the year end stuff

This morning, around, oh, 3:45am, I threw back the covers, grabbed my pillow, and stomped out of the bedroom because Joe was snoring so loud that I felt my only options at that point were to either smother him with a pillow or go sleep downstairs. I chose to sleep downstairs. I hope Joe appreciates that.

So, you know, I guess it would seem that the year is going out the way it so often comes in: with too little sleep and a headache. I guess what I'm trying to say is I feel hungover even though I haven't had a drop of alcohol which seems unfair? But c'est la vie.

I'm so tired, in fact, that I have started babbling even more incoherently than I usually do, leading Joe to tell me multiple times to just take a nap already. But will I? No! Because I'm not tired! I am basically this today:

TAKE A NAP

But that's not what I want to focus on. OH NO IT'S NOT. It seems only right that I write some sort of end of the year wrap-up, because of, I don't know, blogging rules or some shit. So here are some things, mostly good, that happened this year.

1. I had some book reviews published on Pajiba. SO AWESOME.

2. Related: Marcus Zusak, author of The Book Thief, tweeted me about my review of his book. SO VERY AWESOME.

3. Also related: blogger and writer Pamela Ribon also tweeted in response to a review. ALSO SO VERY AWESOME.

4. I quit the job that was causing me emo feelings.

5. I got a new job where it's actually in the job description to play with dogs and cats.

6. I went on several trips, Chicago (twice!), South Carolina, Florida, and had almost 100% positive experience with all! I say almost because one trip was for work. The non-work parts were awesome. The work-work parts were...not.

7. Two friends had babies.

8. PENGUINS.

9. Had some feelings about volunteering.

10. Wrote a lot. I know it doesn't seem like it if you just look here but I wrote here and for Cannonball Read and Ashley's Harry Potter project but I also did a lot more personal writing. So there's that.

There's probably more but I'm tired of typing and really wanted to end on 10 SO THERE.

Happy New Year, internet. I wish you many David Tennant GIFs (and, you know, other good things) in the coming year!

Allons-y!

hold onto your butts

I can't believe I haven't written about this yet. I guess I've been busy...um...watching The United States of Tara in its entirety over the course of a week. PRIORITIES.

Christmas came and went, as it does, and very quickly, as it ALSO does, and faster and faster each year. But, lucky woman that I am, I got to open one of my Christmas presents early.

I came home from work one evening, exhausted and stinking of puppies (which is pretty standard these days), and trying to work up the energy to go to my work Christmas party (which wasn't too difficult, it's just that I need to work up energy for any kind of extended social interaction where small talk might be expected), when I noticed a card sticking out of my Christmas stocking.

Inside were two tickets to Newport Aquarium's Penguin Encounter. See:

Craziest eyes to have ever crazy eyed.

My response to opening this gift was something like, "What? What? What does this mean? Does this mean...oh my god...oh my god...what does this mean? Does this really mean we get to meet penguins? Like meet meet them? Like shake hands?" for, oh, about half an hour? And then for the rest of the week? JOE IS SO LUCKY.

It was awesome, you guys. The encounter itself lasts only about twenty minutes, which passes far too quickly, but it's great. I'd go again. Like, SO MANY TIMES AGAIN. I'd pay five times as much if it meant I could spend twice as much time with the penguins. I briefly considered asking for a job application once it was over. I mean, how different are penguins from dogs really?

When you arrive at the penguin encounter, a penguin handler makes you wait five minutes while he or she tells you about how you can't pick up the penguins and cuddle them like little babies unless you don't have a particular fondness for your eyeballs anymore. (Still. It's tempting.)

After the liability spiel, you're finally allowed in the room with the penguins. When we went, there were about eight penguins roaming about the room. You mostly just sit in one place and have to wait for the penguins to approach, which is difficult. I really wanted to get up and waddle around with them but I don't think that's allowed.

The handler picks up various penguins and you're allowed to, like, pet them on the back and wings. They're so soft! I wasn't expecting that. And they sometimes make sounds like braying donkeys. Definitely was not expecting that, either. Anyway. Here are some pictures of penguins. That's what you're here for, right?

HELLO I AM A PENGUIN.

I named this one Donkey because she made donkey noises. CREATIVITY.

Blueberry tried to steal my umbrella. I guess cause it was blue.

Newport Aquarium opened in 1999. It's open every day (except major holidays), there are five penguin encounters daily, and each encounter has a limit of 12 people. Assuming the penguin encounters started when Newport Aquarium opened, over 300,000 people have taken this tour. It's fairly easy to buy a ticket. It's not all that expensive. Anyone could do it. But I don't care. It still feels special. Like, I touched a penguin! Who cares if so many other people have done the same? Extraordinary experiences don't become any less extraordinary just because others have experienced them.

