the would-be writers guild

Have you noticed that everyone everywhere is using a brand-new catch phrase? From Valley Girls and geeky gamers to housewives and clergy, everybody is using the phrase “In this economy,” so often that it’s closing in on the perennial favorite “Um.”

The most important thing I’ve noticed is that using this phrase can make you seem very current and informed, even if whatever trails the phrase is completely unrelated to anything economic. And while I am constantly working on being current and informed, I have come up with some important facts that I think you should note:

In this economy, it’s hard to choose between strawberries and caramel as an ice cream topping.

In this economy, it’s smart to return your library books on time.

In this economy, wearing ankle socks with sandals is a poor fashion choice.

In this economy, back scratches are often as enjoyable as back rubs.

In this economy, elbows are often home to dry, rough patches of skin.

In this economy, flossing is an important way to prevent tooth decay.

In this economy, bananas taste great when sliced in cold cereal.

In this economy, toenail fungus is an embarrassing and hard-to-treat condition.

In this economy, reading bedtime stories to your children can be quality bonding time.

In this economy, people think that Brad leaving Jennifer for Angelina was a terrible thing to do.

In this economy, the days are shorter in winter than in summer.

In this economy, iCarly is one of the funniest tween shows on TV.

In this economy, playing with matches in a dry field of wheat is a dangerous and sometimes deadly plan.

In this economy, getting the recommended amount of sleep is important.

In this economy, Sharpies are a marvelous and effective way to mark things permanently.

In this economy, washing your hands after using the restroom and before returning to work is required by state law.

In this economy, bean burritos are a healthy and satisfying lunch option.

See how informed and current I sound?

Now, please tell me what you’ve learned in this economy….

As it turns out, I was unable to debut my generous nacho cheese sauce skills at the snack shack tonight. Heavy rains earlier in the day left the baseball diamond with a muddy hangover. The door of the snack shack was never even unlocked.

We showed up to the field, Christian in his uniform and I in my hairnet, but our eagerness to perform was not strong enough to will the moisture from the ground. The world will never know what I could have done.

All day I had been prepping—thinking up new snow cone flavor combos (blue raspberry with cherry and grape), tossing cinnamon and sugar on an empty paper towel roll (fake churro), and pumping handsoap (imaginary nacho cheese sauce) lavishly onto construction paper corn chips. After a few hours, I was really IN THE ZONE. (If you haven’t ever trained for the snack shack, you won’t understand the intensity.)

It was all for nothing.

This has pretty much ruined my entire weekend.

*Greetings from Spring Break Central. Ryan just interrupted the silence in the office (where we are both stationed at our computers) to inform me that spring breaks are supposed to be wild and fun. I let out a rip-roaring “Wahooooooeeeeeee!” and asked him if he’d like to go get a tattoo that he’d later regret. He declined.

*The other day Max and I were meandering around in the front yard, waiting for the school bus, when we noticed a dead fish lying on the grass. It was such an absurd site. I think it was a sun fish, about six inches long. I was baffled. How did it get here? I guess because of its proximity to the mailbox, Max was absolutely sure that the mailman had brought it. I left the fish there and the next day it was gone. Is this, perhaps, a message from the mob? It seems like it could be a message from the mob. Even though I got out of the mob years ago and started living legit.

*During our yard work on Tuesday, Ryan trimmed some of the low-hanging branches of our big birch tree. As he sawed each branch off, the wounds left behind on the tree began to leak water like a fast-dripping faucet. For hours and hours, the tree dripped fresh water. And when I looked out the window the next morning, I could still see a slow pitter-patter as water hit the soil below. I wondered if the tree was crying.

*Tomorrow night I am committed to work in the snack shack at Christian’s first baseball game of the season. I have never worked in a snack shack before. I hope I do a good job. And unless anybody tells me otherwise, I’m going to be very generous with the nacho cheese sauce.

*This week Ryan and I watched the two newest James Bond movies. These are the first James Bond movies either of us have ever seen. Overall I’d give them a thumbs up, but I am convinced that Jason Bourne could definitely kick James Bond’s Aston Martin, although James Bond would earn bonus points for looking so dapper.

