Good ol' Dooce!

When I see famous people, even ones I really admire, I am generally reluctant to go up to them. I don't want to bother them and say the same dumb things a hundred million other fans have said, forcing them to fake a smile while secretly thinking, "Jesus, she couldn't have come up with something more original?" So I admire from a distance, staring and smiling and perhaps creeping them out more than if I would have just said hi.

But last night when I had the most ultimate pleasure of meeting Heather Armstrong, aka Dooce, it was all I could do not to wrap my whole body around her face in a gigantic, suffocating bear hug. I LOVE DOOCE, OK. I distinctly remember stumbling across her blog several years ago (before I even knew the WORD blog) and thinking, holy shit. What is this treasure?! What the hell is all this free, awesome, hilariousness?! I have been a constant reader ever since, and in one way or another, reading Dooce has led me to a few other blogs I read rabidly, particularly those of Maggie, Kristy, Jenny and Kate. All such fine, funny women, whose blogs you should really be reading this very minute, because their shit is way better than mine.


Heather is on a book-signing tour for her New York Times bestseller "It sucked and then I cried: How I had a baby, a breakdown and a much-needed margarita." I'm already halfway through it, even though I have owned it all of 16 hours. It's a fantastic read, unless of course you are pregnant, in which case it is a petrifying and gory horror story. Oops.

Last night at Mountain View's Books, Inc., Heather read two passages from the book, and then took questions from the audience. In addition to being a total knockout, she was just as hilarious and honest as she is on her blog. At first she struggled with the volume and was trying to adjust the mic, raise the stand and lean in closer. Then she began to read again, and was interrupted by someone in the back who bellowed "CAN'T! HEEEEEEEAR! YOUUUUUUUU!" She stopped, heaved a patient sigh, and then said politely into the mic, "Well, I'm practically giving this thing a blow job." Awesome.


Up there on the mezzanine is Maggie Mason, aka Mighty Girl. She lives in San Francisco and is good friends with Heather, yet I didn't even think until a couple hours before the program began that she very likely would attend. When she tweeted that she was on her way, I nearly wet my pants.


So when it was my turn to see Heather and get an autograph, of course I immediately broke into a cold sweat and my voice got loud and shaky. I said something like "Thanks for coming. And you kick so much ass." She flashed this dazzling smile and asked me where I lived, and then said something about the weather. To which I blurted out, "I'M PREGNANT, TOO!" So much for not looking like an idiot. But she was cool, congratulating me and asking how I'm feeling and when I'm due. I THINK I answered those, but I was so starstruck I can't be entirely sure. I do know, however, that I stifled the urge to ask if we could rub our pregnant bellies together for luck.

Let's all have a comment, shall we?

Greetings! Today I am participating in "The Great Mofo Delurk" (click the button above for info). Why? Because I support Schmutzie, and because blog comments bring me such joy! You really have no idea, these vast amounts of joy. (Unless you have a blog, too, in which case you do have an idea. And also in which case you should expect a comment from me today, because this here Mofo is going to put down the lurk and say hello to you!)

Would you like to bring me some joy? Post a comment today! I would really love to hear from you. You. I don't even know who "YOU" is! My little site counter thinger says I had 20 unique hits on this page yesterday. But, like, I only know of seven or eight regular readers of this blog. THAT IS CRAZY, MAN! Who are you people? Are you my friends? My enemies? Is there anybody reading this who has actually never met me in person? I think that would be the wildest thing ever. OK, so here goes. Don't be shy. Let's all go post a comment on our favorite blogs today. Spread some joy, Mofos.

Seven things (plus seven more)

My friend Robyn "tagged" me last week. This must be like a blog version of those e-mail chain letters, minus the nasty threats. Robyn is a great friend I met while attending journalism classes at the good ol' University of New Mexico. She has an online business that specializes in pretty handmade things, and you should go have a look. I already bought a beautiful pillow. And I fight the urge to buy, like, every single purse she makes.

OK, on with this tag business. The rules:

Start with 7 random facts/habits about yourself.
People who are tagged have to write their 7 things on their blog.
Then choose another 7 people to get tagged and list their names.
Don't forget to leave them a comment to tell them they have been tagged and to read your blog.

OK, are you with me? Here goes:

1. When I'm sick the only meal I want is diet 7-Up and Kraft Spiral Macaroni & Cheese. NOT. ELBOW. Spiral.

2. I sleep with my feet sticking out of the bottom of the covers, even when it's cold.

3. When I was a bridesmaid in a wedding last July, it was really hot and streams of sweat were staining my taffeta gown. So I borrowed breastfeeding pads from another bridesmaid and stuffed them under my boobs. This saved the day.

4. I keep score at baseball games.

5. For the first two weeks we had Chickenbone, I despised him and wondered how I could convince the shelter to take him back. I said repeatedly that I "hate his furry little guts."

6. I like to think of myself as a foodie, except I dip my pizza in ranch dressing and spread strawberry jam on my Bacon, Egg & Cheese Biscuit.

7. Just now I Googled both "Kraft Spiral Macaroni & Cheese" and "Bacon, Egg & Cheese Biscuit" to make sure that my use of ampersands in these product names is correct.

And because in some ways this really is HIS blog, here are seven things about Chickenbone:

1. There is no hobby he enjoys more than slowly and methodically tearing napkins and paper towels into tiny bits of confetti.

2. He never has bad breath.

3. Before he goes to sleep, he painstakingly wraps himself up in a blue blanket, so that every single bit of him is covered. We refer to this as being "in burrito."

