Books and baby ducks, yep, yep. I discovered this chock-full-of-amazing combination last year while “virtually” stalking one of my favorite writer’s blog. (Okay, “stalking” is a strong word, I just happen to visit his blog once or twice a day to ensure that I don’t miss one single word that might have fallen from his mind to his keyboard in the six or so hours since I last visited his blog, that’s all.) When I came upon this delightful combination I felt as if I were the first person to drop a chocolate chip cookie into a glass of ice-cold milk; I had to share it with the world. The veritable made-of-awesome-builder-of-amazing-fiction-worlds Patrick Rothfuss himself, was running his annual Worldbuilders fundraiser through Heifer International and my toes curled with joy: Books and Baby Ducks. Read more
I’m scared shitless. I’m about to go First Amendment on you.
For years I’ve been writing about ice cream trucks, trips to the salon to regain my Mojo, and my super-pup So-kr8z, but I’ve never tackled something controversial or political. Even writing about the intimate details of my endometriosis just feels personal and safe to me. My dabbles into “politics” consist of refraining from using the “F-bomb” during conference calls and voting from home in my electric blue, polar bear jammies in September. Suffice it to say the level of my discomfort in writing this post is palpable, but screw it, here goes.
Last night, as I lay in bed in the aforementioned pajamas, chawing on snacks, listening to the CMA awards (and remembering, when a song came on about cancer, why I don’t listen to country music anymore), I wiped the tears off my iPad in order to peruse Twitter and found the most appalling thing I had ever seen. Read more
I wore my hair down the other day; it had been about 8 months since I’d done so. My classmates at CSU said things like, “Whoa, your hair is really pretty, I didn’t know it was so long.” Or, “you should wear your hair down more often.” These were awesome things to hear, and I might admit to having done a casual hair flip, but inside I was ready to claw my face off. The wind was blowing, as per usual, in the vortex of the quad and the pale pink Mac lip gloss I had applied earlier that day was acting as a magnet to my hair. Every strand was stuck to my lips until I looked like a blond crazed version of Cousin Itt. Loose flyaways reached up and tickled my face so that by the end of the day I ended up with a trail of fingernail ruts across my nose from the scratching.