Category Archives: Twitter

I taught Solomon his little ABC’s; I’m the first one to eat Limburger cheese

I know, we talk a lot about social media round these here parts. Pilgrims. I spend most of my life on the interwebs, so it only makes sense. It’s my home. Of course I’m going to talk about my home, it’s what people do.

The interwebs is my HOME. Are you too good for your HOME?

A while ago, I recapped (I should put that in quotes, as anything I “recap” ends up pages and pages long, only slightly shorter than what I’m actually recapping, I suffer from logorrhea, I know I do, and HA! spell check wants me to change that to “gonorrhea” and I’m FAIRLY sure I don’t suffer from that, I know I’m a hypochondriac but not when it comes to STDs, you have to be sexually active for those to be a concern, I’m fairly sure) an article about how Facebook is making us all lonely. The author was all “FACEBOOK IS THE DEVIL” and we talked about how his statistics were flawed and how probably he’s doing social media wrong because he seems to have a bone to pick with it.

The other day, I found this article on the Wall Street Journal. Whenever I find an article on the Wall Street Journal that’s not about finances, I laugh a little. Yes, yes, I know they write about all manner of things nowadays. But I see Wall Street Journal, I think, “buy buy sell sell cornering the ENTIRE FROZEN ORANGE JUICE MARKET!” and then I see an article about social media and I laugh a little. I don’t know. It’s probably only funny to me. (Please tell me you got the orange juice reference. It’s only one of my favorite movies of all time ever ever EVER.)

What about now. You get it now, right?

The article, titled “Are We All Braggarts Now?”, shares a lot with the article I discussed in the other post, but goes a little deeper into one aspect I only touched on briefly; that of how looking at others’ positive status updates on social media makes us upset, jealous, and gives us a severe case of the green-eyed monsters.

BTW, not all of us with green eyes are monsters. Some of us just have beautiful green eyes. I mean, just saying.

Let me try to recap. I KNOW, I KNOW. Amy! Your recaps are CUCKOO-BANANAS LONG. I like words, jellybeans, they’re like drugs to me.

So the author (Elizabeth Bernstein) starts with some examples of status updates, along the lines of “I have the best husband ever!” and “Just got my first royalty check!” and says, if you’re kind, those seem benign, but really, they’re bragging, and they’re all kinds of rude.

She discusses why, exactly, we “brag” online – to compete with others, to show those in our lives who said we couldn’t make it that we can and did, that we’re excited when good things happen to us, that when we talk about ourselves, we trigger the dopamine sensors in our brain (we’ve talked about that here on the old Lucy’s Football before, how talking about yourself online triggers the same brain-areas as sex does. If that’s the case, I’m doing it wrong, as I’ve said before, because I’ve never felt anything sexy about tweeting, but I digress. Hell, I always digress, that’s nothing new.) She mentions the study I spoke about once before (I don’t remember when, but I know I did) where a researcher offered money to study participants to not talk about themselves online, and they eschewed the money. ESCHEWED. (Really depends on how much money it was, doesn’t it? I mean, I’d turn down fourteen cents, but if someone offered me a million dollars never to tweet again…I might consider that, let’s be honest. I like the idea of not having to worry about paying my rent or bills. But I’d miss Twitter like someone cut out my heart…so, yeah. I’d think about it.)

She mentions, briefly, that some people don’t know the difference between bragging and simply sharing positive information that others might want to know. And that some people might see what you think of as simply sharing information as being a big old braggy asshole. Simply talking about your job to someone might be seen as bragging to them, especially if they’re not in a good place (either mentally, or job-wise. Or, they might be a dick. Never discount the fact that the person you’re talking to might be a total and complete dick. There are more of them out there than you know.)

Listen to Wil Wheaton, kiddos. He’s ultra-wise.

Then she’s all, how do you DEAL with these BRAGGARTS? Well, you feel SORRY for them, and you MOVE ON, shaking your head SADLY at their BRAGGARY. (Braggarism? Braggartry? Hmm, there’s probably a correct word for this. Not that it really matters, it’s not like I don’t make shit up all the time.)

Want my thoughts? Eh, would you be here if you didn’t?

Here are my thoughts. I’ll put them in a handily-bulleted list for you.

  • People aren’t bragging as much as you think they are.
  • If they are being a braggy asshole, you have choices about how to deal with it.
  • If “bragging” is bothering that much, you might want to deal with what’s going on in you-town.

Let’s break these down. All serious-researcher style.

People aren’t bragging as much as you think they are.

People put all kinds of things up on Facebook and Twitter. This article was talking more about Facebook than Twitter; that’s probably smart. On Facebook, your updates are usually skewed one way; on Twitter, your updates go all around the town.

Facebook updates are usually positive. You get a lot of “Going on vacation in five days!” or “Just saw the most beautiful sunset!” or “Dinner with my honey tonight!” Things like that. On Twitter, you get a lot more of everything – we tend to just spew on Twitter. That’s what I like about it. You don’t have to be all chirpy-chirpy. You can say whatever you want, for the most part. (Also, sorry FB people, I like my Twitter people more. They’re more engaged, they respond more, and they’re funny as hell.)

Here’s the thing. I don’t know that they’re bragging, so much. They’re just talking. They’re just saying things that are happening. What’s the alternative? To talk about only NEGATIVE things going on in their lives? “I never get a vacation, my life sucks” or “Ugh, all it does is rain” or “No one would ever date ME” – listen, would you rather read updates from chirpy positive Polly up there, or negative Nelly? Honestly, as much as I hate all-rainbows-all-the-time, I’m going with Polly. I’d rather deal with positivity than constant negativity. Constant negativity is EXHAUSTING.

Remember Debbie Downer? Would you have wanted to be her Facebook friend? Didn’t think so.

Is the person who’s constantly positive (or, if you read it this way, braggy) annoying? Well, yeah, sometimes. But it depends on how you read it. It depends on you. And you have options on how to deal with it.

If they are being a braggy asshole, you have choices about how to deal with it.

If you’ve decided that someone IS being a braggy asshole, and isn’t just a., clueless, or b., positive, or c., just talking about what’s going on in their lives and their lives happen to be pretty damn good, you have options.

Is it Twitter? Unfollow their asses. Easy peasy. If you can’t – it’s a friend of a friend, they’ll get yelly, they’ll get pouty, they’ll hit their blog and be all “LUCY’S FOOTBALL IS AN UNFOLLOWING ASSHOLE,” they’ll get suicidal, you know them in real life – you can do things to minimize your contact with them. Twitter has a setting you can mute their retweets (I’ve done this with a lot of obnoxious people.) It cuts down on a lot of their stream-hogging traffic. Then: you simply ignore the rest of their tweets when you see them. Is it a pain in the ass? Are they annoying the shit out of you? Yep. You’re a grownup, though. Muscle through, sunshine. And if you ignore them long enough, you might be lucky and they’ll unfollow you. Total win!

