Chirky

So! The upside of not making changes to your website in two-and-a-half years is that everything works when you need it to work, simply because it always has worked, there never was any question about it.

The downside of not making changes to your website in two-and-a-half years is that when you get a wild hair and abruptly decide to start tinkering with it, you realize you've almost forgotten how to code, and suddenly nothing works as it should. And then there are LOTS of questions about it.

If you've been lingering around this site tonight, refreshing your screen maniacally (like me), you probably saw a few hundred iterations of Chirky flashing about, with columns misbehaving and links not working -- they're still not, at least not on the most recent entries, and I'm not quite sure what to do about that because I need to ask for HEEELLLLPPPP. My comments section chose the most inopportune time to lay itself to rest -- and hey! Did you notice my shiny new ads section?

It's kind of hard not to notice right now, and I hate that - ads should blend in, not stick out like, um, well, like that wild hair that abruptly made me start tinkering with everything to begin with -- but my goal is to get them to migrate to the far right, where they'll be a bit less obtrusive. I'm expecting the migration to go a little slowly, though, because all the coding tricks up my sleeve (plus the how-to guides I read online) haven't worked yet. Which, I mean, you think that they would. Just change column a to column c, shift everything else to the left a bit, et voila! My site is broken. I've tried that.

So if you're skilled at coding in Movable Type, and maybe you were perusing the Internet looking for the culprit responsible for breaking the Internet, email me (or leave a comment by clicking here)! I have no idea what I'm doing!

Updated to Add: My links! They are working! But I somehow lost my right sidebar. Hey, you've got to give a little and take a little, right?

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Four years ago, when Roger and I married, we decided that I would leave my job before the wedding. We thought it would give me time to relax, time away from work, time to rejoice that I wouldn’t be heading back to 50- and 60-hour workweeks. And then three days after we returned from our honeymoon, Roger was laid off. Our eyes wide with concern, we stared at each other that first day he was home. We weren’t quite sure what to make of it, we didn’t know at that point how long it would be before we found new positions.

It was six weeks before Roger’s career took off again, and an additional three months before I was gainfully employed. As newlyweds, we had a tiny amount of savings and wedding money, and Roger was given a small severance when he was laid off. Over two months, we spent every bit of that money just living – every bit down to the last dollar went to rent, utilities, groceries, car payments and gasoline. Roger found his job in just the nick of time – just after we paid the last bill and looked at each other like: “What now?”

It was a stressful time, both for us individually and for us beginning our marriage. It also made us Nazis about paying off our massive amount of debt. (We’ve been credit card debt free for over a year now, hooray!)

Our lives -- just as I’m sure many of yours – are a series of ups and downs, trials and errors, surging amounts of joys and disappointments.

As I’ve shared bits and pieces of my life with you, be it on Chirky.com, in the comments sections of your own blog, or over sporadic email conversations, I’ve been amazed by the way we’ve been able to rally around each other, learn from and encourage one another. Blogging can be every bit of a community as the “real” friends we interact with on a daily basis.

Last week, I caught wind from Emily (of Not That You Asked) about a family that put my own problems into sharp perspective. To put it simply: this couple, who are close friends of Emily’s, were on vacation when their 16-month-old daughter became violently ill.

They took her for medical attention on the Friday of Easter weekend, and learned in that small space of time that she had an aggressive form of cancer -– a tumor the size of a baseball -– lodged in her brain. It had metastasized into her spinal cord.

By Monday, a 12-hour surgery was scheduled to remove a portion of the tumor, and afterward their little girl would need chemotherapy. At a time when most families were hiding Easter eggs and sharing meals together and attending churches, their doctors were suggesting that extended family make the trip to say goodbye. The doctors weren’t sure the toddler could make it through the long surgical procedure.

Miraculously, she did.

But there is more. The mother is a stay-at-home mom, the father is a teacher. He’s had to take an unpaid leave of absence to be with his daughter and wife in Savannah, where they were on vacation. They have a mortgage in Virginia, but have rented an apartment in Savannah so they can stay together as a family. They want to be able to continue to provide their daughter with excellent and consistent medical attention. With no reliable income, it’s hard to foresee the incredible amounts of debt they will incur.

Emily has written about their story in more detail, if you would like more information about this family.

Thinking back to our meager beginnings, I cannot begin to scratch the surface of the level of uncertainty this family is facing, the fears they must feel, the stress this new trial will bring to their marriage and their family, the bewildered prayers that can’t go past: “God, I don’t know why this has happened. What do we do now? Please help!”

I’ve signed on with Emily to spread the word about their story because I strongly believe in the power of community and the power of us reaching past ourselves to help others.

If you want to help in some way, but don't know how, let me suggest a few options:
1. If you want to help meet their needs financially, you can click the Donate button below (a fund that Emily set up through PayPal). Whether we raise $5 or $5,000, every bit helps.

2. If your heart is aching to help spread the word, perhaps consider posting a similar entry on your own site, or send an email to friends and family pointing them to this entry or Emily's entry.

3. If you want to leave a comment, a special thought, a prayer, or any other word of encouragement, you can do so in the comments section here or in the comments section of Emily’s more detailed post. Brian, Katie, and their daughter Emily covet your prayers and comments.

Editor's Note:
At last count, you guys helped raise nearly $25,000 in under a week. I am not surprised, though perhaps a little dumbstruck, by the generosity shown by our collective readers. THANK YOU. If you would like the latest update on Emily, you can find it here. A thank you from the Mandell family is here. If you still want to help, purchase a bracelet here or donate using the link above. If you cannot use (or are uncomfortable using) Paypal, a donation account has been set up at Bank of America for Emily Mandell. And, obviously, please continue to pray for this family, and to send your sweetest thoughts and best wishes their way.

It warms my heart to see a community of people coming together to help one family. I wish it could be thousands of families, or millions of people across our globe. It starts with one. Just one.

