Wednesday Advice Smackdown

Firstly, I want to thank everyone for the wonderful comments and emails yesterday. Y'all continue to amaze me with your unbelievable niceness. My mom's surgery is scheduled for next Monday. I'll be spending this weekend with her, as she is coming to attend the World's Tiniest Baby Shower, Another Pitfall Of Being Pregnant In The Summer and Also Having Friends With Social Lives and Plans and Vacations That Don't Involve You.

Secondly, I refuse to confirm or deny the existence of diamonds (singular or plural) in regards to my anniversary gift. Sorry. I'm obnoxious and all, but seriously, I'm a little embarrassed by the size and the sparkliness of the rocks that now adorn my earlobes.

Thirdly, whoops.

Fourthly, today is your lucky day, as you can get TWO Amalah entries for the price of one (which is zero! click on some ads! they offer amazing work-from-home opportunities that are TOTALLY not a multi-level marketing Amway scam!). DesignPublic, a very cool online furniture/textiles/other-designer-things-I-want store, asked me to participate in this Baby Blogapalooza thing to celebrate their new Kids & Baby section. I think they may have me confused with someone else.

The topic was Kids & Design, and I wrote them an entry that is only about 9% recycled material. (It's the bit about the iron, because I thought it was wicked funny when I first wrote it but all my commenters decided to engage in a Serious Debate Regarding Where Amy Should Put the Iron instead of just laughing at me and my crazy iron talk.)

You can read my entry here. Some of the other guest writers include DaddyTypes, Finslippy, Mrs. Kennedy and other Internet Rock Stars who will probably think my entry is weird and not funny.

And while we're on the subject of weird and not funny, here's today's Advice Smackdown, brought to you by a girl who is currently wearing CHEAP BLACK PLATFORM SLIDES CIRCA 2002 BECAUSE THEY ARE THE ONLY SHOES HER FAT FEET WILL FIT IN.

Hi Amy,

Love your blog and Snarkywood.  And congratulations on the baby!  I’m insanely jealous…my biological clock is screaming at me to procreate and my husband isn’t ready yet. Sigh. 

Anyway, I was hoping you can give me some advice on how to start a blog.  I love them tremendously and think I might have a crazy enough life that I might be able to post things interesting enough that people will actually want to read. I’m just not sure how to get started.

Thanks for any advice and keep the snark coming!
Nicole Martinez

Oh, for years I talked about starting a blog. I was totally going to start one! Watch me! Here I go, starting my blog!

Only I never did. I came close one time, when I actually went and registered the amalah.com domain name. And then still. I did not actually start a blog.

But since I had the domain name, I at least started researching all the different tools and platforms available for wannabe-bloggers. Typepad vs. Blogger vs. Diaryland vs. Movable Type vs. Diary-X vs. WordPress vs. oh, my lord, I need to lie down.

So I made a list of the things that were important to me:

1) My own domain name instead of amalah.something.com.
2) Easily customizable templates.
3) The ability to upgrade or move to something more robust later on without changing the site name.
4) Groovy sidebar thingies.
5) Something so easy a drunk monkey could use it.

In the end, I settled on a TypePad Basic account, learned the ropes, endlessly messed with and fucked up my design, switched from a blog to a journal format, upgraded to a Pro account and learned CSS and began horribly abusing my bandwidth amount, for which TypePad mysteriously neglects to charge me for. So far.

I also started actually "writing stuff" somewhere along the way.

For some people, their blog wishlist might look something like this:

1) Free.

So really, decide what bells and whistles (if any) are important to you and then sign up for a service that provides said bells and whistles. Then start writing. That's kind of the most important part. (But speaking for myself, my OCD and control-freakishness wouldn't let me begin writing until I had a site that looked like I wanted it to, so I totally get why some people won't just sign up for Blogger and be done with it.)

Don't worry about readers at first. (Trust me, in a few months you'll look back on your first entries and CRINGE and hope that nobody actually read that crap.) Don't email everybody on the planet with your new URL. (I guarantee you'll deeply regret telling at least one or two of those people about the site later on.) Don't expect every writer you read regularly to care that they "totally inspired you to start your own blog! Come check it out!" They might visit. They might not. Don't take it personally.