*Tonight our neighbor is bringing over her dog for us to dog sit for the next ten days. I have never dogsat before. I’m not licensed in dogsitting. I’m not sure I’m ready to handle snack shack duty and dogsitting all in one week. Pray for me, please.

*Yesterday I posted a video for my mom’s birthday, but YouTube deleted my audio, so I took the post down. Yes, I was lip-synching to a copyrighted recording of Les Miserables, but it was a really good lip synch which means that some YouTube employee somewhere deleted my audio without knowing for absolutely sure whether it was me singing or not. What happened to “innocent until proven guilty,” YouTube?

*My neck has been itching for days. Does an itchy neck mean the mob is thinking about you? Or is that the IRS?

I am trading in my computer today for a shovel. Ryan has enlisted me in his great Yard Beautification Project while he is off this week for spring break. My back is aching already and I have been the victim of several felled tree limbs, but I’m not complaining (much) because the sun is shining, the stereo is playing, and it feels good to have my hands in the soil.

And don’t tell PETA, but many, many worms were harmed in the weeding and edging of my flower beds.

Welcome, spring!

1. If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can’t see Chuck Norris you may be only seconds away from death.

2. Chuck Norris sleeps with a night light. Not because Chuck Norris is afraid of the dark, but the dark is afraid of Chuck Norris.

3. Chuck Norris doesn’t read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.

4. Chuck Norris is the only man who has, literally, beaten the odds. With his fists.

5. Chuck Norris is not Politically Correct. He is just Correct. Always.

6. A Chuck Norris-delivered Roundhouse Kick is the preferred method of execution in 16 states.

7. The reason newborn babies cry is because they know they have just entered a world with Chuck Norris.

8. Ghosts are actually caused by Chuck Norris killing people faster than Death can process them.

9. Chuck Norris doesn’t play “hide-and-seek.” He plays “hide-and-pray-I-don’t-find-you.”

10. Superman owns a pair of Chuck Norris pajamas.

Be safe, boys and girls. Be safe.

Thanks to Kami for the heads-up. This information was taken from Chuck Norris’ Twitter; jealously admitted, I did not write it. Follow Chuck Norris on Twitter here (if Chuck Norris allows you the privilege to keep living).

If you look around, science is everywhere. For example, Einstein had a theory of relativity stating that two events, simultaneous for some observer, may not be simultaneous for another observer if the observers are in relative motion.

Confusing? Let me break that down for you.

For example, consider Ryan and Tiffany. Imagine that they drive to the local grocery store, intent on picking up three items: milk, bread, and eggs. Imagine that Tiffany volunteers to go inside to purchase the items and that Ryan stays in the car. Now imagine that there is a scientist parked next to the car with a stopwatch observing their behaviors. Imagine that Tiffany exits the car at 6:00 p.m. and at that the scientist begins his stopwatch at that moment.

Are you with me? Are you still awake? Hello? Hello?

Imagine that a short while later, Tiffany walks out of the store. When she reaches the car, the scientist stops his watch and records that she has been gone for fifteen minutes and that she has eight items in her bag: milk, bread, eggs, a gossip magazine, swirly straws, Craisins, refried beans, and a bag of jelly beans.

The scientist records the following communication:

Ryan: “Oh my gosh, what took SO long? You’ve been gone for forty-five minutes!”

Tiffany: “What are you talking about? I’ve been gone for ten minutes.”

Ryan: “No, we got here at about 5:30 and you’ve been in there shopping for at least fifty minutes.”

Tiffany: “We did not get here at 5:30.”

Ryan: “I watched thirty-six people leave the store since you went in. We’ve been here at least fifty-five minutes.”

Tiffany: “Ryan, I walked in the store. I picked up our three items, paid for them, and walked out. I was gone for five minutes.”

Ryan: “Three items? Why do you have five bags? You do this every time. You get in there and start shopping; then an hour later, you wander out.”

Tiffany: “OK, so I picked up TWO extra things that I remembered we NEEDED, but it didn’t take me long. I was in the store for three minutes TOPS.”

