Hands down best Parks and Rec outtake ever.
Hands down best Parks and Rec outtake ever.
I love a good take down of sexist crap. This one by John Oliver last night? Fantastic.
I’m not Catholic or Orthodox or one of those other penance heavy religions, but growing up, my mom and I would usually give something up for Lent. We usually opted for the clichéd stuff—soda, candy, sweets, frozen cokes (ahem, Tammy.) One year, Mom decided her sailor’s mouth was out of control so she gave up swearing. This went over very well, until she hit her knee on something, said a choice 4-letter word, then, realizing she’d broken her lenten promise, exclaimed the 4-letter word all over again. Vicious Cycle. Hilarious Vicious Cycle.
Anyway, this year I had thought about it a lot, but couldn’t quite land on something. What should I give up for Lent? Well, my biggest vices are really Diet Coke, wine and coffee but I think my mental well-being prevents those as viable options for giving up. Plus, I won’t lie. I don’t really want to, and can’t think of a single positive I gain from giving them up. And, since we’ve already covered the “not Catholic” thing, that was always my Lent goal—to do something positive, or better myself.
But this morning, I came across a post by a Facebook friend, from a guy who goes by “The Fat Pastor” (I didn’t name him, don’t start). He suggested writing letters for Lent and I kind of love the idea. I had just been thinking in the last few weeks, how many people I haven’t touched base with in a while or how many people deserved “Thank You’s” from me, that hadn’t gotten them lately.
So, I’ve ordered some nice (Wonder Woman) stationary, stepped up my Postable game, and am ready to roll. I can’t promise I will stick to Fat Pastor’s prompts (see below) because… well, I’m not quite as spiritual as him and some of his prompts are stupid. (I’m sorry.)
Anyway… consider yourself my accountability police. We’ll see how it goes. (Hopefully not as poorly as my New Year’s Resolution attempts… I”M JUST SO BAD AT THOSE.)
When I get an idea one of the following usually occurs:
So, you ask yourself, “Why are you telling me this, Schaffer?”***
Well, I really wanted to write a blog post about people—about liking people on some sort of sliding scale and the difference in context and weird realizations about age and stuff. It basically only sounds insightful and deep in my head and, as much as I try, every single first sentence I’ve started with on this topic is horrible. HORRIBLE. So instead, I began making a list of all the ways my blog usually crashes and burns, although, sometimes, succeeds a little.
***No one calls me Schaffer. I wish they did. I like my last name and have always had Philadelphia Story fantasies of a cool, sexy nickname. But, let me be clear, NO one calls me this.
The closest I’ve ever come was an ex that called me by my middle name. Not quite the same, but cute.
In conclusion, this aside is pointless, except for serving to further prove, that I am a confusing writer and that my children will be girly as hell with really strange, non-girly first name, first names. And they will hate me for that.
This is seriously one of my favorite Daily Show clips in a while—I was laughing aloud. Alone. At my desk. Like a crazy person.
So first, I saw this:
Which led me to this:
Look—I am not proud of this realization but it’s 100% true.
And before you get all judgy—I read all the time. I read articles on so many topics, it makes my head hurt to go back through my web history. I have 5 different news apps on my phone, meaning I can learn things from the comfort of my bed, tub, treadmill or dog park. (Try not to over think those logistics.) Newspapers, magazines, articles—I consume information constantly.
But… I don’t usually take the time to read books all that often. I spent so much of my younger life reading EVERYTHING, that now I rarely read a book that isn’t tied to work life. And now, now I’m so out of the habit of reading, I forget to seek books out. I don’t even have anything on my list.
In conclusion, help! What do I need to read? And before you start throwing shit my way, here are my rules:
-Nothing that will make me hate myself (Vampires, Nicholas Sparks, anything that is turned into a movie teenagers line up for.)
-Nothing that will make my inner feminist vomit (50 Shades of Anything.)
-Nothing that makes me cry or angry. (Don’t you even dare tell me it’s a “good” cry. At the moment I want to be entertained. Or amused. Or learn something great. I don’t want a depressing read or a lecture. If you break this, I will come FIND YOU.)
-If it’s romance, it better not be the kind Cameron Diaz or Katherine Higel would star in.
-If you want reference, the last few books I’ve read for fun are Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, Bossypants, Lost at Sea and maybe some of the Sylvia Day series, DONT YOU DARE JUDGE ME, IM NOT PROUD OF IT AND I JUST HAPPENED TO BE SOMEWHERE IT WAS LAYING AROUND AND I READ IT IN A DAY SO WHATEVER THAT ITS BASICALLY PORN.
Ok. That’s all I have right now. YOUR TURN, help me!
Last week, in an effort to update my workout/hanging out wardrobe, I took advantage of Target’s 30% off workout attire. I picked up some more sports bras (I love theirs), a pull over and… another pair of running tights.
I was on the phone while shopping, chatting with a friend, but I really was paying attention. I looked at sizing for each item and decided on a medium for the tights before moving on to the “grocery” side of the store.
Fine. Totally innocuous shopping trip that makes for a super boring story.
Until I got ready to run the next day, pull out the tights and notice… “Hmmm… Medium. 7-8. That’s not normal women’s sizing… In fact, that’s usually child’s sizing.” And then I put them on… And that? That was… rough. The tights barely covered my bum and are so snug, I have about 7 hips happening. (7. Don’t argue with the logistics.)
So I come up with the bright idea of looking the tights up online.
And there we are…
So I came to the conclusion that I am way too ADD for big goals. Look, a little bit of snow (8 inches, but whatever) was enough to sidetrack me completely from my series, never to return to the nice orderly schedule I originally had in mind.
Therefore, I came to the conclusion that I need baby steps—tiny pieces of tackle-able goals. And look, I’m not saying they’re going to be all that thrilling for you to follow along with but, screw you, this blog is basically a diary that 7 of you happen to have come across while snooping through my bedroom (HOW DARRRRE YOU. Probably don’t open my top dresser drawer) when that one time I invited you over for coffee. Or Diet Coke. Or to pick up a dead mouse my dog killed.
Anyway, baby steps. Think of yourself as the Richard Dryfus to my Bill Murray.
So- that’s where we are. You know, in case you’ve been wondering, or didn’t care at all. :)