Breaking out is hard to do

I am in an abusive relationship, and I need it to stop.

We’ve been together for a long time. It showed up when I was about twelve, all excited about life and ready to start my teenagerdom, which I would, without a doubt, totally win. I was very much looking forward to this new adventure, which, I was sure, would bring a boyfriend, and the ability to fill out a tank top like no one’s business, and a new cutting-edge teenage attitude.

However, I woke up one morning with a huge red swelling to the right of my mouth. I’m not talking about some cute little blemish. No, sir! Not me! Everything about me has always been very go-big-or-go-home. So I’m talking about – well, have you seen those photoshopped photos, the “before” photos in the late-night acne product commercials? I mean, you can tell they’re photoshopped. The eyes always look like they’re on the wrong level, and the acne looks cartoonish. Well, I looked like one of the cartoonish acne before-photos on late-night television.

I have my doubts about Proactiv. I think if you need to market on television at 3 am, you probably aren't very good.

I have my doubts about Proactiv. I think if you need to market on television at 3 am, you probably aren’t very good.

Mom and Dad were all “uh-oh, sorry for the genetics, kiddo” because there are very few photos of them from high school, but the ones there are show a couple of pretty miserable teenagers with really rocky complexions.

Well! This was not acne’s only appearance. Oh, no! It decided once it arrived, it’d set up shop. It was like those disgusting phlegm-monsters in that cough medicine commercial that makes me disgusted. It packed little greasy suitcases and moved on in. My face was its resort town, and it decided to live it on up. No part of my face was exempt, either! Forehead and nose and chin and cheeks! Once, close enough to my lip so it swelled up as if I’d been stung by a bee! Sometimes, right on TOP of each other, like it was living in little apartment buildings! Sometimes? In my ears, so my ears would swell up like a boxer’s! And sometimes it’d take little vacations and move onto my back or chest! And it HURT. Imagine huge swellings on your face and back and chest, sometimes more than one in the same place, as if you’ve been stung by a number of angry wasps. OUCH.

Ugh, seriously, I hate these commercials. STOP MAKING MUCUS TALK.

Ugh, seriously, I hate these commercials. STOP MAKING MUCUS TALK.

It got so bad at one point, someone stopped me in the hallway at school and asked me what had happened. “With what?” I asked. “Were you in a fire?” he asked, in a hushed tone. In a fire! Well. Isn’t that nice! YOU MADE ME LOOK LIKE A THIRD-DEGREE BURN VICTIM, ACNE. What the hell did I ever do to you?

Thanks for the reminder, helpful sign!

Thanks for the reminder, helpful sign!

My parents, who’d suffered through the same thing, finally were grossed out enough that they brought me to a dermatologist, who visibly recoiled when I walked through the door. Nothing ups the self-esteem like having a doctor who DEALS with such things for a LIVING recoil as if you’re Frankenstein’s MONSTER.

BACK! BACK I SAY CHILD OF SATAN! Oh, it's my next patient, come on in, then.

BACK! BACK I SAY CHILD OF SATAN! Oh, it’s my next patient, come on in, then.

Back in the late 80s, if you had terrible skin, they prescribed you Retin-A. I don’t know if they still do such a thing. (Apparently they do, but don’t have babies while using it, or their skulls will be too soft, and I assume babies with Play-Doh skulls are bad. Also don’t get waxed, or it will PULL YOUR TOP LAYER OF SKIN OFF. Good grief.) I also got this…I don’t know, alcohol solution I had to dab onto my face. These things had to happen every morning and every night after I washed my face. Also, I wasn’t allowed to go out in the sun, or if I HAD to go out in the sun, I had to wear like SPF 1,000 sunscreen. (Retin-A thins the top layer of your skin. Somehow this stops your acne. I am not a doctor. I don’t know how that works. But this skin-thinning thing also makes you burn in the sun, and you can’t get waxed, and your face gets really, really red when you first start using it.)

Good grief, it still looks the same 20 years later. Who's your PR person, Retin-A? Time for a packaging overhaul!

Good grief, it still looks the same 20 years later. Who’s your PR person, Retin-A? Time for a packaging overhaul!

I was somewhat skeptical, but at that point, I would pretty much try anything.

Well! Come to find out, RETIN-A WAS MADE OF MAGIC. I don’t remember how long it took, but one day I woke up and although my face was a little red (and I had to hide in the shadows like a vampire-person) I HAD NO ACNE. All the acne had taken off for sunnier climes. I LOOKED LIKE A HUMAN AGAIN. At one point, I even got a – GASP! – BOYFRIEND. (A few of them, actually. Well, not at the same TIME, I wasn’t a teenage WHORE. They were nothing to write home about, in retrospect, but at the time I felt like this was the BEST THING EVER.) One of my mom’s friends, when she and my mom were talking about my skin problems one day, said, “Amy has skin problems? You’d never know! I was just saying to my husband the other day she has just the most beautiful complexion!”


Yes, I looked JUST LIKE THIS! Oh, wait, no, Retin-A doesn't turn you into a model. Sorry. Sorry.

Yes, I looked JUST LIKE THIS! Oh, wait, no, Retin-A doesn’t turn you into a model. Sorry. Sorry.

I stopped using the medication in college – my doctor didn’t think I needed it anymore, and it was very expensive on our prescription plan – and all was well for quite some time.

