Talk of the County

I subscribe to a semi-trashy local newspaper. It was a tough decision because I don't like to waste money (at least on some things), and the political lean of the paper made me uncertain. Not that I know its political lean, but they have a page every day called "Talk of the County" where people literally just call in and leave a rambling voice message about what they are thinking. Mostly, it's ignorant morons spewing hatred against the government and red light cameras. At one point, I was so fed up with the garbage that I called and cancelled my subscription. I also called the Talk of the County line and told them to stop publishing such crap. However, I was coerced into getting the paper again because a) I like to know about local happenings, b) I like the police blotter, c) they send out coupons on Saturdays, and d) I like this puzzle they have called "Wonderword." Plus, I missed all of the ads for The Shanty. I try to avoid reading Talk of the County when I can, although it silently calls to me. I am grateful for that, otherwise I would have missed this:
Hairy Men [They title each comment. All comments are anonymous.]
To the person who commented about all the football players having hair like women. What do you care what their hair looks like? If you don't like long hair, just be sure to keep yours cut. Captain America and Spiderman didn't have long hair, but He-Man did.

Holy buns, that's hilarious. I have laughed every single time I've read it. That's the entire comment. It ends on a He-Man note! Classic. It makes me wonder if the people who work at the paper are trying to find the most ridiculous, often ignorant, comments just to amuse people like me. They have the power.
 

In the Dark

Don't you love when you find a song on your iPod that you didn't even know existed? I check out Cds from the library and put them on my iPod, and then I don't listen to them. I discovered this perfect song whilst running the other day, and now I listen to it over and over while I run:

"In the Dark" by Tiesto. The song's a blend of romance and horror and The Neverending Story, no? I also found a rather dubstep remix of the Ke$ha song, "Tik Tok," the original of which I'm not really a fan. I'm dancing in my chair as I type this, by the way. I do have a question, though: is there really a guitar in "In the Dark"? Does it matter in the dark?

Anyone else discover any hidden musical gems lately? Not that this was hidden. Just, you know, skipped over when I flip really fast through my shuffle in order to find the one song I wanted to run to instead of just scrolling to the actual song. Who does that?

A Thank You Note to Eddie Vedder

My Bestie, Zak Bagans

I don't consider weird to be a bad, or even exceptional, personality trait, so even when I do something that someone else may consider weird, I don't think much of it. But I did something that even I think was weird yesterday, and I'm still laughing at myself about it. It was nothing big, important, or anything that will register a blip in anyone else's world, but please indulge me. As I just indulged myself in some spice drops (complete waste of dessert time, but it was all we had in the house). My story starts on Twitter, which I only got into it in the last six months, mainly due to my Ghost Adventures fixation (all three guys tweet regularly, and it's fun to read about their shenanigans while they visit different towns while shooting their  show). I also follow, just to name a few, Ke$ha, Martha Plimpton, Neil Diamond, Queen Latifah, and Joan Rivers. For those who know nothing about Twitter, when someone tweets something you have an option of replying to their tweet, essentially like commenting on a facebook status except that it's not nearly as neat. The thing about Twitter is that you have to click on a certain tab in order to see things that people write about you [am I using that incorrectly? Should I be using which? I don't care.], and I'm guessing really famous people get a billion replies when they tweet their inanities. The lure of Twitter and the reply feature is that maybe, just maybe, one day you will reply to someone famous, and they will RT (retweet) what you said and also respond with their own cutesy response. Because that would mean that they actually, sort of, made contact with you! Kind of. I don't know how many lame-ass comments I've made to various people, none of which ever receive RTs (this doesn't include my actual friends on Twitter who RT my shiz in a polite, orderly fashion). Is this the new way stars are going to ignore my pathetic fan letters/book sendings? Read about my previous attempts here. But -ha!- No more can I grumble about how no one ever writes me back! Because last night I finally received an RT. And not from just anyone, but from my ghostly obsession himself, Zak Bagans. His original tweet was:
When these flight attendants give us the hot steamy towels why do these dudes take a bath with it? Jus wipe the hands off and chill bro
Hee hee. He said, "bro." Anyway, I decided it was time for another sad attempt at a reply from him, so I said:
I once witnessed a man wipe his armpits with the hot steamy towels.

Ha! Thing is? I never saw a man do that. Why did I even type that? I can't stop laughing as I am typing up this blog. It's so ridiculous, to lie on a tweet reply. But it totally paid off because I received my first RT ever back from Zak:
Did the flight attendant use the tongs to get towel?
Mission accomplished! Even if I had to make up a story to get there! I am still a bit baffled by the exchange. Why did I make up such an inane story? Why is that the one tweet Zak replied to? Why did the story continue on in my brain as some lurid tale of a man who also stuck the steamy towel down his pants? Don't worry; I didn't say anything of the sort to Zak. I wrote this weak reply:
I think the guy stuffed it in the back of the seat in front of him. 
Um, why did I even write that? Understand this all happened in a matter of minutes. Albeit a hilarious, action-packed, lie-fueled matter of minutes. Funny thing is, I thought that when I finally received an RT from Zak, I'd feel all satisfied and like I got what I came for. But nooooooo, now I feel like he's my bud, and I continue posting dorky replies to his tweets. So is the life of a stay-at-home mom who is avoiding very much writing her fifth novel. Even though I think about it all the time.


