Foolery

Wine, Cough Syrup and Refresh, Refresh

Please don't tell me my title doesn't make sense because it makes PERFECT sense for No Punctuation Wednesday when I've been living and breathing the whole Mommypie Blog Proposal 2.0 thing and I swear my heart stopped 16 times and I hadn't had a DROP of wine or anything until well after Mommypie said yes and by that time I needed cough syrup too but did that stop me from drinking wine?

It did NOT.

I said No Punctuation Wednesday. It's Tuesday night so get off my back.

Anyhoo, in case you didn't follow the Mommypie saga as closely as I did (yeah, refresh refresh was REAL and it was my life for an hour of Tuesday that I don't regret for a minute) let me fill you in:

The Boy asked Mommypie to marry him through another blogger, our very own blog friend Marcy from The Glamorous Life Association, and she organized this living breathing MASS of bloggers to write posts about marriage, proposals and the like and at last count there were at least 60 who did so and MAN were there some good posts and you really ought to head over to Marcy's to check it out, yup.

Whoa -- cough syrup rush justa second

Okay I'm back and aren't you lucky? So we weren't allowed on pain of death by rubber truncheon (Marcy is HARD CORE) to put up the Super Secret Proposal Page Link until 6:00 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time and so I followed directions -- hear THAT Dad? It's TRUE -- and put up the link at 6:05 and then sat and pressed refresh, refresh until my fingers bled and 911 was called and STILL Mommypie Did. Not. Come. and therefore Did. Not. Accept (or reject) The Boy's -- isn't he cute? Hubba hubba -- proposal. For over AN HOUR.

Until she did and here it is, just for you because I like you and you missed it (maybe) and the cough syrup is TOTALLY in control now and WHOA two Macs nope I was wrong, only one and here it is:

And you'll likely want to click on that because tiny writing and yecccchhhh and My eyes My eyes so click away

So maybe tomorrow my mysterious asthma-sort-of stuff will have gone and no more magic cough syrup and Advil and I can rest up my liver for the reeeeeeeeally important jobs and I will find the posts I was looking for without success which were about Chas's proposal to me December 11th 1997 and WHAT I SAID and spoiler alert: it was yes and oh yeah the one about our first unofficial date at Oktoberfest (kould we BE any kooler?) and maybe a dating story or two -- NOT THAT YOU ASKED AND ANYWAY WHY DIDN'T YOU ASK

So okay I'm fine and most likely ready for bed and stuff. Nighty night Internuts

Nighty night Mommypie and The Boy.

Slim Jim! Camp Cactus Edition

Magic was in the air this week.  Leprechauns were afoot, for sure, because the girls set a trap for them, which the Leprechauns promptly sprang.

See the tent in the lower corner? The ladder made of Q-Tips so the Leprechauns could climb into Mama's dip bowl to get the gold? I'll bet those little guys were pretty ticked off to discover that the "gold" was actually beer bottle caps, and not a drop of beer to be had. So they left dirt in the box, the rascals.

But nothing can compare to the fairy activity over at Camp Cactus. Jane, the resident artist at Camp Cactus Studio, has been busy designing clothing for the fairies of the Pacific Northwest. I borrowed one of the photos to show you (I don't think she'll mind too much) -- this one is my favorite:



So I'm declaring a Slim Jim day -- let's all troupe over to Miss Jane's studio and Slim Jim her!



All you have to do is show up, check out the fairy couture, and then go to her follow-up post and leave a comment. Somewhere in your comment work in the words SLIM JIM! I'll leave it up to you how to accomplish that.

And should any of the fairy folk around you neighborhood need new spring wardrobes, well, Jane is the designer to talk to.

Have fun and enjoy the art at Camp Cactus Studio!

Seen Gwyneth Paltrow's Website Yet?

Well, it's NOT Poop.com . . . but it should be.  (click to enlarge)


But it could be Goop.com.  I dunno.  Just a guess.

Grand Theft Blog

(Photo stolen from meatpilljunkie on Flickr)

Auds at Barking Mad! sent out an e-mail the other day, asking bloggers for their input for a serious post she's been researching and writing for several months. The topic isn't new, but the fact that Auds is doing actual research -- phone calls and interviews with government agencies and professionals with educated opinions -- raises her query far beyond other discussions I have seen. We of the blogging community have a collective bad habit of wondering aloud, hand-wringing and navel-gazing, but not actually delving into an issue with field research. I include myself in that assessment, as I have the attention span of a gnat.

The topic: Is blogging about children exploitative and/or unsafe, and where should lines be drawn? The question Auds posed to bloggers -- please go add your opinions to the growing list, as she is weighing the opinions of bloggers with her research -- is how do we walk the line between art and exploitation of our children? Quoting Auds:

I want to know what your limits are; the things you will and will not write or post about. What are your own concerns about images posted of our children and whether you think it constitutes a risk, and whether you think, down the line, our children may read our words about raising them - those shared experiences we can all relate to and commiserate with, and will it cause them any undue stress, pain, or as some allege, years spent in a therapists office trying to come to terms with mommy writing about potty-training difficulties?

Addressing the safety issues first, I decided to approach blogging safely in an unsafe world the same way I approach potential car thieves: I take precautions but don't obsess.  When I park in a full parking lot, some of the cars around me are flashy and expensive, some are clunkers. Some of both groups are locked, some are left with the windows rolled down. Quite a few have alarms, but probably more don't. I pull up, roll up my windows, throw anything of value into the trunk, lock the car, and walk away. I know full well that any crafty thief can get into my car if he wants to, but the car next to me isn't locked and there's a shopping bag on the seat -- I'm banking on THAT one getting hit before mine does.

