I don’t know about you, I have a hell of a time remembering to practice self-care, and I’ve heard the same from a lot of the people I interact with online. Many of us spend a lot of time and energy online fighting for causes we care about at the expense of our mental and physical health and while we know that we need to pause and do things that are just for us—things like social media breaks, playing with the dog, listening to music, or just DRINKING SOME DAMNED WATER—it can be really hard to do so.
That’s why I created SELF-CARE BINGO!
It’s like an act of self-care I can share with all of you. Yay!
The symbols are intended as prompts. For example, I live in Seattle, so there are many days (weeks, months) when getting sunshine is just not in the cards, but I can get outside and breathe some fresh air or use my little full-spectrum light thingy. Not into knitting? Do the craft you love. Already hugged your dog today? Tickle your cat or throw a ball for your ferret. The possibilities are endless!
I’ve got my SCB card printed out and ready to mark up even as I type this. See?
Let’s do some self-care, people.
PSA: Abusive commenters will be deleted and banned, so kindly piss off in advance. (Comment Policy)
My bloggiversary came and went back in late June while I was attending to other things, and while I’d love to do a clever recap of the year, I’m afraid I just don’t have the energy right now. Instead, here are a few things I’ve learned this year as a baby blogger/activist right off the top of my head:
- Blogging is fun! And sometimes hard. But mostly fun!
- I love my readers. The ones I love, that is. You know who you are. Especially you.
- Some of the coolest people in the world are bloggers, and a bunch of them are now my friends. (An alarming number of them are Canadian for some reason. I blame Le Clown.)
- Trolls are really sick and sad and I wish I had a superpower to defend the world against them. But as long as they exist, they serve a purpose in the fight against them, so I’m learning to live with them the way I’ve learned to live with the fact that bacteria grows on my teeth while I sleep.
- When people care enough about an issue, when we join our voices and demand it, change happens.
- This blog is whatever it is, critics be damned, and I love it more than I ever thought possible. (See “I love my readers.”)
- I’m grateful to everyone who was a part of this first year (even some of the trolls, though I’m not grateful for the way they treated me and continue to treat women on the Internet).
Thanks for reading. Thanks for commenting. Thanks for reading even if you don’t ever comment. Thanks for commenting even if you don’t agree (this goes to those of you who do so politely and thoughtfully–everyone else can fuck off). It’s been a particularly rough year, and this blog has been a huge part of getting me through it and helping me to work out where I’m going from here.
Oh, and before I forget: Thanks. :)
There Will Be Sammiches
This Saturday I’m hosting the first-ever Make Me a Sammich Meet-up. It’s going to be a purely social event with no agenda (not even a little one*), just a great view from Seattle’s Jefferson Park, good company, and, of course, sammiches.
I know it’s short notice, but if you live in or around Seattle, I hope you can join me. I’ll have some goodies to give away.
And did I mention sammiches?
After the events of yesterday, I thought we could all use some lighter fare. Love ya.
For months now I’ve watched as search terms and phrases appear on my WordPress stats page and I find myself alternately giggling, smiling, squinting, frowning, boggling, rolling my eyes, exclaiming my horror, and sometimes even feeling a little bit sorry people didn’t find what they were looking for. If you blog or run a website, you’ll know just what I mean. The search terms section of stats can be a useful way of showing you how your audience is finding you–but it’s also a stark revelation that some people trip over your site looking for something else entirely.
Here we see a list of expected (or at least unsurprising) terms and phrases all the way up to the last:
Most surprising to me was not that the phrase appeared, but that during the specified time period FOURTEEN PEOPLE found this site looking not just for “ass” but… Well, I’m sorry, fourteen people. This is not where we keep all the ass. But I got you this:
I’m going to skip some of the most offensive/ugly phrases for now, because this is for fun, but trust me–they get pretty bad. (Though, not as bad as the ones I got on my much more polite blog about my sponsored kids. That was some sick shit.)
I can only assume WordPress directed them here believing they’d misspelled “harass.” How disappointing that must have been for…let’s see…SEVEN PEOPLE! Seven people, I refer you to the image above. One of those is bound to be female.
