The Conundrum

Or, as my father-in-law likes to call it, the condom (no, seriously, one night Husband and I were playing cards with him and he suddenly turned to me and said, “What’s the word, Mary? Condom?” to which I naturally replied, “I don’t know what the word is, but it’s definitely not condom.” Conundrum. Is what he meant.)

When I started this blog, I hoped that perhaps of the seven or so blogs I’d started it would be the one to launch me into never-ending fame and glory. And after a year of still writing in it and having a modestly high number of WordPress followers, I decided it was Time. I’d purchase the domain for myself and then I’d fill out an application for BlogHer and then become a famous blogger, like the Bloggess. Except maybe a little less. A lot less.

In reality, I don’t really have plans of becoming all that famous via a blog, but there’s something very satisfying about the thought of my owning a website domain. All mine. It’s probably the only child in me. So I contacted my nearest student employee programmer, asked him to check and see if the Swedish man who failed to renew his ownership over, called Josh Weed, asked for his advice, messaged Puneet, my most favorite fellow Asian, and then hit the brick wall of doubt and confusion.

Like, what am I thinking? What exactly would be the point of paying for a website if I don’t think it will actually garner any sort of monetary return? And it’s not like I have programming experience — that I can just use pre-made themes designed by people smarter than I is quite novel and simple. And furthermore, do I want to limit myself to eternally writing about the low points of my day? Or do I want to expand my blogging horizons and come up with a kickier URL like and just write about everything that comes to my mind, funny or otherwise?

*face/desk* is still available — I just checked. Like, literally just now checked on GoDaddy to make sure. But what if the Swedish man, despite his not doing anything on the website for over a year and letting his renewal expire, decides he wants to get back into whatever his website was about? What if I miss my opportunity right after deciding that’s the route I want to go? Or what if I purchase it and then decide I did want to write all my musings down for the world? This feels like a huge lose/lose situation.

To my friends who’ve already voiced their opinions, I thank you. For those who haven’t, go.



I Now Defer to Mr. Weed

I told him I’d be reblogging what he wrote; I’m not quite sure if he took me seriously, but here it is.

“Does this ever happen to you?

You get into this bind with blogging where you don’t post, then you start to think that you can never post again until you’ve come up with something truly brilliant to make up for the fact that you haven’t posted enough lately.

Except then you can’t think of something awesome. So the days keep passing. And pretty soon it’s been a week and you haven’t posted and you start to feel a little bad about yourself and you wonder why you continue to choose career supplementations that require attributes like: stamina, consistency, non-suckiness, any level of adulthood whatsoever. And you begin to question your life-choices.

And then you consider shutting down operations. But that only lasts a few moments before you realize that your blog is something you love doing with all your heart. So then you resolve to stop sucking.

That’s where I’m at, people.”

Well put, The Weed. So in the event you’re still wondering why I’ve reblogged Mr. Weed’s witty words, I’m there, too. The difference between Josh and me, however, is that he’s a funny enough person to compensate for a lack in writing, and, well, I am not.

Da Bomb

I know. I’ve had a slew of great days, which is totally blog ruining. I’ve been working really hard at having a slew of crappy days, I promise.

Also, THIS JUST IN, PEOPLE: No one has submitted a darn thing for The Contest. This is sad for one of three reasons: 1) it implies that no one actually reads my blog; that, perhaps, what’s really going on is that my mother is reading it about ten times every day to make me feel good about myself. 2) I’m the only person who has low points, which is really embarrassing because I thought it was a thing. 3) My attempts to get Josh Weed to guest post were futile, lame though they may have been.

Photo taken straight off Josh’s Facebook page, without any permission whatsoever.

Anyways. I just suddenly had a low point, and even though my carpal tunnel is acting up (yeah, too much gaming — whatever, guys, it’s not a big deal that I’m a huge dork), I am willing to sacrifice my health and well-being to share it with you.

That’s either really awesome and loyal of me, or it’s really pathetic. You choose. And then don’t tell me.