Should I have an alarm? You might say yes, until you see my car. Then you'd just laugh.

I approached my blog identity the same way. I wanted to write about where I live, so I didn't obscure the local town names. I already had a presence on the web under my real name (including, but not limited to, the listing of a fortuitous and real bra size, once upon a pregnancy), so that had to stay. So the way I "lock the door" is by using nicknames only for my children, and not posting identifiable photos. It helps that I use my maiden name, which is my legal name, but it's not my children's or husband's name. This is my approach to any and all social media -- comments on other peoples' blogs, Twitter, even Facebook. Yes, Smedley and Sparky are even referred to as Smedley and Sparky on Facebook. My high school friends probably think I'm trying to be like the CelebriFreaks who name their children after fruit and bad dreams.

Could someone get around my half-assed security system? Sure. Do I lose sleep over it? No. There's a blog "Lexus" parked next to me that would be far more appealing to someone up to no good. If they want ME that bad, they'll get me.  Otherwise, they'll go looking somewhere easier.

I am very protective of other people that I write about, as well -- I rarely use anyone's real name if they could be identified.

As far as issues of personal privacy for our family members, I would rather pass up a good story than risk hurting my child. But you and I may differ in our opinions of what might hurt my child, and there's the rub. If I could tell the story to a crowd of people and have my daughter walk up mid-story, and neither of us would feel the shame of betrayal, I'm on solid ground. If it would take more than one sentence to explain why I am telling all of these people about what she said at the grocery store, then I'd better leave it alone. HOWEVER, if the story is good enough and I want to record it for my old folks home years, I write the story and e-mail it to myself, I really do. TA-DA! Problem solved.

Auds, I hope this helps you find some truth, but more likely, it will probably lead to more questions. That's okay, too; we are usually at our best when we are questioning our own behavior. And thanks, Auds, for the work you have put into this topic; I'm eager to read what you have learned.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

(Cartoon stolen from this site)

It was a dark and stormy night.

That's it; dark and stormy, no drama. Other than the awards show on television, that is. Fake tension, fake tatas, fake bake.  Hell, I'll bet even the gold statuette is fake!

GAHH how she wanted one.

KABOOM, the thunder.  Thunder -- in February? Not likely . . . no, it was just the hammering of her fist against the warm television. Oh.  In retrospect, not a good idea, since it was made of glass and plastic and . . . out of warranty and all.

Crap.  Plus, she missed the Best Picture of a New Artist award.  And then the electricity blinked out.

It was a dark and stormy night.

*     *     *     *     *

I do NOT write fiction, and it's obvious why.  But, since I don't watch awards shows, this is the closest I get.  But if you have a hankering to write fiction? PLEASE go visit San Diego Momma on Tuesdays for her wonderful PrompTuesday series.  She gives you a topic, or -- in this case -- an opening sentence.  You write it in ten minutes or so, keeping it short and sweet.  Or, in my case, short.

Also?  She's a heckuva lot of fun.  And anyone who let's me write the tripe I write?

AWESOME.

Why I Blog

 

(Photo stolen from www.global-b2b-network.com/b2b/13/14/721/page...)

I just figured out why I blog.

It's not about the writing (though that is a very close runner-up).  I can write on envelopes if I have to, or in a journal which no one would ever read, as personal as I wish.  No, it's not about the writing.

It's not to make new friends, although WOW have I had a good time doing that!  So many people out there that I never would have otherwise met, many who could conceivably be life-long friends.

But I didn't start blogging to make friends.

Some people actually make money blogging.  Do I?  Not one red cent.  Not even a spif or swag bag.  I gave it a half-hearted attempt, but that's not why I started blogging, either.

And it's certainly not to have a cleaner house.

I just realized that I started blogging in order to actually finish a sentence.

I'll let that sink in.

To be able to complete a thought, flesh out an idea, run on at the mouth, without children breaking in, without commercial interruption, without having to see glassed-over eyes and hear "uh-huh" or "you don't say?"  The phone NEVER rings during a blog rant.  My blog never tries to talk me out of my ridiculous, unfounded opinion, never says "you're wrong."  My blog may not think all my jokes are funny, all my photos are interesting, or all my ideas are brilliant, but it sits there silently and lets me make a complete ass of myself if I feel like it.  And oh, how often I feel like it.

I don't blog to be understood, or even to be heard; I blog to flush the cache in my head.

Completely.

And I'll just bet that some of you out there feel the same way.

Well, I have flushed.  You may commence with the uh-huhs and you don't say?s now.

Slim Jim! Chesapeake Bay Version

I am hard at work on a new blog post that is taking a lot of time because of research, and the fact that I threw my back out dead-lifting two sleeping children from the floor in the middle of the night.  And anyway, it seems rather gauche to follow a post about my cat's abscess with an opera review, although it also seems exactly like something I'd do . . . but I'm trying to turn over a new leaf here, so bear with me.  Opera post later today, probably.  Maybe.  Instead . . .

It's been a while since we all Slim Jim'd a blog.  I'll bet most of you have no idea what I meant by that, so here's a link to the very first Slim Jim post I did for an explanation.  And for the directions:

Let's go Slim Jim a blog.

I'll pick a blog, and we'll all show up there and leave a comment.  If you can work the words "Slim Jim" into your comment, extra points. The poor blogger will never know what hit him/her.  If all goes well, some of us will even stick around a while, and we may be invited to dinner.

Whaddaya say?

Today, folks, we're Slim Jimming Chesapeake Bay Woman's blog, Life in Mathews.

