October 9, 2011 § 4 Comments
Many times, spam comments are filled with nonsense or utterly indecipherable gibberish. Other times, they are thinly-veiled flattery about just how incredible a writer one is…on a page filled with pictures. Or a contact form.
Today, though, I got a comment from someone advertising a website (obvious in their username) that was particularly mean. This spammer attempted to leave the comment on my post “Bidding Farewell the Roaring Twenties…Hello the…Thrilling Thirties?” You know…my birthday post. According to this spammer:
The next time I read a weblog, I hope that it doesnt disappoint me as a lot as this one. I mean, I know it was my choice to learn, however I actually thought youd have one thing fascinating to say. All I hear is a bunch of whining about something that you would fix in case you werent too busy on the lookout for attention.
I mean, what?? So mean. I’m curious what I’m meant to do with this. It’s off-topic (what was there to really “learn” in that post?) and ignores the subject matter in the post itself (I was feeling the baby kick, I had strep throat, and I was feeling more optimistic than ever about turning thirty). Because it’s a fairly mean comment, I am not inclined to visit this person’s website. I am not curious about checking this person out.
Spammers out there: you win more flies with honey than with vinegar.
(Except, I’m not a fly, so….)
May 21, 2011 § Leave a comment
So…I didn’t get raptured today. Anyone else out there just mildly disappointed? 😉
I’m joking, of course.
Why, if I were raptured, I wouldn’t be able to complete my Post-A-Day Challenge on WordPress.com!
All jokes about death and ascension into Heaven aside, today has been a decent day. I proctored a practice LSAT exam this morning, came home and napped, and now Robert and I are recovering from
binging eating dinner at Five Guys. We love it there because (as far as we can tell), their soy usage is limited to their buns. They use peanut oil (yes, yes, not super nutritious) instead of vegetable oil (which contains a ton of soy). Robert tells me that Five Guys doesn’t leave him feeling as ill as other hamburger joints, so that’s our go-to one.
I guess if I were to write a post about the failed rapture, I would generally point out that the “signs” (earthquakes, tsunamis, torrential downpours, tornadoes, economic disasters, wars, worldwide social unrest) are actually what constitute “normal life.” Does it suck that our world has experienced these recent disasters? Absolutely. Is it possible that the disasters indicate that we’re destroying our world while we’re living on it? I think there’s a strong chance. But could it also just be summer? (I’m thinking particularly of the tornadoes that recently ripped through the South.) Tornadoes are not unheard-of here, nor are hurricanes or mighty gusting winds or torrential downpours or flash floods. We might even get an earthquake or two. But it just doesn’t strike me that, as disastrous as these disasters are, they are indicative in any way that we are somehow seeing the prophetic warnings of a vengeful deity.
It feels silly even just to type it out.
Maybe what we ought to be figuring out, instead of preparing for the end of the world, maybe we ought to be figuring out how to live with one another while we’re here.
In the meantime, I’m glad I wasn’t raptured today. I have a lot of life left to live. And I’m glad the rest of you weren’t raptured today, too. I look forward to learning more about our human-sameness through knowing all of you.
May 13, 2011 § 3 Comments
No, no. There are no verbs in that title. Just an adjective and a noun.
Yes, friends, I’m talking about my most hated enemy (and Milton’s, as it turns out)…the black flies of summertime.
Two years ago, when Robert and I got married, we returned home to find that our windowsills were still in need of painting (the rest of the house having been generally renovated before I moved in–fresh paint, new carpet, deep cleaning, that sort of thing). Robert had a job, so while he worked all day, I stayed in the house with the painters. (Really, I could have used the time to pack up the remains of my apartment, but someone had to stay home with the painters because….) They left the windows open. With the cats, I have to be careful that nobody attempts an escape. With the painters, well, I didn’t know these men from Adam, so I didn’t want to leave our little home open to the world. The windows were open so they wouldn’t dry shut (of course, as anyone who’s ever painted windowsills will tell you, it rarely matters–freshly painted windows are often painted shut no matter what precautions are taken). While I kept the cats and our most prized possessions inside, Milton was tasked with the daunting responsibility of keeping the black flies out.
We returned from our honeymoon in the beginning of June, right when summer settles in for the next three months, and just as we moved in, so did the black flies. The sound of humming wings and small bodies banging against panes of glass unnerved me. Milton got twitchy. Seriously twitchy. Whenever a little black form whizzed by his head, he snapped it out of midair and swallowed it down. When his ears perked up at the sound of angry and incessant buzzing in the corner of a room, he would stare at it and growl. I did what I could from my end. I sprayed flying insect Raid in areas where the animals were less likely to encounter it. I trained the girls to hunt, track, and devour the offending bugs.
Eventually, by August, the flies were all gone.
Until last night.
Robert and I were attempting to have a quasi-serious conversation, but I had trouble making eye contact with him. Three flies drew figure 8’s around our heads and living room. Milton, Annie, and the girls followed them with their eyes, attempting to snap them from the air, chasing them around the house. Robert and I sat there, feeling itchy and twitchy, failing spectacularly at the art of the fly-swatter.