4. His favorite stuffed animal is that long skinny thing from the PetSmart commercials, whom we have named "Yellow Dog.'' Because Chickens chews on its face until white, fluffy brains come bursting out, we have gone through at least a half-dozen Yellow Dogs.

5. He watches CSI every afternoon on the couch with his dad.

6. His favorite dog treat is dried pig ears.

7. When Chickenbone's mom first glimpsed him in a cage at the rescue shelter, she said he was "que feo.''

But whom shall I tag now?! Most of the bloggers I read don't know who I am. (My, that sounds stalkerish.) OK, wait, I thought of a few. I tag Beth, Shraddha and Sheila. Have fun!

When it's OK to love hate

This made me laugh so hard that I cried, and had to go to the ladies' room to fix my mascara.

Do you want to see a picture?

This post will be ABSOLUTELY HUGE for me, if only I can figure it out. You see, earlier, I was really hoping to post a picture of Madonna, but I'm not entirely sure about how all that works. I mean, I can't very well just go running all over the Internet posting other people's pictures on my blog, can I? Won't that break all sorts of laws or something? Won't I get in trouble? And aren't I the most conscientious journalist you ever did see?

Anyway, someone just sent me this silly photo of my husband and I taken at an event Saturday night, so maybe it's time to practice my photo-posting skills! Get ready, blog! First photo post ever!



There I am! Haha! It worked! Holy crap. (Funny: I'm pretty sure that posting my first picture made my face look EXACTLY like it does in that picture!)

Why I don't take lunch breaks.

Sometimes I'm fully convinced that I am too busy to maintain a blog.

Then I look at the clock and realize I have spent the first half hour of my shift poring over Associated Press photos from the Oscars, looking for a picture of Madonna's boobs, because I read that they looked funny in her gown.

Shame on you.

OK, as the owner of this blog, I know for a fact that every single Chickenbone Jones reader (there are four of you!) is not only a phenomenal speller and grammarian, but is in one way or another actually paid a wage to make sure that the words of the world are used correctly. And yet not a single one of you pointed out that I misspelled "experiment" in my inaugural post! Horrors! Now, I know the reason you probably didn't say anything is because you knew I was nervous about blogging and you didn't want me to leap off a building over one dumb misspelling. I understand that, and you are forgiven. But I'm just here to say, I know you noticed, and if I pull that sort of thing agian, you really need to sack up and let me know.

And I was on such a roll...

I'm so disappointed that I haven't written more frequently. This blog didn't do anything to deserve that kind of neglect.

I have good reasons, though. The best of them being, Lost. What you need to know here is that I wasn't smart enough to start watching Lost at the beginning like everyone else. Even way back in 2004 when people shook me wildly by the shoulders screaming "YOU MUST WATCH 'LOST'!!!!" I was like, um, no thanks, I'll stick to Survivor! Because there's no way THAT wacky and unpredictable program has jumped the shark!

Anyway, since then, every time somebody mentioned how groundbreaking and exciting this show is, I got this sinking feeling in my stomach. Like the whole country had these awesome island friends they partied with every Wednesday night, and nobody invited me. Well, when the third season rolled around, my husband and I finally forced ourselves to take a look at what we had missed. The regret was instantaneous and painful.

So with a month before season 3 was set to resume, we decided to make a run for it. We borrowed the first two seasons on DVD and watched them all. "Watched them all" doesn't sound nearly as grueling as it should. Maybe numbers would help. We watched 14 disks. That, my friend, equals 57 episodes. In. Four. Weeks.

Which even then wouldn't be so crazy, unless you knew what kind of sick-assed TV fans we really are. Unless you knew that, as our numb asses made permanent imprints on the couch cushions, where we sat bleary-eyed for four friggin' weeks, our Tivo was busily recording all the other shows we watch. And there are so, so many. Too many to count. Too many to confess to. But the thing is, they are all quality shows. My husband and I aren't the types to just flip on the TV because we are bored. We watch TV because we love TV. Because our shows are like our little babies. We love them. We looooooove them. Big shows! Little shows! Funny shows! Sad shows! Crazy shows! And we have so darned much love to go around.

Back to Lost, you can probably tell that we are now fans. So here we are, almost Wednesday night, and how nice it feels to be caught up with the rest of you.

Stage fright

If my legions of fans (that is to say, my husband) think that I have just been ignoring this blog since I began it 10 days ago, they would be wrong. I have been terribly busy with it. Busy reading my first post over and over and over again, thinking about how dumb it is, and how dumb this blog is, and how dumb I feel about being too damn dumb to write things on my own dumb blog. I'm pretty sure it's just stage fright, and I have decided to get over that by forcing myself to post things all the time. Big things, little things, even the dumb things! In fact, maybe I'll find other dumb blogs and post links to those, just to make mine look better.

What will you find here? You'll probably find things in two categories: Stuff I love, and stuff I hate. Stuff I love will include, but not be limited to, my husband and my dog, things that are funny, running and cooking, and TV. Stuff I hate may focus on stories about people who are stupid or mean. And those peoples' dumb blogs.

Hello, hello.

Well, it feels more than a little ridiculous to write this first blog post for an audience of empty chairs. You see, nobody knows this blog exists, and because I am entirely convinced I will be a sucky and boring blogger, I cannot envision actually telling someone about it.

There. Two sentences, which took roughly 45 minutes to pound out. I can tell this experiement is going to be wildly successful.

OK, I guess I'm going to "post" this now and see if this effing thing even works.