Until probably four or five years ago.

Acne! YOU TRICKED ME! What IS this shit?

Apparently, what this shit is, is ADULT acne. It is ACNE that appears when you are an ADULT. It is the ghost of terrible complexions past COMING BACK TO HAUNT YOU.

Oh, stop. I had to.

Oh, stop. I had to.

It’s not as bad as it was when I was younger – oh, thank goodness – but it’s very hard to be almost 40 years old and have the occasional breakouts of a teenage face. It’s very embarrassing. I mean, yes. Odds are good that people aren’t going to make fun of you now (what kind of asshole mocks you for breakouts when you’re an adult? we know better now) and you know (hopefully, at least, if you’re female, although I’m sure men can use cover stick if they want to) tricks with makeup to downplay the fact you’ve got a gigantic blemish on your chin or your cheek or whatever.

And NOW, adult acne, you complete wanker, you have decided to pop up OVER ONE OF MY EYES and I’m waking up with ONE EYE SWOLLEN SHUT EVERY MORNING BECAUSE OF YOU and it takes like TWO HOURS for that swelling to go down and I LOOK LIKE SOMEONE BEAT ME UP or maybe THE ELEPHANT MAN. Dude, I have to go out in PUBLIC like this. SOMEONE IS GOING TO ASK ME WHAT IS WRONG. “Oh, just a gigantic pimple above my eye, like normal almost-middle-aged women get all the time,” is a thing I will not love to say at all.

I look a little like Rick from the Walking Dead after he got all beat up, which is nice, right? Very classy.

I look a little like Rick from the Walking Dead after he got all beat up, which is nice, right? Very classy.

My mother’s still getting you adult acne. SHE IS IN HER 60s. THIS IS NOT RIGHT. Somehow, my dad avoided this and his torment ended when he was in his late teens, but me and my mom? We’re still sporting the skin of teens. Sad, sad teens who don’t get asked to the prom.

Acne, you’re going to have to take a hike. I think I’m too old for Retin-A (and at this point in my life, if I don’t get waxed, I’d have a whole other problem to deal with, called My Eyebrows Have a Mind of Their Own and Would Make Me Look Like a Yeti) but there must be another solution. And I’m calling a dermatologist. Tomorrow.

You don’t get to win, bub. I have an excellent prescription plan this time, and I’m a lot angrier than I was when I was a teenager. If you’re not going to leave, I’m going to kick you out. I’m changing the damn LOCKS this time, acne! I am not going to my grave with you still in my life!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go figure out the best eyeshadow to go with one normal eye, and one eye swollen 3/4 of the way shut. I’m thinking a kicky bejeweled eyepatch. Arr, matey. Walk the plank.

Pretty sure everyone would just think it was a fashion statement and not ask me what was going on, right? Right.

Pretty sure everyone would just think it was a fashion statement and not ask me what was going on, right? Right.

About these ads

This happens. This is something that happens.

I am watching Magnolia. It is my favorite movie. This probably says a lot about me; mostly about the fact that I can relate, all-too-well, to broken people, to people with flaws that run deep and don’t ever let them go, not completely.

I’m watching Magnolia today because Philip Seymour Hoffman died, and I wanted to see him in one of my favorite roles of his, in my favorite movie. I wanted to just have a minute to say my goodbye to someone whose work I respect a great deal, and whose death I’m taking maybe a little too hard because that’s a thing I do. I am talking to someone I love about how much this movie means to both of us, how much it affected us back in the days when we weren’t yet part of each other’s lives, and I am crying over this movie, and I am crying over this particular magic, this thing that brings people together at just the right time, in just the right place.

Magnolia has the recurring theme of coincidence, and connection, and how we’re all intertwined; how the smallest action can turn into the one thing that your entire life hinges on. I like this. This is the magic I hold onto in life. This is what I hang around for; those little moments where you can almost see the greater plan peeking through the velvet curtains at the edge of things.

The movie starts with some stories of coincidence, each one harder to believe than the last: a man killed in Greenberry Hill in London by men named Joseph Green, Stanley Berry and Daniel Hill; a scuba diver killed by a firefighting airplane flown by a man he’d coincidentally run into a few days prior; and a teenager attempting suicide by jumping off the roof of his building, only to have his mother accidentally shoot him as he falls past her window – and land in a net put up to save window-washers, so he wouldn’t have died, after all, had he not been shot.

After each of these stories, the narrator tells us “and I would like to think this was only a matter of chance.” Until the last story.

And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that this is not just “something that happened.” This cannot be “one of those things”… This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can’t. This was not just a matter of chance. Oh, these strange things happen all the time.

I’m going to tell you a story.

Once upon a time, I lived across the country. That iteration of Amy was not one I am proud of. I suppose you need to learn from your past, from your mistakes, to form the person you are today; if that’s the case, the mistakes I made, and troubles I dealt with, while living in the western part of the country, built a big old foundation upon which to position this life, the life I am proud of.

I worked at a theater there, for a while. I was one of the broken people, while there. I drifted. I was lost. I was doing what I could to survive. I was in and out of disastrous relationships and crushes on the least-likely candidates. I cried a lot. I was one of those thousand-yard-stare people you kind of see on the periphery.