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This morning, while lying on my bathroom floor, I thought up a new weekly blog series called As I See It. It’s all about (wait for it, wait for it...) HOW I SEE THINGS. Quite literally.

You see, I woke up this morning at 4:37 a.m. because I had somehow managed to partially throw out my back. I laid in bed for two hours, hoping that if I remained very still, not moving even an inch, the pain would subside and my spine would go back to normal. The thought of being paralyzed and in pain for the next four days sent me rolling off the mattress and limping to the freezer. I grabbed the icy gel pack and made my way to the guest bathroom, where I threw the finger-numbing bundle on the floor and covered it with one of Roger’s t-shirts. And then I laid there, on the frozen pack, staring at the ceiling.

It was kind of boring, lying there for twenty minutes with nothing to occupy my thoughts other than how I thought the Internet might also want to see my ceiling. So I took a picture of it with my camera phone. As I See It was born.

I don’t know why I decided to lie down on the cold, hard bathroom floor and stare at the ceiling. I could have iced my back anywhere, perhaps somewhere more comfortable (and warm), like my couch. Or in bed. But lying on the bathroom floor made sense at the time, and you must remember that the time was very early in the morning – earlier than I’m accustomed to, anyhow - and we all know that drunk ideas and early morning ideas are rarely ever good ones.

I’ll illustrate that last fact with the next picture, which I took because I thought maybe the Internet needed to know what I looked like As I Was Seeing It. Why I thought this was a good idea, I don’t know. My hair looks like it was combed with an eggbeater, my mascara is smudged all around my eyes, and my bathroom floor? Well – my floor I haven’t cleaned in a week. Wait, no, it’s been longer more like two weeks.

Don’t judge me, Internet, because it was very early in the morning and I obviously wasn’t thinking very clearly, and also because there are people out there who haven’t cleaned their bathroom floors in, like, three months. Or worse, they’ve NEVER cleaned their bathroom floors. And if that is you, Internet, just don’t tell me. I don’t want to know if you have never cleaned your bathroom floors, because that will make me think you’ve maybe never cleaned your entire bathroom, and if that’s the case I might be afraid to come over to your house one day, for fear that I might need to use the restroom while I’m there.

And you should know that my floors are typically so clean you can eat off of them – seriously, you could, because I scrub them on my hands and knees, Internet, with ANTI-BACTERIAL WET WIPES. Screw my Swiffer Wet Jet, I’m armed with Clorox.

Well, I’m typically armed with Clorox, anyhow. Right now I’m just staring at the ceiling.

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I've been mulling over for a while what to say about BlogHer. I kind of feel obligated to talk about it, obligated because you know I went, obligated because it was the second time I've attended, obligated because I can't ignore the fact that I was there and choose to simply talk about the real reason I stayed a few extra days in Chicago: Garrett's popcorn.

BlogHer was … big. I met lots of bloggers I don't already read, as well as many bloggers that I already do. I have oodles of business cards stuffed in my laptop bag, and a sincere hankering for another piña colada. I already miss spending time with women who get me, who understand why I write online before I even have to attempt to explain it, who don't think twice about lining up on the floor of our hotel hallway to have a race doing The Worm. Those are my type of women.

Photo by Heather

The sessions I attended were not what I had expected them to be, and that was disappointing. Some were funny. Some were tense. Some were dry. I didn't walk away with as much practical know-how as I had hoped for from one session. In another I felt annoyed as I sat through an hour and a half of fluff to get five-minutes-worth of solid information. And still, another session had me laughing so hard that I'm heading out tonight to buy a book written by one of the panelists.

The golden egg of BlogHer, in my opinion, is the way it has created community among bloggers. BlogHer has become the conduit through which women (okay, fine, and some men, too) who might not otherwise connect have an opportunity to hole up together for a weekend, squeeeeeee! with excitement over meeting each other and then hug their new friends goodbye when the weekend is over. And somewhere in the middle, they might harvest several nuggets of wisdom from the expert panelists that BlogHer recruits for the event.

Sure, there's tons of swag. Sponsors swung in with copious amounts of free alcohol, a tote bag with a rather cute, asymmetrical design (but I wasn't fond of the two giant logos, so I didn't bring it home) that was filled with all sorts of goodies.

Items that made their way into my tiny little carry-on:

-- a chocolate brown, faux alligator (Wait - was that alligator? Does anyone know? Do I have my reptiles confused?) storage box filled with a spa kit (though I'll admit that the W Hotel in Chicago stocks the fabulous bliss line, and I might have borrowed a few extra samples from the housekeeping cart)

-- a journal from Wiley (I'm always on the lookout for journals, and free is totally in my budget)

-- the casauri tote from AOL Body ($85 retail, perfectly padded for my laptop, with enough pockets for all my carryables, and something that even my husband might like, plus it was hand-delivered to my room)

-- a mini box of cereal from Curves (which is kind of weird considering they're in the fitness business. Does this mean I'm soon going to find a box labeled 24 Hour Fitness in the cracker aisle of my grocery store, or Gold's Gym yogurt in the dairy section? In any case, I brought it on the plane in case I needed a snack, which I did since my flight was diverted from Dallas and stuck on a tarmac for two hours in Oklahoma City, but which I also forgot about when I needed it most. Now it's in my desk drawer at work, just in case.)

-- several CDs (I've not listened to them yet, but I brought them home anyway. I have high hopes.)

-- a purse organizer from the good folks at Real Simple (who sewed their brand name to the tag inside the organizer, rather than painting it onto the outside. That action alone made the purse worth keeping. Bonus points: it fits in my other purses, so I just move it from purse to purse whenever I switch handbags, which is like every day, and also? Pockets. Like, gazillions of them, perfectly sized for my cards and phone and wallet and most importantly, LIP GLOSSES. Yes, plural. Why do you ask?)

