Makeover Artist wanted! Stacy London need not apply!

Okay, well, in honour of Hallowe'en, I want to 'dress up' this blog. I have a sense of what I'm looking for (something 3-column, 'comic-booky' with black frames...and, well, comic-y images...and NOT BLACK) but neither the time nor the wherewithall to do it.

So I'm officially taking applications (hahhahhahhHAHAHHAH!! I'm a pretentious twat). Anybody want to take on this little project? Blog designers, belly on up and email me at keelyblogs[at]gmail[dot]com your willingness & approximate cost.

(I'm not necessarily looking for 'cheapest', I'm looking for someone who 'gets' what I'm looking for in a design.)

(Gawd, that sounded pretentious again. Somebody help me.)

(I'm going to stop now.)

Someone's gotta know

So in addition to Entrecard, to whore out promote my blog I also use Linkreferral. Although I suck at it, you're supposed to log in and visit other people's pages and then, if you feel compelled, write a review. Apparently it's bad etiquette to write mean reviews (someone could have told me, jeez) and so by all appearances, people actually like this blog. Many of them have even reviewed it and said that they "like the concept of the blog", which I found pretty interesting.

Do you think if I asked them nicely they would tell ME what the concept is? Because I haven't got a fucking clue.

Half As Small As You

In that endless struggle that most women seem to have with being active and eating healthy and, of course, losing weight (and those of you who don't - fuck you), I am once again behind the 8-ball. So when Casey over at Half as Good as You started Club "Half as Small as You", I thought, Hnh...I should do that. I'm not motivated enough on my own.

So a week and a half later, here I am, joining the club. Yeah, yeah.

I have to fill out the waiver form first:

1. What motivates you and why do you want to do this challenge?
Food motivates me. That's probably not going to be helpful. Usually, being held accountable by someone else (even if it's people on the internet I'll never meet in real life) works, but other than that I'm pretty self-motivated. I want to do this because I hit my goal weight in July, and then promptly fell off the wagon 2 seconds later.

2. What is your long term goal?
I'd like to get back to my goal weight (about 10 lbs), and tone up. And lose this muffin top I got going on. Really long term, I just want to stay active so I don't shrivel up into a wheelchair before I'm 60.

3. What tools are available to you?
Jogging stroller, mp3 player, dog that needs exercising herself, and a shiny new membership to the Y. Thinking about buying a Wii Fit. Does that even count for people that aren't geriatric?

4. How often can you exercise?
'Can I', or 'Will I'?? I could probably exercise every morning except Thursdays, but I won't. Let's be sensible here. I'm hoping to hit the gym 3 times a week, and maybe go for a walk here and there.

5. What do you plan on doing?
Swim for Two on Mondays, regular gym-type workouts a couple other mornings a week. I have a buddy that wants to join me in pushing the stroller around the track at the fieldhouse, but she tends to fall into the 'ambler' category rather than 'power walker', so probably not much of a workout there.

In the food department...hhrm. I'm not doing too badly, I just have to recognize my weakness, which is SUGAR. Sweet, sweet, sugar. I can avoid desserts but it gets me in sneaky ways. Like I have to stop drinking the nasty-ass tar coffee they have at the office, because it requires a boatload of sugar and creamer to make it palatable. I'll have to caffeinate at home with the good stuff that I can drink black.

(I AM NOT A COFFEE SNOB. I'm doing this for my health, people).

I also have to get my hubby to stop bringing home treats. I know it's because he loves me but it's hard to turn down a gift, y'know?

7. What has worked for you in the past?
Weight Watchers worked really well post-baby, but I don't think I'll do it this time, because it's a pain in the ass. I know what's good for me and what isn't, duh. I'm just going to avoid sugar and eat smaller portions of everything else.

Workouts have to be as accessible as possible for me, and if it doesn't seem like a workout that's even bettern (ha!). I joined the Y because they have drop-in daycare for X while I work out, and a pool, and classes I can take that include my kid. The jogging stroller is enjoyable for both of us, but it's gets freakin' cold here in the winter, so not terribly feasible over the next few months.


So....here goes. Berate me into a sobbing heap Wish me luck!

