MAKING CLEAR

• Rookie Cookie isn't my blog • On more than a few isolated incidents I've discovered that some readers are under the impression that rookie-cookie.com is my blog. It's not. It's my sister Whitney's. She's a wizard in the kitchen, while I forget something's cooking and it ends up black. I'm not quite sure how someone could believe that I create for, write, and run that particular food blog, for I'm a kitchen dunce and have never claimed to be The Rookie Cookie. I do help out with the graphic design for said space and am in charge of updating the recipe indexes (regarding which I am basically defunct), but that's where my involvement ends.

• I do not live in Utah • The name of this blog is Remarks from Sparks because I live in Sparks, Nevada. Sparks is adjacent to Reno, Lake Tahoe's ugly big sister. I'm saying that I live in Northern Nevada on the NV/CA border. And I really like it. I'm not sure how I've led anyone to believe that I live in Utah. I did grow up there, I visit from time to time, and nearly all of My People live there, so perhaps all that helped to mislead; but, aside from two months in 2002 and February of 2004, I've not lived there for 9 years.

• I am not infertile (that we know of) • I'm a Marmen. I've been married to my sthweethawt for 7 years. We don't have progeny. In Mormondom such a situation generally indicates that a couple is encumbered by some form of infertility, for what Mormons most commonly do is get married ten days from the cradle and hop right to reproducing like rabbits. However, that's not the situation we find ourselves in. We don't have miniature mouthy Megan's making messes of our home simply because kidlets aren't on the agenda for quite some time.

• I'm not a vegan • I don't eat anything that's been alive--fish included (people who eat fish but no other flesh aren't true vegetarians; they're called pescetarians), but I've come to the conclusion that I can't manage to give up eggs and various products of the dairy variety, so veganism is out of the question. Bummer.

Those are the most frequent issues of confusion that I encounter in my online associations an' I figgur'd that clarification was in order. If there's anything else you're not clear on and believe you have a right to know, be not afraid to make me aware and I shall straighten things out. My life is an open blog.

OF THE THIRD KIND

Dear The Internet,

You're a giver, you are. Give, give, give. You give answers. You give clothes. You give pictures. You give words. You give phone numbers. You give opportunities. You give addresses. You give directions. You give upgrades. You give inspiration.

And you give friends.

Tangible ones.

Twas March 28, 2008, that you gave me a gift that I didn't know I'd so appreciate a year and a half later. You gave me that Rabid friend. She stumbled upon the space you've given me and left a howdy. We did the commenting thing. We did the emailing thing. We met in person. We emailed. She called.

And then she came to visit.

She bought a plane ticket and came to Sparks for the weekend.

Seriously. She did.

Without you The Internet, I'd not have had the weekend I just did, for I'd not have met the girl you gave me. I'd not have enjoyed the sound of her words instead of just their cadence when read. I'd not have spent the last few days being taught, entertained, and so well understood. I'd not have laughed so hard. I'd not have actually cooked (scary, I know--The Husband agrees with you). I'd not have felt overwhelmed by her largess in boarding a flight and giving me her time. I'd not have just returned home from the airport where we said, I'll be in touch.

Turns out women need women friends. And this one is the cream of the crop. The crème de la crème, I dare say. What did I ever give you, The Internet, to merit such a treat?

Thank you for being a place for me to meet someone online so that we could come face-to-face and make fun of people who meet online.

'Cause they're such losers.

With pleasant regards,

Megan Romo

THURSDAY ASK-N-GAB • THIRTY-FIRST

First, it should be said that this isn't a Twilight-inspired question (you don't want to know my current thoughts on Twilight). It was just next in the card deck. Ironic.

My answer: Of course not. I can think of no reason being a vampire is attractive. I don't eat meat, so I'm not going to drink blood. But speaking of the mythical, I would very much love to be a witch like Hermione, hair and all (frizzy hair in the book, not the movie).

SUCH AS IT IS

Last night I wandered from my office into the loft where my taller half was watching a movie. I looked morose. I know because I saw it in the mirror outside said office. The Husband asked how I was doing. I grunted a non-reply. He said that he knew what I meant.

How could that be when I didn't even know what I meant?

He said that I was busy, overwhelmed by my to-do list, frustrated that I only had two hands and twenty-four hours, sleepy, distracted by excitement for my weekend visitor (can you guess who?), and bored at the same time.

He gets me.