Items that made their way into the nearest trash receptacle:

-- a sweat towel (for the gym, I suppose, but the "get sweaty" logo was enormous and scratchy, and since I glow rather than sweat, it was left in the hotel room)

-- a plastic martini glass (I later learned that it glows in the dark, and now I wish I had it just so I could have a glowing cup for at least one drink, though I won't comment on how well it would work out for me to drink in the dark)

-- a Butterball oven mitt (it looked sturdy enough, and like my fingers might not get too hot if I held a heated platter for too long, but again with the giant logos!)

All in all, I would call the trip a success, though that's probably because I've got a gallon of Garrett's Caramel Crisp popcorn waiting for me at home.

Technorati: blogher, blogher07, women, conference, blogging, bloghercon, blogs, weblogs,

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When I turned 29 last week, it occurred to me that it has been five years since I last changed my online password. I know this because my original password contained "24," which was my age at the time. Cliché, I know. It's like I'm thirteen years old and discovering for the first time that including my zip code in my IM screen name may not be the brightest idea.

For the past week I've been in the process of changing the passwords on all my online accounts, and holy cow: do you know how many accounts I have? Like, kajillions.

I have passwords for seven different email addresses that I check on a regular basis, four different banks, and a plethora of websites that I've either started or contribute to or depend on for blogging. Plus there's that random assortment of online storage sites where I hold membership, work-related research sites, sites where I pay my monthly bills and more travel-related sites than I can remember (I have them all conveniently listed in one of my online storage sites, naturally).

I'm still finding and changing my password on previously forgotten sites, and I'm trying to figure out when I became so dependent on the Internet. I guess it's not so surprising after all, at least considering the ungodly amount of time I spend on the web (more time than I'm willing to admit here), though at least I'm savvy enough now not to use my age. That, and I don't want the reminder.

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So far, this is how my day is going:

Am bored. And you?

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I've mentioned in passing that I'll be attending BlogHer '07 this year. What I haven't mentioned is that Roger and I are actually flying together to Chicago a week before the conference. It'll be a mini-vaca, to hang in Chi-town and relish his old stomping grounds.

Chicago River dyed green for St. Patrick's Day
(Click on the photo to enlarge.)

I've never been to the city, but Roger spent four years there during college. He's made lists upon lists of activities for us – so much that we may not actually have time for all of them – and I've started making lists, too. (Have I mentioned how I love making lists?)

Granted, everything on my list was already on his, but I'm becoming a bit concerned: Everything I suggested was centered around eating food.

- Eating Giordano's pizza
- Visiting the penny candy store he frequented during college
- Sampling Garrett's popcorn

With all the eating I have planned, I'm going to need more than just a couple of walking tours and an architectural river cruise to work off the extra calories. (Plus, I need substantial contributions to Roger's lengthy plans for us, contributions that don't entirely involve food.)

This is where I beckon you, Internets. Have you been to Chicago? Or do you love to read about other cities? Where do you suggest we go? What should we do? MUST we eat at a certain restaurant to gain the complete Chicago experience? What has been your favorite part of visiting the Windy City in the past?

Our planning stage is in full swing, and we don't want to leave anything off our list. Tell us what you couldn't leave Chicago without doing, and we'll make sure we fit it into our plans. In the meantime, I'll be researching, too. Afterall: I couldn't give up the opportunity to learn about another city.

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The last time I checked my BlogLines feed reader, I had 166 entries waiting in my "Daily Reads" category. That number is a little overwhelming, obviously, so I shut the window, go back to work, and several minutes later check the site again just to see whether the number has changed. (It has, there are now 168, and part of me is beginning to think that I could make reading blogs into a full time job.)

Meanwhile, I'm staring blankly at my keyboard, willing the words to type themselves, contemplating the source of my writer's block, which I totally don't get, by the way. I mean: my dentist doesn't have dentist's block. My tailor doesn't have tailor's block. My cab driver doesn't have cab driver's block. (Fine, I don't have a regular cab driver, or even take regular cab rides, but if I did I'm certain he wouldn't have blocks. Unless they were road blocks, which the cab driver couldn't really control, now could he?)

I don't know about you, but when I'm feeling down, and like my life is a little too boring, I love to shop. I've tried, believe me, and have new clothes to show for it, but this time shopping hasn't helped my writer's block (or my boredom). Oddly, this makes sense to me, since my writing is in the virtual world and my new skirt is in the very real world. Ergo, I'm trying something new: a virtual makeover. (Thanks to Jenny at MamaDrama for the idea!)

I've been toying around with the idea of doing something new with my hair anyway, and this is where you come in: which style do you like on me the best?

(To view styles, click the link below).

Continue reading "Shopping Usually Helps" »

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I have a problem.

And as far as problems go, I suppose it's a good problem to have, in that it's not necessarily bad.

You see, I've forgotten how to browse the Internet. I've gotten into a rut of visiting the same sites, over and over and over again. Everyday I read the same blogs, mostly via Bloglines, and I'm tired of it. I'm not tired of your blog, of course. Your blog is fabulous.

When I try to branch out, perhaps by Googling something of interest to me, perhaps by visiting your blogrolls, I am overwhelmed. There is so much out there. Which do I choose? So I close my Internet browser (Firefox, Firefox, please say you use Firefox, too), try to do something else for a few minutes, find that I can't, for the force is with me, and I float back to the shiny Internet like a moth to a flame.

I have a solution, though.

This is the part where I, once again, ask for the help of my ultra-savvy readers. You know things. And you're pretty. Help me?

I've decided to highlight three of my most favorite sites of late. I'm not sure how I happened upon each of them, but I've been reading them (or using them, whichever the case may be) for months, and you should be, too.

In return, you'll leave a comment telling me about at least ONE of your favorite sites and either (a) how it reached "favorite" status or (b) why I should visit it.

Ready for the fun to begin? (Me too!)

Continue reading "In Exchange" »

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Lately, I have had several people ask me why I blog. They ask me what I blog about. They look at me like I'm a little pompous when I say I blog about my life, because is it really so fascinating that people want to read about it?

