The New Girl

Fun(ish) Fact Friday!!

* One of the interesting/surreal things that I experienced at Blogher that I didn't write about in my post on the subject (because, seriously, HOW LONG COULD IT BE?) was the level of connectedness there.  And by connectedness, I mean, to electronic devices and the internet (when you could get a connection, that is).  Initially, it struck me as almost surreal.  I come from a background of mostly [boring-ass] conferences where everyone faces front and uh, takes notes.  On paper.  At Blogher, it seemed that no matter WHAT was happening up front, EVERYONE was on iphones or laptops.  Or both. 

*  I have never seen so many iphones in one place.  Seriously.  Apple should sponsor Blogher because Bloggers?  Are sponsoring Apple.

*  I should have had a shirt made that said, 'Technical Din-o-SAUR' because, there I was, Twittering from my cell phone.  That, uh, FLIPS OPEN.  OMFG.

* It struck me that this was just a complete social norm for this group and that these super-connecters had totally FOUND THEIR TRIBE.  It must be a TOTAL DRAG to have that inclination and to be in a crowd of people who would find this behavior odd or out of the ordinary.  It was interesting to me, and made me wish that I'd purchased a Blackberry before I went.

*  I am, and have always been, a MAD DOODLER.  Grade school, high school, college, grad school, conferences, meetings, ET CETERA.  Any materials that we've been given have inevitably been COVERED in doodles, drawings, designs.  Depending on the peer group in the setting, this behavior is: 1) completely acceptable and shared by most of the other participants or 2) makes me look like a complete asshole who is not paying attention.

*  I totally AM, though.  Paying attention, I mean.  I'm not a complete asshole.  You'll just have to trust me on that one.

* I started a book on the plane about a kid who is bullied for his whole young life and then shoots up his school. 

*  Having worked with kids for a long time, I have seen my fair share of the range of bullying behaviors to which some kids are subjected.

*  I can unequivocally say that (for me, personally) if my child was being (for real) bullied in school, I wouldn't take a New York Hot Fucking Second before yanking her out to homeschool.  Not that I think that she'd shoot up a school or anything.  In fact, I think that the profile of a real school shooter would be a bit different than the one painted in this (fictional) account.  I'm just saying, I know how difficult the situation can be and how difficult it is for the adults in charge to actually effect change.  If you or your child was ever bullied, you have my UTMOST empathy because the whole situation sucks, Sucks, SUCKS.

*  After re-reading, I seem to have [careened out of control] veered away from the FUN and drifted solidly toward the ISH, in regards to the Facts in this post.

*  So, let me make it up to you.  Here's a fun fact about my days as a waitress (more of a story, really):

One time, I was walking into a PACKED dining room with a giant tray of food hoisted onto my shoulder and a plate in my other hand.  A rookie waitress came into the kitchen through the out door and caught the side of my tray, tipping it off balance.  THE WHOLE ENTIRE MESS came CRASHING to the ground, right outside the kitchen, in front of the whole dining room.  I turned and bolted into the way back, to compose myself (I swear, doing that is like being in a CAR ACCIDENT, that's how shaky you get).  After it was all fixed and things were calm, the [smart-ass] cook called me over and here was our conversation:

SAC: 'TNG, can I ask you a question?'

Me: 'Sure.'

SAC: 'You had a loaded tray, right?'

Me: 'Right.'

SAC: 'And you had a plate in your other hand, right?'

Me: 'Riiight.'

SAC: 'So, what happened to the plate in your other hand when you dropped the tray?'

Me: '------?'

SAC: 'I mean, did you just say, 'Aw, fuck it,' and throw it onto the heap?'

Have a great weekend!

Non Sequitur (And Non-Sensical) Observations Of #Blogher 09

* Being as All About Meeting People as I am, I approached Blogher as (mainly) an opportunity to spend some time with an old friend, meet in person friends/buddies from the internet and to express my fondness for a list of bloggers whom I've loved from afar.  AKA: a mostly social event. 

