June 25, 2010
June 19, 2010
Yeah, Okay.
Here are some things from this week that made Kissy Pissy again:
Schmoogaly Woogaly Overload.
I don't know what the hell is going on but suddenly everyone is on some kind of cutesy, saccharine-ish bandwagon.
Example: on Facebook, some of my 'friends' are constantly typing messages to each other like this:
Nice, if it's once in awhile, but I read this kind of thing several times a day since I joined Facebook a year ago and I'm getting seriously creeped out by it.
You're saying..."but Kissy, love is wonderful! Why would people professing their love for each other bother you so? Are you some kind of hater?"
Maybe it's because I run with a different kind of crowd and we just don't sit around talking to each other like that (unless alcohol is involved)...
But, whatever...all I know is that I'm not getting the warm fuzzies when I have to read the love messages these middle-aged people are sending back and forth to each other 6+ times a day.
Get a room!
Or ease up on the meds.
I think what really bugs me about this is that I LOVE YOU - the three greatest and most powerful words ever - becomes ordinary when it's said or read incessantly. It becomes tedious, gratuitous, trite, cliche' and even worse...cheap.
Being Told That A 16-Year-Old Girl Traversing The World Alone On Her Sailboat Is Some Kind Of Trailblazing, Rite-Of-Passage Thing.
Yeah, no...it's just a stupid thing. I don't care how mature, able-bodied, smart, savvy or otherwise other-worldly this girl is...she's 16. Hello, pirates? Hello, rogue waves? Hello, her dad is shopping a reality television show but is denying that by saying it's actually a tool to get kids off of their computers (and in front of the television instead)?
And if one more person writes one more sappy, coming-of-age, rite of passage article about this debacle, I'm slapping them. I am fully aware that there are very young people the world over who engage in all sorts of cultural/religious/traditional adventurous rites of passage...yet there are no news reports...no television coverage, etc. Male Australian Aborigines go on walkabouts in which they undergo a journey during adolescence and live in the wilderness for a period as long as six months. In this practice they would trace the paths, or "songlines", that their people's ceremonials ancestors took, and imitate, in a fashion, their heroic deeds. Where is their news coverage, their television show?
Real Aborigines of Outback County?
Boonga Woonga and Matoonga Faloonga Plus 8?
19 Aborigines and Counting?
Did you know you can buy merchandise via this girl's website? Since when does merchandising have anything to do with trailblazing? With a rite of passage? With anything other than being opportunistic?
(Here's an actual realistic/technical article about this story, for anyone interested)
Bloggers Who Are Being Paid To Hawk Stuff.
Ever go to a website because you think you might be interested in whatever it is that is on that website and then you have to sit through some kind of pop-up advertisement before you get to the content you went there for in the first place.
Maddening, right?
More than once this week I have come across blogs whose blog posts are reviews of products that they are being paid to review. I know that they're being paid for the review I am inadvertently reading because there is a disclaimer somewhere in the post (usually at the bottom in really small print) that says, in essence, that
"I am being paid for this post by XYZ Company and it is entirely 100% my opinion".
Maddening, right?
I read blogs for the blog writer's opinion, yes; I don't read blogs so that I can read their paid opinion of the latest and greatest Pop-Tart flavor or whatever. I don't begrudge anyone making money however they need to - particularly when it's a clever or an unorthodox method of doing so - but there's something about this that leaves me with an inauthentic, misleading feeling. Plus I don't believe a single glowing word they're writing about the product. Come on, now...you're being paid to sit at home in front of your computer reviewing the free product(s) you're being sent...and you're going to give a bad review? Yeah, right.
Oh, you might say something like:
"the color of the lemon Pop-Tart's filling could be just a bit more yellow to give it a more genuine lemon-y appeal"
But you are not going to say:
"holy crap, don't buy the new lemon Pop-Tarts because they suck and even the dog wouldn't eat it".
We all know that one does not poop where one eats.
I think that if you are a blogger who is going tosell out be paid to post about products, then you should consider a secondary page/link where your readers can opt-in to go to that page to read your reviews instead of having to opt-out.
And by opt-out I mean stop reading your advertisement blog altogether.
I've said it before and I'll say it again (and again and again...):
Stay tuned...next post up will be stuff that DOES NOT make Kissy pissy.
Schmoogaly Woogaly Overload.
I don't know what the hell is going on but suddenly everyone is on some kind of cutesy, saccharine-ish bandwagon.
Example: on Facebook, some of my 'friends' are constantly typing messages to each other like this:
I love you!
No, I love you!
Nope, I said it first - I LOVE YOU!
Nice, if it's once in awhile, but I read this kind of thing several times a day since I joined Facebook a year ago and I'm getting seriously creeped out by it.
You're saying..."but Kissy, love is wonderful! Why would people professing their love for each other bother you so? Are you some kind of hater?"
Maybe it's because I run with a different kind of crowd and we just don't sit around talking to each other like that (unless alcohol is involved)...
I love you, man.
Get a room!
Or ease up on the meds.
I think what really bugs me about this is that I LOVE YOU - the three greatest and most powerful words ever - becomes ordinary when it's said or read incessantly. It becomes tedious, gratuitous, trite, cliche' and even worse...cheap.
Don't toss this around too carelessly.