And then I look at my stats, smile smugly, and tell them, "Well, at least my mom likes to read it." Truthfully, my mom doesn't like to read this site. And isn’t that a shame? Because my mother-in-law IS a faithful reader. Which means that the next time they see each other? They won't be able to gab about that time I tried buffing my leg hair away with sandpaper or, horrifically, when I was sick and my nose dripped on my manager's desk.

Continue reading "Blogging Is Like A Slumber Party, Only Virtual" »

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I'm a guest author today over at No Pasa Nada. Go! Enjoy!

An excerpt:

I worked as an assistant to an elderly man two days a week. My job was to (a) iron his shirts and pants, (b) cook him dinner and (c) vacuum his house. For this he paid me $15 per day. He loved me, naturally, because I’m a good ironer. I love starch. And so did he. It was a match made in heaven, except he was a good 60 years older than me. That didn’t stop Anna Nicole Smith, but I have to draw the line somewhere.

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Ladies and Gents, there's a new movement in town. (And it's not a bowel movement.)

OMG. I'm sorry, okay? I am. What's with all the TMI topics lately? Apparently, I'm having issues. If only I had children on which I could blame the poop talk. You know, because of dirty diapers and stuff.

What? Full and squishy brown (sometimes green!) diapers don't make good blogging fodder?

Huh. Good thing I'm not a mom yet.

Back to the movement. (Hee. I'm so puerile.)

A community blogging site that I strongly support, IndieBloggers.org, has just launched. The site describes itself as:

Indie Bloggers is about giving exposure to bloggers who need to be read. Indie Bloggers is a showcase of written talent - stories, almost - that you may not see otherwise. Anyone can submit. Everyone may not be published right away or at all, but there are few restrictions (i.e., I don't want to hear about your sex life). INTIMIDATION IS UNNECESSARY. Indie Bloggers are your peers; we're in the same situation.

Read more about the site HERE.

Basically, IndieBloggers is a community of writers who are able to re-publish their best pieces in a larger, more widely-read forum. It was first created as a community for those who are without a support group. It is for those who don't feel that they fit in with the MommyBloggers, the Politicos, the Foodies, or any of the other fantastic networks that already exist.

It is for males and females alike. It is for building community among writers. It is for showcasing your best work and gaining the exposure you deserve by reaching the audience that you otherwise might not reach. It is for the pure love of writing, and writing well.

Think you can hang? Consider joining.

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Both Julianna and CPAMom tagged me to complete a meme called "6 Weird Things About You."

If they really knew me, though, they'd know that there are WAY more than just six things, and that I couldn't narrow it down to that small of a number.

Then again, maybe they do know me, because if I had to choose 60 weird things, I'd give up before I began because all the work involved to list all of those.

They'd also know that the title "6 Weird Things About You," rather than "Six Weird Things About You," would drive me crazy.

Or, come to think of it, maybe that's why they tagged me. Just to drive me crazy.

Still, I'm feeling a bit rebellious today, which is why I'm staunchly refusing to take part in this meme as currently enforced: "Each player of this game starts with the "6 Weird Things about You." People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says 'you are tagged' in their comments and tell them to read your blog."

Naturally, I'm making up my own rules. Since I can't narrow my own weirdness to only six facets of my personality, and because I didn't think it'd be fair to out Roger without roasting myself also, I’m treating you to SIX WEIRD THINGS ABOUT OUR HOME.

Continue reading "Weird Things: A Photoblog" »

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Let's get straight to the nitty-gritty: The 104 blogs that made up the NaBloPoMo "P" Category have left me huffing, whining and trying to dethaw my frozen, tired eyeballs. My brain has glazed over with sweet, sticky mush. I've been glued to my computer for the past four thousand sixty two hours, and if you hadn't already figured it out, behold The Procrastinator.

Today is December 5th, and I can't tell you how many times I've had to update that date. I've been working on this review for the past week. NaBloPoMo has come and gone, and I'm finally getting around to posting my review of the "P" Category. (Good thing I had the "O" Category to warm me up for this blog-reviewing marathon.)

Continue reading "P is for Procrastination" »

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This weekend, the weather in Dallas is supposed to dip down to a nasty 26°. If only it were also supposed to rain, which would become snow, and if only it were to take place on a Tuesday, instead of a Friday, I'd be more thrilled. Because snow in Dallas means ice in Dallas means all the roads are shut down in Dallas means I don't have to go to work means I can sit at home in my pajamas all day along and watch TV. Or read books. Or play on the Interdweeb, catching up on all my regular reads and all my irregular reads and every other word ever written by a blogger, Amen.

A friend of mine emailed today to ask if Roger and I want to get together for games on Friday night, the very night of the alarmingly cold weather, and I had to admit to her – as if she didn't already know, because hello: we were twice roommates – that I'm a bit high maintenance when it comes to cold weather.

Seeing as how I'm high maintenance and will readily admit it, and seeing as how she just moved into a new home, I thought I should break it to her gently that if she can't meet my list of demands, perhaps we should just plan on getting together another time. Because cold weather and I? Don't mix.

Therefore, I present to you Chirky's Fabricated List Of Cold Weather Demands, which were emailed to my friend approximately five minutes ago [and recently edited by me]:

1. a fireplace, preferably working, which is also burning wood in a very [white] hot [and burning, burning, burning down the house] fashion [except maybe not actually burning down the house, because that would force me outside, just the place I don't want to be, because again: cold]


2. mugs upon mugs upon mugs of apple cider and hot cocoa, [the cocoa served] preferably with tiny little marshmallows, or, really, ANY SIZE marshmallows. I'm not complaining when it comes to marshmallow size [because I'm an equal-opportunity marshmallow consumer]


3. uh, no c. that's it. just a woodburning fire and chocolate. gah. what more could a girl want?

And do you know what she responded to me? THAT SHE DOESN'T HAVE A FIREPLACE. Internets! No fireplace! My number one demand! And she expects me to brave the cold winds to go to her home! With exclamation points!

