Way back when I lived in Vermont I used to post to this blog about 4 billion times a day and respond to EVERY comment that anyone ever left me, because I was so bored with my entire daily life of non-challenge and both personal and professional/bureaucratic apathy that I had the time to do so.
Now I am lucky to have the time, gumption, and something I consider worth posting about each day. And all that time I used to have for responding to comments is now spent working at a job that actually requires my brain power on a minutely basis or I’m underground where I don’t have access to the interwebs. So when I do have time for blogs I tend to read my friends’ and family members’ blogs and leave comments there instead.
I used to feel bad about my inability to respond to your comments anymore, but then I finally let my mind freestyle for a bit and came to the realization, which I just semi-defended-by-just-passingly-mentioning-on-Sarcastica’s-blog, that I am the one who initiates a conversation here and you, my dear friends, are the responders! And it’s your choice to read what I say here and leave me a comment, so it needs to be my choice as well to have anything witty or responsive to say to you in return.
I hope I just expanded your thought on the matter, or helped you realize that I am singing in your same chorus.
If you don’t agree, feel free to leave me a comment saying so! (Sneaky, aren’t I?)
I was looking through my photos and noticed something.
This was me on March 25, 2008 in Tennessee with my mom and stepdad:
This was me a year later on May 23, 2009 in Washington DC with my BFF Bdogg:
It’s important to remember where you came from, but sometimes it confuses me why I let myself live a life I didn’t want to live for quite so long. It’s not that I didn’t love all the people in my life back then, or didn’t love myself, or didn’t love my girls… I just didn’t feel like me yet. And now I do.
I’m going to Vermont in a little over a week and will be seeing some of the people who knew me best while I lived there, including my Tennessee parents who have, ironically, seen me the most of everyone since I left, except perhaps Break Boy and Knitting Girl. I’m curious to see if there are any dire consequences for my friends and family to me becoming myself. I’m guessing for some people they won’t be able to accept me for me, will see something regressive rather than progressive, but for everyone else they will just be glad that I am happy and that I am truly enjoying life outside of the norm that most everyone I grew up with chose and continue to choose for their life. I am proud of so many of my friends and family for making the choices they wanted to make so that they became the people they wanted to be, and I secretly hope they are happy I finally have that too.
It’s 17 minutes and 26 seconds of me talking. If you wanna skip it, probably the photos kinda tell a bit of the story too. :) B is Bdogg, in case you needed the reminder.
It’s 17 minutes and 26 seconds of me talking. If you wanna skip it, probably the photos kinda tell a bit of the story too. :) B is Bdogg, in case you needed the reminder.
Tip of the day: if the vending machine won’t take your money call it a little bitch and try again. Seems to work every time in NYC. Your city results may vary.
Well wish for you: I am away for the long weekend doing fun things in a new-to-me city while Dawg and the kittos hold down the fort. I hope you all have a wonderful long American weekend or short non-American weekend.
I was reading an article in New York Magazine about distractions and was reminded that every interruption you experience can be the equivalent of a 25-minute distraction to what you are trying to accomplish. On a day when I am feeling Hilly enough (she’s trying to be less snarky, so I think I’ll need to pick up some of that slack) I do believe I will tell the very next person who calls me or walks up behind me and talks at the back of my head that I am going to dock their salary 1/4 hour for each time they do so again, and that it’s actually a bargain for me to only charge them for 15 minutes of time. And then I am going to say BUT NO GIVE-BACKS and then randomly walk up to them at work and ask them dumb questions like, “have you seen the spatula? oh, hmm, here it is…” and “I heard there’s a vampire bat in the building and I’d really like to be friends with it but I can’t find it, can you help me with that?” and “what’s your bank account number? I wanna see if you have sufficient funds for my new Delorean.” and “does my butt look cute in this?” but never turn around to show them my butt.
I felt soooo bad for Maru! And then… I laughed my head off.
I really like the title of this so I’m not going to change it, but I just wanted you to know that I adore my acorn boots, which has nothing to do with kitties in boxes:
I before E except after C, or when sounding like A, as in neighbor and weigh.
One gram of carbohydrate equals 4 calories.
One gram of fat equals 9 calories.
One gram of protein equals 4 calories.
4-9-4
Except for alcohol: 7 calories per gram.
But that is the only broken rule. Do any food add-up that doesn’t involve alcohol and you will see the math always works out. Math is math. It’s not flexible.
Why am I telling you this? Because I’ve been doubted on more than one occasion lately that if something has zero calories then it has zero (or less than one) carbs. And I will not continue to be doubted on something that isn’t subjective. It’s a fact. At least in this universe. :)