7 embarassing things about like, omg! my highschool self

As promised yesterday, here are 7 cringe-worthy vignettes from my blunder years...

1) Once, my mother came down to my basement cave VERY early on a Saturday morning (well, okay, like 10am. Considering she gets up at 6, the anticipation must have been killing her) and told me very seriously that she "needed to talk about something when I got up". Right - like I could sleep after THAT. So I dragged my carcass upstairs, with not a clue what I could be in trouble for, and she sat me down and told me she'd read a letter of mine in which I detailed an acid trip I'd taken. And, in all sincerity, she told me she would feel so much better if I "promised to never smoke acid again.". And I managed to keep a straight face as I promised, deadpan, that I would never, ever, smoke LSD again.

You can go google that, Mom. I'll wait.

But actually, I never DID do it again. My drug use was pretty minimal after that. Pot still smells good, but it just enhances my natural sleepiness. Which makes me one VERY sleepy kitty.

2) I had a Grade 11 Algebra class that I would show up for, put my head down on the desk, and nap for 45 minutes. Every day. And I still got a pretty good grade. My formula? I dressed like I was going to cause trouble, but I didn't. Set those expectations low.

Oh, and don't be as dumb as a bag of hammers. That helps.

3) In my senior year I dyed my formerly blonde hair jet black. After I did it, I heard a couple of people in the hallways hissing, "There goes the girl who dyed her hair black". Which just goes to show you that MY high school existence was no sadder than anyone else's.

4) I once made out with a guy I didn't know very well in the backseat of someone else's car at the drive in. Except, hello? Teenage self? It was a hatchback. Which meant that everyone parked behind us could see his hand up my shirt. So everybody else in the free world found out pretty quickly as well, including the guy that I had been kind of seeing but who hadn't called me in 3 weeks, who apparently still felt we were going out. He felt strongly enough about it that he made a point to come by my house and tell me what a skank I was, and that he didn't want to see me anymore.

And people wonder why teenagers are fucked up.

5) I wrote a lot of stories and poems for english classes that were about suicide and abuse, despite the fact I had never been abused, nor did I feel suicidal. If a teen submitted those stories these days, I think it would be a guaranteed date with the guidance counselor.

6) Once I was riding my bike back to school from lunch, and for some ridiculous reason was steering only with one hand in the middle of the handlebars. I took the turn too wide and brushed up against a wrought-iron fence. While wearing sandals. My baby toe caught on the fence and brought the entire bike to an abrupt halt, as well as ripping and breaking the toe sideways (it's the only bone I've ever broken).

7) I broke that toe right before graduation, so I had to wear sandals to the prom. It didn't really go with the whole 'Elvira' look I had going on.

...and the rest has all be healthily repressed. I guess I should go tell those other people I tagged them, huh?

What goes around...

I got tagged with the "7 facts" meme again by Ken over at Dad to Two, which means I'm either way more fascinating than previously suggested or the blogosphere is starting to run out of people to tag. Or Ken is a big stalker fan, which might explain the pizza delivery van that has been parked outside my house all week. *waves*

So without further ado (ado! It's 'ado', people, not adieu! Get it right!), 7 more totally fabricated scintillating factoids about yours truly:

1) I don't grind my teeth, but I clench them. Motherhood seems to have exacerbated this little habit, so much so that by the time my kid is a teenager I'll have shattered my teeth into tiny pieces and be sporting a full chrome grill, yo. I figure when my kid's a teenager, I'll be wanting to smash my own face in with a waffle iron anyway, so really - same outcome.

2) I have a tattoo on my left wrist, which I was dissatisfied with the instant the tattoo artist finished it. It also didn't heal well, and part of it got infected so there is a big chunk of colour missing. I have never gone to get it touched up and probably never will, because FUCK, that hurt.

3) I'm not big on regrets. I can probably count on one hand the amount of things I regret about my life. I'm also not all that familiar with it's kissing cousin, Guilt, although that one blindsides me once in a while. When I was a kid, we spent a lot of time at the lake catching frogs, which we would corral into Mom's roasting pans (I've no idea whether she roasted things in them subsequently. I'm guessing probably). One time I had no lid for the pan so I put a sheet of glass over it and promptly forgot the dozens of tiny lives I had so wantonly collected. Guess how that one turned out for the frogs?