Link to the sites you read. (And for the love of God, DON'T EMAIL PEOPLE AND ASK IF IT'S OKAY THAT YOU LINK TO THEM. THEY DON'T CARE. LINK AWAY. CHRIST. AND DON'T ALWAYS EXPECT A RETURN LINK BECAUSE THAT'S JUST NOT HOW IT WORKS.) Comment on the sites you read. The best way to draw attention to your new blog is by leaving funny/witty/thoughtful/properly-punctuated comments on other sites.

And you know, keep writing about things. Blog audiences grow mysteriously and exponentially. Like big scraggly patches of Internet weeds. Don't worry about running out of material or not having anything interesting to say. Blogging is addictive, and pretty soon you'll be a freak like me with two notebooks and a pack of Post-Its in her purse so she can scribble down the sort-of funny sentence she came up with while peeing just now because she might want to use that in an entry maybe.

If you're still worried about content, just buy a digital camera. Photo essays ALWAYS shut people the hell up about not posting enough.

Dear Wise Amalah, Guru of Fashion, please help a desperate soul!

I need shoes.  Desperately.  I have cute dresses and skirts, as well as kick-ass pants, but my shoe collection SUCKS dead goats.

I am 28, a government employee, and live in the middle of nowhere in the Midwest.  I want to look young and cute (because I am) but I have a very limited budget because I just bought my first house and, as I mentioned, I'm a government employee.  So that's constraint number 1.  Issue #2?  I live in a smallish town where the only place to buy shoes is the department store.  We have two in the mall, but I don't like J.C. Penney's and refuse to shop there.  We don't have a shoe store in town (unless one counts Payless, and I don't).  We do have a cowboy boot store.  Oh!  And as adorable as your cute heels are? I can't wear them.  I have damaged knees from a car wreck 10 years ago and anything over about 1.5 inches gives me great pain from my knees to my neck.

So, great wise guru, with this wonderful list of issues, how do I find cute and fashionable shoes? What kind of shoes should I look for?  Where can I find them?  As much as I love my brown Doc Marten's lace up shoes, they do not go with everything.

Yours in need,
KT

Behold, the Glory and the Powah that is Zappo's.

The first time I went to Zappo's, my jaw fell open. I drooled. My eyes may have rolled back in my head. 400 bazillion million pairs of shoes! Low prices! Sales! Designer brands! Knock-off no-name brands! And helpful sizing comments like "these shoes run big -- buy a half-size smaller."

I may have wept. And I live in a city with no shortage of shoe stores. But I could buy shoes online! Anytime I wanted! And I wouldn't have to deal with surly salespeople or that goddamn shoe department at the Hecht's in Chevy Chase that always sends me awesome coupons but then NEVER HAS A SINGLE SHOE IN MY SIZE, EVER, THOSE BASTARDS.

Zappo's lets you search by style, type, color, heel, width, whatever. Want sandals? Dress or casual? Slip-on or strap-up? Two-inch heels? Three? Flats? They have it all, and lo, there is free shipping and an awesome return policy.

My only problem with Zappo's is that sometimes? There are just TOO MANY DAMN SHOES. If I don't know exactly what I'm looking for (i.e. "I think I want something kind of...strappy. But not too strappy. Or maybe some kind of slide."), the hundreds of choices can send you into some sort of shoe overload.

So first, I check out what the designers are doing. I buy Vogue or InStyle or whichever mag is currently selling a "Shoe Issue! 475 Must-Have Pairs!" kind of thing. I look at Neiman's and Nordstrom's and see what's popular and what shoes I own must now be banished to the back of the closet because the toe is not the right shape or whatever. Then I look on Zappo's for something similar and (most likely) cheaper.

Right now, flats are still pretty popular, so your no-heel dilemma is not a problem at all. Beware of the ballet flats, however, as they tend to make even slender legs look stumpy. There are some beautiful moccasins and mules out there right now. (That I won't buy, because I am pretending that my feet are just swollen right now and will totally go back to their old size after I give birth so I don't need to get rid of all my shoes and buy bigger ones and I don't care that for some women the change in foot size is permanent, no no no, I can't hear you.)

Oh, and a preemptive response to the commenters who will be shocked that I did not mention NineWest.com as a great place for reasonably-priced shoes: Yes, it can be. Alternatively, it can be a nightmare of inconsistent sizing, back-ordered shoes that never arrive and one son-of-a-bitch-in-hell return policy. NineWest.com has angered me greatly,  and therefore I will wait for Zappo's to put those kick-ass Donald Pilner pumps on sale instead.

