it’s not about you, it’s me. but not really

Dear Readers,

It's not that I don't love you, I do — really — I've written Mrs. Dear Reader in Sharpie on my Trapper Keeper a dozen times, it's Typepad's comment thingie that's preventing you from leaving comments.  The truth is Readers, I've always loved you and I always will.  You're like a cat, Readers. 

Why a cat?  Well, you see, I'm allergic to cats, but I love them.  I am allergic to most everything, if you want to know the truth. When I was a little girl, I had just been given a tiny white kitten and on Easter Sunday my mom, sister, and I were waiting in the blue station wagon with wood paneling on the sides for my dad so we could leave for church.  From the car I saw my dad open the front door, my kitten come out onto the porch and then — the worst moment of my childhood.  My dad stepped on my kitten.  I remember this all in slow motion. I was devestated and cried all the way to church.  

We had dogs all through my childhood, but I wanted a cat.  I didn't care that I was allergic to them, I wanted one.  So, when I was almost 18 and my bff asked what I wanted for my birthday I asked for a cat.  And my cat was the best cat ever.  Sure, I was allergic to him, but we co-existed happily, I loved him, he loved me — great relationship — even with the issues, not unlike our relationship, Readers. 

I've always wanted to write.  I write for you.  You come to the blog and attempt to leave a comment, but the comment thingie is not behaving and you can't leave a comment and that makes you mad.  I understand.  It would make me mad, too.  It's a crazy Typepad thing and I can't do anything about it, much like my cat couldn't control being a walking, meowing allergen.  And so Readers, we will have to live with Typepad being crazy and y'all emailing to tell me it won't let you leave a comment to say whatever it is you want to say.   It's a love/hate relationship, we love each other and hate the issue, but love wins out in the end.  And no allergy shots!

xxxooo,
Kerry

and this is how blogging goes in my world

So, today I thought I'd write about something I can't stop thinking about because it keeps being brought up in conversation between practically everyone I speak to.  It's the Octuplet Mom.  Or as I called her this morning on the phone with Beth, Octopuplet (I think maybe that's what we should start calling baby octopi, how cute is my new made-up word?  pretty cute). 

But as how things go in my world, I started writing and my computer decided to turn itself off.  When I restarted the thing and went back to TypePad, I found what I had written had been saved automatically, but I didn't like it. 

As with most things, I second guess what I write and am never sure if what I've written is anything anyone else would want to bother reading or if it's just me.  Half the time, I write a post and think, "this is the best post I've written yet, I know I'll have a ton of comments!  This blog is the jam, yo.  I hope (insert name here) reads this, they need to.  For realz, when is Random House going to call with a book offer?  Look out Oprah's book club!" Then I hit publish and lo and behold, no comments, zero, zip, nada.  It's not that I think I'm super talented or a bloomin' genius, but I'd like to think there is a reason why people come here everyday to spend a few minutes reading my words other than sheer boredom. 

And it's not that I usually have a plan of what I want to write when I sit down with my laptop. Trust me, I know you're not going to read about my discovering the cure for everything that can kill you on this blog, but sometimes I think I have a decent idea to write about.  And then other times I write about the Octopuplet Mom and it's a miss.  Sometimes there just isn't anything to contribute that hasn't been said.  Sometimes I think I should keep my opinions to myself.  And sometimes what I'd like to say isn't publishable by my standards. 

Just for fun, here's a list of topics I've written on and not published:

  1. The Octopuplet Mom.  She's not fooling anyone now, is she?  I can't really say anymore than that.
  2. Toddlers & Tiaras on TLC.  I am not a fan of pageants.  The idea of toddler beauty pageants makes me sick to my stomach.  I abandoned my post on this subject because of how mad it made me while writing. 
  3. The Stimulus Package.  Who cares what a suburban mom thinks?
  4. Tunes You Need Tuesday: The Beatles. aka The Long and Winding Post
  5. Facebook: I wasn't friends with you in highschool, why would I want to be friends now?
  6. Just Shut Up: why can't I stop talking?  Seriously, am I missing the part of your brain that tells you when to shut the hell up?

Those are topics you probably won't see any time soon on the Kerry Blog.  Bye for now.  I'm off to explain to my 3 children why they can't keep eating the candy for the school fundraiser.  Damn World's Finest Chocolate.