Is it Facebook? Even better. If you don’t want to unfriend them because they might pitch a fit, you can block them from seeing anything on your page and you can block YOURSELF from seeing their updates. It’s like they’re not even there. Anything you post? As long as you don’t mark it “public,” that jerko doesn’t see it. And you don’t see their relentless cheery updates. Done! I mean, sure, someday they might contact you, all, “why don’t you ever update your Facebook anymore?” Just say “eh, Facebook is SO OVER, I’m into Google Plus now,” or something you don’t ever check.

If “bragging” is bothering that much, you might want to deal with what’s going on in you-town.

Sure, you can ignore and you can block and you can eye-roll. But if all that braggery is bugging you SO EFFING MUCH and making you feel like your life sucks? Well, I’m thinking that maybe you have some inner work to be done. I mentioned this in my earlier post I mentioned above, but honestly, when my friends post something good that happens to them? I’m overjoyed. I respond accordingly. I want them all to have the best things in life. If I had my way? My people would have ALL the best things. As much money as they need or want, a significant other that they deserve, people around them that love them, children if that’s their thing, a job that fulfills them, hobbies that they love, their good, long, and enduring health, and all the laughter in their lives that they need to nourish them. And if they post about those things on social media or send me an email about them or otherwise tell me about them? Shit, what kind of asshole ISN’T happy for their loved ones? Now, sure. You wouldn’t be human if, sometimes, you didn’t get the slightest twinge of “oh, damn, I wish I had that” when a friend tells you about something awesome they have. A husband that does an awesome thing; a job doing something you’d love to be doing; a home in a place you’d love to live. Of course. It’s only natural to want what you don’t have. But it doesn’t mean you need to go from “damn, wouldn’t that be nice to have? Oh, well” to “I HATE HER WHY IS SHE LIVING THE LIFE I DESERVE,” you know? And if you ARE doing that? Something’s going on in your brain-area. You need to look into that. You need to get that checked into. Therapy, talk to a friend, I don’t know. Something. It’s not your friends’ fault they have good things in their lives. And you don’t need to be pissed at them about it. You should be a big enough person to be happy for those you love if something good happens in their lives. I’m a gigantic enough sap that when something good happens to my nearest and dearest, I totally get teary. I’m thinking back, and yep, I can think of two different things over the past month or so that I found out from my people that made me cheer audibly and tear up. Maybe that’s not normal, but I have to think it’s a little nicer than getting all stompy and WHY NOT MEEEE???

I’m sorry, I know this has very little to do with the preceding paragraph; it made me laugh until I snorted. SO EMOOOOOO

So, are we all braggarts now? I’d say, probably not. We talk about ourselves. We tend to talk about the positives, more than the negatives. (Well, most of us. The Twitterati among us talk about everything. We’re fairly shameless.) If everything’s striking you as bragging – well, you might be a sensitive little flower, darlin’. Deep breaths. Not everything’s a personal attack. I promise.

Title from my beloved Woody Guthrie’s “The Great Historical Bum” (also known as “The Bragging Song” and “The Biggest Thing Man Has Ever Done”.) Enjoy!


I just want to play on my pan-pipes; I just want to drink me some wine

As you’re all aware, I’m not a music person. I’ve said that a million times. I have terrible, terrible, TERRIBLE taste in music. Well, obviously I don’t think it’s terrible. I just know that if people look at what I’m listening to, they make that polite face that they would also make if you invited them over to look at your child’s drawings, or something. “Oh! Well! Isn’t THAT nice!” No. No, not really all that nice.  

Sorry. This made me laugh. With noises. At work.

It makes me happy, though. Really all that matters. 

Most people listen to music a lot. I don’t. I listen to it when I’m driving (mostly just the same radio station all the time, the good local alternative channel, and when that’s playing something I don’t like, either another alternative channel or the weird semi-oldies/semi-easy-listening channel.) I’d listen to it more but I don’t have a CD player in the car so my options are kind of limited. Especially in the summer when I have to have the windows all cranked down so you can’t hear the radio anyway because of the wind-tunnel effect.

Once my friend got one of these. Helpful tip: it didn’t work. Are you so so shocked?

I don’t listen to it at home very often because I am watching television. Sometimes when I’m writing, but usually I just have the television in the background because I’m trying to get through almost a year old back episodes of my programs so I can finally get caught up on life. What, you’re not a year behind on your most favorite programs? I should watch less television so this doesn’t happen? Yes, yes, I’m aware of this, thanks so much for the MOST HELPFUL ADVICE. 

So mostly I listen to showtunes, because there’s nothing this theater geek likes better than a good showtune (SIDE NOTE, this morning I woke up for no reason I can ascertain with Godspell’s “Turn Back O Man” in my head. I haven’t listened to Godspell in probably 5 years. WHAT IS HAPPENING IS IT A WARNING??? From the LORD????), but sometimes I like to know what the kiddos are listening to, and that’s what the radio’s for. But I refuse to listen to the popular channels because I don’t like all that autotune nonsense, or sometimes Chris Brown comes on and from experience, I know that if you turn your radio dial too fast the button pops off and rolls under the seat and it takes like a year to find it and your ass is all in the air and it’s very ungainly. Also, some singer’s name is Flo Rida. What? No. I think there’s an extraneous space in there.

Mr. Rida’s face looks like it’s made of Barbie-plastic. He is PORELESS! Also, that is some SERIOUSLY styled facial hair! It’s like it’s drawn on with a Sharpie!

Sometimes this lack of popular music culture knowledge bites me in the ass, like when there are commercials starring a rapper and I’m like, “Who’s that?” or someone says a quote from a popular song and I ignore them because I have no idea what they’re talking about and it’s like they’re speaking gibberish to me and I learned early on you don’t engage crazies. Oh, also, remember like three or four years ago, everyone was all obsessed with that “Umbrella” song? (The internet tells me Rihanna sang that. I think I like her. When she’s on Saturday Night Live, she seems to have a good sense of humor, and she really has a lovely voice, although I don’t know shit about her music. Autocorrect just tried to tell me I don’t know “show” about her music. That, either.)

I LOVE the Shy Ronnie sketch. LOVE IT SO MUCH.

People would go around that summer going “Umbrella…ella…ella…eh…eh…eh” and I was like “WHAT THE HELL WITH THE ELLA ELLA ELLA” finally because it was killing me and so effing annoying and they looked at me like I was insane and said, “Are you like a pod person? That song is on the radio FORTY-SEVEN TIMES AN HOUR.” Not my radio station, it’s not. My radio station is dope, yo. It plays GOOD music. The other day, it played 90s Tori Amos for me. (Well, not FOR me. It’s not like I REQUESTED it. It just HAPPENED. It made me very happy.) How often does YOUR radio station do something like that, I ask you? 


(It was this song. LOVE IT.) 

ANYWAY, so there are only a few places I get new music, since I don’t watch MTV (and it’s not like they show music videos anymore, anyway.) 

Going to musicals and falling in love with the soundtrack and buying the soundtrack
Listening to the radio and finding songs on it I love
Watching a movie or a television show and finding a song on it I love
Having someone recommend music to me

Let’s break this down one by one. 

