More From the Mail Bag. Or Comment Bag. Whatever.
November 13, 2009
Hmm, okay. So yesterday's post was kind a of preachy "we're all fucked and going to die" thing, wasn't it? Let's change the subject. More topics and questions posed by you, the people:
I remember you mentioned doing the 30 day shred a while ago.. How did
that work out? Did you stick with it for 30 days? Did you do it more
than once a day? Have your abs been shredded?? Should I try it? Would
you ever even in a million years consider posting a before and after
pic? Am I being way too forward??
My all-time record is doing it once a day, every day, for a week. Then maybe once every other day. Then there was something on TV that I really wanted to see and I decided I needed new sneakers but never bought new sneakers because sneakers cost money that could otherwise be spent on more wine. In other words, I've failed each and every time I've committed to the workout, for no other reason than the fact that I am one lazy ass motherfucker. It's a short workout, it's diabolically effective (seriously, the difference in your energy/endurance/strength between day one and day four and five is insane)...and yet. Couch. Mmmm, couch. I love you, couch!
How did you pick your kids names? And what are your grammar pet peeves (if you have any)? (I have my own, but am still awful with certain rules - just tried to
figure out if it should be "kids names" or "kids' names" and failed
miserably. MS degree = worth NOTHING!!!) OR are there any grammar rules/spelling rules/etc can you never remember??
Both of the boys' names are from the Old Testament, which for whatever reason was the only source of names that Jason and I could agree on. Neither of us are much for the uber-modern off-the-wall names, but while I preferred classic names that have simply fallen out of recent favor, Jason liked boring names that all belonged to jackasses I went to high school with. While neither of us are actively religious anymore, we both found we had a high amount of nostalgia for the names we grew up listening to in Sunday School, and I was pretty hellbent on finding names that didn't have an obvious nickname that would eventually be pointless to fight. Noah was perfect.
Ezra was our number-one pick from pretty much the beginning (I especially loved it because of the literary connotations: Ezra Pound and Ezra Jack Keats, and because it seemed unlikely to rocket up in the top 10 like Noah did), but we did alternately take turns panicking over the idea of it being too weird. (Even though it's a freaking BOOK of the BIBLE, and not some random name we picked out of a endless genealogy list or something, like Heppiziah begat Harppiziah begat Asghdkvoieofjdlasiah. But most people aren't familiar with the lesser-known book names.) Even after announcing his name, we almost backtracked when he was three days old and almost wrote Elijah on the birth certificate, after two separate people heard the name and assumed he was a girl. (Ironically, Jason wanted to name the baby Ezra either way, boy or girl, because he is a filthy name poacher who leaves zero good names for boys.) (We've met at least three girl Noahs already. If the "old men with long white beards" names aren't safe, the world has truly gone mad.) Anyway, we obviously stuck with our first choice and the Mighty Ez is here to stay. ZAH!
Middle names: Corbin is the Latin version of my maiden name, and Harrington is Jason's mother's maiden name. And with that, we're officially out of decent family names. It's all Elmers and Mortimers and Ediths after that.
As for grammar pet peeves, the misplaced plural/possessive apostrophe drives me BATSHIT. Jesus Lord God. Here, people, IT'S EASY:
RIGHT: I don't like blogs because I don't think bloggers are good writers.
WRONG: I don't like blog's because I don't think blogger's are good writer's.
RIGHT: I cannot stand that blogger's overuse of the caps lock key.
WRONG: I cannot stand that bloggers overuse of the cap's lock key.
Got it? Good. Please don't ever do it again.
That said, I have always struggled with the "i before e except after c" rule, and totally have to pause and recite the rhyme and squint at the word for awhile. And usually the word is "piece." I don't know why, but I always, ALWAYS type "peice" the first time and have to correct myself. Oh, and correct use of lie/lay/lying. Trips me up all the damn time.
I always love a good embarrassing puberty story...
Oh, God. Okay. So at some point in early high school I realized that my boobs were probably never going to...you know...BLOOM. I was quite...small. ("WAS." HA HA. HAAAA.) So I did what every hugely insecure girl does at one point or another: I bought a ridiculously padded push-up bra and stuffed it with tissues.
The problem was that, since I didn't exactly have much money and I didn't want my mom to know I was buying lacy devil black underthings, I bought my ridiculously padded push-up bra at, like, TJ Maxx or something. It was an IRREGULAR ridiculously padded push-up bra. It hooked in the front and sat like four inches of rigid boob armor under my clothes, and the front hook had this bad habit of coming undone.
Now, most women, after realizing that a bra has a tendency to UNHOOK ITSELF, would maybe think: I should not wear this bra anymore. I should return it. Or throw it out. Something, anything, other than wearing this bra out in public in front of people.
Me: But it adds TWO WHOLE CUP SIZES. Three, if you add tissues! I will wear it and just like...not move my arms much.
Wait, sudden backstory! I was also -- Oh, God -- a total drama nerd and was part of this church acting troupe that specialized in Abstinence Sketches. Seriously. Everything we ever did was all about Sex, and the Not Having It. We performed for youth groups and churches and occasionally a public school would have us visit their sex ed class and talk about how pointless it was to use condoms and birth control because of the failure rates. Don't even BOTHER, man. Abstinence! Jazz hands! We were "directed" by some grad student from Princeton who was really into avant garde theater, so most of the sketches were like, waaaay symbolic and shit, involving people tying red strings to each other's wrists to represent your emotional and physical tie to everybody you ever had sex with, and by the end of the show we were all twisted up in the strings and couldn't move and one time I had to pretend that the string strangled me and I died. Of premarital sex and disease and a broken heart and probably a back alley abortion. ANYWAY. IT WAS DEEP. ALSO CO-ED.
Since avant garde abstinence theater troupes are like, totally the place to land yourself a totally not-gay boyfriend, I had a crush on one of my fellow actors. I don't remember anything about him except that his father sold Amway. And the time that we were talking after rehearsal (IN THE CHURCH, IN FRONT OF JESUS) and I was telling him a story and made some kind of big, swooping arm gesture...
...and my factory-second push-up bra unhooked, sending the four-inch molded cups flying into my armpits, and when I frantically snapped my arms back down and folded them desperately across my chest, praying to Jesus that I looked somewhat natural and that he hadn't noticed, mentally repenting for the sin of vanity and secular underwear...
...all the tissues fell out of my shirt and landed on the floor.
Yeah, he noticed. A little bit. There's just no coming back from that one, you guys.