And while she did promise lots of cocoa, with extra marshmallows, I feel compelled to produce another list of demands. So: I put it to you, Internets. What should they be? Footed fleece pajamas for everyone to wear? Homemade squares of peppermint-swirled marshmallows? Faux fur earmuffs for our delicate orifices?

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A couple weeks ago I signed up to help review blogs for NaBloPoMo. I’m looking at a list of fifty two blogs that begin with the letter “O” and, y’all? I’m a little overwhelmed.

I am horrible (horrible!) at math, and yet I am supposed to give you statistics. I cannot promise they are accurate, because the calculations involved me staring at my calculator, and then the numbers, and then the calculator, and then punching numbers, and then wondering if they were correct. And then I do the Dolly Parton calculation just to make sure the calculator is right.

Incidentally, that is also how I took the SAT in high school.

Except I didn’t have a gross boy sitting two seats away at the cafeteria table, BREATHING HEAVILY out loud in a very noisy way. With heaving.

STATS*:
52 blogs
(uhh?? How do you do stats? Am I supposed to divide something somewhere? Maybe?)
36% were mommyblogs
52% are already out of the running (missed one or more posts before November 24th)
12% I labeled “boooorrrrrriiiinnggggg.”

*I have no idea if these stats are accurate. They're just...what my calculator produced. Totally by user error. And maybe some tequila.

However, I did find several worth introducing:

(OFTEN) PEDANTIC MUSINGS
This girl is fun, feisty, and opinionated. I enjoyed reading her entries and added her to my personal “favorites” list so I can remember to go back for more.

OH FOR FUN!
The thing she does with googly eyes makes me laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And I think I may go out and buy googly eyes for my own food, because it doesn’t seem fair somehow that all my edibles are without eyeballs.

ONE CHILD LEFT BEHIND
An entertaining writer, some of which I don’t even understand (which doesn’t make his writing any less entertaining). Perhaps even more entertaining than his entries is the Laudy Daw section of his site, under which he lists what others have said about him and his writing. Apparently, people are very opinionated: "I would rather suck a tape worm from your urethra than read this crap." Ha! That’s funny.

OROONI
I had so much fun reading this site, probably because this girl (guy? I don’t know – there wasn’t an “about” section, even though the subtitle is “she does stuff” but – who is she? The author? The dog? It’s a mystery.) is drama, the perfect self-deprecating and sarcastic and judgmental flair for drama, and from the little bit I’ve read, I already know that I’ll totally be going back for more. I almost feel like I shouldn’t highlight her (him?) in this NaBloPoMo review because she (he?) missed one day of posting and is therefore disqualified, but: she’s (he’s?) funny! The good thing about being this category reviewer is that I get to do whatever I want, and you can’t do anything about it.

OTHER SIDE OF MY HEAD
The funny (not hee-haw funny, and not ironic funny, but more like interesting funny) thing about being a category reviewer for NaBloPoMo is that people find out that you’re reviewing categories, and then they start commenting on your blog, and you think their comments are funny, so you go back and visit theirs.

And then you realize: CRAP! This is a blog that I’m supposed to review – it’s totally scandalous when a judge (moi?) and a beauty pageant contestant have an affair, and then people wonder whether the outcome is rigged because the judge votes for his mistress, or in this case, the blog reviewer highlights one of her readers.

Or, it could be entirely coincidental that Kir (the author) started reading my blog. Either way, the former reasoning it totally more appealing, right? A scandal! Right here on chirky.com!

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I'll have a button up soon, but wanted to remind you Internets that the domain name contest is still open for my new cooking site.

If you don't want to suggest a site name in the comments section, for fear that domain name eaters might come by and snatch it up, just email me.

I'm open to any type of name, whether it is related to the brand Chirky™ or not. The site will be a cooking site, fully devoted to one of my favorite subjects: Food. (And, interestingly, how to cook it.) Stay tuned.

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I keep wondering how blogging everyday is going to last for me. Particularly on the weekends, when I sit lazily in front of the TV (or at the table, scrapbooking) and attempt to remember how my brain has turned to mush at the ripe age of 28.

And then I remember: the prizes. Have you seen that list of all those great prizes? THIRTY THREE of them at last count? It almost provokes me to donate a prize from the Storage Closet O' Goodness. And perhaps I will.

Even if I win a prize, or donate a prize- which HELLO: HAVE YOU SEEN HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE PARTICIPATING? BEHOLD THE POWER OF FUSSY - it's fun to have a challenge.

I wonder how many people will still be in the running at the end of this month?

I am in the process of helping the author of Writing Aspirations review all the blogs. She's done the majority of the work - I'm just taking two categories (out of, like, fifty million). Check back this week, because I should have the first (at least) of those two categories completed.

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Julianna, the author of one of the blogs I read, recently wrote a raw and beautiful entry about her struggle with anorexia. While the feelings are something she will likely battle the rest of her life (the same feelings with which many of us still struggle), she is at a point in her life in which she can say that she's no longer at war with the physical (food) side of anorexia.

I'm so proud of her accomplishment, and for her courage to speak out about an eating disorder that has ravaged the lives of so many women.

Julianna is an American bioarcheologist, who is currently separated (by the government) from her Jordanian husband, who is also a bioarchelogogist. She's in the process of telling the story (on her site) of how they met and began their relationship at an excavation site in Jordan.

It's good for the romantic in me.

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I can't help but feel that Big Brother is watching. And it's kind of creepy. I keep looking over my shoulder, but: no one.

On a higher note in this otherwise bleak environment of Internet blocking, however, I can access Movable Type, which means I can still blawwwggg until my heart's content.

Most of my favorite sites are blocked due to "mature content" though, which kinda makes me feel like a dirty old man. Who's being monitored by Big Brother. And again: creepy.

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I remember I had jumped in my car and driven to the grocery store on my way to work. I flipped on the radio and heard a breaking news story that an airplane had flown into the World Trade Center in New York City, NY.