Ryan: “It was at LEAST an hour and fifteen minutes.”

Tiffany: “Why is that man in the car next to us wearing a lab coat and writing down everything we say?”

At this point the scientist quickly closes his notebook, starts his car and leaves. He drives straight home, a five minute drive. When he gets home, he walks in the door to find his wife with her hands on her hips.

“Stanley, where have you BEEN?” she says.

“What are you talking about Edna? I told you I was stopping at the grocery store on the way home from the lab to record a quick observation.”

“Right, you called me on your way there. You said it would take FIFTEEN minutes. That was three hours ago, at LEAST.”

I’m about to state the obvious here: bloggers love comments. They really love them. They all-caps LOVE them. They mixed-capitalization lOvE them. They bold and italic font treatment love them. They excessive exclamation point love them!!! They Joanie-loves-Chachi love them. It’s the real deal, folks. TLA 4EVER.

If a blog is a car, the comments are the gasoline. Or the fan belt. Or is it the torque converter? I’m not sure, but it’s one of those really important parts of the car that causes it to chug and die if it is missing. At least that’s what bloggers think. In actuality, if a blog is a car, the comments are the fuzzy dice hanging over the mirror, the cool bumper stickers on the fender, and those adorable stick-figures of the entire family on the rear window—comments are super awesome accessories. But bloggers (forgive me for speaking in generalizations here) don’t get that; they crave comments like a drug.

You see, we are a fickle and slightly narcissistic bunch and each new comment seems to scream to us, “YOUR EXISTENCE IS VALIDATED!” It doesn’t even matter if it’s a complete stranger who leaves a comment; in fact, that makes it even a little more special that way. Why do we want our existence validated by complete strangers, you ask? Well, because most of us pay our close friends and family a small monthly fee for their comments. Or maybe that’s just me.

And there’s nothing that torments a blogger more than knowing that there is a discrepancy between the number of people who read or subscribe to the blog and the number of comments they receive for each post. It’s a very disconcerting mystery that could not even be solved by the original cast of CSI. Want to drive a blogger nuts? Pull up their site six thousand times in one day and never leave a comment. Within 24 hours, you’ll be able to smell the steaming bafflement.

Anyway, having been at the blogging thing for few years, I’ve come to understand a few things about blogging and about myself that I completely misunderstood before. And if I can share something here that I have learned that will help even one blogger and one reader understand the other a little better, then I will have accomplished all that I set out to do and I can add a shiny gold sticker to my chart.

About a year ago, I put myself through Blogger Rehab (you can read about it here) and then put myself on a strict Blog Diet. Taking several steps back from the blogosphere, I began to see it in a different light. Some might say I began to see it in a healthier, more balanced light. Those would be people from the mental health profession, probably.

I can truly say that now, while I still love and adore any comments I receive, I do not depend on them. To me, my blog is a place where I can practice my writing, record my life and thoughts, and share my experiences with now-distant friends and family. Over time, it has also become a place for me to meet new people and develop new friendships—a total bonus. It is an important part of my life, without a doubt, but it is only one important part among many others. And while I am thrilled when I get a nice comment from somebody new, I don’t crush it up and inject it into my arm.

To give you an illustration of this, I used to rush in the door after running an errand and immediately check my email for any new comments. Now when I return home from somewhere, I set my purse down and go to the bathroom before checking my email. That’s progress, I tell you.

See how balanced and mature I am now? (Hah!)

Before I ramble on any further, I’d like to stand on my soap box and share a few thoughts with the bloggers and readers of the world.