Being Told That A 16-Year-Old Girl Traversing The World Alone On Her Sailboat Is Some Kind Of Trailblazing, Rite-Of-Passage Thing.
Yeah, no...it's just a stupid thing. I don't care how mature, able-bodied, smart, savvy or otherwise other-worldly this girl is...she's 16. Hello, pirates? Hello, rogue waves? Hello, her dad is shopping a reality television show but is denying that by saying it's actually a tool to get kids off of their computers (and in front of the television instead)?
And if one more person writes one more sappy, coming-of-age, rite of passage article about this debacle, I'm slapping them. I am fully aware that there are very young people the world over who engage in all sorts of cultural/religious/traditional adventurous rites of passage...yet there are no news reports...no television coverage, etc. Male Australian Aborigines go on walkabouts in which they undergo a journey during adolescence and live in the wilderness for a period as long as six months. In this practice they would trace the paths, or "songlines", that their people's ceremonials ancestors took, and imitate, in a fashion, their heroic deeds. Where is their news coverage, their television show?
Real Aborigines of Outback County?
Boonga Woonga and Matoonga Faloonga Plus 8?
19 Aborigines and Counting?
Did you know you can buy merchandise via this girl's website? Since when does merchandising have anything to do with trailblazing? With a rite of passage? With anything other than being opportunistic?
"Honey, we want you to set out on this journey...we want your soul and your mind and your heart to expand...we want you to grow in spirit and come to know and rely on yourself through circumstances both calamitous and joyful...we want you to learn that you are truly capable of anything and everything...and, oh yeah, we're going to "commemorate" this important moment in your life by selling shirts, sandals, boots, sneakers, stickers, posters, etc to the general public..."Puh-leeze.
(Here's an actual realistic/technical article about this story, for anyone interested)
Bloggers Who Are Being Paid To Hawk Stuff.
Ever go to a website because you think you might be interested in whatever it is that is on that website and then you have to sit through some kind of pop-up advertisement before you get to the content you went there for in the first place.
Maddening, right?
More than once this week I have come across blogs whose blog posts are reviews of products that they are being paid to review. I know that they're being paid for the review I am inadvertently reading because there is a disclaimer somewhere in the post (usually at the bottom in really small print) that says, in essence, that
"I am being paid for this post by XYZ Company and it is entirely 100% my opinion".
Maddening, right?
I read blogs for the blog writer's opinion, yes; I don't read blogs so that I can read their paid opinion of the latest and greatest Pop-Tart flavor or whatever. I don't begrudge anyone making money however they need to - particularly when it's a clever or an unorthodox method of doing so - but there's something about this that leaves me with an inauthentic, misleading feeling. Plus I don't believe a single glowing word they're writing about the product. Come on, now...you're being paid to sit at home in front of your computer reviewing the free product(s) you're being sent...and you're going to give a bad review? Yeah, right.
Oh, you might say something like:
"the color of the lemon Pop-Tart's filling could be just a bit more yellow to give it a more genuine lemon-y appeal"
But you are not going to say:
"holy crap, don't buy the new lemon Pop-Tarts because they suck and even the dog wouldn't eat it".
We all know that one does not poop where one eats.
I think that if you are a blogger who is going to
And by opt-out I mean stop reading your advertisement blog altogether.
Stay tuned...next post up will be stuff that DOES NOT make Kissy pissy.
June 17, 2010
June 16, 2010
Ooh Ooh, That (Lack Of) Smell.
Did you know that I can't smell anything?
Not a single thing; couldn't even smell a skunk if one got all freaked out and skunk'd me.
It was just over a year ago that I lost my sense of smell. I was sick with a bad cold which morphed into some kind of thing that may or may not have been what is known as burning mouth syndrome...which is not anything you ever want to experience if you can help it.
I noticed that my sense of smell & taste disappeared during all of this but, while that was annoying, I didn't think it was much of a big deal. I've lost those senses before during sickness and they usually return to normal after a few days.
But not this time.
A week, a month, two months...and now here we are, 14 months later and nada.
Recently, someone said that if they ever lost their sense of smell that it would be a "death sentence" for them.
I think I can sort of understand someone feeling that way but I have a very excellent reason for mostly not feeling that way.
You see, three months before all of this went down I spent some days in the CCU (critical care unit) with my left lung totally collapsed and my right one on its way to collapsing as well. This happened to me as a result of walking pneumonia I didn't know I had.
Obviously and very, very (very!) thankfully, I recovered physically but that episode was life-altering. As a result, many, many (many!) things have changed for me as a result. (One minor change is that I now get very uncomfortable if anyone touches my back in a rub/massage kind of way - which is crazy because I am a major rub whore - as if their action will somehow cause my lung to collapse. Isn't that weird?)
OK, so fast forward 3 months after all of that went down to when I lose my sense of smell and 3/4 of my sense of taste, since they go hand-in-hand.
I guess to some people that would be a "death sentence" but since it happened to me after almost dying...well, yeah, I'd rather still be around to not smell or taste, ya know what I mean?
Perspective would be at the top of the list of the many things that the almost dying thing changes dramatically, I assure you.
Not being able to smell/taste sucks. Sucks. SUCKS.
