Ask Amalah Redux

Back by popular demand, it's the Wednesday Advice Smackdown!

(And by "popular demand" I mean Lee asked for it. Three times. It could have been a comment malfunction but I'm choosing to believe he really and truly wanted an advice column today more than anything else on earth. And I deliver!)

But y'all are slacking on the questions. I can only ask myself questions so many times before I start looking kind of crazy. I mean, more kind of crazy. So here's the thing: Moments ago, I opened up a brand-new email account. A Google Gmail account, which is so, so cool because you have to be INVITED to open one. Or something. But that's totally elitist enough for me. So I'm asking y'all to help me christen and sully my beautiful virgin account. Send questions to amalah @ gmail . com. Bonus points to the first question I receive.

(Disclaimer: Bonus points have no cash value and cannot be redeemed for anything at all.)

And now! To the advice! Hurry!

Six Degrees of Updatieness

1) I'm back.

2) Dad is doing well. He was discharged from the hospital this afternoon after his blood pressure returned to normal and is home. We made hamburgers. And came up with cover stories for the crazy-ass wound on his head. Knife-fight in Mexican bar. Rollerblading. Home-run ball from the Phillies. Frying pan from crazy wife.

3) My mom is doing well too. We took her out for dinner last night and then crawled around the carpet with Oxy-Clean and damp sponges cleaning up bloodstains. And debated what a Luminol spray-down would reveal and who would go to jail for it. So pretty much a typical Corbett-family gathering.

4) We also tried recreating my dad's fall and could not, for the love of life or physics, figure out how he ended up with the crazy-ass wound. We think he hit the doorknob and fell so fast he beat the blood to the floor, so to speak, as the bloodstains did not match any hypothesis we could concoct. There was much fake-falling and fake-lying-around-on-the-floor and fake-vacuuming. Also faily typical of Corbett family get-togethers.

5) Ben Affleck was in the hospital on J-Lo's wedding day because of chronic bronchitis. Blah. I feel misled. By InTouch Weekly. If I cannot trust InTouch Weekly, who do I have left in this world to turn to?

6) Why, I turn to you, the good people of the Internet. You are all awesome. Thank you very much for your kind and loavey comments and emails. My parents were awfully darn touched and a little bit closer to believing that y'all are not a collective of crazed stalkers who will one day kill me. You've done the Internet proud, peeps.

Well Then

My dad collapsed this morning while vacuuming. He hit his head on a door and cracked it open. He's on blood thinners for his heart so they still have not gotten the bleeding under control. A trauma surgeon has been called in. That's all I know.

I'm three hours away. I'm freaked out. I'm trying to look busy. My mom wants to wait until we know more before I leave to go up there.

For anyone else, this wouldn't be such a mind-bogglingly terrifying injury, but my dad's been through a hell of a lot. So maybe for him, this shouldn't be so terrifying, because he is one amazingly strong man who has fought through worse.

But I'm still terrified.

Update: He's stable now, and awake. He hit and punctured an artery when he fell. But it should be all stitched up and under control. He lost a lot of blood so I guess they'll need to give him some. And figure out why he collapsed. Or something. I'm very tired.

I've decided to head to Pennsylvania tonight, just after I finish some work stuff up. Jason's coming too, because he's awesome like that. Also coming with me: the goody bag of all my favorite candies and snacks that Sprocketeer bought me. Twix, Goldfish, M&Ms, gum, Snickers, Starburst and Skittles. And of course, InTouch Magazine, because nothing cheers you up better than trashy trashy magazines.

The cover story: BABY ON THE WAY? After the wedding: STARTING A FAMILY! J.Lo has longed for a baby for years. Now the newlyweds begin to make their dreams come true (no end punctuation, because another exclamation point would be tacky.)

PLUS Why was Ben rushed to the hospital on J.Lo's wedding day?

DUN DUN DUUUUNNNN. I cannot wait. I must know why now!