I loved my time at the theater, though. It was brief – probably 8 months, all-told – but it seems longer, in my mind. I found family there. For someone as lost and alone as I was, this was huge. I had people, and I had a place to go, and I felt like I belonged. I was still broken, and I was still lost, but I had a tiny corner where things could be alright. (Theater’s saved me many times, and I have no doubt it will again – this is a good example of one of those times.)

But I screwed it up, as I did many things back then. Things got hard, and I got nervous, and I eventually shut myself off from everyone I loved there. I left and didn’t go back. I had reasons, which were varied (and kind of ridiculous, and even as screwed-up as I was, I knew they were ridiculous) but when the going gets tough, a lot of times, I just put up walls and make ‘em thick. No one gets in. I don’t go out. And I can pretend I made that choice! I don’t need anyone! But really what made the choice is the fact that I’m depressed and I’m freaking out and it’s easier to not have anyone in your life when that happens. People are just a complication, right?

I think I ended up saying goodbye to maybe two of the theater people when I left the state. I didn’t even think that might be hurtful. I just wanted out, and I wanted to get back to where I thought I could rebuild, and things might start to be ok.

And things were ok. More than ok, actually. I got my fresh start, both due to the change of scenery and a change in me. I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I wanted to be someone else – someone who didn’t hide, someone who had friends, someone who had more blue-sky days than black-cloud days. It’s amazing how far a change in attitude can take you. It wasn’t overnight – the person I was hung around longer than I care to admit – but eventually, I shed most of her off, I kept what worked, and I became the person I am now: flawed, sure, but happy. And happy begets happy. Happy draws IN happy. It’s something I never knew, and something I was so joyful to discover.

I compartmentalized who I used to be; I didn’t shut it off, because you can’t deny things that happened, but I didn’t let it color me, either. I’m friends with a few people from those days in the now; BFF is one of them, and Mer another. They’re my best takeaways from that time, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I’m peripherally friends with a few others on Facebook, but you know how Facebook is. You like a status here and there, but it’s what you put into it, and we’ve grown too far apart to mend those fences. I don’t know that we really care enough to, honestly.

Remember the dating site? Yeah, that’s going about as well as you might imagine, but that’s not the point of this story.

The dating site sends you a list of people it thinks are good matches for you. (Strangely, most of these people are what I would consider exactly the opposite of a “good match,” but that’s neither here nor there.) The other day, I was idly paging through them (an audio track of me doing this would be “no,” “ugh, OMG, no,” “where are your CLOTHES?”, and “Why does this site think I want to date a 62-old-man?”) and I saw a photo of someone that looked very familiar.

Now, I’d assumed at some point I’d run into someone I knew. It was kind of inevitable. It’s a big area, but not THAT big. I’m not going to DATE anyone I kn0w – if I wanted to date people I knew, would I be on the dating site to begin with? – but it wasn’t someone I knew from HERE.

It was someone I knew from the theater from all those years ago. J., who’d run the theater; who’d been the one who took me in to begin with, who gave me the family I was too closed off to accept as fully as I should have. I hadn’t seen J. in twelve years. We weren’t Facebook friends. We’d dropped off each other’s radar. Not out of spite or any sort of hard feelings; I liked J. I just lost touch with J., and then compartmentalizing that part of my life hadn’t led me to look up people from that time. Honestly? I didn’t know if they’d remember me. I’d been a bit of a ghost. At first, didn’t even believe it WAS J. – I did a Google seach first, to see if he really was in the area.

Because what are the odds, right? What are the odds that someone you were close to twelve years ago, all the way across the country, would show up in your list of people on a dating site you just joined?

But it was him. He was here, somehow. And after sending him what was probably the goofiest message ever (but, in my defense, he replied with an equally “ZOMG!” email) we met up for dinner the other night.

Dinner became over three hours of talking and catching up and laughing and utter amazement over the fact that it had been twelve years and here we were, and we both looked pretty much the same (few more gray hairs, maybe, but it wasn’t like we were unrecognizable to one another) and how was he here? And what had happened in the past twelve years? And we caught up over food and the time melted away and I remembered some of the good things from all that time ago; that everything wasn’t terrible, not all the time, and the good things I brought forward with me were the things that made my friendship with J. still work.

(And before you all get excited: no, this is not a love connection. I care about J. a great deal, but it’s never been THAT kind of relationship, and never will be. Solid friendship with nothing more behind it. Sorry to burst your bubble, all of you rooting for me to find love on the interwebz.)

I totally told J. "IT WOULD BE LIKE KISSING MY BROTHER" then I realized I probably had to say that was from a movie or it was just a really rude, or slightly incesty, thing to say.

I totally told J. “IT WOULD BE LIKE KISSING MY BROTHER” then I realized I probably had to say that was from a movie or it was just a really rude, or slightly incesty, thing to say.

J. is here working at one of the local colleges, rebooting their theater program. (Can’t think of anyone better to do it; he’s got this energy that just beams from him.) Things have been going well for him; he’s also had a good twelve years. He also realized he needed a fresh start and took his life in a different direction. And I have to admit, it was nice to tell him what I’d been up to; I didn’t have much to be proud of then, but now I can say things like “writing for the paper” and “traveling to Europe in the spring” and “published a book” and MEAN all of them.

