It's ALIVE! It's ALIVE!

If you've pictured me lying around on the couch this week, sick and feverish and pale, you would be wrong.

I'm actually lying on the floor, sick and feverish and pale. Come on. Nobody's gonna believe you're sick if you're sitting up on the couch like a pansy. Get with the overly dramatic program.

I think I'm starting to be mostly over whatever this is/was. I can tell because instead of moaning and covering my face when my husband turns the TV on, I actually feel the urge to watch it now. Granted, it's through the cracks between my fingers on the hand that is lying across my eyes, so that he will understand I'm not really better yet, not by a long-shot, and as a matter of fact, watching television is taxing enough that it is actually a trial and a sacrifice, but I do it for him, because I'm a giver.

Actually, this is just what I wish happened. In reality, we have jobs and children. Sucking it up is kind of required. Lying around like a drama queen is not exactly on the itinerary.

Except at night when my husband is home and I can harumph about how I can barely move because I had to take the kids to school and to piano and get my work done and make dinner (pouring cereal is exhausting), all whilst practically dying of Dengue fever. So it's sort of on the itinerary. It's actually blocked out right there from 7:30 to 8:15 actually. It's my husband's favorite part of the day.

I did trick the kids into waiting on me the other day, telling them we were going to play "a game" called "the rich sick lady and the orphan servants" and they were to bring me pillows and drinks and snacks and generally see to my every need. I'd ring the bell and they'd come running over to the couch to do my bidding, then creep around quietly afterward, lest the "mean rich lady" punish them for making too much noise. I would periodically yell at them "NOT ENOUGH ICE IN THIS DRINK" and send them to the dungeon (basement), and they would run screaming and giggling for the stairs.

They LOVED this game.

Yeah. We plan to play it again. Obviously.

Lighthearted indentured servitude = good family times.

It's Not Stealing If You Pretend It's A Meme

I'm completely stealing the idea for this post from Beck, who went through her blog drafts and posted the opening lines from posts that never quite made the cut.

In accordance with the rules of the (ahem) meme, I give you...

My Post Rejects:

UNFINISHED POST #1: SLURP

Tomorrow is our church party. I'm on the party planning committee, and I'm in charge of refreshments. This is a very good thing, because I'm kind of an expert on eating. Not baking or cooking or catering or anything like that, but the actual eating part.

I'm almost Seussical in my abilities - I can eat in a house or on a boat, in a car or with a goat. I am not picky. I will eat almost anywhere. (It's good to be flexible about locations where you eat.)

Sometimes I think maybe I will join the competitive eating circuit. Sometimes I'm flipping channels and I run across some news story about people eating 50 hot dogs in ten minutes and I think, I could TOTALLY do that. As a former bulimic, my binging skills are second to none.

(Does this post make me look fat? Yeah, that's what I thought. Saved to Drafts.)

UNFINISHED POST #2: How to Win Friends and Influence People... WITH THE POWER OF YOUR MIND

(Um..... That was as far as I got.)

UNFINISHED POST #3: Efficiency

Sometimes instead of working I like to play this little game where I open up my gmail and just hit refresh over and over and over again. I could do something constructive like oh, work, or even, say, answer the other 500 emails I already have, but this does not satisfy me. I want something new! And exciting! So that I can think about it! And then ignore it FOREVER! Because this endears you to a LOT of people.

(I kept starting to write this post, but then I'd think - hey, wait, did I already write something like this? Because it seems like I wrote something like this. And now I've seen it so many times that I'm not sure if I actually inserted this into a post somewhere or if I'm just imagining it because I've read it so many times. It's CRAZY-MAKING.)

UNFINISHED POST #4: HELLO - It's Not Embarrassing Unless It's Embarrassing To ME

Husband (referring to the Cordy blog after I came out of the closet about it): Just keep writing it, you know you want to finish it.
Me: It's too embarrassing now that people know it's not real.
Husband: What, NOW you have boundaries? (shakes head and walks away muttering about bankruptcy posts)

(This post made it sound like my husband didn't want me to post about our financial meltdown, when he really could not have cared less. I think. I mean, I'm pretty sure.)

UNFINISHED POST #5: Nature vs. Nurture

Sarah was a very mellow baby. She was easy and happy and very portable. We could take her anywhere and she never fussed. She spent most of her time cooing and smiling and was generally delightful – qualities I attributed to my obviously superior parenting skills. How could anyone doubt it? MY baby was well behaved. MY baby didn't cry. MY baby sat quietly in restaurants and through church. Oh, if only the other mothers could benefit from my excellent parenting example.

When Sarah was 16 months old, Abby was born. And Abby was TICKED.

(Ah, humility. Sometimes you learn your lesson slowly, and sometimes God just kicks you right in the teeth.)