Random Bits of Random Absurdity and Random Randomness

In only a vague particular order:

A D.C. cab idling outside my building for 20 minutes this morning. The cab driver standing next to the cab, holding the back door open, waiting. Waiting. D.C. cab drivers don't hold doors open. And they don't wait around for 20 minutes for damn near nobody. I watched this all from my bathroom window while I got ready and tried to make a mental note of the time and descriptions of the driver and the cab in case the police stopped by tonight to investigate a missing person.

A woman crossing my street, stopping to pick something up from the ground. I figured it was a coin or maybe an earring. As I drove by I saw that she had a cicada delicately perched on her finger. She crossed the street and set it gently down on the grass.

A pair of rogue mattresses, strewn across the center lane of the highway. Traffic everywhere swerving to avoid the deadly obstruction.

A Hummer swerving to avoid the mattresses. A Hummer. Afraid to drive over a mattress. A driver, missing his one shot to actually navigate the treacherous urban terrain his fucking montrosity was built for.

A man, having eaten a substantial number of free cheese cubes at Whole Foods, brazenly asking for someone to please refill the sample plate already.

Riding in the office elevator while carrying two packages of whole-wheat pitas.

Having to explain to people in the elevator why I was carrying two packages of whole-wheat pitas.

A pipe explosion resulting in no air conditioning for you (translation: me) until at least tomorrow. Fuck.

Getting your downstairs neighbor's mail -- the one who hates you ever since you ripped up the carpet and refinished the hardwoods, so basically, forever -- and walking downstairs to return said mail, overhearing said neighbor shrieking, "They wouldn't hire her because she's BLACK!"

Gently placing mail outside neighbor's door and running like hell back up the stairs.

Reno 911's new opening credits. Hee.

The five windows and graphics FOX has onscreen for its coverage of The Great Sitting and Watching of Reagan's Casket. One live feed, one loop from yesterday, one window for the anchors, one scrolling news ticker for the Latest Casket Events, and one humungous Remembering Reagan memorial graphic.

A can of daal makhani that most unfortunately resembles dog food.

And my friend's ultrasound, revealing an empty sac at seven weeks. Her second miscarriage and D&C this year.

Absurd.

The JournalCon Pimping Post

You know, I’ve been feeling especially loavy-doavy towards my readers lately. Y’all are a wacky bunch, really. And I regard a lot of you as my friends. It doesn’t matter that we’ve never met, or that we only know each other through IM or email or both. Welcome to the New Friendly Internet. Population: more people that you probably realized.

In the eight months since I started this journal, I’ve gained a posse, a support group, a community, and this one thing that defies explanation. Not to mention dozens of partners in crime and slacking and several friend-crushes. I have met just one of these people in real life, but that doesn’t mean I feel like I know any of you any less.

But still…I want to meet the rest of you. Share a drink and party and do drunk karaoke and maybe a pillow fight? Or a slow dance? Wouldn’t that rock?

Well, come to JournalCon then, you fucking bunch of losers. (Sorry, was just getting a little too mushy there.)

JournalCon is August 20-22, right here in Washington, DC at the rocktastically groovalicious Hotel Helix. I’ll be there. The Judith Light Brigade will be there. All the cool kids will be there.

And guess who else will be there? Yes, really. Pet-Friendly Hotel = Internet Celebrity Pets!

Anyone is welcome to come. Bloggers, Journalers, Sporadic Updaters. Don’t have a blog? But thinking of starting a blog? Come to JCon and learn all the stuff that most of us had to learn the hard way. (Hello, why does my style sheet keep going away? Why does my registrar list my goddamn home address on the WHOIS Lookup? How can I turn my blog into a New York Times Bestseller?)

So speak up. Who’s going? Who’s not sure? Who needs a little gentle persuasion or a good kick in the pants?

Because seriously. I will be there. I will perhaps let you touch me. I may possibly give you a hug. I might also be drunk and fall down. How many more reasons do you need?

Okay, how ‘bout some bribery? I will have presents for every amalah.com reader who attends JCon. Seriously. Special presents, above and beyond whatever crap swag I bring for all the little people. Just let me know when you register and then try to contain your excitement until August.

(REGISTER. REGISTER. REGISTER.)