I'm not sure when my obsession with penguins began. It was probably always there, along with my obsession with, oh, all other animals. I know seeing this video a million years ago definitely didn't help:

And this latest penguin encounter has only strengthened my resolve to have my own pet penguin someday. I'LL SPARE NO EXPENSE.

All I want for Christmas is this

I keep dreaming about work. But not my current job or anything, because that would be normal. No, I keep dreaming about my old job, which is very annoying as I no longer work there. 

I guess I had a lot more anxiety tied up in my previous job than I realized. The reasons aren't really important. But apparently the anxiety didn't magically go away, even though I haven't worked there in months. I had the most vivid dream about it last night, so vivid that I woke up convinced I was running late, that I needed to get up right away and leave early since it was snowing.

I don't have to be at work until 11:30 today. I woke up at 7:30. So. You do the math.

I don't have anxiety dreams about my new job. Not yet, anyway. Maybe those don't show up until you've been there at least six months. Still. I wish I'd stop dreaming about my old one. I'm not holding my breath or anything, I mean, after all, I had an anxiety dream about high school a while ago and high school is a lot further back than a few months.  

Speaking of work (NICE SEGUE), I had yesterday off so I took my sister to see Catching Fire. We went in the middle of the afternoon and there were about ten other people in the theater, and yet there was still a lady sitting a few rows behind us, explaining specific plot points (loudly, of course) to her husband. She was one of those people who, instead of whispering to her partner during non-silent parts of the movie, would try and speak OVER the loud parts, because OMG what if he couldn't hear her? What if he didn't know that, in the previous movie, Peeta and Katniss had almost eaten poison berries? What if he forgot that Katniss had volunteered for Prim? What if he didn't remember that District 13 supposedly didn't exist? OMG PEOPLE GO HOME AND READ THE BOOKS.

Usually movie-talking sends me into an apoplectic rage. I normally sit there fuming, wishing I could get up and scream, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UUUUUUUP" into the person's face.

Which. I never do. Not out loud. But my brain always looks like this:

Actually...it's probably more like this:

But it didn't bother me that much yesterday. I thought, "well, maybe he's hard of hearing and he missed that part." I guess I finally remembered the whole "this is water" thing while I was actually IN the moment. Score.

(Though that didn't stop me from passive aggressively complaining about the ongoing idiot commentary within earshot of Talking Lady as we exited the theater. YOU GUYS I CAN'T HELP MYSELF.)

Anyway. I'm finding it hard to get worked up about things lately, especially this morning, as right now I'm sitting on the couch, curled up with Max, a blanket, and a hot cup of coffee, the computer screen illuminated by the Christmas tree next to me. I'm listening to the Muppets sing Christmas carols and snow is falling softly outside. I plan on reading Harry Potter until it's time to leave for work, where I will get to play with puppies and kittens until I come home and hang out with my family for the rest of the evening. No wonder I can't bring myself to get worked up about anything, not even Talky Lady and crazy anxiety dreams. Hopefully it'll stay this way. You know, if the fates allow and all that.

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

My idiocy is well-documented on this blog, but I really outdid myself yesterday. I went to the grocery after work, in the midst of a (barely) snowstorm, two days before Thanksgiving. And not only that, I went to the bad Kroger, the one with long lines and not enough cashiers, the one with questionable produce at the best of times, all because it’s five minutes closer than the good Kroger. I always do this. The good Kroger is so nice. It’s newer, everyone who works there smiles and says hi and asks if you need help instead of glaring at you or avoiding eye contact, and they always ask me if I’d like help out to my car. I would never, ever take them up on that, but I like being asked. It makes me feel like a 50s housewife for a moment (and a moment is really the only length of time I ever want to feel like a 50s housewife).

Her eyes are screaming.

I walked around the store, doubling back now and then as I inevitably forgot something, and spent my time mentally killing everyone in my path. The woman examining a box of band-aids, somehow blocking two aisles: DEAD. The man careening one of those stupid car carts down an aisle while his screaming children orbited around it like flies on a turd: DEAD. The lady standing in front of the bananas, blocking the entire display with her cart, while she obliviously chattered away on her phone: DOUBLE DEAD.

As I walked down the baking aisle, scowling at the world in front me, my brain looked like this:

I made this myself.

And then this lady, an older woman who was being trailed by several grandchildren, started coming down the aisle. I was already mentally rolling my eyes as her grandchildren splintered away and she slowly rolled her cart down the very middle of the aisle. However, she maneuvered her cart to one side when she saw me and then she completely erased my bad mood. It was like magic.

“Do I need nutmeg? Hmm, I can’t remember if I need nutmeg,” she said to the grandchildren who were no longer behind her. She kept walking, paying no mind, then looked straight at me.

