Love/Hate “Challenge”

I accept my friends’ challenge because I can do this instead of my nightly paragraph. Also, “challenge” is in “quotation marks” because it’s the sort of thing I think of all the time ever since Cynthia could always come up with three things she loved/hated at the drop of a slice of orange marmalade cake.

Things I Love

  1. Long sleeps with plot-filled dreams.
  2. Homemade swings.
  3. Iced tea with a straw.
  4. Power drills.
  5. Stick shifts.
  6. Evaluating viscosities by blowing bubbles. Through straws.
  7. Terry Pratchett.
  8. Katie’s chocolate cake.
  9. Watching marshmallows catch fire.
  10. Puns.

Things I Hate

  1. The arrogance of four walls.
  2. The refusal to give an inch.
  3. Dog poo on my shoes.
  4. Cigarette smoke.
  5. When computers decide to eat what you wrote and disappear into the æther* of hated nothingness.
  6. That I’ll never get to join Star Fleet.
  7. The internal struggle over killing mosquitoes.
  8. Children in movie theaters.
  9. The buddy system.
  10. Not being able to take naps every day.

I’m supposed to challenge other people, but I won’t, because that’s so Ponzi, but I highly encourage Anita to do it, because I’m interested in what she has to say, and she’s awesome anyway.

*Oh yeah. I just went with a ligature for a dipthong. Because my typography skills are wild, yo.

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Tahoe Waffles

Waffles are my ultimate comfort food.

Not Belgian waffles or chocolate waffles or Eggo waffles, but waffles.

How could they not be? Even the word is delicious.

Saturday morning was waffle morning. Daddy would get up and make a double (or triple—or for a season there in high school, quadruple) batch of waffles, filling the iron so full that the batter would overflow in goopy stalactites over the side. It was a consistent problem, but it was done on purpose.

The problem with waffles, of course, is that there are only four squares to a batch. (And we used vintage waffle irons that actually served more than one serving at a time, which you can’t find anymore and often come with fraying cords that occasionally will eventually catch on fire. In other words: priceless.) Continue reading

I know I’ve said this before…

But after freaking out and lying in a corner crying (okay, not tonight, but it’s happened)…I think I FINALLY know what I’m doing with my website. Maybe.

I’m keeping my blog RIGHT HERE which means I can start posting again without worrying about what will transfer and what won’t and what is going on.

My website will be for ongoing creative endeavors, which of course I’ll share with you once they start.

This is all just fun & folly.

And hey. I changed the look again.

 

Dear NaNo: Please Stop

Okay NaNo, here’s the thing.

You’re great, you really are. Your challenging and encouraging and friendly and whimsical.

I was a little nervous when Anita introduced us a few years ago. You were so daring! So fun! I wasn’t sure you’d want me hanging out with you.

But you did! And it was so much fun! You introduced me to all your other friends and pushed me to challenge myself.

It was awesome.

NaNo, you’ve changed.

And you’re still challenging and encouraging and friendly and whimsical.

You are also frenetic and loud and pretty clingy. What happened?

Even our Big Date Night is too much . . . it used to be a fun write-in, but now I can’t think because you’re always giving speeches and ringing bells and announcing things. It’s like you can’t be alone without going crazy.

You’re always talking.

You’re an extrovert, I get it. That’s great! I love hanging out with extroverts.

I’m an introvert. And that means I need quiet time. I need time to focus. I need a few words of stalwart encouragement here and there. I don’t need you sending me tweets and emails 24/7 telling me how awesome you are, and how awesome I am for being friends with you. I know you’re awesome, but not everyone can maintain your level of energy in a relationship. Especially for a straight month . . . and then you don’t stop! You’re an engine of enthusiasm run on caffeine and sugar!

And for me, caffeine and sugar aren’t the energy-boosters they seem to be for you. My body can’t maintain your lifestyle. I know you like me anyway, but I still feel left out.

I know you were like this when I agreed to go out with you, but you’ve become more intense. Wombats and unicorns don’t reassure me the way you seem to think they do. Neither do exclamation points.

I almost wish you had a quiet twin, maybe a @NaNoQuiet, that would chirp up every once in a while with a stalwart go-get-’em tweet. No word wars, no sprints, no constant announcements that you’re around to help like Clippy the ill-fated mascot. I know where you are, and I’ll ask for help if I need it. And no wombats. (Well, all right, a wombat every now and again would be okay. I’m not anti-wombat, or anti-whimsy. I’m anti-inundation.)

I guess I’m saying some of us, NaNo, are feeling pushed away. Maybe we’re going in different directions now, and that’s okay. But I’d like to think we can still hang out.

I’m going to try it again once more, but I thought that in all fairness, NaNo, I ought to tell you why this may be the last time.