Going to musicals and falling in love with the soundtrack and buying the soundtrack 

This used to happen a lot more often than it does nowadays. I feel like older musicals were better. MAN do I sound like a cranky old woman. But in college, I bought like a gajillion soundtracks, and lately, I haven’t bought many at all, although I still see quite a few musicals (although, granted, not as many as I saw in college.) I mean, I went to see Hairspray recently and had no interest in buying the soundtrack. Or The Drowsy Chaperone. Or Young Frankenstein. Liked them all a lot, but not enough to buy the soundtrack. The most recent soundtracks I purchased were Aida (loved this one) and (and this one’s a few years back now, but I’ve listened to it until the CDs almost worn out) Spring Awakening. Seriously, Spring Awakening is probably the best musical soundtrack since college. (Seriously. SERIOUSLY. “The Word of Your Body,” with its “Oh, I’m gonna be wounded, oh, I’m gonna be your wound” FLOORED me the first time I heard it, and then the reprise, when Hanschen and Ernst sing it to each other? ZOMG. SO MANY TEARS, and then of course you can’t beat “Totally Fucked” for a song that makes you want to bop around and maybe kick things. These are very good songs. This is an amazing musical.)  


(Yes, I know, some asshole recorded this in the theater. But look! Michele and Groff! Eee!) 

Second in line for that honor is The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, but not for SRS BSNS YO music, but for whimsical music (although it does have a couple more serious songs on it, so I can’t absolutely decide what I like better, something like “My Unfortunate Erection” or something more serious like the “I Love You Song.”)  

(Because every day is better with an erection in it.) 

I also very much want the soundtrack for The Book of Mormon, but I have a rule I’m not allowed to buy the soundtrack until I see the musical. I know. It’s silly. But it’s a rule I have. I don’t know what’s happening in the musical if I haven’t seen it, so the CD doesn’t make any sense to me as a narrative. I’d be listening to it out of order. (That being said, I recently watched LAST YEAR’S Tony Awards, and the song they featured from The Book of Mormon blew me AWAY. I have GOT to see this musical. Tour already, dammit! I can’t afford Broadway prices!) 

Listening to the radio and finding songs on it I love 

Since I discovered my new best radio station, I’ve been finding a lot more music that I love. And since discovering THE BEST APP EVER, it’s been easier to find out what the music is. You know what I’m referring to, right? Shazam. Even the NAME is spiffy. How the hell did I survive before an app that you could click (yes, yes, WHILE DRIVING, I know, very dangerous, it’s only two clicks, it’s not as bad as texting, I promise) and it TELLS YOU WHAT SONG IS PLAYING and SAVES THE TITLE AND ARTIST FOR YOU FOR WHEN YOU GET HOME? I used to have to remember one of the lyrics, and then when I got home, try to type that lyric into Google (because the stations never tell you who sings what in a timely fashion) and hope like hell it popped up in a search result because some other sad bastard was also searching for that song. Often, I’d completely forget I loved that song and then it’d come on again like six months later and I’d be like, REMEMBER I LOVED THAT ONCE! and feel terrible I hadn’t been listening to it for months like I should have been. Shazam is one of the best apps ever created. The only thing I don’t love about it is that it doesn’t know ALL the songs. My local radio station that I love (if you’re local, it’s WEXT? 97.7? Do you listen to this? It’s really stellar) plays a lot of local music, and sometimes I love that music, but Shazam’s all “NOPE! That’s not a real song.” (Well, no, it doesn’t say THAT. It says something like, “Not able to find a match” or something.) Dammit! Foiled by Shazam! Luckily, WEXT has an amazing website where they list all of their songs they played all day in order, at the time they played them, in playlist format, so I can figure out (by the time it was when it was on) what song it was. WEXT! You rock my socks. 

Watching a movie or a television show and finding a song on it I love 

This happens a lot, because I watch a lot of television. Luckily, Shazam also works for TV, as long as the snippet of music is long enough. If it’s not, I have to Google the episode and also a bit of the song lyric and figure it out that way. Shows that you probably think are terrible and hate me a little bit for watching (such as Gossip Girl and Pretty Little Liars and The Vampire Diaries) often have wonderful music. Some good shows also have wonderful music, like the US reboot of Being Human. Such good music on that one! (That is a good show, right? I really like that one, anyway.) And also, sometimes the music is so perfect you can’t even stand it, like Sia’s “Breathe Me” at the end of the series of Six Feet Under. Don’t even tell me that wasn’t one of the best uses of music in a television series ever. I watched that scene over and over and over. I don’t know that I’ve ever cried so hard over a television show in my life. 

DO NOT WATCH THIS if you are planning on watching Six Feet Under at any point in your life. Major, major spoilers. Also, if you haven’t  seen the show, it’s not going to make any sense to you at ALL. 


Oh, also Glee. SHUT UP I STILL WATCH GLEE. It used to be good, is my defense. And I like acapella singing. Glee’s its own animal. It doesn’t count, television-music-wise. Also, YES, I used to buy the soundtracks. I don’t anymore. It got REALLY BAD, you guys. It’s kind of embarrassing. (Although this season’s “Somebody That I Used to Know” duet between Darren Criss and Matt Bomer was – well, let’s just say THAT got watched about 47 times in my household, ok? WHOA. Equal parts affecting and hot, and also I love that song more than just about anything.)  


Oh, same thing with movies. I can use my Shazam there, but usually don’t because I hate people that pull out bright phones in the movie theater. I usually just Google that shit when I get home. Movies are very, very good about putting music in just the right place. I think they have a higher budget for both the rights to the songs and for someone whose job it is to do that. I’m thinking of things like Damien Rice’s “The Blower’s Daughter” in Closer, Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” in Say Anything… (shut up, no matter what you think of the movie, that song placed just so was perfection), Regina Spektor’s “Hero” in (500) Days of Summer (by the time the song got to the “I’m the hero of the story; don’t need to be saved” part, I was a WRECK – so glad I was watching that movie at home, and not in the movie theater – and strangely enough, other than the music and the art direction and my insane off-the-charts crush on Joseph Gordon-Levitt, I didn’t even like the movie that much, because MAN does Zooey Deschanel make me want to murder kittens to balance out the universe.)  


Oh, also pretty much everything in the movie Once. Oh, and everything Tarantino does. He’s got a sixth sense for what music fits where, that man. Not only are his movies visually arresting, but the music! Whoo. 

Having someone recommend music to me 

This doesn’t happen all that often, but it’s always nice when it does (and, let me be frank, when I have time and I remember to listen to it, because I often get recommended things by people during the day when I have no speakers on my work computer, and then I can’t listen to it until I get home, and by the time I get home, it has COMPLETELY left my mind. In my defense, I have a lot of things in my mind, and I can’t remember them all.) The most recent song that comes to mind that someone’s recommended to me that I loved to distraction was “Mother of Pearl” by Nellie McKay. I didn’t even know Nellie McKay existed, let alone about this song. I LOVE THIS SONG. It made me laugh to tears. Plus, could she be any cuter? She’s as cute as a button, this woman. (My wonderful, amazing friend Mer, who I miss more and more and MORE on a daily basis, damn you, America, for being so large!, knows my taste in music very well. Thank you, Mer!)  