O wise, pretty Amalah,

Okay, here's the thing.  I have hair that sounds a lot like yours-- fine and stick-straight.  After having it long and hippie looking all through high school, I got it cut into a basic bob my senior year, and with some mild length fluctuations, a regrettable bangs experiment, and a semester-length fling with boyish short cut, it's been that way ever since.  I've added some highlights because the mouse brown was depressing me, especially in the winter in the northeast, but otherwise...it's been working for me.

Except...and here comes the problem...I just got engaged.  Which means I'm getting married, and I'm beginning to think about how I want to do my hair on the Big Day.  That's not my question...I've decided I want a french twist/chignon type thing.  The problem is?  My short bob that I love so much?  Is too short for how I want my hair to look on my special daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.  So I'm growing it out. Luckily I have a lot of time until my wedding day, but until then...I have to live with my hair.

And here's the thing:  because my hair is so fine, and so straight, once it gets past my shoulders it's just...dishrag dull.  No wave, no bounce, no personality, no nothing.  I remember this from high school, and while part of the problem in high school was that I hadn't really discovered products, nor did I really take care of my hair, I'm afraid part of it is just...the way my hair behaves.  So, wise pretty Amalah...what kind of a cut should I get that will be both (a) long enough to pull back and stick a veil into, and (b) still give my limp hair some...movement.  I'm not really big into lots of products or hair time investment, but I'm willing to try just about anything, as my hair is rapidly approaching danger length. Help?

Chignon Challenged

Well, for starters, I assume you'll be getting your hair professionally styled for the wedding? (Lord knows I can't do a decent French twist on my own head to save my life.) Because here's the thing: you actually don't need very long hair for a French twist. A professional updo stylist can do amazing things with relatively small amounts of hair. That's why God invented aerosol hair spray and bobby pins that come in packs of 100.

In reality, sleek and pretty updos are actually HARDER to achieve if your hair is too long. For my friend's wedding, I wore my hair down because I have so damn much of it, and any updo would have simply had to pile the like, seven extra inches on top of my head, most likely in a crazy poof of rural Pennsylvania-style ringlets.

For my own wedding, my hair barely touched my shoulders and was full of weird, half-grown-out layers, but my hairdresser still got it to do exactly what I wanted. (Which it is not doing in that picture, because of the 110-degree weather and humidity, but I forgot to scan a better photo.)

So if you can, you might want to pick your wedding stylist now and have him or her tell you just how long your hair needs to be to achieve the style you have in mind. Then get some tips on how to live with it in the meantime. I'm betting it doesn't need to be any longer than shoulder length, and I bet you could get a few longish-layers cut for body and movement in the meantime.

And my standard regimen for fine, limp hair applies: salon-quality volumizing shampoo on the roots, conditioner only on the ends, very small amounts of Pureology Root Lift spray mousse OR Bed Head SuperStar Queen for a Day Thickening Spray for volume. Blowdry your roots first, use a round brush to shape and use cool air on your ends. Finish with Bed Head Headrush spray shine to enhance your color and add texture.

Oh, isn't sad when you get to the end of an entry? And realize that you must wait an entire day before I update again? Or maybe even two days, because I'm so damn lazy? Not today! Now you can go check out my guest entry at the DesignPublic Blog, which includes a really horribly embarrassing photo of the shambles that is the nursery. Also, hot spackling action!

Questions for future Advice Smackdowns can be sent to advice@amalah.com.

Good Times, Bad Times, You Know I've Had My Share

Yesterday was our seventh wedding anniversary. To celebrate, I assembled a toy box from IKEA while Jason was stuck at work until 9 p.m. because his job sucks and that's totally just me saying that, People From Jason's Job, and you can't get mad at him because his very pregnant wife was home alone cursing profusely at pieces of particle board on her wedding anniversary and decided to say that you suck on the Internet the next day.

We actually celebrated Big Crazy Style over the weekend and went to our favorite restaurant where they prepared a bazillion courses of amazing food for us and served me sparkling water in a champagne flute. And I thought the woman at the next table was STILL giving me a dirty look about it until I realized she was mad because she was very, very drunk and decided, upon seeing me in all my basketball-belly glory, that SHE WANTS A CHILD and proceeded to pick a fight with the man she was dining with AT QUITE A LOUD VOLUME.

WHY WON'T YOU GIVE HER A CHILD? HER LIFE IS EMPTY. EMPTY! EMPTY LIKE THAT SECOND BOTTLE OF WINE SHE ORDERED. AND SHE WAAAAANTS A CHILLLLLLD.