And J. and I made plans to get together again, and soon; if the world hands you a coincidence like this, you don’t waste it. You grab that puppy with both damn hands. I can’t wait to introduce him to the theater scene; the first time we met, he took me in, and made the introductions, and I was just given the chance to return the favor.

And there is the account of the hanging of three men, and a scuba diver, and a suicide. There are stories of coincidence and chance, of intersections and strange things told, and which is which and who only knows? And we generally say, “Well, if that was in a movie, I wouldn’t believe it.” Someone’s so-and-so met someone else’s so-and-so and so on. And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that strange things happen all the time. And so it goes, and so it goes. And the book says, “We may be through with the past, but the past ain’t through with us.”

If the past ain’t through with me, I’m cool with that. I take the magic of the world where it’s given. If the world wants to bring back an old friend when I’m finally at the point in my life when I can appreciate him? I’ll take that magic. With thanks. And tears. And wonder.

Kind-of-Sort-of-Ask-Lucy a.k.a. I CAN ANSWER THAT! (Volume 19)

Howdy, folks! How do you feel about answering some questions today? Super-good? Yeah, me too. It’s like giving back, right? That’s supposed to make you feel good about yourself. And it’s much less scary than, say, giving a ride to a hitchhiker with one eye and a knife poking out of his belt. No, that wasn’t a euphemism.

We didn’t get a ton of questions this month, but we got some doozies. We always do, round these here parts. It’s inevitable, really, much like the sun coming up, the tides to-ing and fro-ing, and Dumbcat starting to beg for treats around 6pm even though treat time is 8pm, because he cannot read a clock.

So, in case you don’t remember, or are new here, or maybe your mom left the parental control off the laptop when she went out with “Uncle” Harold, here’s a quick rundown of what’s happening. Because the search terms posts tend to be insanely long, I break them up into two posts: an open letter to people who find my blog accidentally and a post with just the QUESTIONS that drive people to my blog. And I answer those questions to the best of my ability, and I give advice, some of which is more serious than the rest. Yesterday was the search term post, so, as you can see, today’s the question post. Nice how that works, yeah? Sure is.

So, yet again!

Welcome to…

Kind-of-sort-of Ask Lucy.


These are all ACTUAL SEARCH TERMS that brought people to my blog. So these people totally need my help, obviously, because they came to Google SEARCHING FOR HELP. And they obviously didn’t find it, because they ended up here. And as much as I like the traffic, I do feel bad for people who are weeping and wailing because they’re lost and alone and somehow trapped on Lucy’s Football island, even though it’s a wonderful place to be.

how many times a week to shave hands men Whoa whoa whoa. Shave your HANDS? OK, I know some men who have, like, super-hairy backs or chests or even shoulders or something, and they get waxed, sometimes, but I have to honestly say I’ve never heard of any man shaving his hands. Help me out, people, anyone ever heard of this? My answer for this is never. Never times a week. Leave your poor hands alone. You’re welcome, waxing’s better for such things, anyway.

how to make statue from string I think you build a structure from balloons, then wrap the balloons with string soaked in either glue or papier maché, then you pop the balloons and the structure stands on its own. You’re welcome, aren’t you glad I know things like this because I did set construction at theaters for years and years?

See? Like this, only larger-scale. Easy enough.

See? Like this, only larger-scale. Easy enough.

i was alienated from my mother by my father and stepmother how to fix Jeez, it’s like you’re living a terrible fairy tale. I’m so sorry. Talk to your mom; explain the situation. It might take some time to repair things; things don’t just get back to the way they were overnight. Be kind to your mom. Apologize. And what’s going on with your father and stepmother? They sound a bit wicked. Maybe distance yourself from them for a bit until everyone grows up a little? You’re welcome. Good luck, cherry blossom.

is a cat a rodent Oh, Andreas will love this one. No, a cat is not a rodent. A mouse or a rat is a rodent. A cat is a feline. (Also a carnivore, I suppose, if you want to be all sciency.) You’re welcome, you know you can Wikipedia these things, right?

This is also a feline; it will, however, eat your face.

This is also a feline; it will, however, eat your face.

is amy a common name? Unfortunately, yes. I think it’s less common now, but in the 70s, when I was born, it was the #1 girl’s name. There were so many Amys of my age that I was just one of many. I had a locker right next to an Amy who had the same last initial as me, as well. I’m not a fan of my first name. I wish it was something a little more jazzy, frankly. But it’s too late now. I’m not changing it. People would just be too confused if I showed up one day and was Zoë or something. You’re welcome, please name your kid something more original.

should i shovel snow if i’m sick Nice way to try to get out of something, trickster. I mean, if you’re DYING, no. Probably not. But if you just have the sniffles, sure. Get on out there and shovel that terrible white stuff. It’s awful while you’re doing it, and it hurts your back, but on the bright side, it’s excellent exercise, and when you’re done, you feel very accomplished. You’re welcome, stop dog-ate-my-homework-ing your household chores.

the best hooker for a spaceship OMG! The best hooker! Well, the answer is obviously Inara from Firefly. But she wasn’t as much a “hooker” as she was a “Companion.” I’m curious, are you building a spaceship? And populating it with hookers? You’re welcome, and also a little weird.