So, so so so so SO, all year long, I write down all the songs and artists that I loved that year. Then I make a list in December. If there are more than a handful from the same artist, I usually end up getting the album. Otherwise, I spend like $100 on iTunes and download ALL THE MUSIC IN THE LAND. Then I make CDs. Most go to BFF, who gets four or five mix CDs for Christmas every year as part of his gift box of awesomeness. (Did you watch the prize package videos I made for Ken? I make something like that every year for BFF, only better. Yep. BFF wins EVERY DAMN YEAR.)  Then I make mixes for a few other people, then I make a ton of CDs of ALL THE SONGS for me, and I listen to them on road trips for the entire year following. So, in other words, I’m always a year behind on my music-listening. Is it a flawed system? Sure. Who cares, totally works for me.  

I also have a ton of music on my computer, and I like making mix CDs for people. I used to love making mix tapes, back in the day. Now it’s CDs, which aren’t as much fun but still have the same idea behind them so I guess they’ll have to do. I like finding the exact perfect music for someone. For example: if you watched Ken’s opening-the-package-video where he started playing his mix CD, what was his first song? Cake’s “Sheep Go to Heaven.” Why? Because the chorus’s refrain is “sheep go to heaven; goats go to hell.” And Ken is, in his own words, a goat influencer. 

In case you’re confused, Ken blogged once about goats, and then again, and then I think again (no, wait, I just checked, FOUR TIMES, yo), because he likes goats (who doesn’t? goats are awesome) and somehow, if you Google “you can’t always expect goats,” Ken’s blog is the first result, and also, on Klout, he’s the #1 influencer, in the WORLD, about Sheep & Goats (Goat Farms) (Industry). In the WHOLE DAMN WORLD. There are a lot of people in the world. Ken’s the BEST at this. So, obviously, what’s the best choice of songs for the first song on a CD mix for your friend who won your contest and who is very influential about goats? Cake’s “Sheep Go to Heaven.” I AM VERY GOOD AT CD MIXES.


So, in case you’re wondering, as it constantly seems to be coming up, “what is UP with Amy’s taste in music?” here is the end-all-and-be-all explanation for why I never know what’s happening on a timely basis and why I don’t know who popular singers are. Because I am OLD and OUT OF TOUCH. Now get off my lawn, you’re trampling the posies.

Nobody likes you when you’re 23 and are still more amused by prank phone calls

Week’s over halfway done! I am pleased. This has been a hellacious week. Many people here are on vacation which means I’m doing their jobs, and we have that show opening tonight. Whew! Busy busy busy. 

Just a note: it is your last day to vote on the should I/should I not read the rest of the Fifty Shades of Grey books poll, if you haven’t already. Here here here! Go, go!

Quick update on the Bloggiversary package for Ken – NO, I didn’t forget about it, don’t be rude – all the shopping is done except for one little thing I have to run out for after work this week, and I have one thing to make, and then, DONE. So now just to wait for delivery on things and then it is ON THE WAY TO GERMANY. Are we all so excited? I am. It is a package of excitement. I can’t wait for him to get it. Don’t worry, you all get to share in the fun – I will make a video of all the goodies before I wrap them up and put them in the box, and Ken has also promised to let you all know what he thinks of everything (man, I hope he doesn’t hate it all, that’d be soul-crushing.) Once I know he has it, I’ll post the video. Because I want him to be surprised. I LOVE SURPRISES. Well, surprising others, anyway. I’m not so keen on surprises myself. I like to PLAN. I am a PLANNER. I’m not saying that getting a surprise in the mail now and then isn’t a happy occurrence (because it is) but, like, people dropping in to say hi without calling first? Or (ugh, SHUDDER) surprise parties where people pop out from behind shit and scream at you?

This would be my response, only with more scowling and stabbing.

NO NO NO. No thank you. Don’t even. I will be SO MAD AT YOU. I’ll PRETEND I’m pleased but inside I’m drowning you in a cistern. 

Anyway, Tangent McGee, I think I chose wisely and well and Ken will be pleased. I like surprise gift boxes. There is a certain satisfaction in picking out person-specific gifts and neatly placing them in a box and sending them off. I think in another life I might have been a personal shopper. 


I am writing this days in advance because I am preparing myself for a week of busy. TONIGHT I am going on an ADVENTURE. I know! Another adventure! I’ve been totally Magellan with the adventuring lately. I am going to a BAR to hang out with TWITTER PEOPLE. I know it! I might get murdered. But probably not. They seem non-shady. I guess all killers must seem non-shady to their victims, otherwise, why would people go anywhere with them in order to get killed? But I have high hopes no murdering will occur.  

Thanks, Google Images, I’m totally going to have nightmares now.

Strangely, Dad is quite pleased I’m going on this adventure. The first time I mentioned I might go (way back in April – plans fell through two months in a row, but this month I am HELLBENT ON GOING!) he was all NO NO NO! That is where the MURDER HAPPENS! But now he’s all, “When are you going to that bar to hang out with your friends?” He’s very confusing. You can never tell what he’s going to approve of. Most days, whatever I say I’m doing, he says, “I wouldn’t do that.” Things Dad wouldn’t do if he were me: 

Currently have a cat
Get an additional cat
Drive anywhere but to work and back
Take public transportation
Visit big cities
Volunteer at the theater
Stop volunteering at the theater
Write anything, ever
Tell anyone anything about myself on the internet
Join or use any social media sites
Talk to strangers
Meet strangers
Stay home
Go out
Go to concerts, movies, or plays
Drink anything but orange soda
Do anything my boss tells me to
Argue with anything my boss tells me to do
Talk in front of large groups of people
Talk loudly, anywhere, anytime
Read books
Spend any money, ever

I asked him recently what were some things he was completely and totally down with and he and I agreed the only things he was always ok with was me sleeping more and exercising. “What an exciting life I will lead,” I said, “when I sleep 12 hours a day, and exercise the other 12.” He liked this plan very much. 

Half of my life now. HOW EXCITING. P.S. Why do people in photos/on television/in movies sleep with makeup on? You’ll break out, yo.

Yet somehow, he has decided that meeting two of my Twitter friends in real life will be a grand adventure and is a very good plan, and keeps asking, “When are you going to do that?” and last month when I couldn’t, he was all, “You ALWAYS have an excuse,” even though my excuse was I had rehearsal until 9 and the event started at 7:30 so by the time I got there it would have been just wrapping up and that wouldn’t have been worth the trip, now would it? No. That’s me, chock-full of excuses. He likes me to give him a rundown of my week every Sunday, so when I told him I was going to hang out at the bar on Monday, he was all, “DON’T YOU CANCEL OUT ON THOSE NICE GUYS AGAIN.” I’m not really sure why all of a sudden he likes them and thinks this is a good idea, but it’s a lot less annoying than hearing a twenty-minute “BRING A RAPE WHISTLE AND A STABBING KNIFE WITH YOU WHEN YOU GO” talk, because those get old fast. 

Oh! In your “strange-news-from-home”…well…news, I guess, I got the following story this weekend: 

My brother was eating lunch the other day. His cell phone rang. He answered it.  