* Being a Hobby Blogger who doesn't even participate (yet?) in an ad network, I know relatively little about the business-end of blogging.  That's not to say that I don't appreciate it or that I wouldn't love to be more inclined to get involved in that way.  Some of the bloggers I admire most make part or full time livings from the blogs that they write.  I found that this in no way diminshed my enthusiasm and/or my experience of Blogher.  It did leave me unprepared for the interested question that I received a couple times, 'What do you write about, TNG?'  To which my answer was, 'Uuum. Nothing, really, since you put it that way.'  HA HA HA!  Not a Good Brand, right there.

* You may have read about Hashtag-gate of '09 and this is what I'll add to the thoughtful and frankly fascinating (to me) discussion: every single time I hear someone say Hashtag, I immediately sing it in my head to the tune of Weezer's Hashpipe. [I got my Hashtag. Du nuh nuh nuh, du nuh nuh nuh.]

*  I had the opportunity to speak with my first, real-live PR person.  And you know what?  She was a PERSON!  Just like US!  I think that she even has a blog somewhere.

*  There were a few situations which made me feel like I'd stepped into Weird World.

*  The first was the Feeding Frenzy that was the Swag-Bag-Grabathon.  It's been talked to death, I know, on Twitter and other blogs but I gotta tell you, it was, um, disturbing.  It literally made me uncomfortable.  (And not for nothing but for the most part? A trip to CVS with a stop at the grocery store (I got two KIWIS!) would net you most of the interesting stuff that I came home with.)  I guess, for me, the bags were supposed to function as like, thank-yous.  Like party favors.  And what I saw seemed akin to a guest walking into your reception hall at the very beginning of your reception, asking if the candy/centerpieces are free and then collecting the lot of them and walking out, to you know, go hit the next wedding.  It was WEIRD.

*  The next was how some people act toward/respond to Internet-Famous Bloggers.  I know a few and let me say this: I'm not talking about fawning and/or proclaiming your love to said IFB (either from across the lobby or up close with socially approriate interruptions.) I'm talking about this scenario, which I personally witnessed MANY times, while talking to various IFBs:

I am in conversation (mundane, perhaps) with an IFB and a FAN approaches.  She interrupts without saying 'Excuse me' or anything remotely like it.  Mostly, she just begins to talk (and talks only to the IFB, sometimes standing between us, even.) At first, the FAN will introduce herself but then, THEN (here's the real kicker to me) will bring up and want to discuss IN DETAIL a topic/post/situation from the IFBs life that is completely incongruous to the real-life situation in which we are, you know, SITUATED.  Dead moms/babies at dinner?  Diseases and Injuries and Accidents at a cocktail party?  Separations and Divorces and Child Custody during the key note?  I GET that people get star-struck, but still, TRUST when I tell you: It was WEIRD. 

I was pondering this one during the whole weekend.  Is it just a variation on the celebrity thing?  Is this what it's like to be a famous person's sister?  Is it because the bloggers share sometimes super-intimate details of the struggles of their lives and so, people inevitably feel like they already KNOW the person?  That happens to me too.  Even so, here are some tips that will keep you from looking weird: When approaching an IFB, say 'Excuse me, I just wanted to introduce myself.'  Then introduce yourself to ALL the people standing there.  Then feel free to express your love for and devotion to them for their writing--tell them that the posts they wrote about the divorce or disease or death really touched you/moved you/changed your life. Get a hug, maybe.  And then?  Go get a drink and eat a shrimp puff for fuck's sake.  It's a PARTY.

*  I was completely oblivious to any kind of 'Mean Girl' behavior.  The place is big and people are circulating and even when I was with IFBs and FANS interrupted, there was graciousness in response.  To me, the experience is what you make of it, just like any other.  The people whom I approached were also gracious, real, funny women.  Jenny The Blogess?  Is down to earth and just as funny in person.  Yvonne from Joy Unexpected is EXACTLY how you think she'd be.  Kate from Sweet|Salty? Ahh. Inspiring.  Amy from Amalah is quick-witted and NICE.  I don't know.  I was awash in admiration.