Anyway, I felt SO guilty about it that twenty years later in art school I made a piece to work through my angst over those poor frogs. When I produced it for critique my grad friend said, "It's about your childhood, right?"

"Well, yes," I admitted, surprised. "How did you know?"

"We're artists," he said. "Everything is about our childhoods."

4) I have the most useless university degree ever created, a Bachelor of Fuck All Fine Arts. It's so useless you can't even make it better by getting a Masters. Nevertheless, I enjoyed every second of it, and I wouldn't change a thing.

5) I often skip the number 5.

6) I have hairy toes.

7) In 2003 I wandered around New Zealand and Australia for several months with a friend of mine. I was dating some guy who made me promise to come back, so I did, and then he broke up with me. THAT is something I actually do regret, although if I hadn't come back I wouldn't have my husband or my son. So I guess I don't regret it, except sometimes when my kid wakes me up again at 3am, I secretly wonder what's going on in Byron Bay.

So now I get to tag a bunch of other people, except I'm going to change the meme, because it's my blog and I can do that (can too!). I still want to know 7 things about these people, but I want to know 7 things about them when they were a teenager. Don't worry, I'll fess up too, tomorrow as part of abdpbt's List Mondays.

Frogs in my formula
Web-Betty
The Neurotic Mom
Savvysuzie
Harmony

Tag, suckas.

And now you know my kryptonite

Because Hallowe'en is coming up, and it's my absolutely favoritest (that IS SO a word) holiday-that-you-don't-actually-get-off-work of the year, I thought I should tell you people again what afears me the most.

No, it's not spiders, even though they have WAY too many legs going in way too many directions at once, they're a crime against nature, and one kamikaze-leapt off the shower curtain this morning onto my naked self, and made me scream like a little girl and flail until it had washed down the drain, and I slipped and narrowly missed chipping a tooth. I have been wary of spiders ever since one bit me in my teenage basement cave and ended our peaceable co-existence, but they don't scare me, exactly.

It's zombies. I have halfway convinced myself that I will actually see a Zombie Apocalypse in my lifetime, I literally have nightmares about it. And zombie MOVIES? I've seen every last terrifying one, totally against my better judgement.

(Once, when I was a teenager and working at one of those all-you-can-eat salad bar joints that attract the cheap, the obese, and the unfortunate, I glanced up from my till at 5 o'clock to see about 20 people lurching slowly toward the building from the parking lot, and it looked exactly like the view from the Night of the Living Dead house. I had to restrain myself from leaping up to nail boards across the door, which would have been pretty silly since the door opened outward, and the zombies customers would have been all, Oh hey, there's some boards here, and then stepped under them. And then I looked over and well, duh, we were featuring brains on our salad bar that day, no WONDER we were plagued with zombies. Or it may have been that weird salad with little colored marshmallows in it. Either way.)

So now you know my greatest fear. I bet Batman has a zombie in his batcave now, in case one day I go mad with power, and try to destroy the world. Then he can just whip out his zombie and subdue me. (Well, that sounded a little wrong, but you get the idea.)(What do you mean he's just a character in a comic? LALALALA I'm not listening!!)

Also, things like this? NOT REASSURING:

44%

I gotta go stock up on guns, 2x4s, and canned goods, not necessarily in that order.

7 observations about the Neil Young concert the other night

1. Neil Young can still rock out for two solid hours, but apparently that's his limit, because after that he kinda phones it in (one song encore, Beatles cover. Because he's short on material?). But hey, he's 60, I hope I can rock out for two hours when I'm sixty. Hell, I'll be happy if I can stand for two hours when I'm sixty.

2. The median age at this concert made me feel an awful lot younger than at the Alice Cooper concert. Even though not nearly as many of them ducked out before the encore. Or maybe they did, they just couldn't move that fast.