Something about this post is reminding me of Roger Ebert's fixation with the New Yorker's cartoon caption contest. I love him! I have been reading up lots on him lately and do so enjoy all incarnations of his movie review shows. I, too, entered a New Yorker caption contest once! Those fools didn't even put mine in the finals. Here's the pic:

My caption: Send in the clowns.

That is still totally hilarious! And what did they choose?
My wife will be here any moment. She's loading herself into the cannon as we speak. 
Are you fucking kidding me? What is wrong with those people over at the New Yorker? How could they NOT have picked mine? It was GENIUS. Sigh. Maybe I should ask my friend, Zak, and see what he has to say about it.

A Weighty Issue

I thought of this post in the middle of the night after I woke up at 3 a.m. to pee and somehow couldn't fall back asleep even though I took a sleeping pill at bedtime (was that a mega run-on sentence?). Thanks to the unfortunateness of late (ug, and there is more stuff that has to be sought out from my innards in the coming weeks. I love my body!), I gained five pounds. That really isn't a ton of weight, but for someone who a) has weighed the same for the last two years and, therefore, has clothes that finally fit her again due to recent shopping and pants sizing, and b) is not all that big to begin with, so five pounds makes a difference, and c) had weight issues, particularly in high school (for all y'all who read GET WELL SOON, you probably know that already), gaining weight sucks. Not to mention the unrealistic, blahblahblah boring skinny models/actresses/expectations the media puts upon us (which I am blahblahblahing because I think I am mostly over that. Because I have no interest in being an actress nor being grossly skinny. Those bitches would be snapped like twigs in a zombie attack, while I could use my actual muscles to fight and get away. It always comes back to zombies). I don't think I am going to lose all of the weight, since I'm not really changing my eating habits and I'm exercising as much as I was before the debacle. Only time will tell. But it made me think about when I did lose weight, from when I was my heaviest in high school, and how I did it. And now, dear readers, I am going to share my sensible, easy-to-use, realistic weight loss tips for you! In case you want them. This is how I did it, anyway. I'm not a doctor (thank jebus), but nothing I'm telling you is unhealthy. That was my disclaimer.

1. Stop eating red meat. First, because cows are awesome, and second, because it's a good way to lighten up your meals fat-wise, as well as a handy way to stop yourself from eating evil fast food.
2. Leave one bite of each item you eat on your plate. Just one. That way, your brain learns that it has a little control, and you feel all good about yourself for stopping before your plate is clean!
3. Eat dessert. My current "diet" is to not eat desserts during the week and then eat a decent amount of desserts during the weekend (preferably without guilt). This works in a few ways: it gives you a confidence boost if you make it through a week without eating desserts, it makes desserts taste way better when you don't eat them for a few days, and you get to plan what desserts you want to eat which makes weekends double great!
4. You totally don't want to hear this, but you have to exercise to lose weight. Garbage in, garbage out, you know? (Did anyone else perform "The Geigo Effect" in elementary school? Because, that's what I was referencing. There is nothing on the internet about it ANYWHERE. Children of the 80s, where are you?) I started my workout journey with a classic Jane Fonda vid. You can read my blog post about it here. I don't know how to encourage people to exercise. I don't think exercising itself sucks, but it is time consuming, messy, you have to change your clothes, and if you do it in a gym other people might watch you. My current workout regime? Running/walking on the treadmill in my basement while I watch "Ghost Adventures" but listen to music (in the style of Ke$ha). Sometimes I imagine I'm at a dance party with the Ghost Adventures guys. Shut up. ANYTHING to get you through the workout! That's the attitude you must adopt.
5. Don't reward your awesome weightloss or exercising with food. Instead, buy some shoes. Because the shittiest thing about trying to lose weight is that it doesn't happen right away. Like, it should melt off when you exercise and all that sweat comes out, right? And you do all those sit-ups and you feel it in your abs, right? But then you stand up, and your stomach still feels all mushy. That's the worst. And why shoes are the best choice! They are fun to buy, come in a variety of shapes and colors, and will always fit you no matter how jiggly you still may be!

I think that's all I want to say about weight loss. This is only if you want to lose weight. Not if you love yourself and whatever shape you are in. We don't all need to be the same shape and size. Just like shoes! Now go jogging. And then buy some shoes. Pick some up for me while you're at it.

PS Check out my running shoes. I love them so much, sometimes I want to run just so I can put them on. Although, that doesn't happen very often.