*  There is some Wicked-Ass TALENT in the blog-o-sphere, yo.  The Community Keynote (alone worth the price of admission) showcased and highlighted a range of bloggers/topics that had me doing that cliched thing: I LAUGHED! I CRIED!

*  Almost every single blogger that I met was even more attractive than their avatars would have you believe.  Really.  They are a pretty (and handsome) bunch.

*  One of the best compliments I got all weekend was when Annette from Catnip and Coffee said this:

'You talk just like you write.'

Which is really, really nice person code for: 'WHOA! You curse like a SAILOR even in real life!'

Not QUITE, But I'm STILL Laughing.

The Littlest New Girl: [Pretending to bite my shoulder.] 'I eat you up, Mommy.'

TLNG:  [Nom Nom Nom noises.]

TLNG:  'MmmmMMMMMMmmmmm!'

Me:  'Am I tasty and good?'

TLNG: 'Yeah.'

Me: 'What do I taste like?'

TLNG: [Pauses.]

TLNG: 'CAKE!'

Me: 'OOOh, I taste like cake?'

Me: [Pretends to eat her shoulder.]

Me: 'Mmmmm. YOU taste like ice cream.'

TLNG: 'I taste like, ice cream?'

Me: 'Yep. What do you think Daddy tastes like?'

TLNG: [Pauses]

TLNG: 'POO!'

Mostly.

My bags are packed.

I remembered everything life-saving/important.

I'm over my travel anxiety.

I'm glad to not be bringing my laptop.

I'm okay with leaving my kid.

I'm excited to have time away.

You know.

Mostly.

P.S. Empty diaper bags make okay carry-ons.  And plastic make-up cases that come with kids' stuffed animals make okay jewelry bags.

P.P.S. I'm sure I've forgotten at least one life-saving thing.

P.P.S. I'll catch you on the flip side (unless I can bogart a laptop.)

Funny Lady.

One of the things that I love most in life is making people laugh.  And while it's nice to elicit a polite chuckle in a social conversation at a party or a work setting, I am most pleased when I make someone laugh for real.  Like, LAUGH-laugh. Bend-over-hold-their-sides-bust-a-gut laugh.

And generally, depending on what floats your humor boat, I suppose, I am successful in this, my life-long endeavor.  I have been known to make people actually LOL in [church] meetings, pee their pants (LITrally) and spew beverages from their nostrils.  I've even almost drowned a friend at a water fountain with [a well-timed] a joke told at what turned out to be a delicate moment in the crucial act of swallowing.

From my earliest recollections, 'You're so funny,' has been consistent feedback from others.  It is a personality trait that I value in myself and in all others who are close to me.  What floats my humor boat is a combination of quickness of wit, irreverence, willingness to laugh at oneself, and no hesitation to treat wicked, politically incorrect, and/or even the darkest subject matter as fodder for teh joking.  To me, humor functions not only as entertainment but also as a way to grease difficult subject matter.  Both within myself and in relation to others.  The Man and I use humor even in our hardest, roughest conversations.  It's a spoonful of sugar, yo.  Also? A damn useful coping skill.

My sister is funny.  My husband is funny.  All of my friends are funny. And as things are shaping up, I'm finding that my kid is funny too.  And while she does the regular two-year-old, testing-out-her-world things that are just inherently funny, I see in her (FINALLY) a shadow of myself.  She STRIVES to be funny.  She tries to make me laugh and when she succeeds, she radiates what looks like pride and self-satisfaction (and then of course REPEATS AD NAUSEAM).  She is surprisingly quick, appearing to get the subtleties of humor in a way that leaves me wondering if I'm imagining things. 

Like when I ask her, 'What do you want for breakfast/lunch/dinner?' without the benefit of a couple offered choices, her answer is the same:

'DOG FOOD!'