I probably am reminded of what I no longer have 500 times a day, minimally: clean hair, my husband's scent, coffee, lemons, fresh air, wet dog, cinnamon, bleach, flowers, gasoline, garlic, perfume, Old Bay seasoning, anything that might be sour/spoiled...the list of what I cannot any longer smell goes on and on and on and on...
And it can be dangerous, too. Recently our giant propane tank sprang a leak and I never knew it because I couldn't smell it. Thankfully I can't smell candles or incense either and no longer use them because had I lit a match to light either of those things with the propane leak happening...yeah, not good in a big way. I think Mister loses sleep worrying about these kinds of things nowadays with me. It's almost funny to watch people kind of act like they're mad at me for not being able to smell. When Mister discovered the propane leak he sort of lashed out, out loud about me not being able to smell things like that. It seems I'm not the only one who feels fear and frustration about this condition.
As far as taste goes, I can discern sweet, sour, salty, bitter. There are some things that I can still taste and that list is crazy strange - coffee, brownies, wine, almonds, vinegar, cherries, oranges, hot pepper, for example.
What I have discovered, though, is that your brain is kind and benevolent. I'm not going to be able to describe this very well but somehow I am able to remember tastes and smells and can somehow still taste/smell them by memory even though I can't actually taste or smell them. This allows me to still enjoy things.
(Try this: think of licking or sucking on a lemon. Did just the thought make your mouth water?)
Texture has become seriously important to me. One of our favorite places has an amazing cheesy crab dip that they serve hot in a bread bowl. I can't actually taste the seasonings so how do I know it's amazing? Its creaminess is divine. The bread is crunchy on the outside and wonderfully chewy on the inside, like perfect bread should be.
I don't want to give anyone the impression that I'm A-OK with all of this as if I'm some kind of Sally Sunshine that always makes lemonade when life hands her lemons. The truth is that there are more times than I'd like to admit that I feel super sorry for myself and just would like to lie in bed for a day (or six) wallowing in misery and cursing the gods.
And you know what? That is A-OK because I am human, afterall.
Still, I do my best to make the best of the hand I am dealt...and when I can't, I do my best to fake it.
Or I write therapeutic blog posts about the things that piss me off and/or annoy me.
Or I surround myself with any and all things whimsical.
Or with this:
And then there's Mister...and Juanita Valdez...and cupcakes...front porch sittin'...motorcycle ridin'...painting...blogging...ice pops...taking pictures...exploring...God...books...doctors who are competent...second chances...
Yup, the list of things that DON'T SUCK is much, much longer than the things that do.
And that's exactly what keeps me out of my self-pitying bed.'
Most of the time, anyway.
Not a single thing; couldn't even smell a skunk if one got all freaked out and skunk'd me.
It was just over a year ago that I lost my sense of smell. I was sick with a bad cold which morphed into some kind of thing that may or may not have been what is known as burning mouth syndrome...which is not anything you ever want to experience if you can help it.
I noticed that my sense of smell & taste disappeared during all of this but, while that was annoying, I didn't think it was much of a big deal. I've lost those senses before during sickness and they usually return to normal after a few days.
But not this time.
A week, a month, two months...and now here we are, 14 months later and nada.
Recently, someone said that if they ever lost their sense of smell that it would be a "death sentence" for them.
I think I can sort of understand someone feeling that way but I have a very excellent reason for mostly not feeling that way.
You see, three months before all of this went down I spent some days in the CCU (critical care unit) with my left lung totally collapsed and my right one on its way to collapsing as well. This happened to me as a result of walking pneumonia I didn't know I had.
Here's the Cliffs Notes version of the whole story: sick with a pretty high fever of 102, breathless, but no other symptoms of sick. Laid around in bed for a few days then developed pain in my back. Pain went from bad to worse so I went to the ER where I was diagnosed with "back spasms" (without taking an x-ray) and sent home with pain killers. Once home, pain went from worse to severe and I finished an entire bottle of pain killers in about 30 hours (and I don't even take Tylenol). Crawled back to the ER with the intent of getting more pain pills. Fortunately, a new doctor was on duty who thought an x-ray might be in order since I couldn't even walk at this point because the pain was so intense. The x-ray allowed that doctor to correctly diagnose me and shuffle me off via ambulance to the main hospital with all the right people, places and things that would ultimately allow me to live.At the time I was working in an office that was housed in a very old building whose venting system had likely not been cleaned since it had been installed...which I'd estimate was probably around World War II or so. Ingesting the dust/dirt it spewed on a regular basis turned out to be not so good for me/my lungs.
Obviously and very, very (very!) thankfully, I recovered physically but that episode was life-altering. As a result, many, many (many!) things have changed for me as a result. (One minor change is that I now get very uncomfortable if anyone touches my back in a rub/massage kind of way - which is crazy because I am a major rub whore - as if their action will somehow cause my lung to collapse. Isn't that weird?)
OK, so fast forward 3 months after all of that went down to when I lose my sense of smell and 3/4 of my sense of taste, since they go hand-in-hand.
I guess to some people that would be a "death sentence" but since it happened to me after almost dying...well, yeah, I'd rather still be around to not smell or taste, ya know what I mean?
Perspective would be at the top of the list of the many things that the almost dying thing changes dramatically, I assure you.
