Snack Like You Mean It
Killingme, VT

Fat Hot Ham: Liveblog Edition

A little background on some Inside Amalah Humor from the Olden Days: One time I tried to keep a dream journal/ideas notebook on my nightstand. One morning I woke up with pen ink all over the sheets and FAT HOT HAM scrawled on the paper

True story from the olden, lo-fi days. These days I've taken my inexplicable nonsense all high-tech and digital. 

Now I keep a running list of possible blog topics on the Notes app on my phone. You know, in case I have a Brilliant Idea that I will otherwise completely forget about 10 minutes later, and certainly won't remember when I'm actually sitting at my computer staring at a blank New Post screen. At that point, I'll only remember that I HAD an idea, some kind of idea, but beyond that, nothing. Something Maybe? Probably? Hmm. 

Not that the Notes I manage to get down are all that useful either. Those Brilliant Ideas usually occur to me late at night, or after some alcohol, or both, and turn out to not be all that Brilliant in the harsh light of day. ("That time some moths hatched in a bag of Trader Joe's slivered almonds and then there were moths everywhere.") Or I have no idea what I was even trying to type in the first place because of autocorrect ("Noah sheik homework vs is Hal"), or because of a lack of important context/details ("That time I was bit by a goose as metaphor for entire life").

Today, while scrolling through the notes I discovered another flaw in the Notes system: Sometimes I will write an entire damn post in a frantic, spelling-error laden fit of "I cannot believe this is happening I must live-document this moment" and then...completely forget that I ever did that. 

So please allow me to present the following Amy's Brilliant Blogging Idea Note, dated from February of last year, which I JUST NOW finally remember typing while waiting for a delayed flight at an airport wine bar. 

This is presented as it appears on my phone, uncorrected:

Airport wine bar. Bartender reluctant to serve guy next to me. He loud. He Libertarian conspiracy theorist - ask him about h1n1, 9/11, and the Jews! Has also touched on new worlkd order, PATTERNS!!!!, and eye-color-based paternity suspicions. Deep thoughts on the fed, bitcoin, Irish people. 

Works for the government so HE KNOWS. More on patterns. Wikipedia that shit. Wake up, sheeple!

Has the exact voice of Morgan freeman, hand to god.

Ok then he lent me his phone charger and I felt kind of bad, until I remembered all that shit he said about the Jews. He also ordered another shot. He does not need anothe shot, or at least four of the previous ones. 

Asked if I wanted a shot. (No) Knocked my phone on the floor, asked three times when my flight leaves. Uhh, now, I said. (Lie.)

A New Girl sat down on the other side of him right before I got up to catch Pretend Flight and he complained to her that this bar cuts yuo off after only "two rounds." Frantically tried to eye signal her that nooooo change seats change seats.

"Well that's just unAmerican," she said. 

Bet they got along fine.


(This post is dedicated to whoever had to sit next to That Guy on a plane last February. I hope you were also drunk and/or packed a lot of Valium.)




One of my notepad blog notes was "chicken that looked like toes".

I still have no idea what it meant, but I bet it was hilarious!


I sat next to that guy!


dang. Going back and reading those early posts makes me so nostalgic for being pregnant with my first. The anticipation, the careful planning of the nursery and all affiliated baby gear, the long naps on Saturdays...

I wouldn't want to be a first time mom again (learning curve fail), but dang, nothing my first time pregnancy was roses compared to managing pregnancy with a crazy toddler.


How's this for an excellent iPhone note: Now is the being blindsided Pizza Hut. Have no idea what it means, but I'm keeping it in case the alien overlords come back in search of pepperoni.


Fat.Hot.Ham. For some reason at this late hour this struck me as hysterical and tears are rolling down my face....time for bed, apparently.


From my phone notes

November 28, 2014
Ask for Joey when ordering.

Fraulein N

I ... would like to hear about the moths. It sounds gross but fascinating.


I saw this and thought of you (well, Noah)--Continental Army summer camp!!

When:July 27, 2015 - July 31, 2015
9 a.m. - 3 p.m.
Where:Anderson House

Join us this summer for Continental Army Camp, a day camp for children on the Revolutionary War. During the week, campers will learn about daily life of soldiers and women in the Continental Army, along with major events of the Revolutionary War. Campers will dress in period costumes and enjoy hands-on activities, including sewing a camp tent and learning drill musters and colonial dances. The camp will conclude with an open house for parents to see demonstrations of what campers learned during the week. Ages 8 - 12. $350.

For more information and to register, please contact Kendall Casey, museum education manager, at or 202.495.7127.


I used to be a flight attendant.

My life was full of those guys. So many of those guys.


I love that first paragraph! I woke up one morning years ago to find notes in red ink written on the bed frame. The Mate: "Why didn't you use pencil?"


Listen. If I lost access to the notes section in my phone all would be lost, because there are gems like: I have neosporin in my pockket; 99 luftballoons; always sometimes never alwys right this secnd make it stop; I am fuck deficient; 22" curtais.

Seriously. Am I always drunk typing? AM I ALWAYS DRUNK? (What do these notes mean?)

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