“What do you think, honey? Do I need nutmeg?” she asked.

And without even thinking, I blurted out, “Of course, you can never have too much nutmeg. I bet you’ll be glad you have it.” She laughed and thanked me for my help, then continued making her way down the aisle as I exited the other end, grinning like a fool.

It reminded me, almost exactly, of a commencement speech David Foster Wallace gave called This is Water. Have you heard it? Here, just watch it. I know ten minutes of internet video is like ten hours of real time, but I promise you that it’s worth it.

I wish I could tell you that, after my short interaction with that lady, I made a conscious effort to pull my head out of my ass and remind myself that no one else in the store really wanted to be there either, and maybe I did, for a few moments, until someone else entered my glare zone. So, you know. Can't really put that one in the win column.

Although, at least I’ve got the perspective now, right? And just in time for Thanksgiving, too.

FABLES review: Volumes 1 & 2

 Crossposted from Cannonball Read 5

It seems only right, as it’s been announced that FABLES will be ending at issue #150, that I should finally start my review of the series. Nothing like waiting til the last minute, yes? I’ve been meaning to review FABLES since my last go round of Cannonball and, in fact, did manage to at least review one collection last year, a Bigby-centric collection called Werewolves of the Heartland.

I wish I’d loved that collection more. I’m surprised I didn’t because, as I mentioned, it was Bigby-centric, but I suppose they can’t all be winners. Luckily, the first two FABLES collections, Legends in Exile and Animal Farm, are absolutely:

Can't stop thinking about DOCTOR WHO: blame the 50th Anniversary.

I came to comics late in life, thinking (wrongly, like so many people) that they were all superheroes and big-boobed-spandex-clad ladies. It wasn’t until I met my husband that I started reading comics and FABLES was one of the first.

FABLES hits all the marks for me. There’s an ongoing mystery, a smart-as-a-whip-takes-no-nonsense heroine, a tortured hero, still haunted by things he’s done in the past, an unlikely romance that sparks in the first collection and heats up throughout the rest. And, best of all, fairy tale characters, just, ALL OVER THE PLACE.

When ABC announced that Once Upon a Time was going to be a thing, I was of two minds. Part of me thought, “awesome, I love stuff about fairy tales, how cool!” but the other part of me, the larger, angrier part, just think-shouted, “WHAT THE FUCK WHY ISN’T IT FABLES?”

I did try Once Upon a Time for about half a season but it just didn’t hold the appeal for me that FABLES did. Probably because, the entire time I was watching it, I was just wishing it was FABLES. 

Oh well. Moving on, I guess.

Slight spoilers, ahoy.

Fables, Vol. 1: Legends in Exile

Our story takes place in a part of New York called Fabletown, where a bunch of fairy tale characters took refuge when their Homelands were invaded by the Adversary and his forces. The Fables have disguised themselves as normal New Yorkers, so the Mundys of the world can’t detect that there are immortal beings in their midst.

We’re introduced to some important Fables, namely Snow White, Fabletown’s deputy mayor, and Bigby (formerly the Big Bad Wolf), the town’s sheriff, when Rose Red (Snow White’s sister) is allegedly murdered. Bigby and Snow team up to find Rose Red’s killer. Prime suspects include Jack (of beanstalk fame), Rose Red’s longtime boyfriend, and Bluebeard, her secret fiance.

We also learn that Bigby has been nursing some hardcore unrequited love for the beautiful Snow White so, you know, YAY SHIPPING.

  Fables, Vol. 2: Animal Farm

So last issue, we met the human Fables but you just know there are non-human ones, right? RIGHT? Well. There are. FYI. The three little pigs. The three bears. Three blind mice. Chicken Little. Yada yada. While the human Fables get to enjoy the conveniences of big city life, the non-human Fables have to live on The Farm, so as not to arouse suspicion in the Mundy world when someone sees a talking pig wandering around. The Farm seems nice enough, really, but some of the non-human Fables bristle at being told they HAVE to stay there.

Enter the revolution, which Snow White and Rose Red stumble right into. Shit gets real, you guys. Shit gets SUPER TOTALLY REAL.

Anyway, it’s hard to review these without giving too much away. You should probably just read them, OK? OK. Good talk.

Children's Grief Awareness Day: November 21st, 2013

Tuesday night, on my way home from volunteering, I was listening to the all-Christmas radio station and then BOOM suddenly I was crying.

I was not all that surprised.

Christmas music always makes me think of my grandma. Grandma died three years ago, on October 15th, 2010, a day that feels like both yesterday and a million years ago. Sometimes, in weak moments, moments when I'm tired or caught off guard because I see something Grandma would have thought was funny, I forget that she's gone, even. How is that possible?