3. Pot still smells good.

4. I know I'm not 'super cougar' status, because apparently there's a requisite uniform of entirely monochromatic clothing, some of which should be leather (but not all, because that would just be tacky). If I start dressing in shiny wine-coloured leggings, a wine leather jacket, wine-coloured boots, and a wine purse, I'll know I've Arrived.

5. There was an artist on stage, at the back, painting for almost the entire concert, completely oblivious to the raging rock concert going on around him. Nobody ever explained what the hell he was doing, but if he's getting paid? I want THAT gig.

(Okay, I just googled it. Apparently you have to be a roadie for 20 years first. I'm not so keen now).

6. You know it's an old-school crowd when they actually hold up lighters, not cel phones.

7. Even Neil knows most of Neil's songs sound the same.

For more lists head over to abdpbt...

I'm not even going to tell you what I do for a living

Somewhere out there in the blogosphere, there is a post or a comment or something on a message board, in which I swear up and down and six ways from Sunday that I would never - ever! - blog about work.

So this isn't a rant about work.

What? It isn't.

This is a rant for all you other design-field type people out there, who will instantly recognize the person of whom I speak. Why, WHY, in the name of all that is sacred and true, do people hire ask you to design something for them, when clearly they are intent on designing it themselves?

You're the professional one who's good with that stuff, they say, I'll leave it up to you. Then they proceed to tell you "what they were thinking". And then they proceed to shoot down every. single. design you come up with unless it directly matches "what they were thinking". I just want to hand them a fucking Crayola and say HERE, have at 'er, it's gonna end up looking just as good, and then I won't have to put my friggin' name on it.

I finally figured out what they want. They just want you, the professional one who's good with that stuff, to validate them. They want you to exclaim, "Oh! Well what do you need ME for? You can obviously design like Michelangelo - this is just perfect the way it is!". What they DON'T want you to say is, "Oh, um, yeah, that's a good start but...".

(They also don't really like it when you file their sketches in the garbage can while they're still standing there.)

You'd think that after fifteen however many years in the business of being pretty good at that stuff, I would know how to deal with these people. But I don't. I'm also not a fan of the "well I don't know what I want, but I know what I hate, so can you just show me every conceivable design ever invented and I'll rule them out one by one?" people, but that's almost a whole other post.

So yeah. Designers? Feel your pain. People who ask designers to design stuff when they really want to design it themselves and have someone tell them it looks pretty? FEEL OUR PAIN.

In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm guilty of the above behaviour when hiring a designer myself. But that's different, because I'm a professional good with that stuff.

Also, see how this was posted on a Saturday? That's because it's NOT a work rant. It's not. Now stop looking at me, and go watch some cartoons or something.

War Is Hell

Personally I find war is what you make it. Really, it's all about attitude. And this has attitude. And tiny plastic army men, a bunch of squibs, and clearly too much time on it's hands. But funny.



(For those of you with an irrational hatred of all things embedded, linky is here. Ya'll come back now, y'hear?)

Level up!

Am I showing my advanced age if I remember those "I'd rather be" buttons? You know, the ones you find in kitschy shops (maybe you still do...it's been a while since I did a good kitschy shop tour) that say "I'd rather be Blanking"?

Not that. Pervs. I mean, they said "I'd rather be FISHING", or "I'd rather be GOLFING".

Well, I need one that says "I'd rather be blogging". I didn't even last a week at my non-promise to not blog at work. I've been blogging, card dropping, cruising other people's blogs...the whole enchilada, baby. I can't help it. It's ADDICTIVE.

Apparently I'm the last person to find out about this. I'm like the fat guy wondering why eating McDonalds is keeping him fat, whining, "But nobody told me!".

I think I've figured out why. Blogging is kind of like an MMO...like World of Warcraft, or Evercrackquest, for those of you not down with the lingo. You start out with your little apprentice blog, looking like everyone else's blog in your generic threads. Then you start to get a few comments, and maybe an upgrade to your look. You've gained a few experience points, starting to learn the ropes. Then you discover blogging networks (who knew!) and all of a sudden you've got all kinds of new weapons and skills! And then - and then! - someone like savvysuzie* comes along and gives you a friggin' award. Oh yeah - ding!