Yesterday (Start Humming, Bitches)

Yesterday was a very fine day. I got to stay home for the delivery of the couch (the blessed miracle of furniture) and then went downtown for an awards luncheon. Because I am once again, an award-winning editor. Honorable Mention this time, as opposed to Second Place last year, but at least I wasn’t beaten by that damn Canadian newspaper again. (Newspaper! In a newsletter journalism contest! Boo! I still have not let it go. Perhaps I should.)

The luncheon was fine, except for the luncheon part. This goddamn Atkins shit has got to END, people. If I’m showing up at a gorgeous hotel to receive an award, I want some honest-to-god food. Instead, we got one ladle of bean soup, one scoop of chicken salad, one scoop of tuna salad, one-half tomato and a pile of cucumbers. And no bread or crackers for the salads, which were both so gross and so indeterminable that my whole table sounded like a chorus of Jessica Simpsons. I’m still not sure which one was which.

I did enjoy the mug of crème brulee, however. I was in sugar shock all day. Buzz buzz!

And! Then! I got to the office late in the afternoon and promptly learned that we will be closed on Friday! Closed! It’s like a snow day, only warm outside AND I get to make plans. Just one of the not-too-many perks you get from working for a super-conservative company run by a man who named his child Reagan, and not after the kid from the Exorcist, which was my first thought when the name was announced. Huh.

And then I went home and luxuriated on my new couch. We flipped out the sleeper part to test the mattress, and I must say that overnight guests to Casa de Amalah will be CHILLIN’, y’all. It’s comfy. And the top part of the mattress (like where your head goes) folds up a little bit so you can sit up in bed and read or watch TV. And while that sentence made not one blessed lick of sense, you must trust me on this…it’s like a Craftmatic Adjustable Bed only not so…hospital-bed like.

We honestly contemplated leaving the mattress out all the time because it’s so fun to lie on and watch TV. But then we realized that might be a tad too ghetto.

(By the way, my Goddamn Rock Solid Ghetto Shiznit Name is Ass Machine Teapot, Yo. Which is awesome.)

Oh! And we took a stroll down to Starbucks and I had my very first Strawberry Crème Frappuccino. Holy fuck, people. You must try it. After I was done? I opened the lid and used my finger to lick up whatever was stuck to the side of the cup. This is like, a Gingerbread Latte-caliber drink.

(Plus 10 cents from every SC Frap goes to the Komen Foundation, which means spending $3.95 or whatever on them multiple times a week is really totally justified and karmic.)

Oh my god. I wish I was drinking one right now.

Which brings us to right now. Today. Not so fine as yesterday.

I overslept.

I tripped and hurt my foot on the Old n’ Busted couch which is directly in my path to the coffee maker.

I sliced my leg up in two places while shaving.

A cicada (CICADA!!!) flew and splattered on the driver’s side window on the way to work, thus scaring the crap out of me and causing me to shriek a little bit.

Work work work work work. And where’s my Vegas expense check, bitches? Am bloody broke.

I realized that my cell phone has been in silent mode since the Harry Potter movie on Saturday night. Which means I have several dozen voice mails from people who are all pretty damn mad at me right now. "Call me back, bitch! I know where you live!" Sorry Mom.

And it’s 90 degrees outside and I’m wearing effing panty hose.

But it’s not all bad. I went out for lunch with my friend Sprocketeer and we never actually got around to ordering actual food. We just ate a lot of free salsa and chips and a lot of queso. How I loave queso. We sat outside and I totally peeled off my panty hose and shoved them in my purse until we got back to the office.

AND 21 comments (wait! 22!) on the couch post. A post about a COUCH (wait, 23!).

Heh. I’m totally writing about my new broom tomorrow. Bonus points if I can figure out a way to incorporate cat photos.

Couchness

It's here! It's here! Couchity goodness!

So here's the thing. Last week, when the couch was SUPPOSED to be delivered, two guys showed up and were all, "No." So we rescheduled so they could bring in MORE guys to help.

Two guys showed up today. Two.

And they were all, "Hercules!" And got that puppy up the stairs and into my living room in 10 minutes flat. And they complimented my wall color.

