An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 32)

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

Howdy, people! It is now officially almost the end of February. Really all this means to me is that I’m one month closer to going to Finland, and one month closer to seeing Andreas‘ smiling face in PERSON, you guys! (Well, again, as I’ve already seen it…and I see it every couple of weeks when we chat on the Google…but this will be better because it will be in the LAND OF FINNS!) Really I’m just tolerating this winter to make it through to the spring. Because the spring will be AWESOME.

Aw, these interspecies friends are ALSO waiting for spring!

Aw, these interspecies friends are ALSO waiting for spring!

Things have been cuckoo-bananas-crazy around these here parts, with many things going on and much, much busyness. But all is well, just a little hectic. Expect at least ONE post about ONE of the things going on sometime soon, because I have many photos that will make you glow and awww and squee. Once I get a few minutes to write about it, that is. Right now, I’m sneaking this in while I’m watching television and keep getting distracted by the pretty moving pictures.

So, just in case you’re new (and if so, hello, new friend! Sorry I don’t blog enough. I used to blog more. Maybe I will someday again), 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 32th one. That’s kind of impressive, if you think about it. If you’re interested, search for the others; they’re stellar.) Why do I do this? I think I feel like I have to, at this point. Like, maybe if I stopped, the earth would just stop SPINNING.

I got a lot of search terms this month, but they were mostly all variations on pervy things and Facebook questions (and someone was stalking my blog by typing in “Lucy’s Football cats” and “Lucy’s Football sex” and “Lucy’s Football Finland” and that’s nice, but who are you and what do you want with me? So after narrowing things down, we’re left with not many search terms or questions this month. I’m cool with that. I’ve got the attention span of a gnat right now, yo.

OK. Are you wondering what search terms brought people to the old Football this month? Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be? We’re just going to list them all out one by one this month, since there aren’t many of them. Switch things up a little. See how we like that. I don’t usually dig change, but I’m willing to try anything once.

“but fuck finland” Well! That seems rude. What a rude thing to say! I love Finland. One of my favorite humans of all the humans lives in the Finland. Also, Finland has awesome things like delicious chocolates, and reindeer, and the midnight sun, and raccoon dogs, and hedgehogs. Finland is filled with awesomeness. Don’t use naughty words about the land of Finns, yo.

a poem that will make mom not whoop daughter Oh, I think maybe you’re putting too much weight on a poem. If your mom is about to “whoop” you, no poem’s going to make her stop, kiddo. What, she’s going to read “The Road Not Taken” or “A Dream Deferred” and be all, “I shall not hit my child today?” Poetry does a lot of things, but I don’t know that it’ll stop a whoopin’, darlin’. Sorry to tell you.

accidentally posted blowjob video tumblr I can’t even imagine how this accident occurred. Sincerely. I’m so befuddled. Did you think you were uploading a video of a kitten, or something, and WHOOPS THAT’S OUR PERSONAL TIME! OK, first? Don’t record your sexytimes. I know it seems like a good idea (ok, no, no I don’t) but IT IS NEVER A GOOD IDEA. And second, don’t ACCIDENTALLY POST THAT ON TUMBLR. I don’t use Tumblr much. Can’t you just take that DOWN? I mean, anyone could have uploaded it, and saved it, and is now getting…inspired…by your artistic endeavor…but just take it down. At least MORE people won’t be “inspired” by it, you know?

This is the proper face for when you come across some of the things that are online that shouldn't be. Trust me on this.

This is the proper face for when you come across some of the things that are online that shouldn’t be. Trust me on this.

bdsm marionette picture OMG NO. Come on now. Marionettes are creepy enough as it is. Now you want one all tricked out to, what, spank you or whatever? You’re a sick mammajamma. Go elsewhere for your kicks. The only kicks you’re getting around here are in the bum. And not the saucy kinds, either.  Urgh.

chuggington gangster Is there a gangster on Chuggington? Or are you calling Chuggington a gangster? The Nephew doesn’t watch that show anymore, I don’t think. Strangely, the last time I saw him he kept singing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle song, and he laughed when I told him I saw that movie in the theaters. He laughed harder when I said, “I’m very old, The Nephew.”

Chuggington is very nice, so this was the scariest character I could find, and only because it's a monkey and I hate monkeys.

Chuggington is very nice, so this was the scariest character I could find, and only because it’s a monkey and I hate monkeys.

david busters yolo bears Dude! It isn’t a BEAR, it’s a HAMSTER. And it is AWESOME. Friend K. came over a while back and was all, “Why do you have that…thing…on your table that has a YOLO shirt” and I was all, “K.! IT IS A YOLO HAMSTER!” and she laughed and said “Only you would have a YOLO hamster on your kitchen table, Amy.” Also, it’s Dave and Busters, not David Busters. Come on, now.

Here is MY YOLO hamster! You can be jealous. It's ok.