Not being able to smell/taste sucks. Sucks. SUCKS.
I probably am reminded of what I no longer have 500 times a day, minimally: clean hair, my husband's scent, coffee, lemons, fresh air, wet dog, cinnamon, bleach, flowers, gasoline, garlic, perfume, Old Bay seasoning, anything that might be sour/spoiled...the list of what I cannot any longer smell goes on and on and on and on...
And it can be dangerous, too. Recently our giant propane tank sprang a leak and I never knew it because I couldn't smell it. Thankfully I can't smell candles or incense either and no longer use them because had I lit a match to light either of those things with the propane leak happening...yeah, not good in a big way. I think Mister loses sleep worrying about these kinds of things nowadays with me. It's almost funny to watch people kind of act like they're mad at me for not being able to smell. When Mister discovered the propane leak he sort of lashed out, out loud about me not being able to smell things like that. It seems I'm not the only one who feels fear and frustration about this condition.
As far as taste goes, I can discern sweet, sour, salty, bitter. There are some things that I can still taste and that list is crazy strange - coffee, brownies, wine, almonds, vinegar, cherries, oranges, hot pepper, for example.
What I have discovered, though, is that your brain is kind and benevolent. I'm not going to be able to describe this very well but somehow I am able to remember tastes and smells and can somehow still taste/smell them by memory even though I can't actually taste or smell them. This allows me to still enjoy things.
(Try this: think of licking or sucking on a lemon. Did just the thought make your mouth water?)
Texture has become seriously important to me. One of our favorite places has an amazing cheesy crab dip that they serve hot in a bread bowl. I can't actually taste the seasonings so how do I know it's amazing? Its creaminess is divine. The bread is crunchy on the outside and wonderfully chewy on the inside, like perfect bread should be.
And you know what? That is A-OK because I am human, afterall.
Still, I do my best to make the best of the hand I am dealt...and when I can't, I do my best to fake it.
Or I write therapeutic blog posts about the things that piss me off and/or annoy me.
Or I surround myself with any and all things whimsical.
Or with this:
And then there's Mister...and Juanita Valdez...and cupcakes...front porch sittin'...motorcycle ridin'...painting...blogging...ice pops...taking pictures...exploring...God...books...doctors who are competent...second chances...
Yup, the list of things that DON'T SUCK is much, much longer than the things that do.
And that's exactly what keeps me out of my self-pitying bed.'
Most of the time, anyway.
June 11, 2010
High School Reunion, Traditional or Biker-Style?
My 30th high school reunion is next April.
(Yes, that's right...30th. It's shocking to me, too, ok? Happily, though, I have not matured all that much since then and I've kind of maintained my youthful splendor so you wouldn't really know how MIDDLE-AGED I am to look at me.)
People from my class have already formed a committee and are deep in the process of planning for "an event not to be missed" that is to be held at a hotel/casino in Atlantic City even though Atlantic City is about 150 miles away from where we actually went to high school. I know that AC is the location for the "event not to be missed" because invitations to it have already been sent out via Facebook.
When you receive the invitation, you have the option of selecting:
fabricate a big story about why I can't attend change my mind.
Eleven months also allows me plenty of time to decide whether or not I will crash this reunion...just like I did for the 20th and the 25th. That's right, crash.
I want to tell you how much fun it is to crash a high school reunion. I cannot recommend doing this at least once highly enough. In fact, I can't even believe that more people don't do it.
What you do is show up to the venue about two hours after its official start time that way it's a pretty safe bet that the dinner part is over and the drinking part is well under way.
Both times that I crashed my reunions they were being held at a hotel so I just sashayed into the hotel bar and waited.
See, there are plenty of people who attend high school reunions that realize at about that two hour mark that they're bored out of their mind and have to get out of there so they make a break for the hotel bar where they're pretty sure they won't have to listen to one more person bragging about how fabulous every-single-day-over-the-last-30-years have been not to mention every-single-amazing-thing their kids have done.
And then they stumble upon me, high school reunion rebel,lying in wait patiently sipping my Tanqueray & tonic at the bar.
Since, like I said, I have mostly maintained my youthful splendor, it won't take long for them to recognize me and after a few sidelong glances will eventually ask me if I am me and then they will say something along the lines of, "Wait. I didn't see you in there."
And I will say, "No, you didn't, because I just got here and I'm about to crash the party."
And something from long ago...some kind of long-forgotten spark...ignites within them and their eyes glaze over for just a minute as they recall a time, many years ago, when they actually had some life in them and didn't always play by the rules and then they re-focus and smile as they look at me and say those oh-so-fateful words: "Come on, I'll sneak you in."
At the 25th, that scenario played out so well that word spread like wildfire that I was there and was crashing the party that about a dozen people joined in and were volunteering to sneak me in. Some people even ran cover to distract the organizers so me and Mister could slink past them and into the banquet room.
Three-quarters of the people who were aiding and abetting our shenanigans were not even friends with me in high school (I was definitely not part of the popularclique crowd in h.s.)...they just wanted to join in the reindeer games.