(The beginning was o.k., but the rest of the post almost made Abby sound like some kind of rage-a-holic, when she's really very sweet and loving and kind. Filed in the "things I wouldn't want Abby to read in ten years" file.)

Your turn. I tag THE UNIVERSE.

Noble Cow Sentinel, Bravely Watching Over Us All

The big news around here apparently has nothing to do with the NieNie book. It's the cow header. I've gotten at least fifteen emails about it, all, "SUE. WE MUST TALK ABOUT THE COW."

Poor cow. She's just doing her job, guarding the top of the blog for a couple of days while I fix up the old blogstead. (I'm working with a blog designer now, you know. I'm FANCY.)

But I do not want to talk about the cow. I want to talk about myself. (SURPRISING)

Tonight I was watching my DVRd Top Chef. I really shouldn't be allowed to watch that show, because it makes me think I can cook. I get all inspired to step away from the pasta - to shake things up a little and try something new.

Yeah. This is never a good idea.

(I occasionally get out my Betty Crocker red plaid cookbook and try to find an interesting new recipe, but half of them use words I don't understand like "seed" and "cumin" and "poach." Which all sound vaguely pornographic, if you ask me. Bow- chika-bow-wow.)

Anyway, I pulled out the cookbook and found something it said would take only 35 minutes to bake. Unfortunately, I interpreted this as - it would only take 35 minutes to MAKE. Basically it was a casserole with chicken and noodles and sauce and bread crumbs and assorted things. (Yes, it WAS as gross as it sounds, thank you for asking.)

It took more than 35 minutes. Much more. It probably would've taken less time if I would've just stopped and read the recipe and thought about it for three consecutive seconds.

Instead I ran around like a frightened monkey, "Boil a chicken! Boil a chicken!" I had no idea how long I should boil a chicken for, so I fried it instead. Then I made the sauce. Then I realized I was supposed to cook the noodles first so I put the sauce away and made the noodles. Then I took the sauce back out and finished making it. Then I realized I had the wrong kind of bread crumbs. Then, then, then, then.

By the time it was finished, my children were committing acts of violence against the refrigerator. (They don't really like it when I cook.)

I have a blogging friend who says it frustrates her when people say they can't cook, because really, how hard is it to just FOLLOW THE DIRECTIONS?!

I'm here to say it's VERY VERY HARD.

THE END.

PS: NIENIE BOOK. MOOOO.

Something Cleverish

When I heard about Stephanie Nielson's plane crash, I wanted to help raise funds, but couldn't quite figure out how to go about it. (Just reading CJane's blog and repeatedly freaking out over the horror of the accident turned out to be a surprisingly ineffective fundraising strategy.)

Lots of other bloggers were auctioning off things they'd cooked/sewn/drawn in order to help raise money, but I'm what you might call domestically challenged, so that was out. I thought about selling off one of my kids to aid the cause, but the Husband put a stop to it. (What, we couldn't part with ONE of them? Selfish.)

But laughing at funny stuff other bloggers wrote? THAT was something I could do, and thus the idea of putting together a book of amusing blog posts was born. We held a little contest asking bloggers to submit their funniest posts, and the response was overwhelming. (Seriously. I'd look at that contest email every day and then have to go lie down for a while, visions of editing for nine thousand years running through my brain. There are a LOT of funny people out there.)

The Something Cleverish book features posts from forty-three funny bloggers - all for one great cause. We even managed to rope in a few celebrity submissions from Finslippy, Eric D. Snider, Rocks in My Dryer, Big Mama, Sweetney, Daring Young Mom, TAMN and more. (You can find a list of all of the bloggers included in the book here.)

All proceeds go directly to the NieNie Recovery fund. I know some people may be starting to get a little weary of hearing about this, but the medical bills they have and will continue to have are absolutely overwhelming. This is still a family very much in need. If you've been wondering what to buy people for Martin Luther King Jr. Day, or Groundhog Day, or Valentines Day - WONDER NO MORE. You can purchase a paperback or buy a downloadable copy here.

Please buy a copy (or two) (or three) (or heck - seven) and please spread the word, by posting about it or putting the Something Cleverish Blog Book button on your blog. (Cover art and book button created and generously donated by Melissa Bastow of MissyB Designs. Thanks Melissa!)

GRAB THIS BUTTON:
<a href="http://borrowedlight.blogspot.com/2009/01/something-cleverish.html"><img border="0" src="http://i551.photobucket.com/albums/ii461/suelikestoblog/blogbookforniebutton.jpg" /></a>

They Should Make a Fisher Price Version

My husband got me an iPhone for Christmas.