So the couch is here. It's a sleeper and it's pretty and I am looking forward to my very first nap on it.

And yes...I put together a little photo essay about a damn couch, because the Internet NEEDS to see my couch. Couch couch couch.

Max loved the old couch. He loved sitting his fat ass on the back cushions and causing them to completely collapse.

See? Smoosh.

And here's the new one. Pretty!

Old n' Busted...and the New Hotness. With special guest star: Vacuum Cleaner!

Max still likes Old n' Busted.

Also, in Non-Couch Related News, we bought the video capture DVD XR writer digtal input thingie and can now burn all our TiVo shows to DVD. It's glorious.

Dudes! I can get a Season Pass to Who's the Boss and then? Upload actual moving talking Judith Light quotes. Oh my God, shut up, Amy! Shut up! It's all too exciting.

Of Memes and Arrogance

Ok, y'all know I don't usually do memes much around here, but it's Monday, I have a headache, I'm tired, possibly ovulating, and have nothing better to write about. Besides? I like this one. I stole it from Zoot, who stole it from J, who stole it from someone else and on and on. Etcetera and whatnot.

(Although if you ever come here and find me posting Quizilla results? You can take that as a pretty clear sign that I've finally up and gone "The hell with you people!" and won't be renewing my domain again.)

1. Do you try to look hot when you go to the grocery store just in case someone recognizes you from your blog?

I resent this question, as it implies that one must try to look hot. Looking hot comes naturally to me, no effort required.
Oh, I’m supposed to answer all truthfully and stuff? Well then, yes, I do try to look hot at the grocery store, but mostly in case I run into an old boyfriend. There are a lot of them out there.

(Although? If someone recognized me from my site? That would be the coolest thing EVER. I’d act like it happens all the time though, and maybe act all harried while I scribble an autograph on their coupon for Bisquik or something. I should rehearse.)

2. Are the photos you post Photoshopped or otherwise altered?

No, but not for lack of trying. There’s just no fixing some stuff. I just give up.

3. Do you like it when creeps or dorks email you?

I love dorks. Dorks are my kind of people. But I hate the creeps. And I’ve had the creeps. And they give me the creeps.

4. Do you lie in your blog?
I would say I possess leanings towards extravagant exaggeration and drama-queeniness. In fact, I regularly use “drama queen” as a verb.

5. Are you passive-aggressive in your blog?

What the FUCK is that supposed to mean, honky chicken?

6. Do you ever threaten to quit writing so people will tell you not to stop?

No, but one time I threatened to ditch the Queen of Everything attitude and be nicer and sweeter and I was totally ordered not to. Ha.

7. Are you in therapy? If not, should you be? If so, is it helping?

Not currently. Read into that what you will.

8. Do you delete mean comments? Do you fake nice ones?

I have never, EVER faked a nice comment. Do people do that? For real? That’s…sad, really.

And I have deleted a handful of comments. And I don’t feel bad about it. I have zero patience for illiterate, off-topic or otherwise stupid comments. Like just today, I deleted one that said “the potter movieis are terible.” Way to type, brainiac.

In real life, you aren’t allowed to delete patches of conversation or ban people who get on your nerves, but online you are. And I take advantage of that. I’m extremely open and honest online (my name, my photo, my life), and if I feel like you’re getting too close or disrespecting me, I’ll ban yo’ ass in a heartbeat. Just try me.

That said, I don’t care if people disagree with me or think I’m full of shit. Just type carefully and spell properly and lay off the sex talk unless you’re someone on my “sex talk is ok” list, which I’m not making public. You know who you are.

9. Have you ever rubbed one out while reading a blog? How about after?

Ew. Shut up.

10. If your readers knew you in person, would they like you more or like you less?

Good one. I honestly don’t know. I like to think that I’m pretty funny and interesting in real life. (If by “interesting” you mean “someone who does nothing of note but can find a good story in her day anyway.”) So if you meet me and expect me to perform like a little trained monkey, I just might, since I like making people laugh in real life too.