I have absolutely NO idea where this came from but she remembers it every time that she's asked an open-ended question about a meal. And let me tell you--it's still funny.  The only exception was the day we played with play-doh and she was pretending to eat it.  Later that day when I asked her what she wanted for lunch?

'A PLAY-DOH SAMWICH!'

During bath time, she squashes a rubber duck against her chest to make fart noises.  She deliberately sings the wrong words to songs to make a joke.  She is starting to make faces for laughs.

I don't know.  I read this back and it sounds like a thinly veiled post about how funny my kid is, and I suppose there is that.  And I suppose, too, that it may be that every kid is super funny to his/her mom, and that's cool with me.  It's not like I think that my kid is the funniest kid in the whole world.  It's just that for me, it is one of the most interesting and gratifying parts of parenting so far, watching my girl develop in this particular way.  In a way to which I can relate so thoroughly.

When I mention to friends or colleagues that I think my kid is funny, their responses are all variations on a theme:

'Well, you don't say. I wonder where she gets THAT?'

I think it's a good thing, too. 

Because some days, her ability to make me laugh is [the only thing that keeps me from putting her up on Craig's List] how I know things are going to work out juuuuust fiiiiine.

A Bit Of Family History And Chocolate Oil Cake. Or, A Bunch Of Boring Stuff And A Recipe In Desperate Need Of A Name-Change.

When I was a kid, my mom cooked all the time and also baked quite a bit.  It was only after I left home for college that I truly appreciated her culinary abilities (She could make a DELICIOUS pie crust. From, like, SCRATCH. A feat which seems HERCULEAN to me.)

She used this recipe for chocolate cake that she got from my grandmother, who got it from her mother (who, incidentally, was still alive and making it her own damn self when I was a kid--she lived to be 93 and died the year I got married.) 

Shortly after my great-grandmother died, my grandmother started forgetting things.  It became apparent that it was a problem when she could no longer follow the steps in a recipe for cookies. And five years later, my mother died.

Because so many family traditions reside with the women and the women of my family are no longer, it has been difficult to carry on traditions like that chocolate cake my mom used to make.  My mother's memory was such that she didn't really REQUIRE recipes and the ones that she had were for things like 'Baked Taco Mash' and [shit like that] [stuff that Tess might like] things I don't recall having for dinner.  My grandmother's recipes were intact but reside at my father's house.

To make a long (and somewhat grim, as its turning out) story shorter, The Little Sister and I were left without the recipes to many of our family's traditional baked goods. I have been wanting the recipe for my great-grandmother's cake and I remember that she had called it 'Oil Cake.' (I know. YUM, right? You'll just have to trust a sister that it's DAMN GOOD.)

So, I Googled and came up with one from All Recipes.

CHOCOLATE OIL CAKE

INGREDIENTS:
2 cups white sugar
3 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 cups water
1 cup vegetable oil (I use canola)
2 Tablespoons distilled white vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

DIRECTIONS:

1. Preheat oven to 350.

2. In a large bowl mix dry ingredients

3. Add wet ingredients. Beat by hand until smooth.

4. Pour into 9x13 pan. Bake for about 40 minutes.

It is the simplest, easiest cake.  It's also VERY GOOD.  Moist and delicious, with frosting or without.  The name is disturbing, I know.  It's made without dairy or eggs and so, you COULD call it Vegan Chocolate Cake but honestly, that inspires just about as much confidence as oil cake, I think.  But it is the taste I remember from childhood.  The next best thing to a family full of alive women, who still bake.

Kinda.

Just trust.

It's YUMMY. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Edited to add this:

 

And this:

 

And this:

 

At least she can just check the blog to get the recipe, should she want it when I'm, er, you know.

Lots To Talk About But Nothing To Say.

Do you ever feel this way? 