God, I just love Southern summers.
…is it November yet?
May 12, 2011 § 6 Comments
As I write my dissertation, I have noticed new habits springing to the fore.
1. Writing phrases like “springing to the fore.”
2. Exhibiting evidence of brain damage.
2.a. Example: Last weekend, Robert had to repeat every single thing he said because I had trouble comprehending it.
2.b. Example: Last weekend, I misread the covers of more than one book as well as the heading for a genre section in the bookstore. The misreads were sexualized versions of the titles.
2.c. Example: I ramble incoherently…except when discussing my dissertation.
3. Dropping off the face of the planet, socially speaking, that is.
4. Preferring the greasiness of take-out over the wholesomeness of home-cooked meals.
And the kicker…
5. Having this for lunch on more than one occasion:
Why is that such a big deal? Looks like such a normal lunch, right?
The problem with this equation is that I don’t drink Coke. I don’t drink any sodas. The running joke is that I don’t drink any carbonated beverage, unless there’s alcohol in it. The carbonation actually burns my throat and tongue, making it difficult to swallow the liquid…which then sits in my mouth and continues to burn my throat and tongue. It is not pleasurable to me to drink carbonated beverages…unless there’s alcohol involved. I tend to only drink water. Or chai. But never Coke without rum.
I’ve gone over the deep end, my friends. Help. Me.
May 10, 2011 § 3 Comments
Yesterday, during my lunch break, I made a few minor changes to the blog format. You may have noticed. I’d expect, though, that you didn’t. In case you didn’t, allow me to invite you to join me on a virtual “walking” tour of the new and (I think) improved A.Hab.’s View.
I’ve undergone another.
In the interest of cutting out prepositional phrases and restoring concision, I have shortened my blog name to “A.Hab.’s View.” It’s sassy, short, and sweet. I like it. Just like a new summer haircut! 🙂
And in a random moment of just screwing around with my custom menu (there to your left), I realized that it was a great deal more customizable than I ever thought before! So, I organized it a bit more, which you can see here:
In the interest of cultivating a more interactive community, I created a page where you can bestow upon me any ideas for blog posts that you’d like to see covered here on A.Hab.’s View.
And, finally, I updated the password request page so that it’s a great deal more streamlined and a lot less work for you, my curious readers! 🙂
For all of you worried about my productivity, I assure you these changes took no time whatsoever. They were literally accomplished within my thirty-minute lunch break yesterday. (And, for the record, Chapter Three is sitting at a neat 20 pages right now. I should be able to wrap it up today. Fingers crossed.)
So, go exploring! Let me know what you think. 🙂
May 8, 2011 § 9 Comments
Know what happens when you have a Woogs in your house and you don’t make your bed?
Okay, okay, I know it’s kind of a cop-out to do a photo entry for the post-a-day challenge, but, eh, this is what you get today, folks. I’m kind of behind the 8-ball with writing deadlines (entirely arbitrary and self-imposed, but whatever), so no new news to deliver. Have a happy mother’s day all you mothers, and all you children of mothers!
May 7, 2011 § 2 Comments
I delight in mimicking Frankie Valli’s falsetto. It brings me great joy.
Especially when I’m too drunk to drive home. Robert has us parked in the driveway, and we are belting it out to “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.”
Today, we celebrated Mother’s Day early with both of our moms. During the majority of the day, Robert and I were with my mom shopping. Afterward, we all gathered together and had dinner along with Robert’s parents. We had a great time. I might have had too much to drink.
“I’ll drive,” he tells me, looking at me with that stern expression that tells me I better not argue with him. He’s right, of course. I might feel fine now, but as soon as I stand up…I’m sure I’ll be in trouble. I’m already imagining the great joy I will experience when I unbuckle (and possibly unzip) my pants for the car ride home. He’s definitely right. I really shouldn’t drive like this.
Dinner was delicious. The company was fantastic and fun. And on the drive home, halfway through my very rousing rendition of “Hey There Delilah,” Robert switches our audio to the soundtrack to Jersey Boys. My pouting lasts only a second before I realize what he’s done: he’s popped in a CD that we can both sing to. One that we love to sing to.
I take the high parts and leave the low parts to Robert. I have found that I run out of breath too early with the low parts. But when I’m drunk…maybe I run out of breath during the high parts, too.
“You’re just too good to be true…,” I croon, looking a bit crookedly at my loving spouse. “Can’t take my eyes off of you….”
I’m a lucky girl.
May 6, 2011 § 8 Comments
…but only a little bit.
In honor of my final final, I wanted to do something a little bit different. But what should it be? After a brief and still hysterical conversation with my sister (wherein she quickly emerged from her house like a shy wren from a cozy nest, twirling to show her haircut to her sister who was passing by that very moment on a bus home), I knew what I had to do.
There will be time, I told myself, ignoring the stomach-clenching paranoia.
No…, the paranoia protested back. Something will come up!
I’ve been doing really well on my post-a-day challenges. Nothing will come up! I insisted back.