Her post today is about her Aunt Maggie, and it was largely written by her equally talented mother . . .

BUT DON'T LET HER FOOL YOU.

She coyly didn't mention it, but today is Chesapeake Bay Woman's birthday.  She is 12, I think.*  Please go Slim Jim her blog, and don't forget to tell her happy birthday.  Then nose around a bit, because that 12-year-old* can WRITE.  You'll thank me later.

Happy Slim Jimming!  And happy birthday, CBW.

*This is a lie. She's actually 23.

Another Blog? Another Blog!

(Original photo stolen from Justinc at http://commons.wikimedia.org)

I've been thinking about this for about a week now, and I've only let the cat out of the bag THREE TIMES.  That is HUGE for me.  You don't even know.

The image above is the working logo for my latest diversion:  a new website called -- da da-da daaaaaa! -- Bartender Face.  How did you guess?  So please, ask me a few questions.

What kind of name is Bartender Face ?!

It's named after a condition I have -- very serious.  Please feel free to read about it here.

What will you write about at Bartender Face?

Uh-uh -- I won't be doing any writing.

YOU will.

And YOU, and YOU, and YOU.

I hope.  You will submit your articles to me, and, with few exceptions (WHICH I'm still working out) I will post them.  Simple.

Why is this any different from another site for guest posts?

Ah, I'm glad you asked.  It's different because you will post anonymously, no exceptions.

Anonymously?  Why?

And THAT is the reason for the name Bartender Face.  This will be a site for posting all the stuff you could never put on your own sites.  The embarrassing stuff.  The juicy stuff.  The stuff that could get you fired, the stuff that could break up friendships.  Don't think I have any lurid fascination with this stuff, because actually?  I don't.  Secretly I hope that no one ever posts anything there.  Because that would mean that no one has any pent-up writerly rage that can't be expressed through the usual channels.  But I know that that's not true.

I read Marcy's take on the whole issue just last week at her fabulous blog Marcy Writes The Glamorous Life and it got the rusty wheels in my brain turning.  Thanks, Miss Marcy; maybe this will be a safe place to post all of our angst, complaints and if onlys.  People have always told me very, very personal things, so maybe I can put my special "gift" to good use.

Watch for more news of Bartender Face as it unfolds.  And please offer any suggestions you think will help.  The bar is always open.

Declaring a Blog Day Off

Today it hit me: I need a guilt-free day off.  Yes, from work, but NO, that's not gonna happen.  Yes, from housework and mothering but ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha oh my holy heck please stop I can't take it ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha you're killing me ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha and a nanny ha ha ha ha ha

So the one thing I CAN control, that DOES take a lot of time, that I DO feel a lot of guilt over should I miss a day, or two -- is blogging.  The whole package: writing, promoting, reading other blogs, and commenting.  Not that I don't love those activities, because I do!  Definitely.  But through conversations with Steph at http://quirkyblogger.com and with Suz at Alive in Wonderland, and in reading some of the stressed-out blog friends I know out there who are, like me, trying to juggle a LOT, here's what I came up with.

We need to be able to take a day off whenever we feel like it, guilt-free, no questions asked.  We just need to make it look ON PURPOSE.  How do we do that?  It's simple -- we do what the networks do: we logoize it.  So okay, this is a lame logo, I know, but it'll do in a pinch.  Feel free to steal it and use it whenever you feel like it.  Or make your own, no stress.

A suggestion:  use this time off to promote a favorite old post with a link, or promote a new blog you've just discovered, or tell a dirty joke and RUN.

I'll link to an old favorite, since I'm lazy.  It's called Rellerindos: The Mexicali Treat, and it's making me want to go brush my teeth RIGHT NOW.

Have a lovely day, everybody.  Go take the rest of the day off, and tell 'em Foolery told you to do it.

My Dinner With Foolery: The Floor Show

FINALLY! Here are the questions for our distinguished panel of bloggers. While you finish up the last of the lime jello with tuna and the sodden Canadian bacon pizza that must have been sprayed when I opened that last fizzy bottle of tonic, our eleven blog authors will answer the questions I have painstakingly written on cue cards at 2:00 a.m. (those same questions which seemed a whole lot more coherent before the gin ran out).

Here now is a brief description of each writer and his/her blog, followed by a question from one of YOU. Feel free to ask any more questions in the comments that you'd like. Have fun!

Barking Mad!
Way up in the wilds of Maine, Miss Auds had this great idea to help all of us share our favorite blogs, get to know new bloggers, and find new undiscovered treasures out there in Bloggywood. The bloggy dinner party was her idea, and it is cropping up everywhere around the net in many different forms. Auds is warm and witty, an experienced writer, with a whole lot of life experience for such a young blogger. She packs a lot into a small space, and you never know what you'll find -- from very moving to funny to hair-caught-in-the-Dyson hilarity. Barking Mad! is aptly named.

Some questions for Auds. First, from Erin at Mamadance:
"Could you ask Auds if she could share the recipe for her mom's fried chicken? My husband and I have been trying to perfect our recipe but it's still a work in progress."

And, from my friend Gubby (who's known around Twitter as ijefff):
"Auds, what do you do when a lobster grabs your hair? Do you call 911 or call an exterminator? Did you know that lobsters are cousins to cockroaches? Same phylum or something. That is all. Oh, wait -- have you considered wearing a helmet around the house?"

And from Yours Truly, "I know you have at least one book in the works. Do you prefer to write fiction or nonfiction? Or are you comfortable with both?"