And as if you weren't hooked before - now you're calling in sick to work just so you can blog and network to get better gear, more awards, more comments. And social services is creating a special branch to help addicts just like you.

But I don't answer when they call, because I'm doing what every good addict does, and sucking more people in with me sharing the loot:

Signe Says
Private Eye
10 Things I Hate About Your Site

And, yeah, that's all I have time for, because I have to go join a raiding party.

No, that one isn't a metaphor.

It's not an online gaming thing either. Look, I don't have to explain myself to you.

*Disclaimer: savvysuzie is NOT AN ADDICT, I'm not saying that, don't be silly. She's an awesome blogger and one of those super-organized people who I aspire to be but I'm just too lazy. She's questing to feed her family with only $200, and questing is something I'm totally down with. As well as with awesome recipes, which she also has. Are you still sitting here listening to me? Just go look, already.

9 things I'm thankful for

I thought I'd join in the Monday listiness over at abdpbt, since I was going to write a list of things I'm thankful for, since it's Thanksgiving (here in Canada. Unlike you Americans who procrastinate until like, 3 weeks before Christmas. I can't even fit in a sneeze 3 weeks before Christmas, let alone a whole holiday. Oh, don't tell me there's a real reason for that date. That's just an excuse).

1. My husband and son. Well, duh. This one is kind of a given. It's like remembering to thank the Academy, or your mother on your wedding day. Of course I'm thankful for my family. Most of the time. When they're not whining, or wiping snot on me (no, I'm not excluding hubby from that category...it's a long story), or interrupting my blogging time. So, yeah. I think that still adds up to 'most' of the time.

2. Running water. You probably don't think about that much, but I spent a day without it once, and it was literally shitty. I have a new appreciation.

3. My metabolism that lets me eat pretty much whatever I want. Except oh, um, wait, I don't have that anymore. But let me tell you, if I DID still have it, I would totally be thankful for it.

4. Ziploc bags and post-it notes. Possibly two of the greatest inventions ever. How did anybody ever half-assed organize anything before they came along?

5. Curbside recycling. Nothing makes you feel as good about throwing crap out as having someone come and take it away to be "recycled". Yes...recycled. That's it.

6. Blogging memes and theme days that distract from the fact I'm not doing any actual writing. I'd say that one is pretty self-explanatory.

7. Shopping buddies who are hipper than me. "Hipper", or "more hip"? See, I don't even know. But without these people, I would have fallen into a sweat-pants-and-comic-tshirt frump a long time ago. Not that I don't look hot in that, of course.

7. My ability to count. It has served me well.

8. People who are more creative and talented than me. Because they inspire me to take it to the next level, and light the proverbial fire under my own ass. What? I needed to have at least one semi-serious thing in here. Shut up.

Lingerie, 2nd floor

Blogging about Google Analytics is kind of a gimme post. Because the average blogger could never, in a million years, come up with the random shit that people type into search engines.

(For those of you who don't know, Google Analytics keeps track of your website, how many people go there, and what got them there. Including referring sites, and search phrases that people enter into Google).

Most of the search phrases on my tracker so far have been pretty benign, and a few have been amusing to probably no-one but me (my other blog has gotten a few hits from people searching "benign neglect parenting". Okay, a) are people really looking for a manual? and b) um, maybe I should be offended that they end up at MY blog. Because I parent out of sheer neglect, not benign neglect). But one popped up the other day that sort of gave me pause.

"Superheroine diaper".

What with the post rant about diaper cakes, I can see how they ended up here. But, um, WHAT exactly were they looking for originally? The phrase brings a couple of images to mind. Like, a really obese and incontinent Wonder Woman, hocking the invisible jet for her next fix of tabloids and jube jubes. Or an adult diaper sex fetish outfit with stars on the butt and a little cape.

Or is that just me?

At any rate, according to Google Analytics, that person didn't stay long.

