into black waters.
Miraculously, there were never any serious injuries sustained as a result of THIS pasttime. When I think of what COULD’VE happened, my heart skips a beat.
If you can, just for a moment, forget about the sheer stupidity of this scenario.
The feeling of stepping off that cliff’s edge — of breathlessly falling through thin air … the delicious blissed-out mixture of exhilaration and freedom and healthy fear …
That’s how I’ve felt all day.
My BFF of nearly 30 years has been living in Chile this past year, teaching English to businessmen and women, and now second graders.
Tea returned home this week, bringing her new Chilean boyfriend for a quick visit before she and I head to Hawaii and the Girls Gone Wild event next week. We’ll be joining four other high school girlfriends, sans husbands, boyfriends and children, for six days of tropical bliss.
We’ll be celebrating 2008, the year we all turn 40.
And Tea will be celebrating something perhaps even bigger. Her engagement. I don’t know anyone who deserves crazy insane happiness more than Tea — it’s been a long time coming, and I’m over the moon for my friend.
I am officially LAST to bite the dust.
I’m still not sure I ever want to get married, but someday if I change my mind, I now know how to get a man to propose.
Tea had known James just a few days when the two were teasing each other, exchanging taunts. She threw out the Chilean equivalent of “neener neener” or “nanie nanie boo boo.”
Which is “saca pica.”
She said “saca pico.”
Take out your penis.
And that, my friend, is how one little vowel forever altered the course of history.
I have the hugest luv hangover right now.
The crazy insane support BlogHerNot received last week FLOORS me. I’m truly inspired. I think maybe I’ve found my niche. I think I actually may be kinda good at it? And, even better, I FREAKIN’ LOVE IT.
I don’t want to wait an entire year for BlogHerNot ’09.
Which is why I’m not stopping the party any time soon. (Hear the Air Supply. Be the Air Supply. Do the Air Supply.)
A whole new progressive party concept is in the works, Doogs. More virtual seminars, more parties, more socializing, and most importantly, MORE LINKAGE! Only this time I’ll be takin’ it up a notch. And it won’t be a one time deal. It’ll be a semi-regular event. Like a Victoria’s Secret bra sale.
Think of it as a virtual knowledge rave for grown-ups. A grass-roots, underground movement where we promote each other. It’ll be whatever you want it to be. And all are welcome.
So, be thinking about how/if you want to participate. If you have suggestions, no matter how crazy sounding you think they might be, email me.
Because right now, I’m feelin’ the sky’s the limit.
PS – If anyone tries to rip off this idea I’ll have to hunt them down and go postal on their ass.
PSS – For reals. Kisses!
PSSS – Winner of the BlogHerNot ’08 George Clooney/David Duchovny Chesty LaRue pillow will be announced tomorrow!
ACK! BlogHerNot 2008 is just a few days away, and I haven’t even BEGUN to pack. I just KNOW there’ll be hot tubbing and I’m in desperate need of a new swimsuit. And it sounds like everyone’s getting manis and pedis and cuts and colors and …
Which is why I’m happy to report the BlogHerNot 2008 theme is Come As You Are. Because partying in your PJs is waaaay more comfortable than tit-high Spanx. (Sorry Crash Test Mommy — if it’s any consolation, you’ll look waaaay hotter than any of us.)
And because I have a burning desire to cut to the chase, here are just a few of the topics included in this year’s “Things You REALLY Want To Know” series:
Secrets of A-List Bloggers
Take Photos of Your Dogs! Write Letters to Your Kid! Work From Home and Make $40K Per Month!
Hit Men For Hire
How to Silence Trolls, Plagiarisers and Freakshows Forever
What’s So Funny ‘Bout Peace, Love & Understanding?
How to Play Nice with Others in Bloggywood. Because Rudeness Is SO 2007.
Stalker Do’s and Don’ts
Earning a Living
25 Proven Traffic Boosters Beginning with Naked Photos
Approval Seekers Rehab
Tips and Tricks of a Successful Comment Whore
Additional topic suggestions are welcomed and encouraged.
And at the end of the day, we’ll convene for a night of doog debauchery and blogga craziness to rival any BlogHer Conference, past or present. I’m hoping, if we promise to clean up after ourselves, Mrs. G will let us use her Women’s Colony. Cross your fingers …
You’ll see. You won’t even miss San Francisco. I promise to have photos to prove it.
UPDATE: Hold on to yer panties … Mrs. G has officially agreed to let us use the Colony. Because she RULES.
I’m still dumbfounded by THIS.