Bro: Hello?
Caller: Hi. I’m calling about the mules.
Bro: Oh, yeah. The mules.
(Note: my brother thought it was a prank call. He has a tendency to assume the world is always screwing with him. ALWAYS.)
Caller: So, you’ve got those mules?
Bro: Sure. Sure I do.
Caller: How much do those mules go for?
Bro: They start at a nickel and go up from there.

The middle one’s the nickel mule. How can I tell? I just can. I have a way with such things.

Caller: When can I come and see the mules?
(Note the second: WTF? The caller didn’t even bat an eye at nickel mules.)
Bro: Oh, anytime. Anytime. The mules like visitors most at 2am, though. How about 2am?
Caller: I’m asleep at 2am.
Bro: That’s too bad. The mules are really friendly around 2am, and I do a middle-of-the-night two-for-one mule special then.
Caller: How about 11pm?
(Note the third: This guy really had no sense of being effed with, and also, really wanted some nickel mules.)
Bro: Dude, who do you think you’re calling?
Caller: The guy who’s selling the mules in The Free Trader.

It’s the “biggest little paper in the North Country” so don’t you even mock.

(Note the fourth: The Free Trader is a paper where people in the boonies sell things like tractors, mules, and four-wheelers. Also used clothing, and sometimes engagement rings they are no longer using. The Free Trader was an endless source of mirth for me as a child.)
Bro: You have the wrong number. I don’t have any mules.
Caller: This isn’t 123-4567?
(Note the fifth: duh, no, that’s not my brother’s number. If I gave you that, Ken would call him and talk to him about the Ghost of Noonie. Also, honestly? I don’t know my brother’s cell phone number. Because we don’t chat. Ever. EVER ever.)
Bro: No, it is. This number’s in The Free Trader? Selling mules?
Caller: Yeah. So, you don’t have mules? 

Now, before I say anything else, please quickly think…what could be the cause of my brother’s number being in The Free Trader under an ad saying mules for sale? (His name wasn’t there, just a basic ad and “call this number.”) 

What’d you come up with? 

My theory: The Free Trader (a total rinkydink publication) transposed a couple of the numbers a caller sent in, in error, and someone who IS selling mules is all, “Why isn’t my phone ringing? These mules need good homes, yo.” 

(This is also my mom’s theory.) 

My dad and brother’s theory: 


No, I’m totally not kidding. When I told my dad my theory, he was all “no one up here sells MULES. This is a CRUEL JOKE. Designed to GET BACK AT YOUR BROTHER. Someone’s OUT TO GET HIM.” When I asked him who, he had no answers. When I said, “Don’t you think there’s a better way to get revenge for…I don’t know, something…than a mule-ad? Like, flattening his tires, or maybe TPing his house?” my dad had no answer except “You’re just like your mother HERE TALK TO HER NOW” and he handed the phone off to my mom. Sorry, Dad. I’m not all Mel Gibson about conspiracy theories. I’m sure there are a lot more conspiracies in the world than I’m aware of – I just tend to think most things are mistakes or coincidences rather than conspiracies. This might make me naive, I don’t know. 

I guess that makes Dad Mulder and me Scully? Damn, I always thought I was the Mulder. Oh, well. Scully had really good hair, at least.

Also, I like to think Helper Mule placed that ad, trying to be helpful in some way. Like, he can’t help Rooster, but he CAN help my brother somehow. How? Well, I don’t know. Maybe make friends! Friends that are looking for mules! But, because he’s Unhelpful Helper Mule, the plan didn’t go according to plan. Wah-WAH, Helper Mule. 

Off to gallivant. Wish me luck. (Well, you’re reading this days later, so I assume you already know if I crashed and burned or there was a murder or whatever.) Or at least that I don’t embarrass myself mightily around new people. Which is a total possibility. A very, very total possibility. Gulp.

(Oh! Also, I missed it yesterday, happy Summer Solstice! My least-favorite, only because, yech, hot and humid, but a solstice nonetheless! Hooray!)

It’s my BLOGGIVERSARY! Where’s my cake, dammit?

Whoo-hoo! We made it! A whole YEAR!!!

I’m totally stoked about this, you guys. A whole year of posting and insanity! 367 published posts! ALL THE CAPS LOCK!

I’d have some sort of confetti or something, but that shit’s messy. You just have to clean that all up. You know what I hate, by the way? People that include that kind of crap in cards. It’s the worst. Just the worst. You open a card thinking, hey, THIS IS NICE, a card! And then BAM! All the effing confetti falls out. No one likes to vaccuum, asshat. NO ONE. Especially not on their BIRTHDAY or whatever.

Anyway, before we get to the fun and craziness, I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for putting up with me for a whole year; thank you for commenting and tweeting and Facebooking and emailing and all the ways you’ve supported me this year. I’ve never been one to have “people,” and I always told myself I didn’t need people, so it was for the best, really. Come to find out: it’s really, really nice to have people. So, so nice. Better than I can even express. Sometimes something will happen and I will sincerely look up and say to myself, “Amy. AMY. This is your life. YOUR LIFE.” And then I’ll laugh. Because it is. Somehow, with magic and wonder and whimsy, this amazing life is all mine. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

So, thank you. Because I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for all of you. I might be celebrating a year of blogging, but it’d be a quiet, solitary celebration. It certainly wouldn’t be an event that people around the world are celebrating with me. How did that happen? I don’t know. Shh, don’t question it too much. That’s when things go away.

OK, so you’re all here for the promised video and the BIG WINNER REVEAL, aren’t you? You totally are, don’t even lie. I made you a video. It’s like 9 minutes or something of me being a complete and total goofball. It’s pretty insane. I like it a lot. Dumbcat makes an appearance. 

Oh, before I put in the video, I wanted to say thank you to someone!

Rich, one of my commenters (check out his blog, I think you’ll like it) emailed me and asked if he could send me something to include in the prize package. Well, since the prize package is completely not even MADE yet (listen, it’s in the works, alright?) I was all, “YES PLEASE.” Also, because he contributed to the prize, he didn’t enter! Because he thought that would be unfair! How honest is THAT, right?

Rich has a store. It’s Rich’s Backyard Birds. You can check it out! Also, here it is on Facebook. Now, I know you. And you’re all, “RICH DID THIS BECAUSE HE WANTED HER TO PLUG HIS STORE.” Nope. He said I didn’t have to. Well, eff that, I’m doing it anyway. Know why? I’m obstinate.

Anyway, in his store, he sells this:


And he wanted to send it to me, because a., I love animals! and b., it’s paper! And it’s my first anniversary! So hence PAPER!

Aw, Rich. Thank you! You’re the best! The winner (TO BE REVEALED SOON!!!) will love it so much, I just know it!

OK, now…the moment you’ve all been waiting for…THE VIDEO OF CHOOSERY!

I have some things to say about this video, but I’ll wait til you’ve all seen it first.