Did I mention that both she and her dining companion were at least 60 years old?

So that was very fun, in a trainwrecky kind of way, especially when, as they were leaving, the guy let her walk out first and yelled FUUUUUCK YOOOOOUUUUU!! when the door swung shut after her.

(I swear to God, we're going to read about them in the paper some day after she defies all medical logic and gives birth to octuplets or something.)

What was also fun? Was when Jason gave me my anniversary gift, which is so incredibly awesome and ridiculous I'm not even going to tell you about it. Because no, I don't deserve it, and no, he really shouldn't have, what with the baby and the college fund and the whatever, and yes, he is fully aware of what a pain in the ass I am and yet he still enjoys spoiling me to no end.

Anyway. It both begins and ends with the letter "D" and no, it is not a bra.

What was not so fun? And is kind of the reason I didn't immediately write some entry about OH MY GOD YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT SHINY SPARKLY THINGS JASON JUST GAVE ME AND ALSO LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE BATSHIT CRAZY PEOPLE WE SAW AT DINNER?

My mom got her pathology results back from her second surgery. The cancer originates from the ducts, not the breast tissue. There are no clear margins, and it could very well be scattered throughout the entire breast. This severely lowers the chances of success with radiation and drugs, so her doctors have advised her to have a masectomy instead.

I'm trying to stay positive and busy and take out all my many frustrations on IKEA furniture, but it's hard.

We're all very, very sad over here. Bummed, even. And really ready for some good fucking news for once.

Babalah boy? We're all counting on you. Please be adorable and squishy.

This is the Third Time I Have Attempted This Entry, And No, It is Not a Charm

(Continuing in the presents-for-shout-outs whoredom that is this site: thanks to Minarae, Ubik, Peyton, Warcrygirl, CityCat and Jessie for the lovely, lovey baby gifts. And I found some stamps! So thank-you cards are en route. Thank-you cards that will most likely sound weird and rambling, because I never know what to write besides, uh, thank you, and end up trying to be all funny and witty and just...no. It never works. Possibly because I have the handwriting of a serial killer.)

(Although does anyone know how much postage I need to send a card to Australia? Because seriously, Australia!)

And now: GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDAMMMMMMMN.

I wrote an entire post, people. AN ENTIRE POST. RIGHT HERE. And then I was stupid and clicked on something in the Google Toolbar for no good cotton-picking reason and I thought I was in a different Firefox tab and NO, I WAS NOT IN A DIFFERENT FIREFOX TAB, and POOF, I was carried away from my post which was immediately lost, except for those first two paragraphs because I'd saved THOSE as a draft and then never hit save again because that would have made sense.

And I am left with nothing, like if I wrote an entry in Microsoft Word and then Windows crashed and the stupid autorecover thing didn't work, only this is worse because I ENJOY BLAMING MICROSOFT FOR MY PROBLEMS. But I get no pleasure from yelling at Firefox or the Google Toolbar. I love Firefox and the Google Toolbar.

So I will blame myself, and my stupid clicking. And I will try to remember what the hell I wrote before.

(I wrote that second part, the tantrum part, yesterday, Thursday. And let me tell you, there is nothing more tedious than trying to re-write something you've lost. So I gave up. Now it is today, Friday, and I will try again. It still feels pretty tedious.)

The Post That Firefox Ate was about Wednesday morning and the Blood and the Scare and the Dehydration and blah blah blah. That's all like, SO two days ago. We can all move on now.

Except not too much, because I'm still feeling sorry for myself.

Although for those of you who (amongst the much-appreciated head patting and offers of cake) railed against my boss for making me work on Wednesday, I must issue a clarification. My boss did not "make" me come into work. My presence at work was 100% Pure Amalah-Brand Crazy.

See, there was this Big Huge Interwebnet Project that was going live on Wednesday, and Big Huge Interwebnet Project was MY Big Huge Interwebnet Idea. MINE. So while I totally COULD have supervised the project from home, I was imagining scenarios that involved something going Terribly Wrong, and mobs of panicked people running to my office where I would calmly and brilliantly Fix Everything and then everybody would be all, "Oh my God, Amy is so awesome, let's give her a raise and a promotion and throw her a party with cake."

Nothing went Terribly Wrong. I sent out some emails and tested some links and ate some donuts from the vending machine and then went home.

I still maintain that I am awesome.

I went to work yesterday because we were throwing a bridal shower for someone and there was cake.