Sometimes? When I’m talking? I realize that I sound just like my site. Fractured grammar with no punctuation for comedic effect and maybe some made-up words and blah de freaking blah. I’m not sure if people think I’m funny or just think I’m an ass. My mom thinks I’m funny.

Although you might not, because my voice is a lot squeakier than I’d like, because I quit smoking a lot earlier than I’d have liked to. So you might want to slap me instead.

Wait, am I still talking? Have I even come close to answering that question?

11. Do you have a job?

Yes. Editor, writer, protector of puppies, eater of ham sandwiches.

12. If someone offered you a decent salary to blog full-time without restrictions, would you do it?

Um, yes. Duh. I would also accept sit-around-on-my-ass-and-eat-nachos-all-day as a full-time job.

13. Which blogger do you want to meet in real life?

August will bring JournalCon, which means I get to meet all my fellow Judith Light Brigaders: Coleen, Miss Doxie, Dawnie, and Diana. I’ve already met Chris, the Bosley to the JLB Angels.

Lauren has a stupid dumb wedding she has to be in that weekend, so I won’t get to meet her. And my heart is BREAKING at the thought. BREAKING. Stupid wedding. I hate it so.

I also realized that none of those people are actually “bloggers” in the true sense of the word. So based on that technicality, I get to answer again: Zoot and Mindy.

14. Which bloggers have you made out with?

Mindy. And this guy.

15. Do you usually act like you have more money or less money than you really have?

I’m not sure. Do I talk about money? Probably less. Because I have a lot.

16. Does your family read your blog?

Gulp. Yes.

17. How old is your blog?

About eight months. I might get some readers soon!

18. Do you get more than 1,000 page views per day? Do you care?

I get about 4,000 hits a week, so do the math. I’m too tired. And hell yes, I care. Deeply.

19. Do you have another secret blog in which you write about being depressed, slutty, or a liar?

No, my other blog is more of a portal to complete and utter insanity. And Judith Light fan art, of course.

20. Have you ever given another blogger money for his/her writing?

I’ve put money in tip jars and bought people stuff off their wishlists. Speaking of which, it’s about time I posted mine, you bitches.

(WARNING: Do not judge me by my wishlist. It is all garbage. Garbage that I won’t buy for myself because I like to pretend to Amazon that I only read Important Books and really don’t watch that much TV. But we all know the truth.)

21. Do you report the money you earn from your blog on your taxes?

Money? What? Taxes?

God, I need to sell some swag. Trucker caps with the Queen of Everything logo and such. That would rock so hard.

22. Is blogging narcissistic?

Does my belly-button look fat to you?

23. Do you feel guilty when you don't post for a long time?

I am racked with guilt. I cry and weep. And then I post some drivel and feel guilty about that too. Woe.

24. Do you like John Mayer?

Yes. My body is a Disneyland.

25. Do you have enemies?

Probably. I can be a bitch.

26. Are you lonely?

*weep*

27. Why bother?

Well, if you can think of a better way to win friends and influence people, I’d sure as hell like to hear about it.

The Debate at Hand

Quick...is it inappropriate to go braless to the Harry Potter movie? Like I know it's a kids' movie, but it's not like it's a kids' movie, right? Besides, Hermione has more of a chest than I do at this point.

Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Also, if I read ONE MORE REVIEW of this movie that makes some sly comment about the threesome scene in Cuaron's Y Tu Mama Tambien (muy sexy, by the way) and the convenient threesome of Harry, Ron and Hermione, I shall lose it. WE GET IT.

Anyway, we're off to the movie now. Perhaps I shall come back and fix the missing accents in Cuaron's name and movie title, and maybe look up to see if I'm even spelling his name wrong, but Jason is hovering and I don't want to get into the bra discussion again.

Update: LOVE THAT MOVIE. Jason does too. Thumbs up all around. Fucking fantastic, best one yet, funny, scary, lovely, etc. And I have more than a little crush on Daniel Radcliffe, who is growing up to be much more attractive than I previously predicted. No Macauley-nightmare-in-waiting there. He's not too young, is he? Would I go to jail?

Holy Crap, Blank Space

Why does a new document in Word have to be so white? And wide? And…blank? It’s very intimidating, especially when you have NOTHING TO WRITE ABOUT.