“jennifer jason leigh legs”
Not the person, just the legs. These three were probably not looking for a post about unshaven woman legs. Or maybe they were. Maybe someone told them, “Hey, I read a great blog post the other day about unshaven legs nightmares. It had a pic of JJL in it. You should totally Google it!” Three times. I Googled “jennifer jason leigh legs” and mostly what I got is a lot of “THIS SITE MAY BE HARMFUL TO YOUR COMPUTER!” And this:
Hey, that’s me! These people may actually have found what they were after. I’m sure they’ll let me know if they didn’t.
“pork rinds of the month”
Are there PORK RINDS of the MONTH? Why didn’t anyone tell me this? There really aren’t, right? This person searched from their phone using their butt as a stylus.
“drunk hugging a tree”
“yogi bear’s girlfriend’s name”
Does anybody know this one? I mean in case this person comes back. It might be important.
“why do some people say sammich instead of sandwich”
These two unfortunate souls have obviously never tried saying “sammich” out loud. (It’s ok that you just did. Everyone should.)
“stephen colbert doritos”
The name of my next band.
“creepy girl cheese”
“when a wife is rebellious to her husband”
New hit song by Percy Sledge! “When a wiiiife’s rebellllious to ‘er husband/Can’t keep her mind on makin’ dinner…”
That’s right, people. Sing it with me.
“political correctness for a woman to make a sandwich feminism”
Of course, there are many variations on “make me a sammich” and “sammich meme” and “woman sammich” and “woman slap sammich” and fun stuff like that. But this actually seems to be a query as to what might be the politically correct (according to feminists) way to ask a woman to make you a sammich. In case this person comes back, I’m going to go with, “Hey, do you feel like making me a sammich?” or “I love your sammiches. Will you please make me one?” <–helpful
“jack nicholson not giving a fuck”
Now, THESE folks got what they came for. You’re welcome.
That’s all for now, folks. May your search terms always yield the results you seek.
Look, I wasn’t going to say anything, but he brought it up. It’s not that I’m not proud of the fact, it’s just that I don’t like to boast and honestly, the guy’s got enough problems. He’s hated universally by smart people and loved only by those ignorant and/or lazy enough to eat the shit he’s spooning out. He railed against drug addicts then had to admit he was one. And now he’s publicly stated that his penis is 10% smaller than it used to be all because of evil FEMINAZIS. Well, what Rush didn’t tell you is that it wasn’t just any feminazi shrunk his member—it was me.
You see, I have this part-time gig as a Fairy Godmother. I’m like the substitute FG when your FG is sick or has to go to the dentist. Well, one day I get this call and I’m like, “No. Fucking. Way.” That’s right, my client was none other than Rush. Fairy Godmothers, as you know, show up when you have a problem you can’t solve on your own and only if you have equity on account with the FGG (Fairy Godmothers Guild). I have no idea what Rush did to earn that equity–I can only imagine he vampired that shit out of a little girl or boy who crossed his path one unlucky day. I was all set to call my supervisor and straighten everything out, when I saw Rush’s problem. He had Mitt Romney’s head wedged firmly in his anus. I fully admit I cackled.
“It’s not funny,” Rush said, and I bit down on a chortle. I had my professional responsibilities to think of after all.
“What seems to be the problem, young man?” I asked, and Rush sneered.
“Are you gonna help, or not?” Sweat beaded on Rush’s bright red face—he was clearly in some discomfort.
“Is it the size of his head that pains you, or the hairspray? I imagine it’s a bit…poky,” I mused as I walked around them, examining the problem from all sides. Romney crouched on the floor of Rush’s posh restroom next to the toilet, and Rush sat upon his shoulders. “How did this happen?” I had begun to form a theory, but wanted to hear it from the man himself.
“I can’t go anywhere without this guy’s nose up my butt-crack,” Rush moaned. “This time I got caught with my pants down.”
I nodded—sagely, I’m sure. I clicked my tongue. I sucked air through my teeth and made skeptical noises.
“What?” Rush looked alarmed.
“I just don’t know…” I said.