I feel it on the reg, whenever I'm stressed or the general level of anxiety is up a notch (or twenty.)  I have ideas, things I want to talk about but when I sit down to write (a post or even an email to a friend), I've got nothing.  If you've been reading here for any length of time, you already KNOW this about me, which makes even [the whining] the description irrelevant.

The list of things that are currently stressing me out is short.  There are two items:

1) Going to Blogher

2) Having another baby

I am beyond excited to go to BlogHer.  I really am.  The reason it's stressing me out is because I'm always a little stressed as a travel date approaches (I have a case of a self-identified disorder called Travel Anxiety) and also because I've never, ever been away from my girl for that long. (You can roll your eyes, really, it's okay.  I KNOW.)

I know (KNOW!) she's going to be fine.  She will be with The Man (who I am SURE is, heh, going to enlist the help of [even homeless people off the streets if he has to] family and our sitter).  My kid going to live/survive/go on/get fed/semi-bathed (let's be for real) and although her clothes won't match and her hair will be a knotty mess when I see her, she's going to be OKAY.  Really, I am aware.

It's just, you know, my first time away and it stings a little.  I'm keeping my mind focused on the things I'm excited about (Going through airport security ALONE! Reading on the plane! Meeting people! Trying to stay up past 8pm!) and also on things that I'm NOT going to miss, like planning [every fucking morsel that passes between her lips] meals and [wet, naked, lubed up, alligator wrangling] bath time/bed routine.  When I'm able to do that, I want to leave a day early and stay a day longer.

The other thing, you know, having another baby--we'll leave that [elephant in the room] for another post. 

I've forgotten everything I wanted to say about that, anyway.

Overheard In The John At Lowe's, Or, The Downside Of Having An *Articulate* Toddler.

Me: [Hunkered down in front of the toilet, balancing awkwardly on the balls of my feet, looking like what I can only imagine as a bowling ball atop two golf balls.]  'Are you making your pee?'

TLNG: 'I'M POOPING.'

Me: 'Great. Good job.'

TLNG: [Overhears someone in the next stall] 'SOMEONE'S PEEING?'

Me: 'Yes.'

TLNG: 'SOMEONE'S PEEING?'

Me: 'Yes.'

TLNG: 'SOMEONE'S PEEING?'

Me: 'Yes, someone else is peeing.'

TLNG: 'WHERE IS SHE?'

Me: 'Uhh.'

TLNG: [Turns her attention straight ahead and fiddles with the left strap] 'THIS IS YOUR BRAAAA?'

Me: 'Yes.'

TLNG: [Fiddles with the right strap] 'AND THIS IS YOUR BRA TOO?'

Me: 'Yes, that's my bra, too.'

TLNG: 'AND THIS IS YOUR SHIRT?'

Me: 'Mmhm. That's my shirt.'

TLNG: 'AND THIS IS YOUR SHIRT?'

Me: 'Yep. That's my shirt.'

TLNG: [Pulls down the front of my shirt] 'AND THIS IS YOUR BRAAAA?'

Me: [Feet tingling now] 'Yes.'

{Repeat: THE BRA, THE BRA, THE SHIRT, THE SHIRT. Three more times.}

TLNG: [Pulls out the front of my bra] 'AND THESE ARE YOUR NINIS?'

Me: [Praying for death or unconsciousness] 'Yes. Those would be my ninis.'

TLNG: [Pokes my chestal region]

'I TOUCH THE NINIS! I TOUCH EM!!'

[Cracks herself the hell up.]

[Pauses for the business at hand]

TLNG: 'I'M POOPING!'

Me: 'Great! Good work!'

TLNG: [Puts on her widest comedic grin, executing her latest and self-identified-most-hilarious joke EVER.] 

'I EEEEAT THE POOPIES? I EEEEAT THE POOOOOPIES, MOMMY! I EAT DEM!!'

[Cookie Monster Impression]

'AAAAH YUMYUMYUMYUM!!!!'

[Mad, cackling laughter]

And, uh, abject humiliation.