(please please please) be my Valentine

A few weeks ago I wrote a guest post for my friend Will Maranto's blog (a quite enjoyable blog you should check out) about writing and my love for a certain typewriter I'm coveting and right now I'm thisclose to getting it.  Yes, I know, I'm usually the tech girl and this is way low-tech, being that it's manual, but the 1969 Olivetti Valentine typewriter is a thing of beauty.  I'm just hoping some punk or hussy doesn't come drive up the price on my Valentine's Day gift to myself.  

Valentine
I'm not going to go into why I need this typewriter, just know that I need it. 

Look at those keys.  

You did notice it's red, didn't you? 

Did I mention the case it comes with doubles as a wastepaper bin?  Genius.

And it says "valentine" right on the front to remind me of how smitten I am with this machine. 

If for some reason I am outbid on the Olivetti Valentine, I will assume one of my readers has purchased it for me as a "your blog is the bestest in all of blogdom" Valentine gift. 

On a completely different note, I wouldn't usually ask my dear readers to come to the aid of any causes (because I know all my wonderful peeps are charitable to start with), but if you live in the area and have the resources, the Covington Food Bank may have to close at the end of the week if it doesn't get any food donations.  If you are able to help, it would make a make a very real difference in someone's life.  Not to get on a soap box, but the recession is hitting home for a lot of people and I don't see the $800 billion stimulus package feeding anyone this week and I still haven't received my damn free unicorn either. Here's more on the Covington Food Bank if you would like to help. 

What the hell Friday: dear diary edition

Once again, my thunder has been stolen.  If I had a nickel, people. 

Maybe you've heard of a little book called "He's Just Not That Into You," the authors, Greg Berhendt and Liz Tuccillo, have been featured on everything — you've seen them, you've heard them, you've seen the book in Barnes and Noble.  I've read an excerpt of the book and I'll break it down for you: don't waste your time on men who aren't interested in you and – newsflash – guys like to pursue women.  This is freaking genius, Pulitzer Prize stuff!  Well, guess what?  Now it's a movie.  And I want a cut of the ticket sales.

Why?  You may remember the theme of this movie from a little-known book called "my diary."  What the hell? 

Seriously though, I know I was no different than any other girl as a teenager and a single girl in my early twenties, trying to find my way in the dating world and thinking I must have "weirdos apply here" tattooed on my head.  My high school friends can attest to the quality of some of my boyfriends, and college friends will tell you how I won over my hubs, Scott.  Today I thought I'd tell some of the lesser-known stories that are pure entertainment, but at the time were pure torture.

Back when I was a naive cute-as-heck 16 year-old, I dated a series of losers.  I'm pretty sure I could have won gold in the Psycho Dating Olympics.  I would have at least gotten bronze (and I wouldn't have smoked pot afterward like some Olympians).  So, here's a true story from my dating life circa 1991:

I had a ginormous crush on a boy year older than me, whom I was on the school newspaper staff with, we spent an hour together everyday, our journalism teacher even tried to fix us up, lovely.  The short story: he was not remotely interested in me and started dating a girl with two first names a year younger than me, of course she was a beyatch, but teenage boys were stupid and couldn't see that kind of thing.  Anymoron, he wrote me a note one day saying he knew I liked him and was not "interested in any extracurricular relationships."  Well, me, being me couldn't let this go and had to write a note back saying he was an idiot for not using the word extracurricular correctly.  Bold much?  I remember telling my BFF of said note-writing, who said, "extracurricular dating?  what a moron." Thank you.

So, since said genius wasn't digging my scene, I was totally on the dating market — look out boys!  I went on to have a couple of perfectly dreadful relationships, one of which was with a boy who, after dating for two months, stood me up for homecoming.  I was one of the homecoming dance planners so that was not superfantastic.  Let's see, I went out with a Air Force dude who told me I wasn't experienced enough for him — again, nice!  Being dumped for not being slutty was pretty confusing — a compliment?  I didn't know.  What the hell? 

