When I dance, they call me …

I am maxed out to capacity in my places that have capacities that can be … maxed? Well. I don’t know what I mean either, but I’m going to keep writing and pretend we’re all on board! Choo choo!

Seriously, what?

Anyway, I have been busy this week, which is the most cliched, overused sentence in the history of blogging/parenthood/existing, I KNOW, but I have this sort of perverse challenge going on in my head where I am trying to see if I can accomplish seven straight days of blue numbers over on that left sidebar calendar. My goals, they are lofty!

Allllllll of that kerfaffle is to say that this is a little bit of a cheater post (Uh, hello, so was yesterday’s! Shut up. I uploaded pictures! And resized them! Not hard. But my computer is acting up and clicking on things when I don’t want it to, so it actually WAS hard, thank you very much. Don’t care. You are making this post way worse than it was going to be originally. Am not. Uh, YES, you are. You are myself, talking to myself. This is terrible. Yeah, it is kinda, isn’t it. YES OMG. Maybe I should tell a joke? No, we’re definitely done here. Wait, wait, are you sure? Because I know this great one about a priest and a chicken—CLOSE PARENTHESIS, CAN I GET A HAND HERE.) (Thank you. Hi! GO AWAY.) but one that I hope you will find entertaining.

First, I want you to all join me in getting this song stuck in your head (sorry for making it extra horrible):


…is what you’re surely thinking. Well, fear not! Behold the website to cure us all!

(Still trying to figure out how to get the replacement song out of my head, though. I’ll have to get back to you on that one.)

Second, hey! I met Alice Bradley and Eden Kennedy, who were in town promoting their new (awesome) (hilarious) book, Let’s Panic About Babies!, which I think you should buy, even if you don’t own a baby. It is that funny a book, you guys. Plus, they write great autographs. Very legible! I think their elementary school teachers would be awfully proud. Anyway, here we all are.

Let’s all totally ignore how awkward I look, and instead talk about how much I admire these two women writers. Seriously—when I started reading Alice’s blog years ago (B.Y.—Before Yestertime), it was the first time I realized that writing didn’t have to be such a formal, lofty thing. I could write like I talk! It revolutionized the way I saw writing as a craft, and got me interested in finding my particular voice through the written word and conveying it well enough that other people could read it and hear me as clear as I heard myself inside my head. I’m still working on it, and always will be, but man was that a great thing to figure out. (It wasn’t until later that I discovered Eden’s blog, by the way, and it is equally witty and inspiring. Eden is also the creator of NaBloPoMo, which I officially participated in exactly one time and then crapped out on, but still love the idea of.)

Third! My friend Betsy sent me this the other day on Twitter, and she was 100% correct in thinking that I would enjoy it. Because, hello. Bookshelves!

That’s all I got. You’re welcome/I’m sorry.


1 ginnymom { 03.10.11 at 7:32 am }

okay, so here’s what I got: ABOUT THE BOOKCASE: I love the clock, the banana, the list of books at the end….. cool. I hope they animated it and didn’t taker pictures one at a time for all those hours. THE CALENDAR DAYS: you can make as many blue as you like: I love it! ALICE AND EDEN: It makes me smile that you went to the signing. They are lucky to have met you.

2 Leeann { 03.10.11 at 8:56 pm }

Oh my GOD I love Alice Bradley and I’m seething with jealousy that you got to se the grey hair in person.
She makes me want to stop dyeing. Almost. Actually, she makes me want to be the kind of person who *would* stop dyeing. Because let’s face it, I’m gonna keep bein’ nice n’ easy.

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