If You Can’t Beat Them. . .

Jan 27, 2007 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up

crossbonessm.jpg . . . Mock them on the internet. I jest.

A year ago I got “tagged” for the “6 Weird Things About You” meme. Now, I don’t meme. On principle, really. Because meme-ing is dangerous. It’s like Heroine. Or Vicodin. Or daytime television. Oh, you might not think so after your first, or even your second meme. No, you will still be suffering under the delusion that exposing your inner most secrets to the world is exhilarating… Free, you feel free!

But soon enough, the need to meme will be so deeply embedded into your system that you will be begging to be tagged. Before you know it, you will be a slave to your addiction, posting meme after meme, writing your own when your stash runs dry. Getting clean after that is difficult! It’s not good people. Stay away from the meme-ing. I’m telling you… JUST SAY NO.

You’re a skeptic still. Right? You’ll just have to try it for yourself to see, right? If the frequency of “6 Weird Things” meme is any indication you’ll be tagged by it soon if you haven’t been already. I’ve been tagged with this thing 3 times in as many months. And, because I’ve done it before, I’ve felt no real compulsion to do it again. Each time, I’ve sent an apologetic note to the wanna-be pusher, “I’m sorry, but my mom said doing memes will stunt your growth.”

However, lately, this meme is absolutely unavoidable. Everybody is doing it. It’s migrated from the personal/mommy blog world into the the arts/crafty blogs and is spreading through the blog food chain up to the A-list bloggers. I defy you to find any blog where this meme isn’t staring you in the face.

Still don’t believe me? Consider this: last year that meme only had 5 Weird Things… this year it’s 6! Uh-huh, it’s growing! And you doubted me about the potency of these things.

A year ago when I posted my answers to this meme I blamed the devil for it. But really, it was just peer pressure. And now, I am at a crossroads. I can hold my position (yes, it’s drafty up here on my high-horse!) or I can give in.

I choose to compromise. After the jump you will find my original post from the archives. Because, darn it, I’ve earned my one year sobriety button and I’m not giving it up for the meme that refuses to die. And NO, I’m not tagging a soul because this has to end someday and I think it should end with me.

crossbones.jpg

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Telling Lies

Jan 2, 2007 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up

See, I’m pretty sure, that when the winds were a’howlin’ a few weeks past and large trees were falling into my neighbor’s yard, that I might have promised on a few of your blogs that I wasn’t going to complain about the rain when it came back. In fact, I think I promised to be downright giddy about the rain.

I lied.

I vaguely recall bartering with the Universe, “Let’s make a deal: You keep my roof on and I’ll put a lid on my bitching about the weather.” I like to be witty when conversing with the Universe. I think it keeps the relationship fresh. Evidently, the Universe was not amused. Nor did it believe me. Instead, it decided that I was lying in the first place.

So, the rains come. Down and down and down. And the floods take us away. Into the river, into the drain, into the dream of balmy weather we cannot know because we live in a torrent of wet. Wet. Wet. I’m tired of the wet. And the only recourse I seem to have, the only coping mechanism I can muster is to whine.

Whining suits me. It would suit you too, if you were a Southern girl growing web toes and fungus and mold. This is unsettling, depressing even! You try maintaining a bouffant hair-do in this weather. I don’t even want to discuss my mascara—which has the unearthly tendency to trail off my face making me look very much like those Heroin Chic models in the magazines, albeit an overweight one. And don’t start lecturing me about “water-proof” mascara, because I’m here to inform you Smarty-Pants Internets that in the wilds of the Oregon Coast there is no such thing. No siree. Does not exist.

So. Yes. I admit it; I lied. I never intended to stop complaining. Because, this is what I do. Whining. I’m good at it. Trust me, dear readers, when you find what you’re good at, you stick with it. People have been telling me for months now that I should find my bliss and follow it. Draw what conclusions you may.

Rain, rain, go away.
Come again… to Australia, which I hear really needs you.

One Down. . .

Dec 30, 2006 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up

Well, it’s 1:30 AM this Saturday morning. I should be in bed, but I got wrapped into the second DVD installment of Angels in America. Why am I always the last to know about these things? AMAZING. If you’ve had your head underground like me and have missed this—go rent it this weekend. Go! Now! Ok, maybe not now, since it’s 1 in the morning and the store is probably closed. But soon, M’kay?

However, the reason for this post is not to explain my insomnia but to let all you dear readers know of a minor change taking place on this blog. Due to some unusual commenting behavior as of late I’m going to take the advice of my technical guru (that would be IZ: everybody wave at IZ!) and require moderation of all comments. That means, even if you have commented before, your comments will still need to be moderated.

Presently, everything that’s slipped by my spam filter has happened when I’m wide awake and monitoring so I’ve been able to delete the questionable stuff quickly. But a girl has to sleep sometime! It also means I can mark off one of those pesky New Year’s resolutions—as I resolved to give IZ less reasons to tell me “I told you so” in the New Year.

See, IZ, I do listen. Sometimes.

If He Had a Blog

Dec 4, 2006 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up

We join this story just as it dawns on me what the new Home Depot commercial is about—Elves enter Mrs. Santa’s house to discover she has already decorated without them and they are none-too-pleased:

Me: Oh! I get it, that’s supposed to be Mrs. Santa Claus.

IZ: Yeah, and I still find it offensive.

Me: What do you find offensive?

IZ: How it depicts Mrs. Santa. It suggests that she is completely incompetent unless she uses Home Depot to decorate.

Me: You’re serious?

IZ: YES! It’s offensive to all those other Mrs. Santas out there—it seriously sells their abilities short. And I find that offensive.

Me: (at this point, I’m laughing so hard I’m snorting my tea.)

IZ: And if I had a blog, I’d blog about it!