So, I (perhaps foolishly) ignored my better judgment, lowered my laptop cover, and went to the grocery store with Robert. And then we hung out with V for a little while. And then I remembered I hadn’t eaten dinner…and it was almost nine. And then I still wanted to do that small change.
Here it is, folks: I am nearly late turning in today’s blog (and I know it’s arbitrary, but I still like it). I can still say “nearly” because I’ve another hour to go before my time is officially up. Anyway. Here it is, for real:
I colored my hair tonight!
Nothing major. Just a slightly deeper shade of red (I think…it’s still wet, so we’ll see what it looks like in the morning). If it comes out purple, I’ll panic…and then go to my hairdresser and beg her to help me fix it. But, I’m telling myself, it’s still wet. And red almost always look purple when it’s wet.
What I don’t understand about myself is that I seem to always color my hair (all four times I’ve ever done it) at night. Like…late at night. Close to bedtime. Which means I have to go to sleep with a wet head (I have super thick, super frizzy curly hair…it doesn’t do well with a blowdryer…think…Simba on crack cocaine).
But tonight was the worst time of all.
This time…I colored blind!!
In the past, I was much more consistent with wearing my contact lenses than I have been lately. So, in the past, I was able to see just fine. This time…I had to remove the glasses.
It’s fine, I told myself moments before sliding them from my face. I can go by feel. It’s supposed to feel like shampooing my hair.
You know what it feels like to color your hair with gloves on while blind?
A little like this:
Because I couldn’t see, my hair was going all over the place, which meant that it was indeed passing in front of my face (mostly so that I could see the ends and make sure they were getting color on them). I literally thought I was going to die at one point. I’m not even kidding. The odor smacked me in the face, and I started to cough. Which caused me to breathe in more. Which caused me to stifle more coughs. Which caused my eyes to well up with tears. (I eventually caught wise and turned on the exhaust fan. In the immortal words of Brita from Community and Charlie Sheen: duh-doy! Maybe the fumes killed a couple brain cells….)
Also, waiting for 25 minutes while the dye works its magic is worse when blind. I absolutely believe that. I mostly played on my phone…holding it as close to my face as it could get without bumping my nose, and kept checking about every minute or two to make sure the alarm hadn’t screwed up. It hadn’t. Only seven minutes had passed. Keep waiting, A.Hab.
Finally, finally the glorious moment of rinsing out arrived. And I was a wreck. I ended up having to cry for Robert to come help me. (I was in desperate need of a giant claw clip…which neither of us could find, and I least of all. It’s gone. Apparently. But he found other clips, which helped.) As I rinsed out my hair, he gathered the materials I rattled off to him in a frenetic and utterly bizarre list. For what I can only imagine is the first time in his entire life, he read instructions for coloring the hair. Just to make sure I wasn’t missing a step.
He’s a good husband.
As for the verdict on the hair…Robert likes it. I’m holding my breath until it dries. And then we’ll see.
But it’s just so typical of me to end something major and then do something minor to acknowledge it. Coloring my hair tends to be my go-to “thing.”
Do any of y’all have quirky habits you employ when you’re celebrating a milestone (however small or large)?
April 27, 2011 § 8 Comments
This post is a little shout-out to AARP, the American Association of Retired Persons, for taking a little time out of their busy retired lives to make a near-30-year-old woman just feel so golly-gee fucking special.
Thanks, AARP. I feel so awesome about turning 30.
This is punishment for giggling when Good Morning America‘s Hoda Kotb complained about getting AARP: The Magazine in her mailbox when she’s only 46, isn’t it?
Man…this is almost as bad as my mom’s 40th birthday…when she went to get breakfast and was asked if she’d be enjoying the senior citizen discount. They had no clue it was her birthday. And she had just had her hair colored. Way to boost the ol’ confidence, huh?
Thanks, Universe. Superbly done, as always.
April 15, 2011 § 3 Comments
So…Robert and I were going to go see a new, “butchered,” musical version of Hamlet at the university tonight. Oh, don’t worry. It’s been advertising itself as a butchered Hamlet–the show’s only 90 minutes!
When we arrived at the university theatre, though, they had a super-long waiting list…all other tickets were sold out. The trick with going to see a show as a student is that students aren’t allowed to reserve tickets online or by the phone. So if you’re a student and intend to see the show for free, then you have to show up half an hour before curtain to see what’s available. Sometimes, the show sells out and there are no student tickets available. In that case, they’ll start a wait list, tell people to hang around, and then they’ll call names on the wait list two minutes before curtain according to the number of unclaimed tickets they have. Sometimes they have a couple of tickets. Sometimes they have none.
As soon as we saw the length of the wait list, we knew there’d be no chance our names would be called. Roughly thirty people would have had to not show up to claim their tickets in order for us to be able to be seated.
We said, “To hell with this” and went home.
I had every intention of writing this post today as a review of this short-lived play (they only had five performances). I wanted to make a comment about the value in poking fun at a classic, what it might do to rejuvenate the classic, how it could reignite interest in this old and sometimes intimidating Shakespearean play.
But, alas and alackaday, you will not be reading that post tonight. Instead, you’ve just read an entirely pointless post about the post that might have been.
Thank you for your time.