Yeah, I suck

Okay, so as if you needed another reason why Mondays suck, I haven't got my poop in a group to finish this week's superheroine. Mostly because I've been waylaid by birthday parties and inlaws and cake (I used to LIKE cake), but also because I'm trying to use my new tablet and do the piece entirely in Photoshop, without drawing it on paper first and it's FoN after all so I want it to be good (yeah, that's why. Not because I'm a flake, because I love my friend and I want her superheroine to be superheroic. Yeah.).

Also, I didn't get a chance to participate in this Monday's Muse over at Maternal Spark, but that isn't stopping YOU from checking it out. Off you go! Yes, you! Get off your butt and go!

...Sheesh. Lazy buggers.

Huh, that didn't hurt

I've been tagged. Or memed. Or magged? Or whatever you call it, by Isolated Existence, who apparently finds me interesting enough to want to know 7 more useless enthralling facts about me. The deal is, you share the seven nuggets of info, you tag seven other bloggers, the love continues.

So in case you were wondering:

1. I am deliberately obtuse when it comes to politics, current events, sports, etc. Pretty much anything anyone else considers "news". I would rather save my emotional energy for other things.

2. I've seen The Blues Brothers approximately 1282 times.

3. I'm supposed to be cleaning my house and baking a cake for my son's first birthday party right now, but I'm not. I'm blogging.

4. When I was 10, my family moved to New Zealand for three years. If you want to mess your children up, culturally speaking, do THAT.

5. I'm an atheist, my mother is an atheist, my grandparents were atheists and my great grandfather was an atheist as well. That's a whole lotta non-godliness.

6. I have a mole on my hip that is supposed to be removed, but I decided it had been in my life too long so I didn't go to the appointment. Well, that and I'm slightly terrified of people cutting bits of my skin off. Only slightly.

7. I can grow pretty much anything, except, apparently, corn.


Now I want to know random facts about these people:

1. April over at April's Little Family
2. Kelly at Per Se
3. Mary Anne at The Stiletto Mom (who's probably already gotten it, like 24 times, and this'll be spam for her. Also, she's on a beach somewhere drinking a lot and may use that as an excuse not to pay attention)

Meh....that's all I'm going to tag. The eighth fact on that list, which would be of NO surprise to ANYBODY, is that I'm friggin' lazy.

No more Mr. Nice Guy

Last night I went to see Alice Cooper in concert (don't make me post my high school grad pic again to explain why). I was hoping to have some really awesome story to tell you, like we got to hang backstage with Alice, or we got some cool swag, or I made out with the really hawt guitar player uh, never mind....sorry, honey! Anyway the reason I had such high hopes is that my friend J, which is who I went with, is such a diehard Alice fan that he managed to get an actual phone interview with him for the weekly show he does on the community radio station. I naturally assumed that after their conversation we would all go for coffee or something.

But, sadly, what I have instead is a compiled list of things that made me realize that I'm...well, OLD.

1. I didn't wear the makeup, but I did wear earplugs.

2. I spent a lot of time being inordinately annoyed by the couple in front of us and their constant PDAs. I mean, I get it, you love each other, smoochies, whatever. I don't need to see you grabbing each other's ass THAT many times, and the guy had his arm slung so tightly around the girls neck that it appeared he had her in a headlock. For the entire opening act. All I could think of was the poor girls massage therapy bills.

3. I was stone cold sober, and I was pretty disappointed that they weren't selling coffee. Because I was sleepy. At a rock concert.

4. It wasn't just me, because the entire audience sat stock-still through the opening band (Econoline Crush, who are pretty great and definitely party music). Okay, it was a seated-auditorium type venue, and this town is traditionally pretty stuffy laid-back as far as audience participation, but sea cucumbers would have displayed more enthusiasm.

5. I kind of worried that the stage show was too gory and/or derogatory to women, because J brought his 9-year-old daughter. I'm pretty sure that when I saw Alice in concert 3 years ago, there were no such concerns.

6. Half of the row in front of us left before the encore. That would be the third row, where the alleged 'fans' sit. Getting out of the parking lot quickly is apparently more important.

Anyway we had fun (including the 9-year-old) and Alice rocked (I mean, that guy's SIXTY, speaking of old). It even garnered high praise from J's daughter: "Yeah, I guess it was better than Hillary Duff".

Nobody tell Alice she said that.