At Louisiana Tech, I met Scott and he fell head over heels for me, obviously, when I was a freshman — but he was older and graduated when I was a sophomore.  We did the long distance thing, then took a break or broke up, whatevs.  At that time I was an RA in Dudley dorm and had the best residents ever, 2 of whom were the cousins of my high school BFF, oddly enough; and they had a roommate with a guy cousin.  I know, weird.  Anyfamilia, the roommate's cousin developed a crush on me and asked me to have coffee one day after a library science class and I went.  First mistake.  His name was Guy (okay, not his real name, but close).  We had coffee, he seemed normal enough, I said I'd have coffee with him another day, the next week, whatev.  So, we go to the coffee shop again and a few minutes in, I realize he's a little odd.  I few minutes later, I believe he's kinda crazy.  I decided it was a good time to fake having to be on RA duty for the night and asked him to drive me back to my dorm and we left.  I couldn't wait to tell my friends what a freakazoid Guy was and thought I'd made a smart move getting out of this before anything started.  Go me! 

As he drove past my dorm I realized I was being kidnapped.  I thought, "now who would kidnap a chubby redheaded girl?" then remembered "Silence of the Lambs" and started to freak out on the inside.  I reminded him that my dorm was getting further away and he told me he wanted to show me a house a few miles away.  WTF?  Great, I was going to be a person suit, just what I needed.  I contemplated how injured I would get if I jumped out of the vehicle and looked around the truck for any weapons.  No weapons.  He drives to the middle of NoFreakinWhere, Louisiana (close to Ruston) and shows me this dilapidated house, tells me this is where he'd like us to live one day and I realize he is certifiable and he could probably outrun me, defintely run me over with his truck.  I'm looking around for the well I'm sure Guy is going to drop me into and hope Jodie Foster drives by.  And so eventually (after over an hour) I talk him into driving me back, using psychology, and when his truck came to a stop in front of Dudley, I run into my hall director's apartment and call the Tech police.  I recount the story to my HD and the Tech cops, who do exactly nothing about the crazy Guy.  I was pissed. 

And so it was almost the end of the quarter and I moved my stuff into Kidd dorm, where I would be an RA during the summer.  Crazy Guy had backed off and I learned he wouldn't be attending Tech during the summer, so I was able to relax.  That was until he started showing up at the dorm almost everyday and Crazy Guy became Guy the Stalker.  It got to where I was pretty much trapped in the dorm because he would wait at the front door until I would leave for class.  I didn't want to risk becoming a person suit so, I began to spend my afternoons safe in the housing office, hang out off campus at my friend Carole's, and would return at night to the dorm to sleep.  There would be dozens of messages on my machine when I got back to the dorm and I was miserable.  One night "Silence of the Lambs" came on and I don't think I left my dorm room for over 48 hours.  Being away from Scott and having the crazy stalker was taking its toll on this chick. I'd dropped two classes and gained twenty pounds, awesome!   So, summer wound down and Stalker Guy backed off again until fall when he started the stalking again.  At that point a male friend got involved and Stalker Guy never darkened my doorway again.   I don't know what was said or if fisticuffs broke out, but I knew I had never been so glad for a guy to never call me again! 

And that's the story of how Kerry learned that bad boys may be bad boys, but then again, they may be psycho crazy kidnappers.  So, I won't be seeing "He's Just Not That Into You" because I've lived enough of that, thank you very much. 

this should explain a lot

Although I've never been diagnosed with ADD (not the hyperactivity part for obvious reasons), I believe I have it and no one can convince me otherwise.  I've had the hardest time trying to write a post for the past few days.  Several times this week I have sat down with my laptop with an idea in my head (where I keep all my best ideas), write a title, start a sentence — maybe two, and something breaks my train of thought.  Actually "train of thought" isn't such a great phrase for my thoughts.  Maybe a "minivan of thoughts," maybe even a "caravan of thoughts," but I'm fairly certain I've never strung together enough thoughts to constitute a "train of thoughts." 

Anyflaky, so I thought I'd walk you through the types of things that have happened while trying to blog over the past day or so. 

I sit down to write about recording the commercial with my trusty laptop, cup of coffee, notepad, Sharpie pen, and phone.  I get as far as the title when the phone rings. 