Things to discuss about this video:

  • I look like a crazy. But in a fun way. Like a FUN crazy.
  • I really do have things hanging on my walls. Just not where you can see them.
  • When I told Dad I was making a video, he was HORRIFIED. “That’s how they get you,” he said. “THAT IS HOW THEY GET YOU.” Well, I guess that’s how you’re all going to get me. I’m done for now.
  • Dumbcat was behind me the WHOLE TIME and I didn’t even know it. I felt like Dumbhuman when I watched this back and saw that.
  • You all think I rigged that, don’t you? Don’t be jerky, I totally didn’t. It’d be nice to think I was some sort of criminal mastermind, but I can’t even think of how I’d go about doing such a thing.
  • I really am that goofy in real life. Not always. But a lot of the time. I have a LOT of ENERGY. Except when I’m asleep. Then I’m sleeping, obviously.

Here, in case you’re all “this is SUSPECT” I took photos of the other names in the bowl of CHOOSERY.

See? All on the up and up.

I even took a photo at ANOTHER ANGLE. All for you, Damien.

See? You were all in there. There’s really no way I could have cheated. IT WAS MEANT TO BE.

So! Your Lucy’s Football 2011-2012 Bloggiversary Giveaway Winner is…

Ta Rah Ta Rahhhh…



Listen, I have no idea what’s happening here, but Ken trusted me enough to let me pull WHATEVER PHOTO I WANTED FROM FACEBOOK. Without knowing why I needed it or what it was for. Imagine trusting anyone that much? I can’t. I of course used this one because it’s like he’s airborne and it makes me laugh the hardest.

If I had unlimited funds I promise I’d send you all packages. As it is: Ken, it will be quite some time before you get your prize. You can blame the international mail system if you want, but mostly it’s because I haven’t even purchased the items for it yet, to be honest. But yeah, totally blame the postal system rather than me, that’s ok.

Congratulations, Ken. You are a WINNER. (I already knew that, by the way. I was ahead of the curve on Ken’s winnerosity as a human being.)

(Also, everyone cheer Ken on today, he’s totally playing music in public today! How excited are we? The most, is how much. However, since he is off ukuleleing, at the exact same time this publishes, he has NO IDEA he’s a gigantic winner. No, I didn’t even tell him. He’ll be as surprised as the rest of you. So he’s going to get off-stage and be all, “Why the hell do I have a gajillion tweets right now. OH AMY WHAT DID YOU DO NOW.” I imagine this is what a lot of my friends do on a regular basis. I’m like a madcap adventure of insanity.)

Ken, once you get your package, if you’d like to tell the interwebs what you got, that’d be exciting, because I don’t want to blog about it. I want you to be SURPRISED.

OK. Let’s wrap this up because at some point tonight I’d like to eat some popsicles and go to bed, what do you say? IT’S MY BLOGGIVERSARY! Also, it’s hot as balls here for some reason.

Thank you to my readers; without you I wouldn’t be here. Well, I might, but I wouldn’t be having as much fun as I am, that’s for damn sure.

A special thank you to my readers who also comment; I love hearing what you think and talking to you about it.

Thank you to the Geek Girls Book Club; you were there for me when I was a lost little chick all peeping away on the big bad internets, and you were (and remain) the most awesome geeks on the web.

Thank you to Susie, Jenn, Erin, and Cara, who let me blog with them. (When I’m not swamped with stuff. I PROMISE TO BLOG WITH YOU MORE SOON.)

This is beginning to sound like an annoying Academy Awards speech; I’ll wrap it up. TWO MORE I PROMISE. Don’t play me off stage, I hate that shit.

Thank you to my Twitter people; you help me keep my sanity daily. Most sincerely, I don’t know how I’d make it through without you.

And, most importantly of all, thank you thank you thank you to my loved ones. You know who you are. At least, I hope you do. I try to let you know as often as I can how important you are to me. Thank you for your emails and your DMs and your real live mail (I know! I get real, live mail from people!) and your texts and your support and the constant and amazing laughter you bring me daily. I don’t know what I did to get so lucky; I often wonder if somehow you’ve been fooled. Whatever it is, however I got you, trickery or whatever, please please stay. You make my life a better place. I love you all so much, I can’t even explain, because I’m totally that snotty annoying “I WON AN AWARD MOM!” person and I didn’t even WIN an award. 

I’m stopping now.

Thank you. So much.

Oh, I promised to give you the GENESIS OF THE ALL-CAPS. You probably think it’s something cool. Nope. It’s not, actually. Back when I started, I was all italics when I needed to emphasize something. As classy people do. But then I’d forget to go back and italicize what needed it, or even what I’d wanted to emphasize. So I started all-capsing what needed to be italicized so I’d remember to go back and italicize it later. But one day I got lazy and forgot to replace the all-caps with italics, and then realized, meh, it means the same thing to all-caps as it does to italicize. Plus it’s more fun and lets off more steam. Let’s stick with the all-caps.



Thank you for my past year, you guys. You’re amazing.

Let’s do it again, what do you say? Another year? Yes. Let’s.

I have exciting news coming up – big announcement coming up in the next month or so, which is really, really exciting for me – and lots of bon vivanting and craziness and, as always, ALL CAPS. And FOR THE LOVE OF PETE. And of course, Ding Dong Joe.

Love you all to pieces. Not even in the sarcastic way, either. Thank you for being my little jellybeans.

I’m coming back home tomorrow, to 14th Street: where I won’t hurry, and where I’ll learn how to save, not just borrow

I know, I made you all wait seventeen billion years for a Susie and Amy take on New York City recap. In my defense, I wrote many posts in advance this week because I knew I’d be getting in really late Tuesday, work would be insane Wednesday, and Thursday night I’d have rehearsal. (I’m stage managing our annual Director’s Showcase that opens in two weeks – Thursday we’re setting all the light and sound levels, so it’s a big rehearsal that I need to pay attention to and be mentally present for, i.e. “Amy can’t be checking her phone every five seconds to see what’s funny on Twitter.”) 

But here we are. New York CITY! A city of MAGIC and WONDER! 

You know I’m going to give you the play-by-play on the entire day whether you want it or not, right? Sure you do. You know me well enough by now. 

But first, listen, I know I was going to take ALL THE PHOTOS? I took none. We were talking and talking and walking and I just wasn’t in a photography mood. I was in a hanging-out mood. And a soaking-up-my-favorite-city-in-the-world mood. I know. I am the worst bon vivant ever. I really have a new appreciation for how REAL bon vivants, like Ken, can not only bon vivant, but share the entire experience with the interwebs at the same time. Nice job, Ken. Way to go with the multitasking. I obviously am not up for the job of bon vivantery, and perhaps need to take a remedial course. 

OK. SO! On Monday night, I was very excited and could not sit still. I have an issue with being excited about things, in that they make me not able to sleep, and also jittery like a speed freak. SPEEEDD FREEEAK! So when I finally realized, huh, I should try to get some sleep, considering I have to get up super-early, it was already too late to get any sort of respectable night’s sleep. I did my best, but it was still only about 5 hours sleep. That’s not a lot. I had heavy eyelids the next morning. 

Did you know the sun is up at 5am? I mean, barely, but it totally is. It was as much of a surprise to me as it is to you, I assure you. 

I got all ready and took off for the first step of my journey: the drive to Poughkeepsie. 

Poughkeepsie has this totally death-defying bridge in it. You have to drive over it TWO TIMES. Eep!

See, your options for going to New York City from where I live are multitudinous. You can: 

Drive (but then where would you park your car? No one drives.)