Instinctively, I thought to myself, "Gah. What an idiot. How could he not see that enormous building in front of him?" (Naive!) I imagined that the plane had clipped the penthouse portion of the building, and then wondered why the plane was flying so low and so close to the skyscrapers.

Continue reading "In which I prove my naivety, time and time again." »

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I'm totally into VeryZen now. Her voice gave me chills, and I found myself listening to her over and over and over again. I finally gave in to the tractorbeam and posted her video here, but you should visit her site and leave commenty love.

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I've been disillusioned with the Internet lately. I am bored with my routine. Everyday I check email, and then check my other email account, and then I check my other email account. I monitor my Travian accounts. (How much of a nerd does this make me?) I open a blank Word document and stare at the blinking cursor, purse my lips, and think.

I look at my blank wall, hoping it will inspire me. Nothing.

Of course, this hasn't stopped me from dreaming up new ideas for new websites and what I would write on the imaginary websites. It hasn't even stopped me from spending hours creating and narrowing down domain names for the imaginary websites. And admittedly, it hasn't stopped me from buying those domain names.

I am now the proud owner of several domain names that I can't remember, and three that I can remember. Kris, please don't email me to tell me how many I really have. Let's keep it a secret. That way, I feel less guilty for buying domains when there are starving children who need my money more than the Internet does.

Continue reading "Redefining questionable blogging subjects: Take One" »

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It's not often that I laugh until I cry and then cramp up in pain because I am at work, presumably working. I cannot laugh out loud. I MUST NOT LAUGH OUT LOUD. Instead, I flung my head down and half-covered my face with my right hand as my entire body began to violently, uncontrollably shake.

My abs hurt. I minimized my Firefox window and calmed myself. I breathed in long, deep breaths. And then I went back to working, thinking to myself, "I'll have to finish this at lunch."

Several minutes later, I opened my Firefox window and began reading once more, only to minimize the window within seconds, again. I repeated the process of trying to calm myself, this time by digging my elbows into my desk and tightening each muscle in my body to prevent myself from laughing aloud.

It didn't work.

Emily, the author of Not That You Asked (whose domain is named after her dog, Hambone), is not just a captivating writer. She is like a sister I've never met – and by that, I mean our lives since childhood are disturbingly similar. Hers is one of my favorite blogs, and yesterday's entry is a perfect example why. An excerpt that, as of yet, hasn't failed to produce in me an encore of giggles:

"What wasn’t so nice to hear was what Dave said when he returned from retrieving a few things from the car that I was physically unable to get for myself because not only did it mean I would have to revisit the scene of the crime but also because my eyes were swollen shut from all the crying: “Wow, there’s an awful lot of dog hair stuck in the back window.” Which made me start hyperventilating all over again because HELLO! DOG HAIR STUCK IN THE WINDOW, a reminder that it’s not like he went out of it WILLINGLY!"

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I am haunted by purchasing feminine care products to such a degree that merely saying the word gives me the creeps: Tampons.

I'm the woman who can't just buy a box at the grocery store - I have to buy other unrelated items, like a pound of asparagus and six apples and 93% lean ground beef and a loaf of freshly-baked sourdough bread and maybe some finely shredded cheddar cheese and a few bottles of contact solution just to make it seem as though I haphazardly found myself on the feminine care aisle and casually threw a box of them into my cart, without so much as checking the price or the brand or the size(s). Gross.

I feel like vomiting now, just admitting that.

Continue reading "Dispensers: dispensable" »

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Attending the BlogHer workshops confirmed to me that what I’m doing at work, while I enjoy it, is not my passion. My passion is writing and connecting with others – building a community where people can meet and share their lives. I’ve always known that my talents center around hospitality. I think blog communities are a great way for me to exercise that talent.

I have several ideas storming for new community websites, but am overwhelmed by my own ambition.

Several of you have asked me who I met at BlogHer. My answer? Everyone. Almost. There is no way I could ever give a recap of my thoughts on the people I did meet (but Miss Zoot did an excellent job of doing just that) - there were too many to name.

I met women whom I admire. I met women who made me laugh. I met women who are brilliant. I met women that I wished I had taken longer to talk with.

I learned a lot from the different sessions that were held on Day One and Day Two. But more than anything, I learned so much about myself. And perhaps that is the best thing that I could have taken from the conference.

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I haven’t barhopped since my freshman year of college, when I was underage and only had access to the wine coolers and beer at fraternity parties, so I am fairly ignorant about mixed drinks. Throw in a limited bar that doesn’t carry my standard Midori or Amaretto (Sour), and this is what you might hear me order:

”Um, can you just make me a drink that is maybe a little sweet?” “But I don’t want it to taste at all like alcohol.” “Oh - and can it be pink?”

And then I smile sweetly and flutter my eyelashes for good measure. I usually just get a blank stare or furrowed brow in return, but the bartender at BlogHer on Friday night must have felt pity for me because he grabbed a glass, poured a suicide of liquid into it, presented it to me sans the cute paper umbrella and named it a Pink Nympho.

I think it's fair to say that this proves my theory that men are thinking about sex 70% of the time.

Continue reading "BlogHer '06: A Drunken Orgy of Estrogen" »

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The last time I bonded for a weekend with strangers, I was in 7th grade and was at church camp. My cabinmates and I would try to sneak out the miniscule windows of our wooded home-away-from-home and run over to the boys’ side of camp, lipstick in hand, and draw red and pink hearts on the windows and mirrors of our crush’s cabin before getting caught by any boys (or worse, any camp counselors). Then the next day we would play coy while giggling about it.

When I arrived at BlogHer, I knew almost immediately that the experience would surpass that year at church camp (but mostly because I’m older now and I’ve learned better places to put my lipstick) (take that as you will).

Initially I felt a little uncomfortable in my own skin. Among the great writers who were attending the conference, I felt like a fraud – like an imposter alongside women who are wittier, more talented, more published than I. Who am I, to rub elbows with the likes of these women, to talk with them about their lives and their interests and the things that matter most to them?