First, a funny story: This story is really only super funny if you know my mother well. Imagine, if you will (and you will), a dignified, fastidious, pragmatic woman who spends her days helping America’s children become literate and her evenings puttering and reading. She’s a librarian, in case that wasn’t readily apparent. She is about as opposite me as another person could be, by the way, so she either finds humor in reading my blog or a whole lot of embarrassment. I digress — you need the story because seriously it’s really good, you guys. When I was a little baby, my parents had their roof repaired (replaced? I don’t know. People were climbing up on it and banging on it with metal and wood tools), but she explained very carefully to them that, when I was down for a nap, all work needed to cease.

I needed my beauty rest, even at a young age. It didn’t work, in case you’re curious. I’m still not a supermodel. Or a princess.

As you can probably imagine, the work didn’t cease. She stepped outside, asking them to stop. They still didn’t, at which point my dignified mother stepped outside, looked up on the roof, and told them if they didn’t step down and take a break, she’d get my dad’s gun and shoot them off. I mean, she probably said it in a super nice way, and I don’t even think my dad had a gun, but the roof repairmen took her seriously because they stopped. I wish I hadn’t been a sleeping baby while all this was going on. I wish I’d actually been a teenager or adult, with a video camera and Youtube channel because seriously. Seriously.

Image courtesy of
The weird thing about me putting a random picture of a gun on my blog is that I’m vehemently anti-gun.

Now the reason why I shared a funny story: Tonight, at about 10:27 pm (but seriously who was looking at the clock? I certainly wasn’t) a bevy of fireworks went off in the neighborhood. A whole cacophony of them; it was like I was magically transported to Fallujah. They continued for several minutes — bomb after bomb after bomb — I can still smell the sulphur, although I should say that I’ve got an uber sensitive nose, so maybe it’s just me. I’m not quite sure what state holiday takes place on August 18th at 10:27 pm, but seriously someone should have told me because I didn’t get my firework on this past Independence Day, and I felt gypped.

Photo courtesy of @TravisCass
Ah, the infamous 9 second fireworks display. It sounded a lot like this in the neighborhood.

Fireworks around 10:30 pm on a Saturday night aren’t really that big a deal, I suppose, except when Husband is sleeping. And then GOD HELP YOU if you are setting things off like fireworks while my husband is sleeping. No matter where we live, people need to realize as soon as Husband lays down in bed, I want it to be quiet. Soundless. I only want to hear the sound of his heavy breathing and whatever TV show I’m watching because ain’t nobody messin’ with my baby. I mean, husband. And, in fact, I considered stepping outside and screaming into the night sky that I would get a gun and shoot them off their roofs, but it occurred to me that, most likely, they weren’t setting off their wartime fireworks from any rooftops, and I would probably be the one carted away in a police car when all was said and done. Also, we don’t have a gun, so the whole ordeal would have also required that I break and enter into someone else’s place to obtain one. And then figure out how to shoot one because (this might seem unrelated, but when you really think about it, it’s not) I’m the sort of person who used to stick her foot under the lawnmower when she started it.

In the end I decided against all that. But I feel really close to my mom.


Linked Up

I’d like to think you read my blog because you like funny things. And much like I enjoy being right, I also enjoy being considered funny.

It would be a real low point if you read my blog out of familial/friend obligation or because you and your friends like to make fun of how lame it is. Seriously, I would totally cry. Lots.

Anyhow, I fully recognize that I am absolutely not the funniest person out there, and I like to share funny things with the world (or, you know, ten other people), so you might have noticed the “Blogs to Follow” on my upper right corner. Oh, you haven’t noticed that? Tsk tsk — I changed my blog theme and everything so you would. Anyhow, it occurred to me recently that you might not know why I think you should follow these blogs, and so … (The Apostrophist: a Grammar Blog) — This isn’t actually a humor blog as much as a blog that will make you a better human being. This is actually the website for my best friend’s editing business, which covers everything from web content to syntactical sustenance. But when she writes in her blog (including the Oxford comma and how to use words like “comprise,” which seriously you’re probably using incorrectly), she’s extremely witty and clever. And if you were to hire her to be your PERSONAL EDITOR, you’d get regular doses of her hilarity. All day long. So hire her already.