I went to work today because...well, I'm not sure. Partly because I need every precious, precious hour of sick leave for after the baby is born. And partly because I again grossly overestimated how important I am at work and again assumed that unless I was actually physically present at the office, everything would go to hell in a handbasket and people would be running around screaming "WHERE IS AMY? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WE NEED AMY!" and possibly on fire.

By 1 pm I realized that actually, I'm barely needed at all and can do my entire job at home from my couch. Which is MUCH closer to a bathroom, which is good, because this "staying properly hydrated" shit is killing me. And people at work are starting to comment on my very pronouced waddle-walk, which becomes even more hilarious when I'm clearly trying to waddle to the bathroom in a desperate, desperate hurry.

And trying to ensure that I empty my bladder completely? Requires me to spread my legs far, far apart and then bend over as far as I can, which is hard for a rolly-polly pregnant woman and more than once I have plum near toppled right off the toilet. And at work I swear the person in the next stall can tell what I'm doing and is all, "WTF?" At least at home my only problem is that sometimes my dog or my cat think I'm bending over to play with them and do gross things, like climb into my pulled-down underwear.

(Let me know anytime if I'm oversharing, by the way.)

Oh, I also came home today because of the contractions. Oh yes! Forgot to mention those. 300 bottles of water a day and I'm still getting Braxton-Hicks contractions that alternate between completely painless and ones that knock me out of my chair and onto the floor where I suddenly understand why so many women poop during labor, because OH MY GOD, MY PELVIS IS MELTING.

They're all erratic and weird and they stop once I drink yet another bottle of water. So while barely registering on the Official Time to Get Concerned Scale, I decided that hey, perhaps my body is telling me to take it the fuck easy for once and maybe for once I should listen.

So I did, and here I am, alternating between work and typing this brainfart of an entry (IN SEPARATE FIREFOX WINDOWS, LEST I GET CONFUSED ABOUT THE TABS AGAIN), eating ice cream and taking photos of my dog everytime she does something cute.

Hint: she does a lot of cute things.

 

Everything is Okay, Part II

(Or why I don't feel like writing an Advice Smackdown today, part 3,048,273)

Hey, anyone remember when I started bleeding at 11 weeks and it turned out to be a urinary tract infection? Remember how much fun that was?

Answer: So fun! Let's do that again!

And to make it EVEN BETTER, let's add in some painful back contractions in the middle of the night! Because of dehydration! And exhaustion! From The Heat! The MOTHERFUCKING HEAT.

It's been a lovely morning.

And I'm in a FANTASTIC MOOD, what with the huge work-related project that's due today and the four frillion little details left to take care of and PEOPLE, I AM HERE AT WORK DESPITE A RAGING URINARY TRACT INFECTION (with BLOOD! BLOOOOD!) AND ALSO DEHYDRATION AND EXHAUSTION AND WILL SOMEONE PLEASE JUST PAT MY HEAD AND TELL ME WHAT A BRAVE LITTLE TROOPER I AM.

I could also use some cake.

Blankety Blank

Hello! How are you today?

For a summary of my day, I refer you to Exhibit A, Not Awfully Darn Good.

But no matter that I am worn out and tired and sleepy and working is working me like some kind of working work machine! (Work: We will squeeze every last drop of editorial skill from you before September! Every last drop! ) Never mind that I am not sleeping and cannot get any of my shoes on! I'm telling you, it does not matter, because look at the nice Internet readers I have!

That's the blanket that Bethiclaus made for me.

(Correction from a previous statement: Beth did not knit this blanket. It was crocheted. I apologize for the error, but would like to point out that I am not very craftmatically minded and couldn't tell you the difference between knitting and crocheting if my life depended on it. I believe one uses two needles while another uses one needle or possibly a pointed stick. Either way, they are both Way Too Difficult For Me.)

(Although at one time in my life, I was wicked awesome at making those little potholders out of the stretchy loops on the plastic loom.)

Anyway, the blanket arrived this weekend and it is breathtakingly gorgeous.

Ceiba was allowed near the blanket for a brief photo opportunity and then promptly shooed away. The blanket has been placed in protective custody until the arrival of a certain small person.  A certain small person who will most likely vomit on this blanket within five minutes and BREAK HIS MOTHER'S HEART.

In other news, there is a CAR SEAT sitting in my living room. With an adjustable canopy that I assembled myself, with only a minimum of cursing but with an awful lot of throwing stubborn plastic bendy things across the room.

I think there might be a baby coming to my house or something.