No question, this is the one you want.

whats worse porn or literotica Well. Worse is a little subjective, isn’t it? Is there anything wrong with either, if used properly? I mean, if you don’t get all obsessive, or think they’re real, or expect real women or men to act the way they do in porn/literotica, or read/watch really violent things and then act them out with unwilling partners, or something. I don’t judge these things. I assume everyone likes some sort of porn. It’s the way the world works. You’re welcome, don’t be so hard on yourself. Not a euphemism.

why always stupid people got big mouth Why always, indeed. Well, I think it’s that you’re annoyed by them, for whatever reason, so they seem super-loud and bothersome. Maybe someone you love seems stupid to someone else, and therefore would seem big-mouthed to that person, you know? It’s all in how you see it. I mean, it could also be that the stupid people have low self-esteem so are louder, I suppose. There are a lot of ways to look at this. You’re welcome, maybe invest in some earplugs?

why am i such a shut in I need more info. Are you injured, and therefore can’t leave the house? Are you suffering from severe agoraphobia? Do you hate people? If you don’t like how shut in you are, do something to change it – and that’s usually get out. Look in the paper and online, find something you like to do that’s going on, and go to it. Don’t let it daunt you. Go with someone, or go alone, but have a good time. And each thing you go to gets less scary and less scary until they’re not scary to go to at all anymore. Seriously. Or, alternately, get some medication that makes going out of the house easier to deal with. Worked for me. You’re welcome; I hope things get better for you.

why are lane bryant stores so expensive Because they know they can charge us more; there are very few good plus-sized stores out there, and people will pay a premium for nice clothes that fit (somewhat) well. (I recommend shopping elsewhere; I’ve had excellent luck at thrift stores, Peter Harris Plus, online, and Target. All for a fraction of what I’d pay at Lane Bryant.) You’re welcome; if they’re overcharging, choose to spend your money elsewhere.

why people shouldnt have butterfly knives Because they’re easy to hide away and ultimately stabby, I think. Not really sure. If you ask Dad, he’d say “THE GOVERNMENT!” or “BECAUSE OBAMA!” so don’t ask Dad. You’re welcome, maybe buy some nunchucks.

Yeah, THIS doesn't look dangerous at all.

Yeah, THIS doesn’t look dangerous at all.

On a scale of one to ten, one being WTH WAS THAT and ten being THE BEST THING EVER, how helpful were those answers? 4? I’ll take it.

Until next month – may all your questions be answered, and may your February be warmer than your January. Because no one likes the frozen wasteland of tundra of his January. NO ONE NO ONE.

An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 31)

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

Well, here we are. End of the month. What, already? I know! January kind of sped right by. I wish the rest of this frozen wasteland of a winter would do the same. Seriously, it’s like we’re paying for some sort of sins right now with this cold. WHY IS IT SO COLD? Good grief. The other morning, after cleaning off my car, WHILE wearing gloves AND a hat, might I add, it took most of the drive to work for my fingers to warm up, and they were all ouchy so I was convinced I had the frostbite. IT IS 2014. I SHOULD NOT BE GETTING THE FROSTBITE IN 2014.

I'm going to be the "I can't get up I CAN'T GET UP!" kid soon, seriously.

I’m going to be the “I can’t get up I CAN’T GET UP!” kid soon, seriously.

However, even though if you go outside you will probably die of cold (my favorite coworker A. said, when he ran out to the convenience store across the street the other day, “ALL THE BLOOD IN MY BODY FROZE THE MINUTE I STEPPED OUTSIDE!” so we keep picking on each other about that whenever we come in from outside. “How’s your blood? So frozen?”) there’s no rest for the wicked. We need to help the lost searchers. I mean, what if we didn’t? Would they just be wandering around all week, sad-faced and lonely and whimpering? I wouldn’t like that. Not even a little.

So, just in case you’re new (and if so, hi! Where’ve you been?), let me catch you up on this recurring post. I’m obsessed with my stats; I like to check what search terms drive people to my blog; then I feel REALLY BAD this isn’t what they were looking for. So I write them a letter of apology (as you can see, this is the 31th one. Whoa, it’s not too much longer that these posts are going to be older than I am. Can you even IMAGINE? If you’re interested, search for the others; they’re stellar.) Why do I do this? Um. Community service? Maybe it’s like community service? Sorry, I don’t know. I got nothing.

We’ve got enough search terms and questions for two posts this month, so aren’t we the most jazzed? We TOTALLY are. JAZZ-HANDS! Come on, everyone, let me see your jazz-hands. Not you, Ding Dong Joe, not until you Purell the hell out of them. You’re just filthy, bub.



OK. Are you ready? Hang onto your hats. If you don’t have a hat, go get one; all your heat leaves through your head, you know. Mom said that, so it MUST be true.

Facebook stuff and such

advantages and evils of facebook in our life Ooh, EVILS and ADVANTAGES. Do you think you might be overthinking Facebook? If you don’t like it, don’t use it. If you DO like it, KEEP using it. Don’t worry about it so much. Advantages: keeping in touch with your far-flung loved ones. Evils? I don’t know about EVILS. I mean, there’s pervs, but where aren’t there pervs? People on there are annoying, sometimes, sure – but, guess what. People in real LIFE are annoying, too. Calm down. It’s social media. If you think it’s evil, shut down your account. There. I fixed it.

facebook ruined a generation Hey, I think you and the person above are a LOVE CONNECTION! Yes, people are maybe a little more self-absorbed on Facebook – it lends itself to that, doesn’t it? – but I don’t think it ruined anything. Mostly because I don’t think the generation is ruined. I’m honestly exhausted of all this talk of this generation’s no good, that generation’s no good – they’re FINE. Leave the kids alone. People used to say that about our generations, back in the day. It’ll all work out.