Here is MY YOLO hamster! You can be jealous. It’s ok.

do you like my eyebrows Yes. I do. I think they’re fantastic. You’re lovely. Don’t ever doubt it, you!

female sounds of ecstasy Oh, honey. No. Just stop. You’re searching for this on the Googles? Don’t even bother, ok? The ones you’re going to find are weird fake porn, anyway. You know who makes realistic sounds of female ecstasy? REAL WOMEN YOU ARE INTIMATING WITH. Check that out sometime. It’s unparalleled.

finns kill reindeers Yeah, I think they do. I know Andreas has mentioned the eating of reindeer meat before. I think it’s a thing there. (It’s probably like hunting deer here, I’d think?) But, not to worry. Santa’s reindeer are fine, I think. They’re not in the land of Finns. They’re at the North Pole. Santa-ing.

This is the happiest reindeer EVER! Don't kill him, Finland!

This is the happiest reindeer EVER! Don’t kill him, Finland!

forehead ecstasy and passion What’s up with all the ecstasy searches this month? I think I blogged about the DRUG Ecstasy once. Are you confused about the difference? And listen, I know we have a lot of erogenous zones, but I don’t know that the forehead is one. If someone was all rubbing and licking my forehead, I think I’d start giggling and tell ‘em to get off. Just my prerogative, though.

grade 12 essay on what is happening to our young people?they disrespect elders,etc I’m not doing your homework for you, kiddo. You need to use your brain, ok? Or it will atrophy and melt out of your ears. Also, what a terrible essay topic. I would argue the opposite of this. I think adults always say this, in every generation, and you, Grade 12er, will say the same thing about kids your age when you an older person. Your teachers should come up with something better. Probably don’t tell them I said that, though, you’ll end up in detention.

hardest sheet music ever EVER? Man, that’s subjective. The answer is, ALL OF IT. Mostly because I can’t read music. But if anyone who does read music wants to chime in, please feel free.

in darkness and secrecy representivity Ha! I don’t know what this means, but I like how it’s phrased. It sounds like something from the code of conduct from a secret club. Are you inviting me into your secret club? I’ll think about it. Thank you, kind searcher!

SPECIAL PEOPLE CLUB! I need to watch this movie again. Like, immediately.

SPECIAL PEOPLE CLUB! I need to watch this movie again. Like, immediately.

morning porn OK. I’m curious. Is morning porn different than afternoon or evening porn? Like, would the naked laydeez be eating waffles, or something? Would you be in a different mood in the morning, porn-wise, than you would be when the sun was higher in the sky? This is all very interesting to me, in kind of a psychological way, honestly. Anyone have any ideas?

passenger singer sounds like speech impediment OMG HE’S BRITISH. It’s not a SPEECH IMPEDIMENT. What would you even think if you went to England? That they ALL have speech impediments? I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry, to be honest. Also, British accents? Sexy as hell. Why are you thinking they have lateral lisps, or something?

Also, he's adorable in a beardy way, right? Right.

Also, he’s adorable in a beardy way, right? Right.

people you may know are they stalking me? or am i stalking them? This is such an existential question. Are THEY stalking YOU? Or are YOU stalking THEM? Well, I can answer this for you, because, as you know, I am apparently the Facebook guru of the internet. (And of the real world, I guess. Two people have contacted me this week in the really real world asking me Facebook questions. I guess I’m more user-friendly than the Facebook help section. I’m ok with that.) NEITHER OF YOU ARE STALKING ANYONE. There was a rumor a while back that the people in the “people you may know” are people who have searched for you; I find no evidence that this is anything more than a rumor, although it may be true, I suppose. I’m just not a huge conspiracy-theorist. No one’s stalking. You all put way too much weight on Facebook. It’s just social media, yo.

the proof is in the pudding bitch RIGHT IN THAT PUDDING! BITCH! This made me snort-laugh. What a thing to say. “How do I know you love me, Charles?” “THE PROOF IS IN THE PUDDING, BITCH!” “Um…what pudding? What does that even mean? Do you love me, or don’t you? Why’d you just call me a bitch?” “Man, that catchphrase really backfired on me, I think.” AND SCENE. (Also, don’t put anything in pudding. Pudding is delicious as-is, and also you might choke someone if you put that proof in that pudding. Wait, is that proof a euphemism? I don’t even want to know.)

upstate ny hunting cabins sale Are you trying to buy my parents’ cabin? It’s not for sale. Don’t touch it. It’s my thinking-place, and my zen-place, and it smells like pine, and I love it there. You can’t have it.

There you have it, internettians. Got it in just under the wire. This month has kind of kicked my ass, so I’m impressed this happened at all. Hi-YA! On to March! Here we go!

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!)

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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!”

I HAD WON! I HAD BEATEN ACNE!

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.


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.

Subtitled: I CAN ANSWER THAT!

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.

OMG JAZZ HANDS TURTLE THIS WINS THE INTERNET TODAY!

OMG JAZZ HANDS TURTLE THIS WINS THE INTERNET TODAY!

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.

Hee!

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.)

Crafty!

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.

Naughty!

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!)


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