It was all a little Gift of the Magi, because I was actually trying to figure out how I could get him an iPhone for Christmas, but I didn't see how it would be possible, since we had this little thing I like to call a "budget" for our presents, due to a stupid thing I like to call a "mortgage." (I also call our house a "house" and our car a "car"- in case you were wondering.) (Ahem.)

So I cut off my hair and sold it and used the money to buy him an iPhone.


O.k., FINE, I didn't do that. I got him a gift certificate to Target instead. (That just doesn't quite have the same ring to it, somehow.)

The iPhone cost significantly more than what we'd agreed we could spend, but he secretly got me one anyway. We'd both gone without Christmas and birthday presents for a few years in a row, and he wanted me to be really surprised.

Now let me tell you something. When I opened the package, I was so excited. It was shiny. It was cool. I mean, I could check my email at the grocery store. At the bank. At CHURCH.

Best toy ever.

But.

But.

But.

I've somehow managed to divest myself of SIX cell phones in the last two years - all within the first three months I had them. I ran over one with the car, washed one in the laundry, dropped one in the bathtub and misplaced three. I've never been able to keep a cell phone for longer than three months. I could totally see the iPhone in about a month, cracked under the wheels of the car, or beeping forlornly from inside a Big Gulp cup where I'd set it down whilst thinking about cupcakes (YUM).

So I gave it back to him.

He refused it. I insisted. He refused it some more. I insisted some more.

I finally said, "You know what's going to happen to it if I keep it."

He looked at me, he looked at the shiny new iPhone and he said, "I've actually been having nightmares about it."

I said, "It's for the best."

And I turned it over to him, weeping.

OK, not weeping. More like snickering and punching him a few times, all, "Way to buy yourself a Christmas present honey," and then we had to go the rounds of "You keep it," "No, YOU keep it," a few more times before he would really believe that I wanted him to take it.

Alright, so maybe it's not exactly like the Gift of the Magi. But there were presents. And it was Christmas. So, almost exactly the same. And it was very touching in an "aw, look, he went against the laws of logic and his better judgment and bought me something expensive he already knows I will destroy" kind of way. At least at Target I can buy stuff that I will lose over time. Kind of spread out the gift destruction and collateral damage.

Goodbye little iPhone. It was a nice idea, but we all know I would've murdered/scratched/lost/broken/disapparated you within the first three weeks.

This Message Will Self Destruct in Ten... Nine...

It's been a bit of a stressful week over here. The company that sends me ninety percent of my tech writing work laid off fifty percent of their workforce, and over at my husband's office, people who have more seniority than my husband were laid off. It's been a bit of a pins and needles week, you might say. I've been just a tad cranky. (I know, you're surprised to hear that bit of news, aren't you?! I'll bet you couldn't tell.)

Anyway, I've been thinking more and more about how to get rich blogging (the type of thinking my husband likes to call "living in a fantasy world") and how to get on with the whole immediate blog fame thing. (My husband's advice, "stop writing obnoxious political posts.")

I figure the way to become a Truly Big Deal in the blogging world is to become known as a Giver. A Blogging Mentor if you will. In that spirit, I give you:

YOUR QUESTIONS ANSWERED: What Every Blogger Should Know!!!!!!:

What's a meme?
A meme is a very serious infection stemming from writer's block. It usually travels from blog to blog, and becomes more and more boring the further it travels. At the end of the blog post, you are supposed to name a few other bloggers who you'd like to see do the meme.

Many people name their friends, but I suggest naming bloggers who are much bigger than you are, because you never know, you might actually trick one of them into linking back to you, which ups your technorati score.

Um... What's a technorati score?
It has to do with links and authority and how many people generally wish you were dead.

What's a blog carnival? A blog carnival is where a blogger tricks people into linking to her blog. This is a true fact. The blogger hosting the blog carnival is called the "Big Cheese," and the bloggers who participate are called "Carnies." Usually there is a clever graphic you must post on your blog or the Big Cheese will smack your Carnie buttocks right out of the carnival.

I keep hearing people talk about their Readers. What's the deal with that?
Google Reader makes it possible for you to read all of your favorite blogs without having to take that time consuming and exhausting extra step of actually clicking on the blog. Whenever a blogger writes a new post, it automatically shows up in your reader. Voila! No more checking blogs to see if someone has updated!

Kind and gentle bloggers let you read the whole blog post in your Reader. Selfish and greedy bloggers only let you see a sentence or two of the new post, and then you have to actually click to pull up the blog and read the rest of the post. (I know this is selfish because I once had someone email me to tell me I was selfish and greedy for adjusting my feed so that you could only see part of it. Selfish and greedy. Because she had to MOVE HER FINGER an extra time.) (Resisting urge to make a "here's a finger for ya" type joke. Resisting. Resisting. Resisting.)