Then it occurred to me: I’m idolizing some of these women. I’m choosing to believe that they are somehow different from me. Yes: they are published, talented writers. But on a more humane level, we're not all that different from each other.

We each suffer from insecurities that make us feel nervous or intimidated, whether it be because of our body image, our intellect, our parenting skills or our lifestyle choices. We choose to write blogs because they are an outward expression of some of our most inward thoughts and interests. At our core level, we are all very much the same.

This weekend at BlogHer 06 was a whirlwind of women, workshops, and alcohol. I’ve posted a piece about it for JobsInThaCity.com, but a more personal account will soon follow on this site.

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Oh, man. It's 10:25 a.,. and I was supposed to leave the house at 10. The airport - it is beckoning me.

My bags are half-packed, but my hair looks good. My legs are shaved. I'm clothed. But that's about it.

I haven't eaten a thing, but in my rush to get ready I managed to make banana bread for Roger to munch on while I'm gone.

But then I forgot that I needed something & ran to SuperT to get it, and when I got home realized: Oops! I forgot about the food in the oven. So now the banana bread is a little crispy around the edges.

Okay, fine. It's flat-out charcoaled around the edges.

I'm about to head out the door to BlogHer, as soon as I zip my bags and run through my checklist and pack my car and clean the kitchen and put away all my crap in the living room.

I think I'm going to be late.

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I just listened to a message that I recorded for myself earlier today. I’ve been irritated recently when I sit down to write because exactly this comes to mind:         .

I start to write, and then stop and erase everything, and then repeat the same again. It's this constant battle I have, this battle with words, and it's not limited to paper. Sometimes it's in conversation, too. The thing is when I'm alone I'm always thinking, always talking. I’m very likable, you see. My incessant babbling and talking to myself in my car is endearing. I talk to myself so often that sometimes I pick up my phone and start talking to it with no one on the other end so that all the people surrounding me in traffic, all those people who are not looking at me, won’t think I am crazy.

Today while talking to myself, I stumbled upon a subject that I thought would be just perfect for this website. I talked myself all the way through it, laughing with myself at the parts that were funny, and then decided that I should record it on my cell phone so that I would remember what I had said. I pressed “record” and this was what came to mind:        .

I actually got nervous talking to myself, saying such things as, “Heh. Hi. It’s, um, me. And I’m recording a message for myself because I uhhh, I uhhhh, wanted to remember what I was, uhhhh, saying. So, I was ummm, talking to (long pause while I shifted gears to Not Going Anywhere) myself about ummm…Ohhh. Mmyyy. Gggooooossssshhhhh. WHY DO I BOTHER?” Beeeeep.

While listening to my message, I realized that I sound like a valley girl. Why has no one ever told me this before? There were so many uhhhhhs and ummmmms and whatevers and likes in my message. I began to crinkle my nose and furrow my brows as I heard more and more of myself.

(Sidenote: my voice! It is so crisp and clear. I could totally do voiceovers. I need to be discovered. Somebody! Discover me!)

After listening to myself stumble over words while I was talking to no one, no one at all, I decided I should make a list of Things To Do before I leave for BlogHer (squeeeeeeeeee!!!!) on Thursday. Have I told you I like making lists? Love might be a more appropriate term. I loooovvveeee making lists.

OhmygoshIleaveforBlogHeronThursdayandIhavesomuchtodo.

1. Learn to have intelligent conversations. Having conversations at BlogHer that go like this: “Hi, Jes – it’s nice to meet you” “Pffallarrgggiiibgghhhh” are not going to get me discovered.


2. Pack. I have to pack, y’all. Clothes. To wear. In public. Where I know cameras will be in abundance. Hey - do I look fat in this?

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Do you ever start entries, and then save them as drafts to "come back to later"? And then later never comes around, and by the time you realize you have a draft you can't remember where in the world your thought process was going?

No? Just me? Hmph.

I started this entry several months ago and never finished it. Care to finish it for me?

I often brag to Roger that I have The Largest Bladder In The World, as evidenced by my ability to go an entire workday without peeing. I'm also able to sit through a movie without leaving for the bathroom, which I find particularly helpful because: you, who just got up? The entire direction of the movie will be altered in the one scene you miss while you're gone. Next time, maybe you should consider bringing along a catheter if you can't hold your pee for a mere two hours. I'm totally looking down upon you from my lofty position atop my Very Large Bladder.

Today, I realized that the reason I never have to use the restroom is because I often forget to drink water. Each day I have a bottle of water sitting atop my desk, begging me to stop dehydrating my organs, and I just ignore it. Sometimes I wish I had a popup reminder to drink water every thirty seconds, but then I think about how I'd spend all that time just dismissing the reminders, and I think about all the reminders I'd have to close that popup while I'm away from work, and the mere thought of it wears me out.

Please, go forth, and finish my entries for me. (It's sort of like Choose Your Own Adventure, don't you think?)

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LOL
TTYL
IMO
HTH

I've been addicted to the internet ever since I had my first AOL account in high school. I quickly adapted to scores of acronyms, which while they aren't useful for my resume, they are very useful for increasing my laziness. You didn't know it could increase more, did you? It can.

I recently received an email from a friend, and above her signature were the letters "HTH."

I thought, "Is that a typo?"

HTH? What does that mean? Why would she type that? And why don't I know what it means? Then I panicked. Because there was an acronym for something, and I didn't know what. So I started guessing:

Hell in a handbasket? Ummm, no.
Had you thought of that? No - too many words.
Home to home? Uhh. No. Doesn't fit context of email.

The tiny orange Firefox icon in my taskbar beckoned me. It sat silently in the corner, smugly, taunting me with its knowledge of Internetting. I succumbed, and before I could stop myself I was typing "HTH" in the Google search bar.

HTH Students. HTH Healthcare. HTH Pool products. Maybe it was a typo.

Then the phrase Hope This Helps leapt off the page at me. I felt my pulse decelerate. I felt relieved, like I had just been told that even though I ran over my dog on Halloween and had broken six of her vertebrae, she would live a happy, healthy life.