 
Alias Liz Jones
I've known Alias Liz under many different aliases for several years now. For her love of chickens, for her smart mouth, and for her Far Side interpretation of the world, it's hard to beat Alias Liz for jaw-dropping hilarious and surprisingly sweet and warm essays, on occasion. Plus, she likes chickens.

A question for Alias Liz from panelist Sarah at OK . . . Where Was I?:
"How 'real' are you on your blog? For instance, do your friends and/or family know you blog? Sorry, that's two. That's a carry-over from my teaching days when I had rooms full of stupefied looking students staring at me until I said something like 'for example....'"

Ask Grandma J
Who else but Grandma J could document the daily activities of water aerobics devotees? Her stories of her relative Rita (I think it's her mother) had me on the floor. Grandma J has a unique, funny voice, and her illustrations are so much fun. Well, Chesapeake Bay Woman has asked Grandma J something -- see how I did that? Did your heart skip a beat? I should write segues for "The Today Show." Or somebody should -- "I have a few questions for Grandma J. If you were hilarious earlier in life, which I suspect you were, what was your outlet for your humor, in the days before blogs? How did you make people laugh? Describe the most flavorful character in your compound. I don't mean describe someone you've tasted, although I am sure that would make for good reading. I mean who in your midst could be a character in a sitcom or a movie or a book and why? That's enough for now. I used to interview people for a living, and I can come up with questions all day long."

 
The Bean
Bejewell, or "Beej," as she's known around the internets, so often says what I'm thinking, without any much self-filtering and without pulling any punches. She loves salty language, so cover your toddler's ears while you wonder, "Why couldn't I say it like that?" I love her free-association posts; she lets you in on the sometimes-schizophrenic-often-neurotic-constantly-funny thought process of a creative person. And her little boy is SCARY cute.

So Meg from Soup Is Not a Finger Food interrupted her weekend away to ask Beej, "How is it that you manage to make it so charming and endearing when you declare yourself and your posts &$#!ING AWESOME? I am totally drinking your Kool-Aid because I do, in fact, find your blog to be &$#!ING AWESOME. I myself am afraid to drop the F-bomb on my own blog -- I've hinted at it but never served it straight-up. Why is that? I must not be &$#!ING AWESOME." This is just a guess, Beej, but I think she wants to know how you make the F-bomb work for you, while staying &$#!ING AWESOME.

 
I Think We're All Bozos On This Bus
Kathi is one of my newest blog finds, and she knocks me out almost every time I read there. I have to explain to Chas why I'm making those donkey noises when I read Kathi's stuff. BEST CHICKEN PICTURE AND STORIES, PERIOD. Her readers appear to be a close-knit bunch, almost as funny as she is, by their comments. It's such a treat, and quite surreal, to read her blog any given day. Go check out her chickens and her brother Bob and see if I'm right.

I have a question for Miss Kathi: "I haven't been reading your blog long enough to know what one does at a writers' workshop (like the one you just attended), other than ice skate, of course. Can you explain? Or maybe tell us what a REAL writer does? Because jeez louise, I think I need to know."

The Jason Show
Jason pulls no punches when telling his stories. Sometimes they make me cringe; sometimes they make me cry; more often than that they make me laugh in total disbelief. It's easy to ask, "Is he for REAL?" when Jason tells stories from his childhood, but his family read his blog, and they add details to his otherworldly stories. Ask him about his childhood basement. Go on, ask him. He's wonderful. You'll love him.

And Alias Liz Jones IS asking him . . . "Please ask Jason: 'What's the biggest reward and what's the biggest disappointment of being a teacher?' I know, it's lame, but that's my question. If I'm not supposed to ask one, then scratch that." Of course you're supposed to ask, Liz, and if you didn't ask I'd have to come down and haul you out of the Gas'n'Sip and MAKE you!

June Cleaver Nirvana
Holly has some blog staples you just have to read to understand: What's In Holly's Fruit Bowl? Peep of the Week, and What's Up With Holly's Coccyx? They're all part of the Monday potluck. Then there are Holly's graphic stories, which is not NEARLY as dirty as it sounds. Very funny and creative blog which you must try to squeeze into your blog reading . . . somewhere . . .

I have a question for JCN: "So Holly, I want to know, how long does it take you to do your imaginative and very funny graphic stories? Lots of people write on photos (myself included), but you start with a white canvas -- how did you get started with this technique? Also, my coccyx LOVES Bowen Therapy. Just sayin'."

Life In Mathews
Chesapeake Bay Woman and I are exactly six months apart in age. Bit o' trivia. Okay, so if you're not reading Life In Mathews to find out what goes on in the tiny Virginia hamlet of Mathews, why the hell aren't you? CBW, as her loyal readers call her, takes you every day on a virtual tour of a different part of this gorgeous village. She is infested with crabs, but don't let that color her opinion of her (because the infestation is a landscaping problem, not a personal problem). Her boat is tucked neatly away in its boat house, sinking. And her family is more colorful and lively than almost any other you could name.

So Grandma J wants to know, "1. What was your major in college? 2. What big city did you move to before coming back to Mathews? 3. Do you take after your mom or dad? 4. What was your hobby or pastime before you blogged?
The end,
Love,
Grandma J"

The Mom Bomb
I have a special kinship with The Mom Bomb: she grew up about 140 miles away, maybe, give or take a few miles, and she's heard of Orland and she STILL TALKS TO ME! Which, of course, makes me wonder about her sanity. But I don't wonder too long, because she is one of the more sane crazy people I have never met. Anyone who is married by a fake rabbi (who is later busted in a nationally-televised sting operation), who can have a very convincing conversation with General Patton (in which he essentially chews her out), and whose children have created a game show about her butt -- wait, where was I going with this?  Mom Bomb is a gifted writer and someone I'd love to have a four-martini lunch with.