But this was why I started this godforsaken website, though, right? So I’d be forced to write everyday instead of watching Simpsons reruns or playing little online games like this one? So I’d be forced to wring creativity from my brain like an old sponge that has been used to scrub the bathroom one too many times but every time you’re at the grocery store you forget to buy sponges? Right?

In other words, nothing of interest has happened to me. And definitely nothing of interest that could be strung together with other interesting things to make one interesting website update has happened to me.

So I guess it’s time for some stream-of-consciousness writing, where I simply yap on about whatever occurs to me until I’ve filled up the majority of this big blank screen. Brace yourselves.

My choice of salad dressing utterly destroyed my otherwise lovely salad from Whole Foods. “Roasted red pepper ranch” sounds delightful, doesn’t it? Sadly, no. Yeeeewww.

Every other day this week I ate a cup of ramen noodles from the vending machine. No, I don’t feel very good about that either.

Jason has lost five pounds on the South Beach Diet already. I am trying not to hate him for it.

But how can I hate a man who bought me a present EVERY DAY THIS WEEK? I cannot hate such a man. First, he ordered a whole heap of stuff from Victoria’s Secret, and due to backorders and the crazy way VS packs stuff, it all arrived in the mail one item at a time. Shoes! Nighties! Tops! Bikinis! Panties with cherries on them! Every day was a celebration of ME ME ME!

I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but Jason buys me clothes all the damn time and is damn good at it. The man SHOPS, people. With ME. For SHOES. He has OPINIONS. Opinions that I have learned to trust implicitly, as he has much better taste and more patience than I.

I’m all, LOOK! BROWN SHOES! I LOVE THEM THEY’LL DO OH THERE’S A LINE FOR SIZES WELL THESE SHOES HAVE ALL THE BOXES STACKED HERE I’LL JUST BUY THEM OR MAYBE GO ONLINE WHERE I DON’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH HUMANS JASON WHERE ARE YOU?

And Jason will have wandered over to a different display and have chosen the most beautiful shoe that is not only a designer brand but has been marked down to ridiculous levels. And even if it hasn’t, he’ll talk me into buying it. We’re a very dangerous team.

Anyway. After the Victoria’s Secret bounty all arrived, he brought home a dozen yellow roses. And then the next day, the brand-new book from David Sedaris that he happened to notice at the store, like, three minutes after it was unloaded from the truck.

And he bought advance tickets to see Harry Potter. I think I might just swoon.

Jason also has impeccable taste when it comes to ordering food. If he’d been at Whole Foods he would have known not to get the roasted red pepper ranch dressing.

Or at least known to taste it before completely drenching your entire salad in it.

And on a completely unrelated note, y’all want me to be in your weddings. Because I rock at it. I’m MOH in my friend Andie’s wedding this September, and first, I found two very lovely and flattering bridesmaid dresses secondhand through another friend for the other two girls, saving each of them a heap load of money.

(I didn’t get a secondhand dress for myself because I assumed I’d be like, six months pregnant by the time the wedding came around. Oh Amy, you’re so stupid. I laugh at you, stupid girl.)

So I was GOING to order a matching dress full-price through the store, but then lo and behold…eBay, bitches. I got the exact same dress as the other bridesmaids on eBay. In exactly my size. For $54. Boo. Yah.

Here is the dress. It’s pretty and has a little shawl for my wan and delicate shoulders, which look exactly like the model’s.

Ha.

So I think I have filled up adequate white space now. Plus I need to do work. The latest newsletter from a certain author I work with contains a poem. A big long poem. Did I mention these are financial newsletters? About stocks and bonds and mutual funds? Did you know there are poems about those things too? I did not. But I do know this: There should not be poems about those things.

Especially poems that read like this.
That are only preferable to watching a bris.

Singsongy lines with singsongy rhymes,
The creator of which should hang for his crimes.

If Dr. Seuss ever wrote about stocks
It would probably suck great bloody bullocks.

So obviously, I have a lot of work to do right now. Have a nice weekend, muggles.