I came across the article, saw Mommy Pie on the list and my first thought was, “DAMMIT. I don’t believe it. Some other blogger has the SAME NAME as me.”
I’m honored and blown away to be included with this group of bloggers. (I’m still convinced someone was hittin’ the crack pipe …)
HEY YOU! IMPORTANT BLOG LIST MAKERS! Just so we’re clear, Mommypie has no problem being your crack ‘ho, mkay? Seriously. Nooo problem. Mommypie can do the Enabler thing.
To ensure my ego stayed in check, the Internet warned me not to get TOO full of myself.
Because apparently, I suck.
Then, miracle of miracles, I was invited to be a guest blogger on Sweetney. THE Sweetney. I was delirious with excitement. I worked on my post for DAYS. I was gonna knock it outta the park. And then, as is the nature of the Internet, things changed. Guest Post Week at Sweetney was overbooked. No room at the inn for Mommy Pie. I’m embarrassed to admit I actually cried a little.
Easy come, easy go. Bloggywood, she’s a fickle bitch.
And then, as fate would have it, McMommy came to my emotional rescue and awarded me THIS.
The highly coveted BE FRIE Award. And I was blown away. If you haven’t been to her place, you must stop in and say hi — she’s a funny, funny lady. And bonus — she has a McGoiter. Sweet.
I wish we were neighbors outside of Blogland so I could hang out in her inflatable pool with the flaccid tree.
And now, as is customary with these things, I’m passing this fabulous blog bling on to some equally fabulous bloggers.
San Diego Momma, Ms. Single Mama, Foolery (coiner of the term Bloggywood), Pajama Momma, MommyTime at Mommy’s Martini and Auds at Barking Mad I hereby name each of YOU a BFF, or Bloggy Friend Forever. I’ll keep the St Nds half … because according to McMommy, the Be Frie is the better half, and you’re definitely deserving.
And as for YOU dear Reader, you inspire me. You pick me up. Aside from hangin’ with the MP, reading your comments is the best part of my day.
I love ma Doogs.
Last night, after work, I picked up MP and took her on a spur-of-the-moment two-hour mountain hike. The trail we chose cut through rocky and woody terrain alike. MP’s agility and endurance blew me away. Figuratively AND literally. Nothing will hammer home the stark reality of the sorry shape of your ass quicker than a four-year-old JOGGING ahead of you, up a MOUNTAIN.
After making it to the top (which, I’m tellin’ you, HAS to be some kind of record for her age), and relishing her accomplishment for a good amount of time, we began our decent. The path was framed by an almost unreal number of wildflowers. The surrounding terrain was a blanket of orange, pink, purple and blue. And I KNEW we weren’t supposed to pick. But temptation got the better of me, and by the time the two of us reached the trailhead we had amassed two spectacular and highly illegal bouquets punishable in these parts by a hefty fine.
Getting our booty off the mountain was no easy task. Guiltily, I TRIED to conceal our pickin’s from other trailblazers (or fellow “ROCK stars, heh heh,” according to MP). Not so easy with a preschooler wildly waving her bunch ‘o flowers like a deranged ringleader.
At any rate, we made it. Once home, Grammy quickly identified each species, save for a few. One in particular stood out. The centerpiece of my arrangement. She looked it up. She found it.
Mountain DEATH Camas
Death camases contain an alkaloid that is extremely toxic and has been responsible for the death of livestock, especially sheep, and humans. American Indians and early settlers were poisoned by mistaking the bulbs of these plants for the edible bulbs of camas.
Beautiful. The Flower of Death went immediately into the garbage. My hands went immediately into the sink to be repeatedly washed with antibacterial soap. If it’s been awhile, and you haven’t heard from me Doogs, the Death Camas did me in.
Which would suck. But if that turns out to be the case, have no doubt, I’ll be on the other side with one of those bad boys behind my ear, laughing in the face of … stupidity.
Mommypie would like to thank the Academy Foolery for presenting her with her very first award — and a BLOGGYWOOD Award, to boot!
Term coined by blogstar Foolery to describe the blogging community.
Mommypie predicts it will sweep the nation, hand-in-hand with DOOGS, leaving poor, tired BLOGOSPHERE in the dust. She will be using it extensively.
If you haven’t yet had the pleasure of reading Foolery, get thee proverbial keister over there. She’s hilarious, she’s smart, and she’s an amazing storyteller.
Oh, and I’m going to marry her brother, Mantel Man.
Thank you Ms. Lagmore LaGrone — I’m honored and will display your fancy schmancy award proudly. MWAH!