So my question for you, Miss Bomb, is: "You have some serious (and funny) writing chops, and have an interest in being A Writer. How has blogging changed your perspective on writing, if it has? Does it take away from your writing-with-a-purpose efforts, or does it enhance them? Also, what will you be having for Thanksgiving dinner this year?"

Mommy Pie
I have never seen myself publicly topless wearing green body paint and a smile . . . until I met Mommy Pie. I had never heard the word "Doogs," which is an upgrade for "Peeps," I think . . . until I met Mommy Pie.  And while I have never actually MET Mommy Pie, I feel as if I know her. Accompanying her to her monthly office cocktail parties, tiptoeing behind her as she plasters Obama bumper stickers on her conservative boss's car, trying out unfamiliar expletives like "BALLS" for just about any reason . . . this is all new territory for a fuddy-duddy like me, and yet it feels so easy. Mommy Pie is a breath of fresh air, and the only person I know who is engaged to herself. So I'm  asking her . . .

"Mommy Pie, how tall are you, and could you be convinced to move to Phoenix? Because I'm fairly sure you should marry into my family. Also, will you share some of your blogging philosophy, such as how it has changed over time, or your hopes for your writing?"

OK . . . Where Was I?
Sarah, as far as I know, coined the word "hillbility" to describe that part of most of us that we do our damnedest to hide from cameras and passing motorists. Sarah celebrates her hillbility, as well as her two beautiful sons and their idyllic life together, on her blog. Her photos of barns in her midwestern surroundings are truly beautiful, even if I can't leave a Flickr comment because I don't have an account. And her serial story about her past love affair with Temistocles (Not His Real Name), as well as her decorating feature "Design After a Dimebag" (yes, that's exactly what you think it is), have rendered me snorting and honking and otherwise completely incapacitated for minutes at a time after reading them. Sarah is the college professor I always wanted, 25 years too late.

This question for Sarah comes from scrappysue of My Home Wellingtontown: "How was her honeymoon in Egypt with the lovely James Spader?" And if this question makes no sense to you, be sure to stop by OK . . . Where Was I? to see some lovely PhotoShop creations pictures of Sarah's victim boyfriend James Spader.

I have one more question for ALL of our dinner panelists tonight, as well as for anyone who would like to jump in and answer it, and that is this:

"If you could select any company, person, product or cause for which to become the PAID spokesperson, using your blog as the medium, which/who/what would you choose? And all of the yada yada yada follow-up stuff that goes with that question; you get it."

I have another dinner party in the works, once I get settled into our new house. I have a whole different set of criteria for that one; watch for it to come.

Thank you all for coming and graciously playing along with my latest evidence of rapid-onset dementia. I hope the comment section will be lively. Feel free to toss in your own questions, and holler when I need to make a beer run. Do we need more ice?

My Dinner With Foolery

(to be sung to the tune of "I've Been Working on the Railroad," and if you don't know it, count your blessings and try to hum "Sunshine of Your Love" or something)

I've been working on a dinner post
Almost eleven days
I've been tryin' to write my dinner post
But my muse has gone away

Can't you hear my husband grumbling
"Lights out! It's very nearly morn!"
Can't you hear Miss Audrey shouting
"My patience is worn!"*

Casa Barking Mad
Best idea she's had
Bloggy "dinner party" for te-e-en
Ten is not enough
Jeebus this is tough
How can I invite just ten?

Someone's in the kitchen at Foolery
Cooking up a virtual din-ner par-tay
Someone's in the kitchen at Foolery
Drinking 'til the cows come home

And singing

Beej!
Bomb!
Alias Liz Jones!
June Cleaver, Mathews, Jason's Sho-ow-ow-ow
Mommy Pie, OK . . . Where Was I?
Grandma J,  We're All Bo-zos!

*Because, really, other than PORN, what would fit here?

*     *     *     *     *

(Photo stolen from joshbousel on Flickr)

Here's how we're playing this. I will send messages via carrier pigeon to each of the above-named bloggers. They will comprise a panel of sorts -- the head table, if you will, while we slurp our soup and hide wads of chewed meat under the table. Who does that?

You are ALL INVITED. It is a POT-LUCK. We will have our "dinner" on Tuesday, August 26th (just under the wire, I might add, for Auds' "running the month of August" plan). Until then, please

1.  leave me a comment indicating you will come so I know how much silverware to steal from the YMCA, and

2.  in your comment please tell me what you plan to bring for the meal.

 

The theme of the pot-luck is:

Delicious Food With One Hateful Ingredient, Because There's Always One Hateful Ingredient, Isn't There?

I plan to bring a lovely spinach salad with a warm bacon vinaigrette, and a shitload of beets all over it just to kill the mood.  Also, Lucky Charms, which is a bowl of hateful right there.

Then . . .

3.  Send me an e-mail with a question for one of the bloggers about his or her craft. It can be funny or serious. I will post all of your questions on Tuesday's dinner party post, and they can swing by and answer them in the comments. 'Kay? foolery (at) clearwire (dot) net

Here again are the 10 bloggers I have invited to be our guest panelists, and right at the top of the list is Auds at Barking Mad, because she is helping me throw this party, after all -- the whole brilliant idea was hers in the first place. I have written a little about each of these wonderful bloggers, but this post has grown unforgivably long as it is, so I'll save that for the actual Tuesday post. Please go visit at least one of these blogs if you have not before, and get a question ready!