The Newbie

I started writing a new book today. It's a tiny piece of a book. I don't even know if I can call it a start, since I usually write 10-15 pages at a time, and this is a measly four. It's not YA, although a teen could read it. And it's not fiction (I believe the term is "non-fiction"). I feel like it's a bit hearkening back to my zine-writing roots. I have a lot of possible content, a story and arc, but the question is: do I have the drive to write another book? I am still dealing with some serious depression after the D&C. Questioning whether or not to go on meds. Taking sleeping pills to turn my head off at night. Trying and failing to be a good mom when my daughter throws a tantrum (which is more frequent when I am in mess mode). Four pages is peanuts. Tiny, wee, microscopic peanuts. Will they grow into long, fulfilling, coherent peanuts? Or will they stay encapsulated in their mini peanut shells? Only time will tell. Why do I suddenly feel like going to the circus?

[Trick question. I ALWAYS feel like going to the circus.]

My Celebrity Life

With all of the shit going down lately, I am making an effort to remember all of the things I like about me. Because I think I seriously hurt myself (on purpose) the other day, and that's got to stop. Think of the children! Or, at least, my child. Anywho, somehow I started looking through all of the videos and pictures I've posted of me meeting famous people. This stemmed from a cute blog post I read about a girl (woman? I'm still confused where I stand in that arena) who loves Ghost Adventures, but would not have sex with Zak Bagans if she met him (the post isn't as lurid as I made it sound. Ha! I used the word lurid). Bagans, the actual man (dude? Why is being in our thirties so complicated?), retweeted the article, which means he read it, which also got me thinking about how I feel about him. Lord, this sounds stupid. But I've been thinking a lot lately about my obsessive fan past, mainly as a teenager, and revisiting the idea of how to insert that into a novel. I was VERY obsessed with many different people and bands in my teen life (hell, it started back in fourth grade with Noah Hathaway), so obsessed that I remember my freshman year of high school having a "peer counseling" group (TOTAL bullshit). I asked one of the "peer counselors" if it was healthy to be obsessed with people on TV (what kind of a dorky freshman would ask a senior that question? Yeah), and the guy shrugged and was all, "I don't know." Peer counselor my ass! What I know now, of course, is that it is fantastico to be obsessed with people you will never meet because then they can't disappoint you!

Wait, is that healthy?

So here I am as an adult, sort of still an obsessive fan-type person (we all know my feelings for Rupert Grint, right? Like, how many more books can he get mentioned in, Julie? Um, as many as it takes for him to acknowledge me, thank you very much), but what does it mean to be obsessive as a married mother of one? Does it mean I think Rupert Grint will fall in love with me when he meets me, and I will leave my family and start a new one with Rupe? That sounds so hilarious as I type it. What if I were famous, and this blog post was quoted somewhere out of context. Oy. The answer, obviously, is NO, I do not think or want that. So why be obsessive? It's almost as though I'm writing new books in my head when I'm obsessing, but instead of fictional characters, I am the main character, along with random famous people I pretend to actually know. It motivates me to do different things. For instance, I might buy a nice lipstick with the thought, "I wonder what ____ would think of this." Not in a serious way, but in a happy, silly way. Also, Zak Bagans and his in-shape-ness motivate me to exercise. I don't know why a big muscular dude motivates little me to exercise, but I like the idea of being in shape, so whatever it takes, right?

But what happens when obsession and reality collide? I have had numerous opportunities to meet members of the Buffy cast (at various Cons), but I have no interest. I only want them to be their characters. Maybe that is one thing I love about Rupert Grint so much: he essentially has proven and admitted that he is Ron Weasley. I think meeting an obsession works best when I am long over the obsessive period and can reflect on the happy memory. Shall we relive the Atreyu-meeting moment? Lord knows I have.



Perfection. That is how all obsessive fan-meetings should end. Or what about this meeting with Ian Ziering, where he asked me  to dance with him:

See? I am normally a star charmer! That's why it was so weird when I was at Scarefest and actually met Zak Bagans. I pretty much said nothing to him. Even though I watch his show(s) every time I run on the treadmill, every Friday night (and sometimes Saturday, too) and practically planned my trip to Scarefest for the sole purpose of meeting him, I didn't get anything out of meeting him. Perhaps it was nerves. Or maybe it was that I was reeling from the prospect of having a D&C two days later, and I was still dealing with evening sickness because pregnancy hormones hang around even when the baby doesn't. I wasn't charming, I wasn't energetic, and I had no game plan. This is pretty much all I got out of the meeting:

Not bad, but you can't really sense the Atreyu glow from either of us. So was it him, or was it me? Should I be disappointed or be grateful that I at least didn't make a fool out of myself and he seemed like a relatively nice guy (one who didn't look directly at me or remember that he just signed my book when I asked if I could take a picture, but nice enough)? I don't blame Zak. In his book (the one I'm holding) he wrote about his social phobias (which, I think, are maybe long gone), so I'm going to pretend that was it. Or maybe I repelled him with my creepy aura of dead baby. He does have those ghost senses. Whatever. I think I have learned a lesson to stick with celebrities who I liked back in the day, as well as those not in their fame prime. That way, they appreciate my enthusiasm. When I have it. I foresee a horror convention, twenty years from now, when I meet a still buff but wrinklier Bagans, and I charm the pants off of him. Or, at least the shirt. Because that would make a great picture.