Take the Megabus, which I have not yet attempted

Take the Amtrak, which is pricey but FANCYPANTS

Drive to Poughkeepsie and take the MetroNorth train that the commuters take, which is surprisingly inexpensive and quite nice 

(I suppose you could also fly but what kind of rich weirdos would do that? Or take a jet ski or something, whatever. Or a hot air balloon. Or ride a horse. But we’re talking about NORMAL ways to get there.) 

So I decided on the Poughkeepsie/MetroNorth route, which I’ve done before and like very well. It’s easy, your train brings you right into Grand Central, very few weirdos ride that train, and all is well, sugarplums. 

Here’s my fancy train!

The drive to Poughkeepsie was easy enough. I was sleepy but also excited, so it went quickly. (It’s about an hour and forty-five minutes.) There were a lot more commuters than I thought there would be. Apparently, people start their day that early on a regular BASIS. Huh. I’m so sorry, people of the world, that you have to get up so early. No one should have to do that. Also, SO MANY ANNOYINGLY SLOW 18-WHEELERS ZOMG. 

I got to the train station, I parked in the parking garage because I was confused about what might or might not be free parking outside of the garage and didn’t want to get home at 10pm and find I’d been towed, because I don’t know where the garage is and also who has money to spring their car from car-jail? Certainly not me. It was only $3.50 anyway. Then I bought my train ticket (round-trip, in case I spent all my money in the city and had to sell my hair or something more lecherous to get home) and sat and happily waited for my train, until a nice lady said, “you are aware the train’s coming on that track over THERE, right?” and it was a track with a billion people waiting on it, and I had WONDERED why so many people were over there but thought they were going somewhere else. Because I can’t read track signs, apparently. No, that’s not even it. I didn’t even KNOW to read track signs. The train that left right before mine had left from the track I was sitting at, so I thought ALL New York City trains would be leaving from that track. Because I am a country mouse. 

So! On to the correct track, train arrives, onto the train, easy as pie. Hour and forty-five minute ride into the city. Which I slept through most of with my music playing in my earholes because I was one sleepy kitten. Also, if you’re sleeping, no one sits with you, I found out. Huh. That’s nice. I’ll have to use that in the future. 

We pulled into Grand Central and I was WIDE AWAKE and a little nervous I would get turned around walking to Susie’s hotel, but when I walked out of the station, the street I needed was right there! And her hotel was just a few blocks away! And then I was NERVOUS NERVOUS NERVOUS. 

Aw, Mitch. I miss you.

Listen, I’m totally socially awkward penguin. What if I did something ridiculous? What if I was embarrassing? What if we hated each other or had nothing to say or I said something offensive and then all day I was THAT GIRL and it would be the worst, most longest day of poor Susie and Susie’s husband’s life? I kept giving myself the, “YOU ARE BEING RIDICULOUS CALM DOWN GOOBER” pep talk as I walked all fast like a native New Yorker. I like to blend in when I’m in the City, only because if you don’t people are all, “PSHAW TOURISTS!” and then give you the stink-eye. This seems to work well, because people tend to ask me for directions. Then I am immediately outed as someone who does NOT live there, because I’m all, “Adoyyy, I don’t know where that is” even if it’s right in front of me. IN MY DEFENSE, I can’t even give directions to my own house. Or office. Or my theater. In the place where I have lived for almost a decade. I am directionally handicapped. What? It’s a thing. IT’S TOTALLY A THING. 

So I arrived at Susie’s fancy hotel (it was VERY SWANKY, that’s what you get when you are a big prize winner – there was a DOORMAN. I felt like ELOISE) and was whisked up to her floor by the fastest and quietest elevator known to man and then I was in front of her door and time to ring the doorbell and SOCIALLY AWKWARD PENGUIN and eeep! 

(BTW, I don’t even know that Susie knew I was nervous until now. I didn’t tell her I was. Unless she could tell because I was a dork, I don’t know.) 

I rang the bell! There was a flurry of activity from behind the door! WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHAT WILL HAPPEN!?!??!? 

What happened was, it wasn’t awkward. At all. (Well, listen. Not for ME. Maybe it was awkward for Susie. She will have to tell you if it was awkward for her. She also has more experience meeting “the internet people” than I do, so maybe this wasn’t even a big deal for her, I don’t know. Also, bee tee dubs, Dad was so pleased I wasn’t murdered, either by my internet people or by any of the ne’er-do-wells in the big city.) 

We hugged and talked and talked and talked and I met her husband who is just adorable and then we talked and talked and talked some more and I squeed over her free book loot from the conference, and she totally gave me some freebies (YAY! Reviews forthcoming!) and then we had to get going, because, BIG DAY AHEAD! 

(Oh, you want to know about Susie, right? This is going to be one honking long post. OK. She is awesome. She is intelligent and fun and witty and tough as nails and wacky and I can’t say enough good things. We laughed and laughed. Listen, I love to laugh. So much. It’s nice to laugh over a text or a tweet, but you can’t even compare it with laughing with someone in person. She was the person I had in my head when we were talking all that time online, plus also better. It was really wonderful. So stop, I’ll get all teary-eyed and have to explain to my coworkers what’s going on and no one wants that.) 

First stop: The Strand. 

The Strand is an amazing bookstore with 18 miles of books in it. Soak that in for a minute. 18 MILES OF BOOKY GOODNESS. There are 4 floors and all of them have books. There are corners where you can get lost and there are books upon books and it’s one of my favorite places, especially because I live in an area where bookstores are not all that prevalent. 

So we totally took the subway to get to The Strand. I researched it before we got there so I was all BOOM BOOM BOOM here and here and pop on HERE and get off HERE and TAH DAHHHH! However! Susie’s husband is MADE OF MAGIC. Let me tell you why. 

He’s been to the City once before. However, he kind of just, I don’t know, sniffed the air or something and knew where we needed to be, and made it so. I think he might have a map in his head. In contrast, I’ve been, oh, I don’t know, ten times? Maybe? And I’m lucky if I can backtrack a block to see a street sign to figure out where I am so I can call for help. I TOLD YOU DIRECTIONAL HANDICAPPISM WAS A THING. 

There are other reasons B. is made of magic and also WIN: 

He apparently used to work for the people who made avocadoes and has a magic avocado hat. I love avocadoes. How can you not love someone who has a hat that says “avocadoes” on it? 

He totally didn’t seem to be annoyed by me at all. And listen, sure, I’m adorable in small doses, but he had to put up with me for a whole DAY. And if he was annoyed, he didn’t act like it at ALL. 

He cuts his OWN HAIR. When I expressed surprise at this (because it looks like normal hair, not mental-patient-hair), he very coolly said, “I watched what they were doing, then I went home and did it myself.” 

Piggybacking on that last one – he’s one cool dude, yo. Cool like Frosty. I mean, sure, maybe he’s not always like that. Susie can attest to the veracity or non-veracity of that statement better than I can. But he was so laid-back I was just in awe. No, not like a cool holier-than-thou douchebag. Totally personable and funny. But just, shit, I don’t know, cool. Mostly this always amazes me because I’m like whatever the opposite of that is. Spastic? You say the opposite of that is spastic? Yeah, fine, whatever, I’m Queen of the Spasmoids. 