What's wrong in the world today:

• My office is a pit of paperwork.
• I have an expense report tapping me on the shoulder.
• My knee hurts. (Did you know that twelve years ago I had knee surgery? A lateral patella realignment. I was, ahem, blessed with a pair of bum knees. The one that was operated on aches at one point or another every single day. The other one catches when I run.)
• I'm mentally mired in some family muck.
• I cursed in front of two of The Husband's coworkers today; the man hates it when I curse so was embarrassed that I slipped. I apologized to them immediately after the whoops!, but it doesn't negate the fact that my man feels like he's married to a moderately well-dressed piece of trailer trash.
• I've been eating just about anything I want with abandon--and what I want is never a pile of healthy things, so I feel like lard.
• I have after-cramps.
• I have a couple of really annoying hangnails and haven't the energy to locate clippers.
• I don't want to blog. (So I probably won't for a few days.)
• I forgot to bring my reusable Whole Foods bags into Whole Foods this evening. So I got the glare.
• I feel stupid.
• Vistaprint completely screwed up my holiday cards.

Life right this second seems to be an insurmountable bummer.

However, wherever there is bad, despite the fact that I really don't want to, I am so often able to stumble upon a speck or two of good:

• I remembered to enroll for my 2010 benefits--a very important deadline didn't pass me by.
• I'm happily married.
• I am genuinely enthused for my incoming house guest--to arrive on Thursday at 4:14PM. A light at the end of the tunnel of the week.
• I had a terrific time in yoga tonight; for the first time ever I donkey-kicked into a handstand (with the confidence of the wall, of course)--and then I did it again.
• I purchased a super rad (yes: "super rad") pair of earrings at Target today for all of $3.48.
• I remembered to bring my reusable bag into Yankee Candle today.
• I renewed my mom's subscription to Real Simple this morning before work.
• My husband brought me a pickle from Dickie's.
• I had my car cleaned.
• I bought Michael Buble's newest album and have been enchanted by his Heartache Tonight cover.
• The weather today didn't necessitate a coat or swear words.
• I remembered to floss my teeth today.

Lots of bad. Quite a bit of good. Life trying to balance itself out and doing a fair-to-moderate job of it.

ASK-N-GAB • STAY AND PLAY

Yay or nay?

Yay, apparently.

And with the yay, I shall answer a question:

Why the Thursday Ask-n-Gab conversation cards?

Some are silly. Some can be risque. Some are boring. But all prompt you ask yourself a question. The cards encourage you to consider make a decision about you. They aren't questions about your husband or your partner or your mom or your dog or your daughter. They're about you, your preferences, your experiences, your closet, your wishes.

I'm of the persuasion that introspection of any kind encourages positive change. Read or hear a question. Answer it. And analyze your answer to see if it is one you're proud of. How many pairs of shoes do I have? 60. Is that too many? Sure is, especially if I'm wearing only 15 pair. For me, it's wasteful. When do I go to bed? Around 1AM or so. Is that too late? Sure is, especially if I need to get up at 6:30 the next mooring.

Answering the questions may not induce change, but it does help me to see where I stand on various topics. Hopefully you too.

So that's why I do the Thursday Ask-n-Gabbery.

Oh, and I think it's fun.

And we shall continue.

PLEASE PERUSE POST, PEEPS

Speaking of Rabidwriter, go read this perfect post she just proffered.

It's perfection in post form.

And whilst your there, do write her some hate mail, would you? And if you're a good soul, you'll make it hate mail alight with alliteration; she digs that stuff.

SO FRESH AND SO SLOVENLY

My dry cleaners think I'm a total slob. Or at least the little yellow bits of paper that they safety pin to my clothes indicate that they believe I should clean up my act.

"Chocolate stain. Front"

"Jam spot. Front"

"Ice cream. Front"

"Neckline Somethingorother"

"Unknown Spot. Rump"

"Unknown Spot. Collar"

Or whatever.

I'm sure that the notes are to cover their behinds--not necessarily to remind me of last week's en route menu, for if they have to spot-treat a spot there's a chance the material could react badly and they want me to know just why they were focusing extra chemicals on a certain area on my skirt. It's not their fault the material faded just there. It's my fault for letting ice cream--that I shouldn't have been eating the the first place--unceremoniously plop onto my shirt.

Or maybe it's not that they're calling me a slob. Instead they're calling me fat. For it's never "Hummus spot. Front" or "Egg whites. Collar" or "Fruit bowl. Sleeve" They always point on that it's unhealthy stuff I've used to decorate my workwear.

Why don't they just leave a note on each item saying, "You're a fat slob and totally disgust us?" I'll be so depressed by the love note that I won't care at all if my skirt has a big faded spot where chocolate used to be. And it's not like I'd be able to fit into it anyhow.