Hey, look, Disney saved a whole lost generation! Impressive, no?

Hey, look, Disney saved a whole lost generation! Impressive, no?

facebook show wrong people you may know ….how to change So…you don’t know the people you may know? WHOA. This is MIND-BLOWING. Why would you want to change it? Seriously. If you want to see people you might want to be friends with? Tip! Click on the “find friends” thing. It’s like “people you may know” only they’re mostly all relevant. (And mostly all people I don’t want to be friends with, but that’s probably just me, I suppose, since I hate most people.)

Is this me? I’m a real-life person, right?

adventures of real life people I am real! I have adventures! I like that this search term brought you right here. All the adventures! I hope you enjoy them. Most of my adventures involve me doing something foolish and/or ridiculous. If you like such things, you’ve come to the right place!

I’m not sure what these mean, but I like them.

ask lucy bad face Is that my new name? Lucy Bad Face? Or do you ask me something, and I MAKE a bad face? I think that should be my gangsta name. Bad Face Lucy. Don’t you mess with Bad Face Lucy! She’ll mess you up but good!

baltimore lil one feel me i’m stupidly I don’t even know, but this makes me happy. Is it song lyrics? I know a lil’ one in Baltimore, and she’s just about my favorite lil’ one. She has a smile that could knock you on your butt, that kiddo. She is glorious.

blah blah blah don’t listen to me love love love the wifi to my love if life’s too my love is the shhh to email this to me to leave do i have something inserted in me where like a receiver retriever what the hell is going on what am i mixed up in by accident of course Yes, this entire sentence showed up in my search results. No, I don’t know why, either. It has many words that lead you here, like shhh and email and probably inserted because sometimes I’m naughty and euphemistic, but mostly I’m wondering, who typed all this into a search engine? And why? To what end? I have to admire this type of fortitude, though. It’s impressive.


bitch please i ride a unicorn BITCH PLEASE. I RIDE AN IMAGINARY CREATURE.

Huh. I guess this is a thing, then. Who knew?

Huh. I guess this is a thing, then. Who knew? (It’s “a” unicorn, babe, not “an.” Unless that’s a weird British thing. Is that a weird British thing?)

What? What is this?

kill the trust wallpapers What’s “kill the trust?” Is it a thing? I am the first to admit I don’t know about things. I’m very much out of the loop and old and new memes always pop up and I’m like, “WHAT IS THIS?” and then I usually giggle at people’s ingenuity. So now I have to search for “kill the trust.” Nope, not a thing, so I’m just as lost as I always, but I did find this, so not all is lost. Thanks, internet!

I don’t think they are.

buffalo ny people are rude I know a number of Buffalo people (what are they? Buffalonians? No idea) and they’re nice as can be. I have no issues with the people from Buffalo. I was in Buffalo twice – once for a visit, once driving through – and the only complaint I have is that the time I was driving through I got crazy lost, but that was my fault, not Buffalo’s. (I am TERRIBLE at maps, and this was pre-GPS times, and it wasn’t easy to read a map and drive alone at the same time. However, I made it across the country this way, all alone, like an intrepid pioneer. I’m still proud about this. Young Amy rocked, sincerely.)


homemade lite brite with cups I was curious about this, but apparently it’s a whole THING. Like, you need a light table and a bunch of cups. I don’t want to make one or anything. I would, however, like a Lite Brite. Remember how much fun those were? I always wanted one, but the only cool toys that everyone else had that my family had were a Rubik’s Cube, a Simon (OH, how I loved that Simon!) and a Cabbage Patch Kid. (Mine was a redhead with braids and her name was Janet. She was the best.)

Only the coolest kids had these. I was not the coolest, sadly.

Only the coolest kids had these. I was not the coolest, sadly.


hot college swim team yay sex OMG! Yay, sex! Yeah, I’m down with that. Yay, sex. And yay, swimmers. I loved a swimmer once. They are hot. I can’t deny that. But this search term is a little less hot. The team’s not all popping out of the water and getting it on in the locker room, you guys. Stop that.

how wild people sex Ha! This made me laugh so hard. How wild people sex? Do you want, like, a manual? And it could go different ways. Like, how WILD people sex, or how wild PEOPLE sex. This is a little conundrum, this one. Also, no idea how it got you here. I don’t know that I have an answer for you, either. How wild people sex? I would assume pretty wild, but not SO wild, maybe?

litotica nothing but the but t Nothing but the but! t! That space there makes this for me. I was all over giggles about this. People search a lot here for literotica. What’s funny is, I’ve never blogged about it, that I know of, and the only mention of it is in these search terms. It’s like a snake eating its own tail. (Also, this is “litotica” which is kind of funny and poorly-spelled.)

literotica mom and son alone in storm EW EW EW NO. I think that mom and son would NOT GET UP TO NAUGHTYTIMES. Seriously, just when I think people can’t weird me out more, things like this happen. Although the storm was a creative little touch. Adds some urgency to this incestuous mess.

sex, women wee wee inadvertently If you can’t say “urinate” you can’t have sex. I just made this rule and I stand by it. Also, it’s called female ejaculation, and it’s not urine, you troglodyte.

sextoysyo dot com SEXTOYSYO! Listen, if I ever need to purchase some sex toys, I’m so buying them here. It’s like this site is made for me.

sexy zebra sleep room Sexy zebra? Like, is the zebra wearing a peignoir? This is very strange. I know some people think animal prints are sexy. I find them to be trying too hard. You know what’s sexy? NOT TRYING TOO HARD.