Selfish and greedy bloggers do this because they want you to visit their actual blog, so they will make ad revenue off of your visit, so they can afford to pay the servants. Because bloggers make BANK on those ads man. Seriously, I'm hiring a butler next week.

How do you get people to visit your blog?
Oh! This is an easy one. I pay them. Sometimes I go visit other blogs and comment, but really that's very time consuming. I find cold hard cash works much better. Each time they comment I send them twenty bucks. (If you would like to be on my cashola visit list, please email Kristina P. - she offered to pony up the cash to cover my blog comments this month.) (I'm pretty sure that's what she said.)

Is it weird if I comment without introducing myself first?

No. Nobody cares who you are. (Except for me. I CARE. But most bloggers - they don't care. JERKS.) The important thing is the number of comments. So if you want to make an impression, the best thing to do is comment about twelve times per post so the blogger looks really popular.

I tried that, and still, people don't visit.
Try leaving really memorable comments, like, "I can see into your bathroom window from where I'm standing." The blogger will totally remember you after that.

Why do people give stuff away on their blogs?

Because they're rich. Duh. You're really new at this, I can tell.

Should I include pictures in my blog posts?
Yes.



Well, that about wraps it up for this session. If you have any blogging questions for me, I'd be happy to answer them in the comments.

Farewell Sweet Maiden - Take Two

One thing I like to ponder is my own death. I have very specific ideas about how to achieve the funeral of my dreams. In our religion we're supposed to have these funerals that are uplifting, focusing on the fact that we'll be together again someday and making sure everyone knows all about that good news, leaving everyone feeling good.

And I know other people want their friends and family to have a big party, celebrating their life. That's so nice, I think.

But I don't want that. I want everyone to cry over me, a LOT. Because I'm DEAD. I'm FREAKING DEAD. I mean, come on. Party on your own time, this is my FUNERAL we're talking about. Show some respect, and by respect I mean, show everyone how you just cannot picture the world without my bright shining light of awesome lightness and how it will pain you to go on for even ONE MORE SECOND. Geez.

Unfortunately, when I tell my husband my final wishes, his response is usually to roll his eyes or laugh at me, or start muttering some more, so I thought I should post my final requests in a more public forum so that if I kick the bucket anytime soon he will have no choice but to obey my wishes. Accordingly, here are my FINAL WISHES:

1. I would like to give the eulogy, via a pre-recorded video. I think that would be really touching. Believe me, nobody will be more broken up over my death than me, you know? I can really lend it that air of gravitas and reverence, what with all of the incoherent sobbing I will do on the video. And also it might really freak a lot of people out which amuses me.

2. If that won't work because I die before I get around to making the video, I would like either my brother Mark or my sister Diana to give the eulogy, mostly because I'm pretty sure they would both fall apart and start crying on stage, which is always good for getting the audience going. Diana would probably get REALLY upset and fall into unflattering snorfle type crying (such is the sisterly love we share) which would be ugly but also super touching. Alternatively, my sister Wendy is an actress AND also kind of a wuss, and my sister-in-law Holly is an ultra-dependable public cryer.

3. If they give the eulogy, I'm at least WRITING IT. I mean gosh. How else will they know how to narrarate the powerpoint presentation I put together with highlights of my life? Besides, I've already spent a lot of time writing the dang thing.

4. I would also like to give the musical number, because hey, how touching would that be, having the dead girl sing at her own funeral. Not a dry eye in the house, that's how touching. I'm thinking I could sing something subtle and understated like My Immortal by Evanescence or Fantine's Death from Les Mis, something like that.

5. If I am in a bad accident, and there is some question about whether or not I am brain dead, I say leave the machines on. Because you never know. I might come back.

6. But if I do appear to be pretty much deadish, please give someone my organs. And then, after they have my organs, please send them a little picture of me to keep on a shelf somewhere, so that when they wake up in the night and look around with their donated eyeballs, they'll see me staring RIGHT at them, kind of like I'm haunting them, but in a nice way. Like that.

7. I hope my husband will remarry quickly. He's an affectionate sort and he would get far too melancholy without someone around to hug him a lot, plus the children would need a mother. Therefore, I think he should marry an old spinster type - someone completely unattractive but with a sweet spirit. If that won't work, he should at least (as I've mentioned before) not marry anyone younger than 25, or smaller than a size eight. (Seriously hon, a 19 year old might be hot, but she'd be REALLY annoying. She'd probably make faces at you if you decided to bake and eat a can of cinnamon rolls at ten o'clock on a Sunday night. ME? I don't judge. In fact, I care so much about your feelings that you can always count on me to sacrifice and eat them WITH you. I'm a giver.)

I think that's it. That's all I can think of right now at least. How about you?