9.18.2014

Not Everyone Likes You (a word for bloggers & a guest post giveaway)

People always ask me for blogging advice and I have no idea why.

I know the little piece of internet I own and author is doing alright, but I'm not exactly an expert when it comes to blog stuff, or tech stuff, or writing stuff. I just sort of do whatever I want and sometimes it works out. But blogging has been good to me. It's been a creative outlet, a quiet therapist, a boisterous community, a spirited debate, a sincere friend, and a soft, snarky place to land, again and again as I've stumbled along this path of Life and Faith. So whenever someone tells me they're starting a blog it makes me kind of happy to think they may be embarking on a similar journey.

I really do wish I had some bit of great blogging advice to offer, but since my beginning in the blog world, the rules of successful blogging (if such a thing ever existed) have changed a lot, and they continue to morph at a pretty rapid rate.

Back in the day, blogs were the place where conversations happened as people commented directly to the author or to each other, responding, edifying, arguing, encouraging, and offending in long threads of dialog at the bottom of each post. These days, the majority of the conversation takes place elsewhere, mostly on Facebook, where we engage in an oddly disconnected, but highly interested, modern-day version of community. So while five years ago the intent of a blog was to draw people in, these days it's to be drawn out – to be shared. We used to want to know how to get people to come to our blog, but now we're asking how to get our blog "out there” to the people. Comment threads are no longer a good indicator of how well a particular blog post has been received, because, today, in the land of SEO and XML and LOLZ, the Share button is king.

Success for today's blogger means being posted, pinned, tumbled, stumbled, mailed, and tweeted times infinity.

Just whispering the word "viral" gives bloggers a boner. It used to be if someone told you they'd gone viral, you'd take a generous step backward, visibly shudder, and run away to wash your hands. Now we're all clamoring for the chance. We want to spread our infectious discourse all over the internet, the faster the better. When we post to our blogs, it's no longer in the hope that people will come join us in our little space, but that they'll invite us into theirs. We want readers to carry the thing we've created home with them, to their Facebook house, to share it with their friends, who will share it with their friends, who will share it with their friends. And on and on, just like the flu, until everyone's had it, some twice.

9.16.2014

Read Between the Lines, Ma'am.

Today is my birthday. Again. So I'm sharing this birthday post. Again. (**age has been updated to reflect oldness**)

The years seem to be going faster, don't they?

I don't know how that works, but let me assure you; it's a thing. As you age, time passes more quickly, gravity actually gets heavier, and your bladder shrinks to the size of a peanut. Before you know it, you wake up one morning and you're thirty-effing-nine, droopy all over, and living your whole life on the brink of wetting yourself. I'm sorry. That's just how it is. There's nothing you can do about it.... unless you have lots and lots of money... Ok. So there's nothing I can do about it.

Oh! And, as if being wrinkly, damp, and nearly dead isn't insulting enough, people keep calling me “Ma'am”. 

photo cred:
 Katrina Nicole Photography
What the hell, you guys?! Ma'am??? Psssshhh! How rude is that?! They might as well be calling me “you old bag".  “Thank you for shopping at Safeway, you old bag!” When the Starbucks barista says “Here you go, Ma'am”, she's lucky I don't throw my extra-hot latte right in her wrinkle-free face. I just cannot abide being told so politely that I'm old and haggard.

So I have a furrowed brow and flesh like an old paper sack. So what?! ...This face? This hot mess? This puckered mug? This is a freaking badge of honor.

My face tells the story of an incredible life. It's like a diary. Like a journal I've kept since the day I was born. My face can tell you everything about me... But you'll have to read between the lines. 

9.15.2014

I'm not fat. ...I'm skinny-fat.

Ok, so The Very Worst Dietbet starts today! (The pot has grown to over $19,000! And it's not too late to join us!!)

Gotta say,  I'm super stoked because I know I'm going to end in the cash. I just will. 

Losing weight is something I know how to do. I'm actually kind of good at it. Unfortunately, I'm also really good at gaining weight. Like, sit me down with a large pizza and a diet Coke and everybody be like “Mmm, get it girl.” when they see me pack it in! I can EAT.

Skinny-fat. It's a thing. 
I'm not saying I'm fat, I'm not fat. Actually, I am what they refer to in medical journals as a “skinny-fat person”.  Pretty sure that's the scientific term for someone like me, whose body appears to be normal, healthy, and average weight when it's covered by clothes but, upon further inspection, is found to be made almost entirely of lard and marshmallow. I am not kidding. Once, many moons ago, I let a personal trainer at the gym pinch me with a medieval torture device to measure my percentage of body fat. Afterward, he looked at me, utterly confused, like, “How are you even holding yourself up right now?”

*shrugs*

9.10.2014

A Sad Farewell to French Fries...with Cheese...and Bacon.

*This post is sponsored by Dietbet* and approved by, um... me.




Roo and I stood knee deep in a swimming pool deciding which parts of our bodies we would put together to build the perfect female form. This is a thing women do. Trust me. (I have two sisters and we've been verbally dissecting each other in order to Frankenstein a single spectacular body using the best of our combined parts for as long as I can remember.) These conversations are always good humored; less a declaration of self-loathing and more an acknowledgment of our bitter jealousy deep admiration for the things God did with another women's DNA. So as we stood there in our bikinis, Roo and I imagineered ourselves into a long, lean, sculpted woman, with a nice tan, perky lady business, and no body hair. Oh, and visible collar bones, because that's very important.

Then we swam over to the bar, ordered drinks, and ate a pile of fries covered in cheese and bacon.