SEXY ZEBRA! Does it worry you that this is actually a thing? Worries me, a little.

SEXY ZEBRA! Does it worry you that this is actually a thing? Worries me, a little.

Well! I am…pleased for you?

i am so busy doing nothing I am never busy doing nothing. I wish I was. I’m terrible at it. I want to do nothing, and then I realize I need to blog, or email, or a million other things. I am busy multitasking, for the most part. That’s usually what I’m busy doing.

Methinks the searcher doth protest too much

im not interested in love People say this a lot, but I’ve yet to meet someone who really means it. If love showed up for someone who’s said such a thing, they’d accept it. It’s easy to say you’re not interested in it, especially when it seems everyone has it but you, but it’s a very human thing, to want love, to want to give love in return. It’s not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign you have a heartbeat. Embrace it, darling.

Yeah, sometimes, I suppose.

life plays a cruel game It does seem like this, doesn’t it? Life is sometimes terrible. And it sometimes seems like it’s all out to get you. We’ve all had those days (hell, or weeks, or months) where it seems like everything’s piling up against you. But life’s not playing a cruel game. It’s just the way things are. There are highs and lows, and your high will come. Promise. Life swings around. That’s one of the things I’ve learned over the years: things tend to balance out, eventually. Just stick to it.

Oh, well this is appetizing.

log bologna meat Nothing I like more than calling my food a log. YUM.

I beg to differ.

no such thing as too much tequila Oh, yes there is. There SO is. Also, a tequila hangover is a bad one. I’m unfortunately one of those people who can rate hangovers by the alcohol consumed, and a tequila hangover’s not quite as bad as a champagne hangover (that one rated the worst ever in my book) but it’s nasty. It’s a nasty, greasy, disgusting hangover and you’re all “NEVER AGAIN” until the siren song of MORE TEQUILA happens. Take this from someone who used to be in a very serious relationship with José Cuervo, please. He’s a terribly abusive boyfriend.

See? Even this weird old band knows about this.

See? Even this weird old band knows about this.

Aw! This is flattering!

please write me a notification for my birth day I don’t know you, or when your birthday is, or I’d do this. I love birthdays. And I love that you wanted me to remember you on it. Pretend I did, ok? BEEP BEEP IT IS YOUR BIRTHDAY! HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS TO YOU, STRANGER!

All of them? I think all of them.

plus womens department stores that will sell to crossdressers You’re not going to find too many stores that turn away business. I suppose really snotty stores might go all Pretty Woman on you and sneer, but mostly, the point of stores is, they want you to spend your money there, because it’s how they stay in business. And listen, when I worked at the plus sized clothing store in college, I LOVED when men would come in and shop. They were so nice, and would model things for me and we’d talk and chat and laugh and I always looked forward to them coming in. So I suppose if larger stores are snotty, go to smaller ones? I’d also assume stores in larger cities would be more accepting than stores in smaller towns, but that’s just a guess.

Are you hinting that Dumbcat should have his own blog?

siamese lynx point blog Sometimes Dumbcat guest blogs here, but he could never keep up his own blog. He’s too busy sleeping, licking himself, eating treats, and making weird meows because he misses me when I leave for five seconds and he hasn’t seen me. I think this might be as CLOSE to a Siamese Lynx Point blog as you’ll find, though. What a claim to fame! I’m really pleased by this.

Whew! There you go, January, I kicked YOUR butt all over town. In celebration, here is the best thing on the internet today.

LOWL! I want to hug this owl, providing he didn't peck out my eyes.

LOWL! I want to hug this owl, providing he didn’t peck out my eyes.

Until next month, my poor lost lambikins. May Google be kind in your searches.

Love, Me.

(As always, thank you to Mer for the inspiration for these posts!)

The wages of bloggery = ADVENTURE!

Howdy, blogosphere. Are we good? Good, good. Is it spring yet? No? Dammit.

I have a story! No, seriously, I totally do.

So sometimes, as a VERY IMPORTANT BLOGGER* (*not at all important) I get emails offering me things from companies who want me to blog about them. I’ve been offered sunglasses (which are useless to me, as I wear glasses); bumper stickers (I don’t care for bumper stickers, I feel they’re the lazy man’s way of shouting while driving); sex toys (I don’t even); and business cards (for a while there, people were giving business cards away to bloggers, and I just didn’t – and still don’t – understand who I would give those to, unless I went to a blogging convention of some sort.)