Shelling out $150 ($75 per person) to eat banquet hall food with a couple of hundred people that I'm forced to make :::shudder::: small talk with and who I would never otherwise seek out to share a meal or cocktails with and who all will revert back to not being part of my life the very next day aside from occasional Facebook status exchanges here and there...
not to mention the potential for purchasing new clothes for the event and the hotel room and the cash bar and the cost of travel...
Yeah, listen, I'm just not putting out this kind of time/effort/money in the name of some over-organized, over-planned, overrated fun.
The truth is that I can't even muster up enough rebellion to want to crash this one. I'm back in touch with some of the people I went to high school with thanks to social networking, which is very nice, and frankly is enough. I don't need to go through a whole lot of money and trouble just to hang out and drink with them for a night; I can do that from the desk in my office any night of the week.
I think a much more fun high school reunion would be more like a biker rally. We should put together a giant party on or near the grounds of our high school (because it kinda makes sense to have a high school reunion at the high school, no?) for an entire weekend...and have beer trucks (i.e. keg party!)...and vendors for food and funnel cake and shopping for fun stuff...and 50/50s that benefit various charities...and live music...and t-shirts...and we could even give out beads for those who are willing to show their boobies...although at a 30 year reunion I'm not so sure that would be such a great idea.
Doesn't that sound like big fun (the biker-type party, not the boob-showing thing)?
Doesn't that sound better than this:
(Yes, that's right...30th. It's shocking to me, too, ok? Happily, though, I have not matured all that much since then and I've kind of maintained my youthful splendor so you wouldn't really know how MIDDLE-AGED I am to look at me.)
People from my class have already formed a committee and are deep in the process of planning for "an event not to be missed" that is to be held at a hotel/casino in Atlantic City even though Atlantic City is about 150 miles away from where we actually went to high school. I know that AC is the location for the "event not to be missed" because invitations to it have already been sent out via Facebook.
When you receive the invitation, you have the option of selecting:
- will attend
- will maybe attend
- will not attend
Eleven months also allows me plenty of time to decide whether or not I will crash this reunion...just like I did for the 20th and the 25th. That's right, crash.
I want to tell you how much fun it is to crash a high school reunion. I cannot recommend doing this at least once highly enough. In fact, I can't even believe that more people don't do it.
What you do is show up to the venue about two hours after its official start time that way it's a pretty safe bet that the dinner part is over and the drinking part is well under way.
Both times that I crashed my reunions they were being held at a hotel so I just sashayed into the hotel bar and waited.
See, there are plenty of people who attend high school reunions that realize at about that two hour mark that they're bored out of their mind and have to get out of there so they make a break for the hotel bar where they're pretty sure they won't have to listen to one more person bragging about how fabulous every-single-day-over-the-last-30-years have been not to mention every-single-amazing-thing their kids have done.
And then they stumble upon me, high school reunion rebel,
Since, like I said, I have mostly maintained my youthful splendor, it won't take long for them to recognize me and after a few sidelong glances will eventually ask me if I am me and then they will say something along the lines of, "Wait. I didn't see you in there."
And I will say, "No, you didn't, because I just got here and I'm about to crash the party."
And something from long ago...some kind of long-forgotten spark...ignites within them and their eyes glaze over for just a minute as they recall a time, many years ago, when they actually had some life in them and didn't always play by the rules and then they re-focus and smile as they look at me and say those oh-so-fateful words: "Come on, I'll sneak you in."
At the 25th, that scenario played out so well that word spread like wildfire that I was there and was crashing the party that about a dozen people joined in and were volunteering to sneak me in. Some people even ran cover to distract the organizers so me and Mister could slink past them and into the banquet room.
Three-quarters of the people who were aiding and abetting our shenanigans were not even friends with me in high school (I was definitely not part of the popular
not to mention the potential for purchasing new clothes for the event and the hotel room and the cash bar and the cost of travel...
Yeah, listen, I'm just not putting out this kind of time/effort/money in the name of some over-organized, over-planned, overrated fun.
The truth is that I can't even muster up enough rebellion to want to crash this one. I'm back in touch with some of the people I went to high school with thanks to social networking, which is very nice, and frankly is enough. I don't need to go through a whole lot of money and trouble just to hang out and drink with them for a night; I can do that from the desk in my office any night of the week.
Doesn't that sound like big fun (the biker-type party, not the boob-showing thing)?
Doesn't that sound better than this:
The one guy is even wearing what appears to be a name tag
June 9, 2010
My Version Of J'Adore Dior Shirt Complete ! Enter to Win It !
OK, my interpretation of the Dior shirt is complete:
I literally just finished it and it's still drying (which is why it's lying down flat in the picture).
So I'm giving it away at the end of this month to one lucky commenter / love note leaver.
Here are the very simple contest details that do not require you to jump through hoops or visit my non-existent Etsy site or tell me what you were doing on the night of February 19th, etc.:
1. Leave me a comment / love note by clicking on 'LOVE NOTES' at the bottom of every post.
2. 1 comment - 1 entry, 2 comments = 2 entries...you can figure out the rest, right?
3. That is all.
4. Oh wait, I forgot...tell your friends.
Here are the details for the shirt:
Good Luck!
I literally just finished it and it's still drying (which is why it's lying down flat in the picture).
So I'm giving it away at the end of this month to one lucky commenter / love note leaver.