“Don’t know what? You’ve got to help me! That’s what you do, right?” He was getting whiny now. Desperate.
“Look, Rush,” I said. “I’m not sure why I’m here. You’re not the sort of guy who normally gets help from the FGG–you know what I mean? You’re…well, not to put too fine a point on it, Rush…you’re an asshole.”
Rush sighed and nodded, and I could see the irony wasn’t lost on him. “What’s your point?”
“You sucked a freebie out of some little kid or lovesick prince. You crowned yourself king of the GOP—you did everything but send this guy an engraved INVITATION to your anus. Why should I help you?”
Rush smiled. “Because you can’t leave a job undone,” he said. “I read the fine print.”
“So did I, Rush,” I told him, sighing in a way that I hoped conveyed that this was going to hurt him way more than it was going to hurt me. “And you’re right. But I have certain…discretionary powers. Also, I can see the future, and one day you’re going to blame feminists for shrinking your penis on your radio show. You don’t want to lie to America, do you? I’m here to make sure you don’t.”
Rush’s face turned angry and beet red and spittle flew from his lips as he gibbered unintelligible rage. Finally, he managed. “You…can’t…”
“I can, Rush. So, do you want my help or not?” He didn’t say anything, but just then I think Mitt sneezed or something because he lunged and Rush’s eyes bulged out and he screamed “GET IT OUT GET IT OUT I DON’T CARE GET IT OUT!”
And the rest, as they say, is history.
*Or “shrank” it—whichever you prefer.
I backed this new comic on Kickstarter because it features a teen girl superhero bucking traditional stereotypes. Now the first issue is out, so I thought I’d share. Here’s a teaser from the preview:
Let me know what you think, especially if you decide to buy the comic. I’m looking forward to seeing how the story progresses.
Ok, first I have to show you these AWESOME new cards I just got (made by MOO). I know, crappy pic, but aren’t they AWESOME? And that’s only the front! Each one is personally autographed by me in Red SharpieTM! The reverse has…well, I’ll show you in a minute. These were a perk from Klout–a site some folks like to pooh-pooh, but dude, they send me free stuff all the time, and that makes them ok in my book.
I’ve also ordered TEMPORARY TATTOOS. I’m not going to show them to you because all I have is the artwork, and they’re not proper tattoos until I can put them on my skin*. When they arrive and I can, then you’ll get a pic. Promise.
I know, I know, you’re wondering how you can get your hands on some of this Make Me a Sammich swag. Well, firstly, winners of our Sammich Challenge will receive some as part of their Fabulous Prize packs. One lucky winner will also receive this:
It will not contain a sammich, because ew, prepackaged sammiches are gross. I think I must have suffered some pre-made sammich trauma as a child, because I simply cannot stand a sammich that’s been sitting around with its juices soaking into the bread and making it all soggy and smelly. I have been known to throw adorable little tantrums when people who love me forget this fact and bring me a nasty, mayonnaise**-soaked refrigerator sammich for lunch. In fact, I gag a little when I see someone in a movie buy one from a machine and eat it. Yuck! Do you have any idea how long that sammich has been sitting there being gross? A sammich machine should assemble your sammich right in front of you, dammit, or it’s nothing more than a garbage dispenser in my eyes.
Ahem. Moving on… If you don’t win a prize in our first contest, there will be others. But in the meantime, if you just can’t stand it, I will make it easy for you to request MMAS goodies. Stay tuned.
Oh yeah! Here is the back of the new card. It has a little Klout logo (because they were free from Klout, but my next batch won’t have this, so these are Limited Edition! Woo!) and a very fancy QR code which makes them practically electronic. (It always cracks me up when I see promo cards made to look like iPhones that say “download our app” and then include a URL and no QR code. Duh, I say!) They’re also super heavy-duty cardstock with a satiny finish and the color is great. I heart them.
I’ve got some other goodies in the works, but hopefully this illustrates my good faith in the Fabulous Prizes department. It turns out gift-giving is one of my “love languages” according to a book my dad gave me, so I get really excited about giving stuff away. My neurosis is your gain!