Barking Mad!
Alias Liz Jones
Ask Grandma J
The Bean
I Think We're All Bozos On This Bus
The Jason Show
June Cleaver Nirvana
Life In Mathews
The Mom Bomb
Mommy Pie
OK . . . Where Was I?

See you at dinner on Tuesday!  Time -- time?  Well, whenever you get here is fine. There's no stinkin' time on the internets!

Blog Date

(Photo stolen from these guys)

The restaurant was bustling, the patio not full but probably all reserved
on a perfect, balmy, beachy Friday night in San Clemente.  I was the first
in our group to arrive at the restaurant, an occurrence so rare that it may
portend the coming of the end of the world.

I wanted to make a good impression. I looked down at my chosen outfit.
Well, I wanted not to look too offensive, at least.  Check.

I had steeled myself against the likelihood that I would probably fall down
a flight of stairs or go hiney-over-teakettle into a fountain, although I
hoped that my pre-date blowdryer injury would appease the Clumsiness
Gods and I might possibly sail through the evening without further injury.
How does someone draw blood on a blowdryer, you ask?  Indeed.

One by one I was joined by three new friends from this blogging
community I have joined:  Suzanne of Emphasis Mine, Marcy of The
Glamorous Life, and Chris of Dharmabum.  These bloggers were not
large and menacing with poisonous fangs and free perfume samples
as I had feared.  No, they were engaging, articulate, warm, attractive,
funny and confident.

This could be WAY worse than I imagined, I thought.

While I managed to get through this blogger meet-up dinner without
spilling any drinks or destroying any furniture or wiping out any water
features, I did distinguish myself as the only human these people had
met who does not have and has never owned a cell phone.  But when
I whipped out my mom's Jitterbug phone, borrowed for this trip, my
new friends' astonishment only grew, I'm sure.

(These people use Jitterbug phones, probably with more facility than I do. Photo
stolen from these guys)

Actually, I'm lying about 83% of this, other than the part about my new
friends being friendly, interesting people, and also that I didn't embarrass
myself.  Except for the Jitterbug.  And the food stuck in my teeth which I
found when I got home.  I know, I can hear you say -- anyone can get
food stuck in their teeth.  But a whole cow?

We talked and talked about, of course, blogging, pets, photography,
Orange County, blog philosophies, design, the Psychedelic Furs, humor,
dive bars of Orange County, and frozen yogurt.  I learned A LOT.  Thank
you to Suz, Chris and Marcy -- and very sorry that Vicki at I Think I'm an
Artist couldn't make it, but I think there could be a reunion, down the road.
At least, as long as I learn how to use a cell phone.

BlogHus: We Are Not About Shoes (But We Could Be Talked Into a Shoe Deal)

So this weekend, I was wearing either my clown pants or a tie-dyed hippy dress, and was mostly barefoot.  I did exfoliate my face yesterday morning, and my toenails accidentally look pretty good, but the rest of me is a cesspool.

Arrgghh.  Is this what you came here for?  Really?

People, we can do better than this kind of reportage!  That stuff may be what we're doing, but it isn't -- or it shouldn't be  -- what we're about.

I think we are about the rough heels we don't show you through our peep-toed shoes.  We are definitely about the eye bags most of us are sporting from staying up way too late in front of a glowing monitor.  We are about badly-managed tomato plants, and water skiing injuries, and church choir solos.  We are about hangnails and perfectly-baked salmon and telling dirty jokes with our elderly aunties.

And, in light of all of that, I am showing you the shoes that people have sent me.  These are the shoes people wore this weekend, while socializing, cleaning house, playing with the kids, blogging, and, in the case of Bejewell of The Bean, working the corner near Circus Circus in Las Vegas.

I do worry about that girl, sometimes.

Anyway, BlogHus is a loose confederation of people who want to be real, even if, in my case, that means being real annoying, a lot.  And yes, I know that wasn't a proper adverb.  See the previous sentence.  So here are the shoes of a few of those

REAL

FUNNY

PEOPLE

who all happen to be bloggers (who also all happen to be women, because Jason and David and Chris and Jeff and Rick's Cafe didn't send me any pictures of their footwear). 

Cactus Petunia of Buenos Burritos said, "I think they go with just about all my outfits. And if I should accidentally step in something (like bean dip) at the un-convention I can just hose 'em off."  Something like bean dip.  I have no doubt that something resembling bean dip could be found on the floor of any convention I might be allowed to attend.

From Drama Pond -- "I'm ready for the BLOGHUS convention!  I'm comin as is!"  Do we need to worry?  Is there the proper muu muu or house coat above those ankles?

TJ at Humble Origins -- "I thought I'd show you the shoes I was sportin' today as I was cleanin' out the chicken house.  And the more I got to thinkin' about it these shoes here would probably be more appropriate as I'm sure it would get pretty deep if we were all to get together!"  Truer words were never typed, Miss TJ.

Deb at Gittin' It Outta My Head! -- "Note to self: Do not wear these while walking in heavy shell zone. Could be hazardous!"  We have so few shells lying around here at the (current, temporary, imaginary) BlogHus Headquarters that that is not a consideration at this time.  Cow pies, now THAT'S a problem.

Wreke Havoc told me -- "I was looking for shoes in all the wrong places when I went out and purchased a pair of Crocs for my son that will probably be better than anything in my closet . . . but these shoes are just too bitchin not to share."  Can you send more photos of your granite counters, Wreke?  I'm starting to drool.