Anyway, on our way to The Strand, we realized we were full of ravenous starvation, so we looked around for a place to eat and found a Thai restaurant called Spice. I like things that are spicy. And also Thai food. It was entertaining inside because there was that UNTZ UNTZ UNTZ music like it was a dance club, and also flashing lights, so that was a little disconcerting, but the food was delicious and not overpriced and the chairs were slidy molded plastic and your ass felt like it was in a spaceship. 

THEN THE STRAND. Fortified with delicious spiciness, we forged onward. 

I didn’t have a million dollars to buy all the books like I wanted, so I could only buy a few little things. Susie bought me a PRESENT, which was very exciting. It is a book I want to read (and she wants me to read, so total win-win) and we’re going to make it a whole blog-thing which I won’t go into yet. I got some anniversary prize goodies there. Just a couple, because I’m poor. But some. SOME PRIZE GOODIES! From New York City! For my winner! 

Then, after a brief stop for coffee which disappointed Ken because it wasn’t tea (sorry, Ken, it was one of those chain sort of shops – The Bean?

I don’t think you’d have approved of the tea, had we gotten it) we walked for seventeen years because the next place we wanted to go was kind of between subway stops and it SEEMED like a good idea but it really was a lot farther than we planned. But even though it was a seventeen year walk, it wasn’t that bad, because it was all in the East Village so there was a lot to see, and we talked and talked and gawked at pretty architecture and wacky things we saw along the way that I totally should have taken photos of but like an asshole I didn’t. LIKE: 

A man wearing his cat as a hat (no, seriously, a live cat – Susie took a photo of this, so maybe she’ll post it) 

The weirdest Halloween store display window (in June? yes, in June, I don’t get it, either) you’ve ever seen, with every superhero, but wearing oddly-fitting costumes, and also a werewolf and the clown from It and, for some reason, two Iron Men, one of which was a skeleton, so it was like Iron Man was being stalked by his own death (again, Susie took a photo of this, so you might get to see it after all – she was better about such things than I was)

A beautiful church kind of smooshed in-between office buildings 

All the most adorable brownstones, all of which I wanted to immediately move into 

Then we went to two ice cream shops that Susie and B. wanted to try: Big Gay Ice Cream (there are totally all the unicorns on the walls)

and Lula’s Sweet Apothecary. Between visiting the two, we sat in a park where we saw: 

A woman screaming that no one would give her chocolate ice cream 

A squirrel who was carrying a Styrofoam cup around in his mouth and sometimes it would flip up like a hat and it was AWESOME but there was no time to take a photo because he dropped it 

This is someone else’s photo of a similar situation. So you can at least imagine it. Sorry. I’m made of fail.

A man who was screaming “nemesis!” into the air, perhaps at the chocolate ice cream lady, as she was totally nemesis-worthy 

A man wearing cargo shorts and doing what seemed to be insanity-driven tai chi in the street while picking up trash 

A man who said, “Don’t scare my pigeon friends!” as we walked past him so we had to walk past with silent feet so as to not scare the winged rats (I totally hate pigeons so much) 

Then Susie’s friend was getting out of work, so we found a little bar/restaurant nearby (because listen, WE WERE TIRED OF WALKING) and sat and drank pretty pink margaritas and chatted and then the friend came and she was beautiful and vivacious and had the best tattoos and there was MORE chatting and laughing and chatting and laughing more and it was just a lovely, lovely time. 

Oh, and that’s where I got my ONE photo in New York, which a lot of you have already seen, but: ME AND SUSIE IN NEW YORK CITY!

Then it was time for me to head back, because bon vivants need to work the next day and have a long trip home. So we headed back to the hotel, where I picked up all my things, and after many hugs and much sadness, we said our goodbyes and I headed off for Grand Central, still the prettiest train station in all the land. Oh, and on the way back to the hotel, in the subway station, there was a band? WEARING TERRIFYING MASKS. That was worrisome. 

And I told B. that even though I hate everyone on principle, I quite liked him, and when he asked why I hated people, I told him they always let me down spectacularly. So he very solemnly said, “Oh, I’m sure to do that. You just have to give me TIME.” 

I very much enjoyed B. Of course, I love Susie more than pudding, and meeting her in person and having her be JUST AS AWESOME AS IMAGINED was probably the highlight of my year, but B. was totally an added bonus. I like added bonuses, they remind me of the surprise in the bottom of sugary cereal boxes. Like decoder rings or those wacky wall walking octopuses. Octopi? Octopodes? Whatever, leggedy squishy dudes. 

The ride back to Poughkeepsie was pretty uneventful, as I spent the entire time on my phone. Except, listen up, people on the train, it is OBNOXIOUS to buy a large serving of something disgustingly fragrant and then sit right in front of me. If I wanted to smell – I don’t know, vinegary garlic? – all the way home, I’d have bought a Styrofoam container of that for myself. And, as you can see, I did not do that. So you shouldn’t, either. 

Then, the drive home, in which I yawned an average of once every 14 seconds, which was nice, and also some guy decided it would be fun to play late-night highway chicken with my car. No, I don’t think I’ll do that. Because it leads to late-night-someone-will-be-scraping-one-of-us-off-the-road, bub. And I’d like to get home, Dumbcat’s going to be nervous I’ve been gone so long. 

Then home and bed and very little sleep and today I was SWAMPED WITH WORK but I still wrote you a post, because I love you. Aw, aren’t you the cutest things with your faces and such? 

So, there’s NYC in a…well, not a nutshell. In a longboat or something. I had a great time, meeting internet people will NOT always kill you (and sometimes it actually is AMAZING) and I still am madly passionately completely in love with New York and want to live there for the rest of my life the end. Susie (and B., who doesn’t care about the internet), thank you for such a wonderful day. I had the best time.   Someday we will do it again when we are rich and famous bloggers who can afford to do all the bon vivantery ALL THE DAMN TIME.

You have until MIDNIGHT TONIGHT to comment on this past Sunday’s post (I even put it in for you, so helpful, am I) to be entered into the drawing. Most of my usual suspects have, but some of you have not! I will not call you out or anything, but there are a few of you who should TOTALLY comment so you can have a shot at winning. Also, people I don’t (yet) know well – comment! Maybe you will win! The two or three things I know are going in there are awesome and fun! 

Now, for your SECOND most popular post of the year – which remains popular, proving creepy puppets and whiny dentists know no seasonal boundaries… 

“Why am I such a misfit? I am not just a nitwit.” Yes you ARE, Hermie. SHUT UP.

What have we learned from your love of this post? Pretty much that you’re all awesome, that’s all I have to say about that. I love this post. It still makes me laugh. Also, Bumble! Aw, Bumble, you’re my fave. 


Until tomorrow, chipmunks! Enjoy your Fridays!

(Oh, title’s from one of my favorite Rufus Wainwright songs, “14th Street.” I think you’ll all like this video. Well, it’s not a video, it’s one of those silly fan video things. But, all the NYC photos! Certainly more than I took on Tuesday. Sheesh.)

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