16,060 and Counting . . .

Obsolete

As of yesterday, this blog is four years old.

That’s 1,219 posts, including this one, many of which involve poetry, science, kids, rants, superheroes, music, food, and my apparent inability to reliably chew gum and walk at the same time.  Or invent an original metaphor.

Thank you all for reading, commenting, snickering, arguing, sympathizing, and sending me weird stuff for Thursdays, anyway.

Tomorrow, I will be forty-four years old.

That’s 16,060 days, including this one, many of which included Learning Experiences™ of various types.*

Thank you all for humoring me while I whined about the majority of them.

To celebrate both milestones, I’m taking the week off from posting. **  A gift, from me to you.

I’m hoping to make some leeway on a couple of projects and also take a little time to examine my priorities and shuffle ’em around.

Adults do that, or so I’m told.***

See you Sunday.

Aging Angst

 

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* If I collect enough of those, I may turn into a Real Adult someday. There’s an incentive . . .

**I will also be celebrating at the lunch buffet at my favorite Indian restaurant until  my husband has to lead me to the car and put an extension on the seat belt.  Because Real Adults set obtainable goals.

***I will also be visiting the dentist, which I’ve been told Real Adults do far more frequently than I.  The way I figure it, I made the appointment on my own behalf, even though my teeth and gums don’t hurt, which is a huge step in my maturation process, right there.  So nyah.

 

 

 

 

 

Random Thursday: One Blog is Worth a Thousand Posts

One thousand posts!

This is my thousandth post on this blog!

One.  Thousand.  Posts.*

Holy.  Cow.

I’d like to take a moment to reflect on the last three years . . . and also to practice saying, “thousandth,” because let me tell you, that word does not flow easy off the tongue.**

Other bloggers seem to celebrate this occasion by sharing links to their five most popular posts, but a friend suggested that since logic dictates that most of you have seen those already,  it might be more embarrassing interesting to list my five least popular posts, in a shameless bid for stats and see if anyone is brave enough to click ’em.

I’m not sharing the rock bottom least popular,*** as WordPress very kindly doesn’t extend their stats list past a certain threshold and crossing that line to do my own math seemed like the exact opposite of “celebratory.”

But  here are the last five on the WordPress list,  starting from the lowest, because reasons:

Slow and Steady Confuses the Enemy

Random Thursday:  Coffee, Tea, or Time Sucks?

A Man Who Loves His Mother . . .

The Bedtime Adventures of Super Sunny;  Knotty Necks

On a Scale of One to Childbirth, I’ll give it a Root Canal

It’s an eclectic assortment, which fits the general Thursday attitude around here—and it’s a relief that this is happening today, instead of, say, Wednesday, as I’d probably end up holding a last-minute  thousand-word poetry contest to the sounds of loud crickets.

Instead, you’re getting these:

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A Thousand Dances, Land of 

Well . . . technically nine, according to the lyrics, which rival “Louie, Louie” for sheer . . . um . . . sheerness.

But it’s Tom Jones, baby, so who cares?

That man can leave his hat on any time he wants . . .

oooooooooooooooOOOOOooooooooooooooo

The Thousandth Reference to Danger-Fusion Cuisine since Monday

cthulhu pie

Watson sent me this image a few days ago, and I just realized that this is the reason I’ve been humming “Cottleston Pie” all this time—though the lyrics have become twisted along the way:

Cuttlefish, cuttlefish, cuttlefish pie,
A squid can’t whistle and neither can I .  . .
Ask me for dinner and I reply:
Cuttlefish, cuttlefish, cuttlefish pie

oooooooooooooooOOOOOooooooooooooooo

A Thousand Yards of Bubble Wrap

For when cards in your spokes just aren’t enough . . .

I can’t tell you how tickled I am that this exists.

oooooooooooooooOOOOOooooooooooooooo

A Thousand Tiny Stitches

I’ve been thinking of picking up cross-stitching  again, because I used to enjoy it and it makes watching TV look semi-productive.

I’m currently fiddling around with graph paper and a couple of books of alphabet patterns, trying to find the right combination for my current favorite inspirational quote,^ but a co-worker sent me the link to Alicia Watkins’ etsy store, which has some of the best  geek/nerd in-jokes I have ever seen stitched to a canvas.

The brilliant Ms. Watkins has designs for FireflyCommunity, Doctor Who, Douglas Adams towels, a lovely assortment of virophages, and much, much Star Trek

Including this one:

Watty Doomed

My stitching skills are a little rusty . . . but I have the urge to try the Really Good Ninja design, anyway:

Watty Ninja

Her stuff is fantastic.