  • Scott calls to say someone called him about a job in Angola (the country, not the prison).  What is he thinking?  I'm going to have a stroke.  For real this time.
  • I Google "Angola" to make sure it's in Africa — yeah, it's still in Africa.
  • I sing the song "Africa" by Toto to myself
  • check the ScrapFest! email to see if we've received the MP3 of the commercial, nope
  • check Facebook and comment on stuff. 
  • back to the blog
  • Andrew comes over for a snack.  I tell him I'm not making blueberry muffins and no, he can't eat the baking powder.  He finally accepts some Goldfish crackers.  I have a cookie.
  • I decide to change my shirt, then end up putting on lipgloss, and look in one of my bags for my Pandora bracelet that is currently missing. 
  • phone rings, it's my mother-in-law telling me to call my sister-in-law about the party this weekend
  • for some reason I give Andrew some Tootsie Rolls (this will haunt me later).
  • back to the blog, write exactly three words, hear Lucy bark and look outside
  • check email — no commercial
  • check Facebook, chat with a friend for a bit, check Kirtsy.com and look at a few popular stories (find a supercute outfit), check our bank account, check CNN
  • phone rings, it's Megan, Scott beeps in to say Angola's not that bad blah blah blah blah
  • check my email — ooooooo– Mignon Faget for Valentine's Day.  Look at mignonfaget.com, decide they really should have made the bee earrings in silver to go with my pendant, but no one asked me.  Think about making a Valentine's wish list, maybe earrings.
  • more coffee
  • read exactly half an article in Rolling Stone, Andrew wants to watch Thomas the train, so I put his DVD on, find that he has ground some Goldfish into the carpet, I vaccuum the Goldfish
  • back to the laptop, someone's trying to talk to me on Facebook, we chat, I watch Leslie Hall's "How We Go Out" video and laugh, check the weather for tomorrow, ponder what to wear to Andrew's speech eval, do some dishes, check SF email — no commercial, check my email — ooooooo — there's a perfect Olivetti Valentine typewriter on eBay.  Now, that's a Valentine's gift!  Think about Valentine's again.  Think about Mardi Gras, should the kids and I go to S'port?  Houston?  Why the heck is school out for a week for Mardi Gras?  Remind myself I live in south Louisiana.
  • phone rings, it's Scott saying he needs a table for his apartment.  I try to blog while talking to him, can't — check out lolcats, FU Penguin,tell Scott to get a card table as we do not need another table, check out coolmompicks.com and email Molly about a funky kids clothing site. 
  • back to the blog, check SF email — no commercial, call Megan and laugh about what music they could possibly put behind our voices on the ad.  I was pulling for "Love Shack" or something else by the B-52's, the original southern party band, and Megan likes "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."  I say we should have "Lowrider" and Megan agrees. As everyone knows, that is our original theme song for scrapbook trips.  I put a few things in the dishwasher.
  • back to the blog, sing "Lowrider" and go to the iTunes store — I'm pretty sure they have subtly changed the interface, but I'm not positive.  Ben Fold's "Bitch Went Nuts" comes on, I cringe when he says the C word.  I'm not big on cursing, but not especially bothered by cursing, but the C word is just cringeworthy.
  • iTunes has a Paul McCartney EP, interesting.  I hear Andrew say "uh-oh" and get up to see what he's doing — he has gotten himself stuck to the carpet.  It looks like he had fallen asleep while eating the Tootsie Rolls and they are stuck to his cheek.  Brilliant!  I ponder how to remove my son from the carpet and decide a warm wet washcloth should do it.  He cries while I go get the washcloth, cries while I apply the washcloth to his face, cries as he is freed, runs off to go upstairs and yells "thank Mom!"  no, not "thanks," he says "thank."  I clean up the carpet, wonder why we ever got carpet in the first place, decide that we should get wood in the living room and contemplate ripping up the carpet myself.  Decide that's probably not a good idea.
  • back to the computer, completely forget what I was doing, never listen to the McCartney EP.  Call Beth and tell her about the recording studio experience so she can have something to laugh at.  My left eye starts watering — it's always my left eye — wassup with that?  Stupid allergies.  Chat with Mandy on Facebook about having lunch this week, I remind her to remind me to give her the clothes I have for Emily in a big Hefty bag that I've been driving around for almost a month. 
  • pour myself another cup of coffee, losing track of how many cups that makes.  Notice that it's kinda cold and think I should put on socks.  I hate socks. 
  • back to the blog, write exactly 0 words when the pop sound tells me someone's trying to say "what up?" on Facebook.  I say "word."  I notice I have a Friend Request and have no idea who the person is requesting my friendship.  I email another friend to ask who this person is, as I have a memory like an encyclopedia of uselessness and can't place them.  It dawns on me that I perhaps possibly may have gone to prom with this individual, then realize I went with another guy with the same first name.  Whew. 
  • look at the clock on the microwave and realize I never ate lunch.  I do this everyday.  Everyday, unless I'm having lunch with a friend.  It seems as an adult I cannot remember to make a deadblame sandwich for myself as I make lunch for the kids.  I feed the kids and usually get busy with other things and realize at 2:30 or so that I'm starving.  This is a problem.  Not life or death, but a problem, nonetheless.  I wonder if there is some kind of service, like a wake-up call at a hotel, that would call and remind me to eat lunch — then I realize that is one of my dumber ideas. At 2:30 I don't know what to eat for lunch, it's not lunchtime, it's not dinner — what would Elvis do?  I have cheese and crackers, like a grown-up Lunchable.
  • back to the blog, check our email — no commercial. 
  • It's 3 o'clock and the girls are getting off the bus.  I realize I have accomplished a big fat zero of nothing and try to think of a better answer to the question "what did you do today?" for when I talk to Scott later, because "some stuff" sounds stupid.  I contemplate telling him I have ADD, but I know he would just shake his head and say "you've been on the computer all day, haven't you?" to which I would reply, "no, not really," which is the truth. 