Here are the very simple contest details that do not require you to jump through hoops or visit my non-existent Etsy site or tell me what you were doing on the night of February 19th, etc.:
1. Leave me a comment / love note by clicking on 'LOVE NOTES' at the bottom of every post.
2. 1 comment - 1 entry, 2 comments = 2 entries...you can figure out the rest, right?
3. That is all.
4. Oh wait, I forgot...tell your friends.
Here are the details for the shirt:
- It is a black cotton ladies-style shirt
- It is a size XL but don't let that scare you because it's a small XL and you'll have to trust me when I say that even someone who is a size SMALL could wear this shirt
- It is 100% handpainted by me so it's genuinely unique and one-of-a-kind
- There are these cool metal hearts floating all around the wording on the shirt
- There is a crystal dotting the "J" in j'adore
- The lettering is glitter-y
Good Luck!
Kissy Is Pissy.
Hello, My Name Is IRKelle.
For the past couple of days I'd have to say that I've been annoyed by about 99% of everything.
I've been doing all kinds of things to shake this mood but I have not achieved even a modicum of success.
Part of what's been bringing this on is that I am currently in some kind of whacked out fibromyalgia flare-up. Do you know what that feels like? Well, let's see if I can describe a small portion of it for you:
Ever wake up with that run-over-by-a-bus feeling? Have you ever prayed for cloudy days because sunlight makes you want to scream? How about feeling like you seriously want to beat the piss out ofsomeone something because of the noise it emits?
And that's only a slice of the fibromyalgia pie!
The other night we went out to dinner with a new friend and wound up having an exceptionally good time that had practically nothing to do with the dining part and almost everything to do with the conversation part.
You see, our new friend is smart and funny and unique and famous and has opinions and preferences (and is a published author)...and omigod I thought my head would explode I was so delighted to have actually been in the presence of someone interesting!
Good conversation is like a drug for me.
I thirst for it. I hunger for it. I lust after it.
You wanna know how much I covet good conversation?
Hmmmm, let's see....OK, remember back in the day when people went nuts in their quest for Cabbage Patch Kids dolls?
That's right; I'd trample Grandma in order to get me some good conversation. (kidding!)
Which explains another part of my bad mood. I got my 'fix' the other night and then I returned to my regularly scheduled life of working from home which means being isolated and relying on Facebook to interact with other human beings.
Yeah, Facebook.
And let's face it, there is no greater exercise in futility than looking to Facebook for intellectual stimulation.
Speaking of exercise in futility, I read this great interview with Gore Vidal yesterday. I love Gore Vidal. I've read everything he's written. More than once.
Naturally, then, I would want to share this article and hope that that would lead to discussing it with other like-minded people.
So I decided to conduct a social experiment by posting a link to it on Facebook.
Where it's been sitting, ignored, for quite some time now. Ha!
Shocking, right?
Instead, my Facebook friends are analyzing their names using the "Analysis Your Name" application.
For those of you unfamiliar with this fascinating, IQ- and life-enhancing tool, you type in your name and it supplies you with an in-depth analysis of your name which should then supply you with the answer(s) you need to solve your worldly problem(s).
Here is a screenshot of the analysis I got:
More fodder for my bad mood.
But I guess I'm just being a meanie.
Facebook = Escapism and I probably shouldn't begrudge anyone anything they might need to help them cope.
I just need to find friends who prefer to cope in a similar fashion to the way that I do.
Wow!
I am definitely feeling better after writing this rant.
(Imagine that...using an online diary to write diary-ish things.)
For the past couple of days I'd have to say that I've been annoyed by about 99% of everything.
I've been doing all kinds of things to shake this mood but I have not achieved even a modicum of success.
Part of what's been bringing this on is that I am currently in some kind of whacked out fibromyalgia flare-up. Do you know what that feels like? Well, let's see if I can describe a small portion of it for you:
Ever wake up with that run-over-by-a-bus feeling? Have you ever prayed for cloudy days because sunlight makes you want to scream? How about feeling like you seriously want to beat the piss out of
And that's only a slice of the fibromyalgia pie!
The other night we went out to dinner with a new friend and wound up having an exceptionally good time that had practically nothing to do with the dining part and almost everything to do with the conversation part.
You see, our new friend is smart and funny and unique and famous and has opinions and preferences (and is a published author)...and omigod I thought my head would explode I was so delighted to have actually been in the presence of someone interesting!
Good conversation is like a drug for me.
I thirst for it. I hunger for it. I lust after it.
You wanna know how much I covet good conversation?
Hmmmm, let's see....OK, remember back in the day when people went nuts in their quest for Cabbage Patch Kids dolls?
That's right; I'd trample Grandma in order to get me some good conversation. (kidding!)
Which explains another part of my bad mood. I got my 'fix' the other night and then I returned to my regularly scheduled life of working from home which means being isolated and relying on Facebook to interact with other human beings.
Yeah, Facebook.
And let's face it, there is no greater exercise in futility than looking to Facebook for intellectual stimulation.
Speaking of exercise in futility, I read this great interview with Gore Vidal yesterday. I love Gore Vidal. I've read everything he's written. More than once.
Naturally, then, I would want to share this article and hope that that would lead to discussing it with other like-minded people.
So I decided to conduct a social experiment by posting a link to it on Facebook.