But she didn't. Two weeks later we had to put her to sleep.

HTH

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I think it's fairly obvious by now that I will be attending BlogHer in San Jose, CA. What ISN'T obvious is how many of my readers are attending. If you're going, let me know! If you're not, but would like to, today could be your lucky day.

Minti is giving away two tickets to BlogHer. Enter to win now!

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A while back, OD posted a meme on his site and I promised him that I would answer the questions another day. Lucky for you, today's that day. I made a mental note to post this when I had nothing else to post.

Actually, I have many other things I would rather post. Unfortunately, I left my pictures at home so I can't use them. Perhaps that will come later today, when I get tired of not having my pictures and just start drawing images. Oh, lucky you!

MEME. Because you just can't get enough about me.

Post your answers in the comment section, and then post the meme on your site for others to complete. Unless, of course, if you're just about as tired of these as I am. But see, this works well for me, because YOU have to answer them, not me. Ha! Let's see how well you know me! (Italics are my additions.)

Who are you?
Are we friends?
When and how did we meet?
What brings you here?
Why do you keep coming back to my site?
Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
Describe me in one word. Or, one paragraph.
What was your first impression of me?
Do you still think that way about me now?
What reminds you of me?
If you could give me anything what would it be?
How well do you know me?
When was the last time you saw me?
Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn�t? Here�s your chance! But if it involves blackmail or matters of national security, just email me instead.
Are you going to put this on your blog and see what I say about you?

And, just to give you a taste of things to come, a ghostly-white self-portrait of me today. I especially like my eyelashes.

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Yesterday while procrastinating I spent a good hour selecting two free offers from a list of twenty. In return, I will get an absolutely free laptop computer. Isn't that exciting?!? This is the one I chose:

As soon as I selected my free offers, I was taken to a second page of about 15 offers, and told to select two MORE free offers. Frustrated, but excited to get a free computer, I selected two more offers. And happily clicked on "Take me to the 3rd page to claim my free computer!"

On the third page, I was told that I would be able to claim my free computer as soon as I completed six more offers, from a page of about 10. Hopeful, I studied the ten offers for several minutes each, only finding two that I could get for free. Of the eight left, one would cost me $99 (but I would get a Tivo!) and the others were credit card offers.

Considering I didn't want to apply for three new credit cards, lest 16th century Vikings be set loose to rush upon me, spears in hand and scruffy beards wafting in the wind, I decided to minimize the window and come back to it later.

Ten minutes passed and I found my way back to the minimized window. After thinking about the offers and the brand new free computer waiting to be mailed to me, especially since Roger and I have been talking about getting a laptop, and why not get one for free?, I reviewed the offers again and minimized the window for a second time.

I knew that if I applied for three credit cards without talking to Roger about it first, my conscious would betray me. I also knew that if I asked Roger if he wanted to apply for three new credit cards, he would be named the General, leading the Vikings and carrying spears. No amount of batting my eyelashes would prevent him from being the first to impale me.

But look on the bright side: at least he wouldn't have a scruffy, dirty, stringy beard when he did it!

I opened the webpage once more, thinking that I only needed to complete three more offers and buy a Tivo before I could get the FREE Compaq Presario widescreen laptop! I convinced myself that new offers would appear if I just kept minimizing and reopening the same webpage, but lying to myself just proved unbeneficial. After reviewing my choices IN DETAIL a few more times, I decided to give up.

However, if anyone wants to apply for a Discover or Citi card (0% Intro APR and on Balance Transfers!), LET ME KNOW. I have no problems using you to get my free laptop.

That's how this relationship works, and don't you forget it.

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Last night when I got home, I found Roger already in bed, sick. I surfed the Internet and found a new blog that I love. Just like I love (in no particular order) Eddie's and Katie's and Mel's and Sara's and Willow's (if she would EVER post something, hint-hint), and Alan's ... have I named everyone? Because I would really hate to leave any of you out, and then get hate mail because I failed to mention you here...

Anyway, last night I stayed up until (gasp!) 9:45 reading nearly EVERY blog on this new site. I totally identify with this gal, and wish she lived closer to Dallas. We seem to have lots of thing in common. We're both Christians, for
example. We're both newlyweds. We both were unemployed with no end in sight for an ungodly number of weeks. And though both of our situations turned out great, and we both got to spend a little bit extra time with our husbands, it was at times a frustrating, anxiety-inducing event for both of us.

Not only that, but she has inspired me with not only my blogsite, but also my blogging. The mood emoticon you see to the right? An idea I stole from her site. It's so cute! How could I not? You should steal it, too!!

Also, she ends nearly every blog with "today the best part of being married is..." and I think that is so-o-o-o-o great!! (Each of those "o's," by the way, needs to be read separately: so-"oh"-"oh"-"oh"-"oh" great!!) It never occurred to me before to actually think EVERY SINGLE DAY about reasons why I am thankful for my sweet husband. I think that if everyone everywhere (do you hear me, Hollywood? do you hear me U.S.? do you hear me, world?) spent time thinking about why they were thankful for their spouse, we'd have so much less divorce. So many happier marriages. And really, Internet, WE NEED THAT. I need that.

Because when you're thinking about why you're thankful, then you're not thinking about your own needs. For me, thinking about why I'm thankful makes me want to work even harder, to have even MORE to be thankful for. I admit it: I am a thankful hog. I WANT things to be thankful for. I LIKE HAVING things to be thankful for. And I DO HAVE SO MUCH to be thankful for.

Yes, I have a master plan!! Internet, SPREAD IT LIKE WILDFIRE!!! (And you know, this works in so many different ways - even if you're single, you can think about other things you're thankful for: like the opportunity to go to school. Or your friends. Or your family. Or your paycheck. Or anything else.) It's such a great idea!! Air? I love air! It's like oxygen for my nose!!!!

And so, Internet, that is why I would like to introduce you to AMANDA.

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