Meg at SOUP Is Not a Finger Food was succinct: "AAAARRRRR!"  Says it all.  Oh, and she very kindly sent me the silver shoes at the top of this post, which were actually named "Hussy Shoes."  I'm not lying.  I saw the Amazon page.  And now Amazon will put them in my "Since You Look At Hussy Shoes, You Really Ought To Check Out This Other Skanky Stuff, You Slut You" file.

Sarah at OK, Where Was I? staged this photo, just for us.  I have taken the liberty of pointing out with arrows the things she detailed in her e-mail:  "Just like how Paris Hilton walks the red carpet with her dog and some atrocious bag, I've got my two accessories.  And yes, they are two different shoes.  I can only find one of my 'special' going out flip flops with beading, so I'll have to wear one of my everyday flip flops.  And since they're different thicknesses, I'll be the one walking around with what looks like hip displacement.  In case I was unrecognizable with the black lab and bare-butted two year old."  I did the hat.

Chesapeake Bay Woman at Life in Mathews was wearing one of these on her head the first time ever I saw her face.  Hey, there's a song about that.  She said, "The last time I was at Nordstrom, which was NEVER, I picked up a pair of these.  I paid extra for the lazy eye on the left.  I plan on wearing these proudly to any BlogHus function."

Last but not beast, Big Hair Envy sent me a photo of a her goat.  There's an inside joke there, but explaining it would only kill it.  And my credibility.  And the goat.  But that's okay, because at BlogHus, WE LIKE GOATS.  As long as they don't stand on our cars.

EDIT:  Sorry about the photos not coming through for something like FOUR HOURS.  I had to make dinner, make up beds, and go visit a brand new baby.  You know, the good stuff.  Finally finished (I hope)!

Thanks for playing along, everyone!  I hope I didn't miss any shoe photos; I tried to stay on top of it.  Thanks for indulging me my excesses, for not throwing rocks, for making it all the way to the end of this post which took me THREE WHOLE DAYS of procrastination to write, and for writing with integrity about things -- both funny and serious, silly and important -- more compelling than shoes.  Squeeeeeeeee.

DOs and DON'Ts of Bloggywood Meet-ups

Whether this weekend you will be attending Mommy Pie's BLOGHERNOT 2008 gala, or hanging with the BlogHus outcasts winners, the following represents a short list of rules to follow when meeting fellow outcasts bloggers.  Think of this list as a BEGINNING, folks -- there are, maybe, 3500 more I just couldn't dredge up before the deadline!

DO:  Get the mani-pedi, eyebrow waxing, facial, highlight, cut and style, brazillian, tooth bleaching, boob job, tummy tuck, high colonic, lube and oil, and spray tan, for sure.
DON'T:  Wonder why women bloggers aren't taken more seriously for their craft.

DO:  "Gosh, you are SO funny (smart, heartwarming, sexy, rabid)!"
DON'T:  "Gosh, you are SO much funnier (smarter, heartwarming-er, sexier, more rabid) in person!"

DO:  "I love it when you post pictures of your children."
DON'T:  "I have photos of your children plastered all over my walls!"

DO:  "Your post about [INSERT ISSUE HERE] was very interesting. We're on opposite sides of the issue, but you raised some great points."
DON'T:  "I've prepared a Power Point presentation about why you're wrong, complete with charts and graphs and machines that go bing!"

DO:  Pass out business cards, bumper stickers, etc. with your blog's name, address and dating status printed in hearts and flowers and other Powerful Woman accoutrements.
DON'T:  Pass out.

DON'T:  Pick fights with A-list bloggers, calling them passé and over-hyped and irrelevant and generally making a nuisance of yourself in the main ballroom.
DO:  . . . unless you pretend you're from a rival blog, in which case go ahead, by all means.

And finally [THANK GAWD SHE'S STOPPING] . . .

DO:  Remember to smile.
DON'T:  Touch the spinach dip if you plan to smile.

Have fun, BlogHussies, BlogHunks, Doogs, BlogBitches, and all!

BlogHus: A Really Big Shoe

It has come to my attention that people who blog should be in blogging groups.  Well, I've taken care of this with my introduction of BlogHus.  (For the sake of full disclosure, Mommy Pie has started a similar group and she's calling it BLOGHERNOT 2008.  Go check it out!  She's serving pigs in blankets, I hear, so who could blame you?)

BUT . . . there is one issue that keeps coming up again and again, and that's the issue of What Shoes Are You Wearing To Your Blog Party?  With, of course, accompanying photos.  There are some pretty fancy international-sounding Shoe Guy names being bandied about out there in Bloggywood, so I dug through my closet for MY favorite shoes.  The designer is, it goes without saying, Adams & Jones, and the shoes were hand-made in sweaty places, probably.  No matter; I got mine for half price.  HALF PRICE!  And it wasn't even in the alley behind the 1994 San Francisco Fall Gift Show, or anything.

Here are my very special, favorite shoes, for best:

Kicky, no?  The toes were hand-painted by tiny women, I think.

Notice the detailing.  These are hand-stitched, with nubuck heels, people!

Light as a feather, too.  These are NOT your grandfather's Hushpuppies or Aunt Harriet's Doc Martins.

So here's your challenge, BlogHussies and BlogHunks:  show me the shoes you would be wearing to a BlogHus event if it were actually happening this weekend at the St. Francis in San Francisco, which it's not.  E-mail me a photo of the shoes and tell me why you chose them to share with other Bloghussies and BlogHunks.

foolery (at) clearwire (dot) net  EDITED because OH. MY. GAHH I got my own e-mail address wrong!! It just doesn't pay to stay up past 11:00 p.m.  SO sorry.