Where it's been sitting, ignored, for quite some time now. Ha!
Shocking, right?
Instead, my Facebook friends are analyzing their names using the "Analysis Your Name" application.
For those of you unfamiliar with this fascinating, IQ- and life-enhancing tool, you type in your name and it supplies you with an in-depth analysis of your name which should then supply you with the answer(s) you need to solve your worldly problem(s).
Here is a screenshot of the analysis I got:
More fodder for my bad mood.
But I guess I'm just being a meanie.
Facebook = Escapism and I probably shouldn't begrudge anyone anything they might need to help them cope.
I just need to find friends who prefer to cope in a similar fashion to the way that I do.
Wow!
I am definitely feeling better after writing this rant.
(Imagine that...using an online diary to write diary-ish things.)
June 7, 2010
June 4, 2010
Shake It Up & Keep It Real.
On an almost daily basis, I read a lot of blogs.
I have my favorites but sometimes I wander away from them and look for new ones to add to my fave list.
What I've been noticing as I've been wandering around the blogosphere (<---I hate these stupid blog-related words) is that it seems like everyone's posting pictures of things likes some amazingly complicated food with hard-to-find exotic ingredients like lemongrass or chestnut flour some such thing (that you can only get if you live in a major city or via mail order) that they used when they whipped together last night's dinner...or some fabulous crafty thing made with dried pasta and mod podge that they're selling for $500 on etsy but I "better hurry and order one because all 75 of them are almost sold out"...or their 2-week European or Hawaiian or European/Hawaiian vacation...or their perfect children who get perfect grades when they're performing perfectly at one of the 34 weekly after-school activities that the whole perfect family never misses a practice for...
Hello?
What's with all this perfect?
When did blogger start equaling Stepford Wife?
Where's the real stuff?
Like, the part where the husband spit out the lemongrass concoction, threw his plate against the wall and demanded "normal" food, shouting that he'd "really like a damn meatloaf every once in awhile" as he stormed out the door and drove off like a maniac, screeching tires and all.
But not before slamming on the brakes to shout one more thing out of the car window:
"...and stop taking pictures of every-friggen-thing to post on your blog!".
Don't you sometimes just picture the blogger sitting down to write the fabricated post entitled "Fabulous Lemongrass Meal" while crying uncontrollably and drinking a few glasses of scotch as she wondered if this time her husband would come back home that night to sleep. Or is that just me?
Sometimes I can't help but wonder if blogging is just turning into an activity similar to one of those Christmas newsletters, only written regularly instead of once a year.
If I knew someone who picked up the telephone and called me to tell me stuff like this, I'd change my phone number.
Come on, admit it. There've been times when you wished you had the courage to respond to such banality with what you really want to say. Right? Or is that just me, too?
Or are you one of those comment gusher types?
Even worse than that, it's like some kind of online cyber - oh, it's so hard for me to even type these dreadful words! - small talk.
Do you think it has to do with escapism? I mean, let's face it, sitting down and writing about some happy stuff is WAY better than popping Prozac or drinking those aforementioned glasses of scotch, any day of the week.
Well, most days of the week, anyhow. Nothing wrong with a good stiff one (drink) when necessary.
If sunshine and puppy dogs are what a person needs/likes/wants, I'm the last person who would want to take that away from them (trust me, I've got some quirky escapisms and likes and dislikes of my own, I assure you.) I guess what I'm saying and feeling is that as delightful as sunshine and puppy dogs are (to most people...I adore puppies but I actually prefer cloudy days to sunny ones, but that's just me), it can get a little boring when that's all a person talks about. Way too one-dimensional for me, you know what I mean?
Anyway, like I always say, if you don't like the song that's on the radio, don't sit there complaining about how much you don't like the song...simply turn the dial until you find a song that you do like.
But, no matter what, you still should try doing this from time to time:
I have my favorites but sometimes I wander away from them and look for new ones to add to my fave list.
What I've been noticing as I've been wandering around the blogosphere (<---I hate these stupid blog-related words) is that it seems like everyone's posting pictures of things likes some amazingly complicated food with hard-to-find exotic ingredients like lemongrass or chestnut flour some such thing (that you can only get if you live in a major city or via mail order) that they used when they whipped together last night's dinner...or some fabulous crafty thing made with dried pasta and mod podge that they're selling for $500 on etsy but I "better hurry and order one because all 75 of them are almost sold out"...or their 2-week European or Hawaiian or European/Hawaiian vacation...or their perfect children who get perfect grades when they're performing perfectly at one of the 34 weekly after-school activities that the whole perfect family never misses a practice for...
Hello?
What's with all this perfect?
When did blogger start equaling Stepford Wife?
Where's the real stuff?
Like, the part where the husband spit out the lemongrass concoction, threw his plate against the wall and demanded "normal" food, shouting that he'd "really like a damn meatloaf every once in awhile" as he stormed out the door and drove off like a maniac, screeching tires and all.
But not before slamming on the brakes to shout one more thing out of the car window:
"...and stop taking pictures of every-friggen-thing to post on your blog!".
The inside of my refrigerator which
badly needs to be cleaned out / organized
This is one of the fabulous paper plates
we eat our meals off of each day
Sometimes I can't help but wonder if blogging is just turning into an activity similar to one of those Christmas newsletters, only written regularly instead of once a year.