Hyperbole and a Half — Blog readers beware: you might pee your pants whilst reading Hyperbole. Allie deftly combines the magic of the written word and the artwork that can be produced by Paintbrush (as in the Paintbrush that comes standard on every computer and essentially allows you to draw pixelated squiggles with your mouse). That, in and of itself, is hilarious because she draws herself as such:

Image courtesy of

As means of forewarning, there’s adult language in a number of the posts.

The Weed — I’m proud to say that I know The Weed personally — I’ve known the entire family for years (his parents were even at our family only wedding ceremony, so if that doesn’t indicate closeness, then I don’t know what does.) You might have recently heard the name Josh Weed or Club Unicorn thrown around on the Interwebs … you know, like on or (No. Big. Deal.) due to his recently coming out of the closet on his 10-year anniversary (celebrating his marriage to a woman who knew he was gay before she even married him.) Not only does he produce hours of giggly fun, but his daughters are chock full of excellent fodder, such as Bambi Nuggets and family-run cesareans.

The Surfing Pizza — I came across this blog by Google searching for humor blogs. Incidentally, when you do something like that, you end up with a lot of blogs that are not even slightly humorous. But! Chances are you will find something that is wordsmithing gold. I spent the majority of a work day reading post after post, ranging from flea market finds to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. And the biggest upside? He has a Master’s in writing from Johns Hopkins University, so he actually knows how to write.

It’s like magic, you guys.

So those are my top four blogs right now. And I actually read them. Like, I get emails and notifications on Facebook that posts have been published and then I immediately stop what I’m doing and go to the original sites and read and laugh and share with my friends and then drop into a bit of a depressed slump realizing that, in comparison to these fine individuals, I am actually not all that funny. Never mind. Someday I will be.

And at least I have my rightness to tide me over.


No, this isn’t actually a post about faux wrestling matches, even though that would both get my post written and be the low point of my day. This is about something else just as terrible, however.

An Introduction: Meet Josh Weed. He has a blog named after himself because he’s that kind of a person and it’s super hilarious and you will probably find yourself, much like I did a few weeks back, reading every one of his posts, snort laughing to yourself while your spouse played video games wondering why you were being such a weirdo. In case you need the additional help, you can find his blog here. Don’t do anything rash and head over to his blog right now because that would mean I’d lose readership immediately and we can’t have that. Finish reading this, then head to his blog and continue following it till he doesn’t post again, and then return back home.

Photo courtesy of I am nothing, if not magnanimous, so I clearly took great care in choosing the perfect photo for my blog.

All I can really say, without giving too much away, are these two words: Bambi nuggets.

Josh and I have a long history of being friendly pseudo friends. We haven’t ever done anything like hang out with each other, but when I was in middle school I saw him give a riveting performance in “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” and then I was friends with his sister and then his brother and then his other sister. I never really became friends with his youngest brother because he’s seven years younger than me and that would make me a creep. His mom and dad are probably in my top 20 most awesome adults I know. At any rate, he and I know each other well enough for me to refer to his wife by her nickname.

The Low Point

I’m not entirely positive how it is that I got sucked into this, but I started a game of Words with Friends tonight with Mr. Weed. Why on earth would I do such a thing? Because he has heinously left the world of Scrabble for the stupid game and, well, this one time I beat him at Scrabble and it made me feel really positively about how my life was going, and I can’t help but think it might happen again. [Sorry, Shadra, but I’m not going to play with you. I love you, but if you’re still hanging around the Scrabble board, then we’ll just keep it that way. Mmkay? Hugs!] I know, I know, Alec Baldwin plays WWF so we should all play it, on planes and trains and what have you, but I have a difficult time accepting a rip off of my most favoritest game ever in the history of all games ever. In all time. Plus there’s no dictionary.

But that’s not even the low point. I mean, it felt like it would be as I was allowing WWF access to all my personal information on Facebook, but then this happened:

What the heck kind of letters are these!?

Yeah. Friends indeed.

So, Josh Weed, you’re up. Just try and beat my starting word of two points. I dare you.