Mallory in the Middle rated me excellent. How sweet is that? Thank you, Ms. Mallory. May you blog long and prosper. Now I’m supposed to cut and paste the little icon, which I don’t know how to do, and award some other bloggers.
I say… I need to think this one over for a little bit, cuz there are a lot of bloggers I am cuckoo-crazeee for.
WM
I’m doing this meme all wrong, sorry, Betsy.
JUNE:
Thinks far with vision. (I like to think so. Mostly I’m thinking, What’s for dinner?)
Easily influenced by kindness. (Got chocolate?)
Polite and soft-spoken. (Ha! Ha! Hi-ho!)
Having ideas. (…and then some.)
Sensitive. (As my daughter would say, “Say what?”)
Active mind. (Cold heart…)
Hesitating, tends to delay. (If this was the case, which it is not, I would see it as an asset.)
Choosy and always wants the best. (Again, got chocolate?)
Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Talkative. Daydreamer. Friendly. (Sure.)
Knows how to make friends. (…and influence people?)
Able to show character. Easily hurt. Prone to getting colds. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. (“Do you want some aspirin? Because you seem a little fussy.” Pam to Michael Scott on “The Office.”)
Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Brand conscious. Executive. Stubborn. (Whew!)
(Brand conscious?)
My most tardy Thursday Thirteen ever (I think, anyway)…
(With apologies to 13ers and Usual Suspects, who may have been waiting.)
Why You Should Never Blog When You’re Mad or Have the Mean Reds:
13. It’s like drunk-dialing. It’s just a bad idea.
12. Even if you delete it later, they’ll remember it.
11. My habit of using cuss words, even under the best of circumstances.
10. There may be children in the room.
9. Someone else’s children may be reading what you just wrote, in regards to their beloved parents. That is just so frickin’ uncool, to yammer on negatively about someone when it’s not absolutely necessary.
8. Blog unto others as you would have them blog unto you.
7. Temper, temper. Don’t let it flare. Venting does not always make it better. I know.
6. It stops you from getting important work done, when you’re “angry typing.” Mopping the kitchen floor, for instance, or revising the damn manuscript you have to get done by Jan. 1, 2008. (Self-imposed deadline; must follow.)
5. People usually have good intentions; we all just rub each other a little bit the wrong way sometimes.
4. Or a lot. I don’t mean to be morbid here, but you know what I’m going to be in fifty years? (Or less?) Dead. That’s right. So what’s the point of all the fussing?
3. My daughter’s teacher was reading the kids the last chapters of “Charlotte’s Web” yesterday and I thought, if we could all try to be half as decent as Charlotte and Wilbur, think of how much nicer the whole world would be. Then I got all choked up because, you know. I love that book. I love it so much. Enough, already, it’s fiction. But dammit, I think we can all learn a little something here.
“It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.” — E.B. White
2. Being angry makes your heart hurt.
1. It’s just too dang close to Christmas and New Year’s to waste any time on nonsense.
Happy Holidays, y’all.
Love,
WM
And you didn’t.
Rock and roll, honey!
And for those of you suffering from a lil seasonal depression, perhaps brought on by the holidays, perhaps by the weather, or perhaps it’s just a sense of ennui, you’re feeling “too much of the world” right now, I’d like to say:
“Keep passing the open windows.”
— John Irving
What kind of monster are you?
Oh, if only I had a nickel for every time someone has asked me that.
(Thanks, Mama Pajama.)
(And no, I won’t tell you what kind of monster I am. Apparently one that “plays well with vampires.”)
(Did you know this is post #800 for me? That’s insane, Internet.)
My heart beats funny. (more…)
“Do I look like a motherfucking role model?”
— “Gangsta Gangsta,” NWA
It has been brought to my attention that my husband and I are now pillars of the community. The press has been calling. Sometimes several times a day. One of us may have given testimony at a school board meeting while the other was home tending to a sick kid and his overly-rambunctious sister.
And it has been further brought to my attention that I offended someone (eh, probably more than one person, but just one bothered to e-mail) last week with this post. My usage of the word “fuck” and “the reference to watermelons,” specifically.
Watermelon seems like an innocent enough word but really, it is not. I am aware of this and thought I made my point rather succinctly. I was merely describing the first time I figured out that white people think they are “bonding” with African-Americans when they talk loudly and state, “I, too, adore watermelon, much like your people do!”
This is not cool. You do not want to get that started.
“It ain’t that kind of party.”
Leon Dudley, former principal of Jefferson High School, North Portland, Ore.
So. You were offended. I don’t know what to tell you. “Stop reading this blog” comes to mind, but that seems so… final, to send a reader away like that. I like readers! They pay the bills! Oh, wait, no they don’t, the advertisers do. Go click on my Google ads, readers. Anyway, words are tricky. Ask Cynthia Harris about that one.
Nonetheless, I would like to stand by my reference to watermelon. And I’d like to stand by quoting the girl from my grade school who told one of the other students: Boy, you are fucking with my nerves. I cannot rewrite my own history, people, as much as I would like to sometimes. I did play mumblety peg and pitch pennies in grade school. I was excellent at both sports and won a fair amount of money.
I did begin drinking at age 10 and smoking cigarettes at age 11. And after hearing the girl say that to the guy — and he listened to her — this, too, was new in my world — a guy listening to a girl… wow. Well, at that point yes, I did learn that “sometimes black girls can be mean, but they totally fucking rock. Fuck yeah.” (To quote myself.) (Because, why not?)
I suggest that you crib from this list and substitute the following words whenever I start cussing and you get nervous:
1) Oh my heck! for Oh my GAWD!
2) Owie! for Goddammit shit motherfucker (my daughter: “Mom, you teach Sunday school now. You hafta stop cussing like that!” Me, crossing my fingers behind my back: “I’ll try.”)
3) Cheese and rice for Jesus Christ
4) Jeebus for Jesus
5) Well, you can just forget about that, buster! for screw that
and…
6) Dagnabit! for Why don’t you stick it in my eye and then I’ll be able to see that you’re fucking me? (No, I did not make that up, I swear to you — that’s how the moms talk in my neighborhood. Could I possibly invent that expression? No, I am not that creative. Dagnabit, I wish I was.)
, Barnes and Noble or Powell's Books.
Also available for Kindle
.