*The great thing about temporary tats is that you can apply them to other surfaces, as well, meaning I can use them to make other cool stuff. There will be swag!
**Double ew. (W?)
Woohoo! I totally suck at contests! That’s right, you heard it here first.
Ok, so it’s the last day of National Sammich Month (I apparently also suck at blogging because I did not cover nearly all the sammich stuff!) and the first Sammich Challenge deadline had passed. We have a number of very fine entries. I’ve even been collecting Fabulous Prizes for the winners! But I was only able to recruit one sammich judge, and who knew that Brother #3 would submit a sammich recipe so diabolical that the very thought of attempting it paralyzed me with fear? He did, that’s who. The fix was in from the start. But don’t you worry, my little sammich chefs, Rosie has your back. There can be only one Most Diabolical Sammich, to be sure, and B#3 has provided the winning recipe for that category. I’ll deal with him later. As for the rest of you, your recipes will undergo rigorous judging over the next day or two (by judges who owe me one thing or another and can’t say no) and I’ll announce winners in additional categories Real Soon.
And I’m really excited about the Fabulous Prizes. :D
I’ve come across a couple of really irritating ads lately. Maybe you’ve seen them. I wanted to write something about them, but they’re just so ridiculous, and while I was annoyed and bothered, I was not inspired. But this morning I woke up with a song running through my head, and that old Wanda Sykes routine snuck in there, too, and I knew what I had to do. I had to dig up the lyrics to an old favorite and breathe new life into them as I have done below especially for you. Why rant when you can SING?!
(with apologies to King Missile)
I woke up this morning with a bad hangover
And my boobies were missing again.
This happens all the time.
[background singers repeat: “detachable boobies” (THIS IS YOUR PART!)]
This comes in handy a lot of the time.
I can leave them at home, when I think they’re gonna get me in trouble,
or I can rent them out to Madison Ave, when I don’t need them.
But now and then I go to a party, get drunk,
and the next morning I can’t for the life of me
remember what I did with them.
First I looked around my apartment, and I couldn’t find them.
So I called up the place where the party was,
they hadn’t seen them either.
I asked them to check the vegetable crisper in the fridge
’cause for some reason I leave them there sometimes
But not this time.
So I told them if they pop up to let me know.
I called a few people who were at the party,
but they were no help either.
I was starting to get desperate.
I really don’t like being without my boobies for too long.
It makes me feel like less of a boobie-haver,
and I really hate the way my clothes fit without them.
After a few hours of searching the house,
and calling everyone I could think of,
I was starting to get very depressed,
so I went to the Hurricane and ate breakfast.
Then, as I walked down First Avenue towards Pike Place Market,
where all those people sell used books and other junk on the street,
I saw my boobies lying on a blanket
next to a penis.
Some guy was selling my boobies.
He had got them cheap off an ad exec who had a whole bunch for some reason.
I had to buy them off blanket guy. My own boobies.
I took them home, washed them off,
and put them back on. I was happy again. Complete.
People sometimes tell me I should get them permanently attached,
but I don’t know.
Even though sometimes it’s a pain in the ass,
I like having detachable boobies.
[background singers repeat “detachable boobies” and fade out]
19 days into National Sammich Month and, well, I’ve been lax. However, my brother #3 (I have seven!) has proposed a sammich challenge, secure in the belief that he will win. This is your chance, my friends, to truly participate in this national holiday month the way you’ve always dreamed of.
I will be forming a panel of judges (omnivorous ones!) who love to eat sammiches. Your job is to submit the Winning Sammich Recipe! The judges will recreate your sammich from your recipe and eat it, grading on the criteria below. Winners will receive Fabulous Prizes (to be announced)!
Sammiches will be judged on the following criteria:
- Overall Deliciousness
- Health vs. Decadence (pick one and go all the way!)
- ??? (Is this a mystery criterion? Or just one I haven’t thought of yet? It’s anyone’s guess!)
Are you ready? Deadline to submit your sammich recipe is one week from today: August 26. That will give our judges a solid week to make/eat your sammiches before NSM ends. We’ll announced the winners on Friday, August 31!
Let the sammiching commence!