Problem is, other than the fact I didn’t really WANT any of these things (well, let’s be honest, I was curious about the sex toys, if only to make fun of them on the blog) is that in order to GET them, you had to SHILL them. You had to put an ad for them up on the sidebar of your blog, and you weren’t reviewing them, but advertising them. Totally against the terms of service of WordPress. We’re not here to be advertisers. (Try to tell that to all the spammy blogs out there that never get shut down, somehow…but technically, that’s a big old no-no.)

Now, we ARE allowed to accept things to fairly and honestly review them. Books, for example. You know how book bloggers write “I received this book from the publisher in exchange for a fair and honest review?” That’s totally allowed. Still not allowed to put an ad on your blog for them (at least, I don’t think you are…or maybe that’s just if you’re running WordAds, which I am, because I sure do like making pennies a month with those suckers…PENNIES a MONTH, baby!) but you’re totally not violating any rules by honestly reviewing something that was gifted to you.

Thing is, I’ve never been offered anything but books, so it was kind of a moot point, really.


I got what I thought was possibly a spam email (I get a lot of those on here) offering me what seemed to be something TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE. So I asked a billion questions, because I don’t like to be fooled. And come to find out…IT WAS A REAL THING!

Guess what I get to do in April?


Probably won’t be staying here, but let me pretend I will be for a couple of months, ok?

Nope, totally not even spammy, you guys, I’m like a big deal or something!

OK, so the email offered me a stay in Vermont in a farmhouse so they could get more exposure for this new outdoorsy program they were running there (hiking, cross-country skiing, yoga, snowshoeing, etc.)

I immediately thought, “Oh, this is like the time Dad got roped into going to a timeshare presentation when I was a kid and we went to Florida, and we had to sit in this room and listen to this man talk at us for like four hours, and we were SO BORED, and Dad was SO ANGRY that he was tricked like that.”

So I asked this nice lady a billion questions, like, “Do I have to snowshoe, or can I just stay in the room, maybe?” and “Is this like the time I had to sit through a timeshare pitch? That would make me so mad” and “Wait, HOW in the mountains are you. You have, like, TVs and wifi and bathrooms that are indoors, right?” and “You do know I’m not, like, a SERIOUS blogger, right?” and “Is this a scam? Come on. You can tell me.”

Luckily, she did not think I was crazy, and she wrote back to me answering all my questions in a “you’re not at all crazy, blogger lady” manner, with links to the site, and where I would be staying, and an actual itinerary and dates I could stay and everything. And…even BETTER…I could bring a GUEST! Now, who do I know that loves outdoorsy things, doesn’t care if I act like a loon, and likes to have adventures?

You know I'M not going to do this. I had to find SOMEONE who might.

You know I’M not going to do this. I had to find SOMEONE who might.

You think no one, don’t you? Who do I know that likes the outdoors? And you’d be all, “NO ONE,” and you’d be CLOSE to right, but you’re overlooking ONE PERSON and that person is MOM!

Mom was VERY EXCITED when I invited her on a Vermont adventure and she only asked if we were going to be killed or asked to listen to a timeshare presentation about ten times. (Listen, we’ve all been quite scarred by this timeshare presentation situation. It was a very monumental point in our communal past as a family.) I told her she would have to do all the outdoorsy things (because the woman who emailed me was all, “um, we’d LIKE if you at least TRIED some outdoorsy things?”) and I could do the other things like eating and sleeping and maybe yoga and then Mom was all “I want to yoga!” so that’ll be a fun thing. Also there’s a masseuse, but Mom and I hate being touched, so we’re undecided about the masseuse. “Do you think I can leave all my clothes on for the masseuse, and ask him or her to please not touch my feet?” I asked Mom. “They’re going to kick us out of this place,” she laughed.

And and AND, guess what ELSE there is?





Oh, you know I’m all over this goat thing. Goats are the best. Mom thinks they look like demons and make all the poop but I told her she had to be nice to the goats because goats are my buddies and she said FINE but she wasn’t going to TOUCH the goats and I was like “good, you can take pictures of me touching goats and also BEING a goat and making GOAT HORNS with my FINGERS” and she said she would.

I also told her we should put her photo on the blog and she was like NO NO NO but in a kind of curious way so I think we could work on her about this. “They don’t want to see ME!” she said and I was like, “Oh, sure they would” and it’s not like Dad and his “THAT’S HOW THEY GET YOU!” thing about having his photo on the interwebs so I think maybe we might be seeing Amy’s Mom! Won’t that be fun? Sure it will! (Amy’s Mom looks like Amy only thin. I’m completely serious about this. Genetics can be cruel.)

Dad was all, “WHY WOULD YOU BRING YOUR MOTHER” and I think he was jealous I didn’t ask him and I was like, “Old man, you hate hotels, and also outdoorsy forced cheer, and you would never do yoga and you would be all complainy. Mom and I are going to have an ADVENTURE” and he was like “GRUMP GRUMP GRUMBLE GRUMP.” Aw, Dad. Feelin’ all left out.

So! Yes! Mom and I are having an adventure in the spring, and we are MUCH EXCITED! So stay tuned, my little tater tots. Will I get eaten by a yeti? Will I get to pet all the goats, or just a few of them? Will I really hike, or just nap in the room? SO MANY QUESTIONS! SO MUCH EXCITEMENT!

You know I'll have an adventure here. Or maybe get up to shenanigans. Or both.

You know I’ll have an adventure here. Or maybe get up to shenanigans. Or both.

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