I see this - what should I call it? trend? - on Facebook all the time, too. Everybody seems to need to let everyone know about every mundane and conceivable thing they're thinking/doing/feeling/wanting/etc and everyone who reads it, is somehow compelled to 'like' every single thing.
Sample Facebook statuses:
Sample Facebook statuses:
My stomach is growling. That must mean I'm hungry! Better go eat a sandwich!!
You and 6 people like this.
My son/daughter cleaned his/her room!
14 people like this.
If I knew someone who picked up the telephone and called me to tell me stuff like this, I'd change my phone number.
/My unused/ignored vacuum cleaner still in the same odd place
(middle of dining room) that is was placed days ago
Come on, admit it. There've been times when you wished you had the courage to respond to such banality with what you really want to say. Right? Or is that just me, too?
Or are you one of those comment gusher types?
- Enjoy your sandwich. No one deserves it more than you!
- You are so blessed to have a child who cleans their room.
- Wow! Cleaned the room?! That's terrific! You're obviously such a great parent!!!
Even worse than that, it's like some kind of online cyber - oh, it's so hard for me to even type these dreadful words! - small talk.
Unplanted plants that will die soon if not
planted in pots + weed overgrowth
So what's up with all this sweetness and light and need for positive reinforcement?Do you think it has to do with escapism? I mean, let's face it, sitting down and writing about some happy stuff is WAY better than popping Prozac or drinking those aforementioned glasses of scotch, any day of the week.
Well, most days of the week, anyhow. Nothing wrong with a good stiff one (drink) when necessary.
If sunshine and puppy dogs are what a person needs/likes/wants, I'm the last person who would want to take that away from them (trust me, I've got some quirky escapisms and likes and dislikes of my own, I assure you.) I guess what I'm saying and feeling is that as delightful as sunshine and puppy dogs are (to most people...I adore puppies but I actually prefer cloudy days to sunny ones, but that's just me), it can get a little boring when that's all a person talks about. Way too one-dimensional for me, you know what I mean?
Anyway, like I always say, if you don't like the song that's on the radio, don't sit there complaining about how much you don't like the song...simply turn the dial until you find a song that you do like.
But, no matter what, you still should try doing this from time to time:
June 2, 2010
June 1, 2010
J'Adore Dior Shirt "Knock-Off" Challenge/Contest.
The other day a friend of mine, the beautiful and oh-so-talented, Sasha Mullins (her accomplishments are too great to list so just click on her name to have a look at her website and prepare to be wow'd!), commented that she saw this shirt on Sex and the City and that she wanted one:
Miss Sasha wound up loving the idea of creating her own...but the she took it one step further by suggesting that I, too, make one and we could compare our handiwork.
Then it got even better when Sasha then put it out to all of her friends by suggesting that everyone make their own interpretation of this shirt and we could show ours off to each other when they were done.
Don't you just LOVE fun people like this?
So my supplies are purchased and I'll likely start on my version of this shirt today if I don't procrastinate cleaning the house some. That's one of my quirks - I cannot do anything that involves creativity if the house needs attention. Are you like that, too? Clutter will throw me completely off. So weird.
Anyway, I got to thinking that I'd like to donate my shirt but I couldn't think of who/what to donate it to, so I have decided for now to give my shirt away via a CONTEST right here on this blog when it's complete.
Talk about fun!
Details about the shirt to come but in the meantime, don't worry - I won't make you jump through hoops to enter to win it.
In fact, from now until the shirt is complete, anyone who leaves a comment (by clicking on the words 'LOVE NOTES' at the bottom of each post) from today on is automatically entered. And if you comment a lot, then you will have a lot of entries.
See? Easy!
Me, lover of all things thrifty, garage sale-y and Goodwill-ish, and being someone who thinks you're crazy if you ever pay full price for anything, suggested that she rush over to her nearest craft store and purchase all the supplies to make her own for around 10% of the cost of the above $200 shirt. And then not only would she be saving lots of $$$ but the shirt would be totally unique, which to me should be the 11th Commandment:
Thou shalt always be unique whenever possible.
Miss Sasha wound up loving the idea of creating her own...but the she took it one step further by suggesting that I, too, make one and we could compare our handiwork.
Then it got even better when Sasha then put it out to all of her friends by suggesting that everyone make their own interpretation of this shirt and we could show ours off to each other when they were done.
Don't you just LOVE fun people like this?
So my supplies are purchased and I'll likely start on my version of this shirt today if I don't procrastinate cleaning the house some. That's one of my quirks - I cannot do anything that involves creativity if the house needs attention. Are you like that, too? Clutter will throw me completely off. So weird.
Anyway, I got to thinking that I'd like to donate my shirt but I couldn't think of who/what to donate it to, so I have decided for now to give my shirt away via a CONTEST right here on this blog when it's complete.
Talk about fun!
Details about the shirt to come but in the meantime, don't worry - I won't make you jump through hoops to enter to win it.
In fact, from now until the shirt is complete, anyone who leaves a comment (by clicking on the words 'LOVE NOTES' at the bottom of each post) from today on is automatically entered. And if you comment a lot, then you will have a lot of entries.
See? Easy!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)