I'll post what you send me this weekend.  BlogHus, out!  Oh, and we really need to work on some cool catch phrases and stuff, too.

House-Hunting for BlogHus

(For an explanation of BlogHus please go read this.  And check out the BlogHus Blog Roll, full of lots of fun people who want to be a part of this ship going nowhere!)

The real estate market being what it is, I think now might be the time to jump on finding a headquarters for BlogHus.  Some other blog organizations out there have their bi-coastal conventions, so that's been done.  Also?  Nahhhhhh.  I want a HOME for BlogHus, dammit.

One place I've checked out had a fantastic kitchen . . .

(Photo stolen from these guys)

. . . but the bathroom, while undeniably spacious, seemed a bit lacking.

(Photo stolen from Iris Tramm)

Another place was right on the water and had the most wonderful patio lounge . . .

(Photo stolen from penarmusaraj on Flickr)

. . . but the rest of the house was a bit small.

(Photo stolen from tokyofortwo on Flickr)

I'll keep looking.  I'm on it.

BlogHus

Bear with me if you are not a blogger of some stripe or other -- this post will BORE YOU TO TEARS.  And, while you as Foolery readers are quite used to that state of being, I promise you this post will be worse than usual.  Feel free to click here for an alternative to reading this post.

Okay, for all those who are still reading Mom, I have been reading around Bloggywood a lot of posts about a certain conference for blogging-humans-with-double-X-chromosomes, and who is going, and who is not going, and who wants to go but wasn't invited, and who knows that NO invitation is necessary, and who is adamant about not going, and who is in the dark about this whole thing, and who forgot to feed the cat, and who will be home alone at the bottom of a wine bottle.  Count me in about most of those subgroups.

 

If you'd like to read a fantastic blog post about this issue -- and I know you would -- run, don't walk, to Bejewell's post at her blog The Bean.  It's very well-written, honest, and scrappy; you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll stand up and cheer.  It will make you speak in movie review sound bytes.  Just go, now, before I change my mind -- go!  And don't look back.

 

Okay, so I'm channeling somebody today, I guess.  Anyway.  I am forming a new nongroup.  I'm calling the nongroup BlogHus.



Here are The Rules:

• There are no rules.

 

Also?  Here are The Requirements:

• A pulse.  Exceptions can be made, of course, since there are no rules (see The Rules, above).

And?  The Benefits:

• Precisely none that come to mind.

To this end, I will be changing the name of my sort-of blog roll to BlogHus. I will empty my BlogHus blog roll, right after lunch, or as soon as I get around to it, whichever comes first, or second.  Anyone who wants to be a BlogHus blog roll member (even though there are no perceived benefits), say AARRRR like a pirate, or e-mail me at foolery (at) clearwire (dot) net, because the pirate thing doesn't work so well cross-continent.  Put AARRRR in the subject line.  Hey, all the cool kids are doing it!*

 

I have nothing against a certain conference for blogging-humans-with-double-X-chromosomes; I just don't want to be a part of it.  There, that was easy!  And if you feel the same as me, let me know. Or tell me to go jump in the lake (which I may do because it's something like 112 degrees today, and I'm not kidding).

 

Love,

 

Laurie

p.s.  Hey look -- a button!  For which I have no coding skills!  Feel free to do with it what you will!

 

*no they're not

Some Quality Time With My Stats

Having a tiny little stats problem here at Foolery.  Here's what my stats look like since the end of May:

Well, at least SOMEBODY'S pretty happy about my stats.

I should be so lucky.

Whoa Nelly

I just found out three things.

One, there is a beautifully-designed blog called An Island Life.

Two, the Blogmistress there, Kailani, has created the 2008 Bloggy Hoss Elections, and the polls will close on the 12th.  Many cool blogs are nominated.  Few will win.

Three Foolery is up for a nomination.

Yeah, I KNOW, that's what I said, too!  Except my version had the word HOLY in front.

So, if you're feeling curious about who's gonna wipe up the floor with Foolery, head on over to An Island Life and check it out.  Only she's asked that people submit their votes by clicking "Contact Me" and typing your message to her with your votes.  I did, and yes, I shamelessly voted for myself.

Oh, and also?  The particular award Foolery was nominated for is Class Clown.  I guess Most Likely to Suck Seeds was already taken.

The Good, the Bad and the Foolery

To wrap up Blog Week, I'm posting links to twelve of my favorite posts from my first few months of Foolery.  They've never been seen by human eyes other than mine.  This is it!  This is their big debut!  It's so like the first week of American Idol (at least, I think so, having never seen American Idol)!  From goat poop to rhubarb and everything in between!

Please don't gong me.  That is how American Idol works, right?

*     *     *     *     *

Bad Spanish

Shopping With Children 

Those Aren't Raisinettes 

Aloha 'Oe, Until We meet Again 

Beautiful Beautiful Moments 

Consciousness 

Be-Bop-a-Re-Bop, Rhubarb Pie

Green Eggs and Ham Deconstructed 

The Toddler Question 

Mean Laurie 

You COULD Make This Stuff Up, But No One Would Buy It 

How to Put a Child Down For Sleep 

*     *     *     *     *

I've seen several blogs that feature their top ten posts, or their favorite posts, or some such.  I think it's a great idea, and I think I'll do it, too, just as soon as Typepad dumps the SLOW AND INSUFFERABLE NEW COMPOSING PAGE (for the second time).  Anybody want to join me?  Let me know if you do!

Edited to add Be-Bop-a-Re-Bop, Rhubarb Pie back in, since Typepad's fancy-schmancy new compose page ATE IT.  AARRGGHH!!