To the bloggers:

1. I validate you. You are funny, smart, creative, talented and insightful. You really are.
2. Remember how in school there were some kids who didn’t enjoy raising their hand to answer a question or participate in class? The ones who preferred to sit quietly and listen without a lot of interaction? Those people like to read blogs in the same manner. They like your blog; they read your blog (maybe even every day); but they don’t necessarily want to raise their hand and make a comment. Or maybe they are just terribly busy and taking time to write a comment would take away from the enjoyment they find in simply reading. What I’m trying to say is that your readers are good people. Don’t try to interpret their silence.
3. Ask yourself if comments are your gasoline or your fuzzy dice. Be your own gasoline.
4. I thought I should have something else to say here to make my list nice and well-rounded, but I’m sort of out of ideas. Hmm, this is awkward. {Thumbs twiddling. Nervous whistle.}

To the readers:

1. It’s perfectly okay if you don’t want to comment. Ever. I validate you.
2. That said, your comments are so appreciated if you should choose to leave one.
3. If you want to comment, please don’t ever be under the impression that your comment must be clever or funny. Nothing could be farther from the truth. It is perfectly acceptable to write, “I liked this post.” or “I agree.” or “Hah!” I have left all of those comments before. A comment is a comment is a comment. Confucius said that, I think.
4. If you have a negative comment to make, please think twice about it. If you think twice and you still want to share it, be confident enough in your point of view to use your name. Negative anonymous comments hold no water. Confucius said that too.
5. Keep this in mind—many friendships begin with a single comment. (Don’t give credit to Confucius on that one, I said it.) It’s true.

OK, I am done. The soap box is starting to creak and buckle under my weight, and besides that, the cops are walking this way and I don’t have a permit to be here. Thank you for your time. Go write blogs. Go read blogs. Love each other. Eat more burritos.

First confession: I have worn this sweatshirt for two days.

Second confession: The sweatshirt doesn’t belong to me; it’s Christian’s. But Christian doesn’t appreciate the thick, soft material like I do, and this sweatshirt deserves to be appreciated because it is so thick and soft.

Third confession: Every few seconds, I catch a faint whiff of the self-tanning lotion I used yesterday before putting this sweatshirt on. Which technically means that the sweatshirt stinks. I don’t care; it’s so soft and thick. And soft.

Fourth confession: This is not the first sweatshirt I have stolen from Christian. He just doesn’t appreciate good sweatshirts like I do. Plus, the baggy, slouchy cut of the boys size 10 is the exact same cut as the slim-fitting Mommy size “husky.”

Fifth confession: I might wear it again tomorrow.

Is there anything you’d like to get off your chest? Feel free to confess. I promise not to judge.

Here’s a simple idea that Alison taught me. It’s perfect to make for breakfast for the child who refuses to eat cold cereal. I have one of those and it’s so endearing annoying.

First, take a slice of bread and a cookie cutter. I use a heart shape because I want my child to remember that I love him while he’s eating. And also because I only have a heart shape cookie cutter.

Use the cookie cutter to create a hole in the middle of the bread. Then call over your shoulder to tell your child to turn off Spongebob Squarepants and get dressed for school.

Next, butter the bottom of a medium-high pan and put your hole-y bread in. Crack an egg and pour the egg guts into the hole and then yell at your child to find his lunchbox.

Add some salt and pepper and ask your child if he is listening because you just asked him to get his lunchbox for crying out loud!

After a minute or so, use a spatula to flip it over and tell your child that his shirt is on backwards. And upside down.

Cook on the flip side until the egg white is firm, but the yolk part is runny and saucy. Then yell at your child to find his socks and shoes. (Please don’t go all maverick on me and leave out any of the yelling. The yelling is the most important part of this dish. It simply won’t taste the same without it.)

Once cooked, remove to a plate and then toast the cut-out piece of bread while you shout to your child that it is not your responsibility to keep track of his shoes and that you wouldn’t be a good parent if you did.

Display lovingly on a plate and shout up the stairs to your child that breakfast is ready and he’d better hurry or he’ll be late for school.

Pat yourself on the back because your child is actually fed and clothed before the bus arrives. Before he rushes out the door, yell that you love him very much and that he’d better stop dragging his coat on the ground because you just cleaned it!

Now do the dishes.

Me: Hey, Max, did you brush your teeth?

Max: Yep. See?

Me: They look great.

Max: Thank you.

Me: And your hair looks great too. Why did you decide to get it wet and comb it again?

Max: I just used the toothbrush to comb it because there was already water on the toothbrush.

Me: …..