So, next time the blog isn't updated for a day or so, just know it's the ADD.  Or mad cow, I'm not sure.

9/365: what time do you call this?

When I was diagnosed as BiPolar 2 (Electric Boogaloo), a year later my psychiatrist added ADD (not the hyperactivity part for obvious reasons) to my list of diagnoses.

I’ve had the hardest time trying to write a decent post for the past few days.  Several times this week I have sat down with my laptop with an idea in my head (where I keep all my best ideas), write a title, start a sentence — maybe two, and something breaks my train of thought.  Actually, “train of thought” isn’t such a great phrase for my thoughts.  Maybe a “SUV of thoughts,” maybe even a “caravan of thoughts,” but I’m fairly certain I’ve never strung together enough thoughts to constitute a “train of thoughts.”

Anyflaky, so I thought I’d walk you through the types of things that have happened while trying to blog over the past 48 or so hours.

I sit down to write about this whole ordeal with my finger, along with my laptop, cup of coffee, notepad, Sharpie pen, and phone.  I get as far as the title when the phone rings.

  • Scott calls to say someone called him about a job in Angola (the country, not the prison).
  • I Google “Angola” to make sure it’s in Africa
  • I sing the song “Africa” by Toto to myself
  • let dog out
  • check Facebook because it’s been going off like crazy and comment on stuff
  • back to the blog
  • get some iced tea
  • I decide to change my shirt, then end up putting on lipgloss, and look in one of my bags for my good earbuds that are currently missing
  • phone rings, it’s my mother-in-law thanking me for her Christmas gift we had to mail because we forgot to bring it to the Christmas party
  • for some reason,
  • back to the blog, write exactly three words, hear Ellie bark and look outside
  • check email
  • check Facebook, chat with a friend for a bit, check Shondaland and look at a few popular stories (find a supercute outfit), check our bank account, check CNN
  • phone rings, it’s Dana, Scott beeps in to say Angola’s not that bad blah blah blah blah
  • check my email — ooooooo– Mignon Faget for Valentine’s Day.  Look at mignonfaget.com, decide they really should have made the bee earrings in silver to go with my pendant, but no one asked me.  Think about making a Valentine’s wish list, maybe earrings.
  • make iced coffee
  • read exactly half an article on Rolling Stone, look for measuring cup — can’t find it, realize I haven’t eaten any actual food today.
  • back to the laptop, someone’s trying to talk to me on Facebook, we chat, I watch half of an episode of NCIS: New Orleans and decide I can’t stand the new actress, check the weather for tomorrow, ponder what to wear to get my stitches out Thursday, do some dishes, check my email — ooooooo — there’s a perfect Olivetti Valentine typewriter on eBay.  Now, that’s a Valentine gift!
  • Oh yeah, the blog.
  • Look! Something shiny.

Today’s song is “What Time Do You Call This?” by Elbow. I discovered it while watching Man Up (modern rom-com) and I love it. It kind of relates to this post in a way.