Go check it out—and remember, my birthday is in June.

oooooooooooooooOOOOOooooooooooooooo

A Cast of Thousands

And a thousand clips, too, all brilliantly edited by Vadzim Khudabets — they’re all listed here.

You’ll want to click the full screen button before you play this one.

Goosebumps, this gave me.

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I hope this was a suitably Thursdayesque ode to the wanderings of my scattershot mind.

I’d love to say I’d carefully worked it out this way, but it was totally . . . wait for it . . . random.

I see what you did there

Thanks for humoring me!

Onward.

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*And lord knows how many footnotes.

**Try it five times fast—or better yet, get your kids to try it with you.  It’s hilarious.

***Which would probably be the first five I wrote, because not even my mother knew I had a blog. I’m not sure she knew what a blog was at the time, but I’m glad she knows now, because with her schedule, it’s nearly impossible to get her on the phone unless I call her at 4am—and there’s really no point in two dreadfully undercaffeinated people trying to communicate using only three or four alert brain cells, total.   Except I could probably get a pretty funny post out of it . . . supposing I remembered  any of it.

^”Calm Down.  Write a Book.”

 

Happy Birfday to Moi

Birthday Bouquet

It’s been a pretty good birthday so far.

The day started with birthday hugs from two sleepy kids, a beautiful hand-picked bouquet from my dear friend firstmausi—in image form, since her garden is roughly 4,500 miles from my house—and several birthday e-mails and Facebook comments that were remarkably light on the elder-abuse.

Breakfast brought me birthday cards, gift certificates,* the desk lamp I asked for,** and handmade soap my husband found on his last trip to Chicago.  And more hugs, of course.

Before I clocked in this morning, I printed and mailed my Pigeons stuff to The Midwest Writers Workshop,*** and figured out how to print one of Sunny’s stories into a little booklet without swearing too loudly much trouble. 

Hitting a deadline and conquering MS Word?  Not a bad way to celebrate a birthday.

Aaaaand I was challenged to a Poem-Off by none other than indy clause herself, who thinks I should start posting verses from the Twenty-First Century—late Twentieth, tops.  I’m treating it as a special birthday gift. 

I mean, knowing someone cares enough to kvetch about my poetry posts?  Priceless.

Can’t wait to see what the rest of the day brings—besides patrons, since I’m working the evening shift tonight.

And I can’t wait to see what the next year brings, too. 

Maturity maybe?

Yeah . . . me neither.

Scrolling

It’s also the week of my blogoversary:  Three years and 961 posts, including this one. 

I was even freshly pressed last month—and though my stats have settled into something a bit less mind-blowing, the follower number refuses to drop, even though I’m pretty sure at least half of  y’all are actually reading my posts.

Some of you have even been kind enough to hit the like button on occasion and maybe comment or drop me an e-mail—or send me really weird things for Random Thursday. 

Thank you all so much!

 

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*Which I may use to buy a new Bag of All Holding, since my current one is finally starting to shred wear at the straps.

**I recently moved my writing space form the dining room table back to the  rolltop desk in my bedroom.  It’s quieter and a tad more organized, but there’s no overhead light back there, and we old people are highly suspicious of staring at lit pixels in dim light.  Plus, I can’t see the keyboard.

***Where I’ll be rooming with the amazing Sherry Stanfa-Stanley, who knows how to make birthdays count.

 

Something Artful

This is my 750 post for this blog. I’m not sure how many words that is, total, but I’d say the footnotes alone represent a good-sized chunk of those million words we’re told we have to write before we get good at it—here’s hoping.

Thanks to all of you for reading at least some of those words—and special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to comment on them, so I don’t feel like I’m typing into a vast empty hole in the Internet.

To celebrate, here’s a video created by Andrea Dorfman for “Art,” by Tanya Davis sent to me by a friend who said it’s become her muse call:

I say it’s my birthday, ba-da-da-da-DAH

I’m forty-one today. 

Halfway to middle age . . . Hey, being a late bloomer has its perks.

Not only am I one year older than this post, it’s two days past my first blogoversary.

It’s been an interesting year.  Not in a “may you live in interesting times” oddly polite ancient curse way either, but  in a “how cool is THAT!” way.

I’ve met an astonishing number of Very Amazing and Brilliant People, some of whom have become good friends—with me.  Thank you all for your support, encouragement, music, sympathy, comments, videos, righteous indignation, stories, and humor.  

I’ve not only learned how to shoot an automatic (badly) and pick locks (better) and drive  police car (aced it), I’ve had more than my fair share of Learning Experiences™ and have lived to kvetch about it.

My children have survived another year, both physically and emotionally.

I’m still writing. 

And I’ve managed to photograph some seriously sexy potatoes along the way.

I’m forty-one today.

Feels good.