I've been volunteering with Oak Tree Corner, a children's grief group, for six years now, so I understand that the the stages of grief are not something that can be charted. It's not like, OK, I will be in denial for a week and then angry for three weeks and I will bargain for just a few days, but I'll be depressed for three months, and then I will enter acceptance and will be done grieving for this person forever. CASE CLOSED.

I know that's not how it works. I understand, logically, that the grieving process is a dark and convoluted mess, a twisted timeline that loops back in on itself and starts and stops depending on mood or circumstance. And yet I'm still surprised when I find myself weeping quietly in the car along to the sweet sounds of Karen Carpenter singing, "I'll Be Home For Christmas."

And I'm lucky. With the exception of my younger cousin and a friend's brother from college, the deaths in my life have been due to old age or after a long illness. They've been grandparents and great-aunts and uncles, a beloved pet, sad still, of course, but not altogether unexpected.

So when I go to Oak Tree Corner and I hear some of the things these kids are struggling with, I realize just how lucky I am. My grandma was a twin, identical, and I remember how confusing it was, emotionally, when I saw her twin for the first time, just before the funeral. So when I hear a story of a child struggling with something similar, but like, times 100, it makes me wonder just how else I could be helping. Because if I was confused, how confused was that kid, you know?

These are the things I find myself thinking about today, on Children's Grief Awareness Day, and as we approach the holidays. The holidays are pretty much universally acknowledged to be the worst time of year for those grieving a recent loss. They really throw into stark relief just what's missing from your life, in a way that you might be able to ignore at any other time of year. Family traditions that the person was a part of no longer hold the same joy. It feels wrong or at least...off in some way to continue them without that person you loved so dearly.

It does get easier as the years go on, but it still hurts. The fresh slice of pain, blade-sharp, that took your breath away that first year fades to a dull ache as the years pass. It never stops hurting, though. It just hurts in a new way.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about Oak Tree Corner and the kids there. And yet I still always feel like there's more I could be doing. If only I thought about myself less, tried a little harder, gave a little more...yada yada yada. Everyone feels like that, though, like there's more they could be doing, because there IS always more we could be doing. So, today feels like a good day to renew my efforts a bit, to pledge to do more next year than I did this past year, and to look for new ways to help.

Join me? 

You can also find a list of children's grief support groups throughout the US on the National Alliance for Grieving Children's website.

this post has no point but I had fun writing it and isn't that all that matters?

They say everyone has a super power (I mean, right? Someone says that, I'm sure.) and if that's true, mine is...I don't even know what to call it. I'm...really good at recognizing voiceover actors in commercials (or whatever)? (Or whatever...what a great origin story.) Anyway. I identified John Krasinski as the Esurance guy in about two seconds and it wasn't JUST because I used to spend all of my free time watching The Office.

It's not just that, though. Sometimes I can recognize an actor or actress from just seeing them for a split second, even if they're not all that famous and the part they're playing is miniscule at best. (For instance, Cary from The Good Wife is in an episode of Freaks & Geeks for, like, 30 seconds. I'm not sure he even has a name. He is SUPER young. But I totally got him. YOU HEAR ME, HE'S MINE, I GOT HIM.)

In these days of constant internet access, my superpower is kind of moot. But even back before I had an IMDb app on my phone, I could identify an actor and rattle off a list of other shows or movies they'd been in. It was like I had IMDb in my head. I AM IMDb! My friends would be all, "Who is that?" and I'd be like, "Joshua Jackson," and they'd be like, "what do I know him from?" and I'd say, "Dawson's Creek?" and they'd say, "no," and I'd be like, "Urban Legend?" and they'd be like, "whaaa?" and I'd be like, "Mighty Ducks?" and they'd be like, "OH YEAH." (This is a terrible example, everyone knows who Joshua Jackson is, PACEY 4EVA!!!)

I am the Rainman of pop culture. If people are talking about a movie and they can't think of the name, I'm there. If you can't remember the name of the guy who pushed Spike off of the giant tower in Buffy's The Gift, I can tell you it's Joel Grey, who also played the Wizard in Wicked on Broadway. Most recently, it was recognizing Henry Francis (Betty's new husband on Mad Men) on an episode of The X-Files just by his voice. YOU GUYS I FREAK MYSELF OUT SOMETIMES NO JOKE.

But my greatest act of pop culture genius happened the other night (or like...a month ago...I started this post a long time ago, apparently) and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to top it. It came, surprisingly enough, as a result of watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. In the episode, they were playing charades or something and Charlie (MY SOULMATE) started with this:





And almost immediately upon him starting the thing with his nose, I shouted, "WHAT'S EATING GILBERT GRAPE," and then Joe LOST HIS SHIT when it turned out that's exactly what Charlie was doing. What can I say? It's a gift. And I promise to use my powers for good, at least most of the time.