Apr 292010
 

She said good night to the man in the moon, covered herself with an imaginary umbrella from imaginary rain, & finally fell into a dream.

**

Originally posted at The Afterbirth (A.K.A: the other blog I keep forgetting about.)

 

I’ve been busier than hell this past month with that writing thing I’m trying to get off the ground, so the blog’s kinda been suffering. I mean, come on, people. I put in a ten hour day yesterday. Of actual work. I didn’t do that when I had a real J-O-B in an office with taxes and parking and too many bosses.

But now, it’s either staying up till 2 a.m. to work on the proposal, my super secret paying writing project, and obsessing over what I’m going to wear for Bloggy Bootcamp and the National Latino Writer’s Conference and saying to hell with the blog so I can get some sleep before the sun and Buttercup wake up, or going totally insane.

I choose to keep my last working nerve.

So consider this elevator music and check out my guest post at Workout Mommy while I go look for some sheep to count. She’s got a great site, and I’m grateful for the chance to spread my own special brand of snark. I’d keep writing because I haven’t come up with a good kicker yet, but I think I’m actually typing in my sleep and need to log off before I embarrass myself.

 

I needed to pee the minute I crossed the starting line. And no, I didn’t notice the porta-john sitting to my left, conveniently located near the finish line, until I crossed it 45 minutes later. So I really can’t say if I finished the March for Babies in 45 minutes because I am just in that good of shape, because I was afraid of being late for Buttercup’s noon swim class, or because I was walking like a speed-demon purely on the instinctive need to not pee myself in public.

It was a crazy day. After no sleep (cuz I never sleep the night before something big) I got up at 5:30 while the rest of my house slept. The Husband was already at work and I happily prepared myself for my solo contribution to the Florida-based Team Haris.

Then I got lost. I had driven my mother’s car and forgot to grab my GPS. So I had nothing to rely on but my blackberry and Google Maps, which in normal circumstances would totally be fine. And by normal, I mean when I don’t have a deadline to get somewhere. But my blackberry is being very uncooperative right now and the best I could get was directions that pretty much equated to “Here’s the haystack. Now find the needle.”

Did you know that the  University of Arizona is huuuuge? And that I drove around for 30 minutes asking random people where the hell I needed to go? And that I drive the wrong way down one-way streets? Or that when I finally found the starting point, I ended up parking illegally and could only hope my car was still there when I was through because I was now running very late and had no choice but to put it in park and just pray?

So I prayed. And I walked. The plan had been to listen to my Manic Mommies podcast and catch up on old shows (because I’m about 4 months behind now) and just enjoy the time to myself. But I hadn’t counted on how loud the crowd was going to be and just couldn’t be bothered with stopping to take the camel-pack off my back to reset the volume or the show I had accidentally selected. So I listened (again) to Kate talk about life before she wasn’t the Mom to Multiples that Everyone Loves to Hate (As Much as now, I mean).

I hauled ass. I had places to go and things to do. So by the time I actually saw the porta-john at the finish line, I actually considered breezing by it, collecting my sticker, my sweatshirt for raising $500 or more,  and zooming home. But then I remembered the 45 minute drive and delayed my finish-line victory dance so I could take a much deserved moment to pee. (It should also be noted that since Buttercup was home with my mom, I actually got to pee in private for the first time in three years.)

During that little moment to reflect, it hit me. I was going to have to show the Mexi-fro. I didn’t think I was going to have to do it. Which is really the only I promised I would. But since Juliette worked so hard (and @blogdangerously lended such a huge amount of support), I not only made my $500 March for Babies goal…I surpassed it!

Please click here to read Juliette’s amazing thank you to all of our supporters, including @blogdangerously, @DeniseMSwank, @sneakpeekatme, @craftycmc, @bettyviolablue, @Sinfully_Cute, @bdmiller3132, @Sparrowbug, @ape131313, @kristiecookauth and dozens more.

(And hugs right back atcha, babe.)

I’ll admit to feeling a bit conflicted when Juliette called me, laughing, because I was now going to have to make good on my promise. And I promised to get her back one day. When I have a minute to think. Which probably won’t happen until next year in the same porta-john, providing I leave Buttercup at home, that is. Which means Juliette’s off the hook for now.

So here is is, people. The Mexi-fro. Feel free to point and laugh. I know it ain’t pretty.

IMG00020-20100426-1200(2)

First,the side view. Which is what The Husband sees every morning when he wakes up before me. Tell me if that isn’t love. Lesser men would have run screaming after the hangover wore off.

IMG00021-20100426-1200(2)Here’s the other side. Because, well, never mind. It’s just as bad.

IMG00025-20100426-1202I’ll just say what you are thinking. I look like a crack-whore. It’s okay. I get it all the time.

IMG00027-20100426-1203(3)I’m thinking I was popular at slumber parties because I qualified as free entertainment.

IMG00019-20100426-1200And yes, there is a reason I wore my one and only Harajuku T-shirt, and that would be because I am a Harajuku girl.


And a huge thank you to everyone who supported me in my effort to support my friend and the memory of her son. It kind of takes the sting away from having to humiliate myself in the name of charity.

Almost.

Now the only question is, what in God’s name am I going to do next year to top this? Because really? I have no idea.

Apr 232010
 

Sometimes, the connections I make online become more than just the basic back and forth chatter that comes part and parcel with social media. Sometimes, the connections are instant and real. And sometimes, they lead to so much more than ever expected.

I recently found Leslee Horner’s lovely Waiting for the Click site, and was blessed with the opportunity to share my own click moment. It’s not my usual snarky fare, but it’s a very real moment that needed to be shared.

Thank you, Leslee.  You can read my Click story here. Please, let Leslee know you stopped by with a comment on her site.

 

A few days ago I got brave and decided to blog about showing off the infamous Mexi-fro to the world if I actually made it to my personal March for Babies goal of $500. And by brave, I mean “I didn’t think I had any chance in hell and wasn’t really going to have to put up or shut up.”

I tweeted my blog link (because it is tweeted and not twittered, people. Really, do you say ate or eated? Case closed.) and then I went about my business of kicking my own ass at the gym, trying to keep up with the never-ending piles of laundry that make it imposible to keep up, and wondering when I was going to have time to you know, write. I really didn’t give the Mexi-fro another thought, except for every morning when I try not to make eye contact with the circus freak in the mirror.

Then something happened. Juliette Terzieff, #teamharis captain, saw my blog post. And holy hell, did she go to town on twitter with retweets and blog posts and more retweets and even pledging to donate $5 for every donation received by me (if the donor sends her an @ so she knows, of course.) Then my mom donated $100. And my godmother popped in $25. And then, O.M.G. becky, the mega-delicious @blogdangerously picked up the battle cry and publicly pledged to chip in $2 for every ten I raise betwween now and goal. And then? Well, social media knocked me on my ass with a huge show of support from new and old twitter friends, alike.

Seriously, people. I know this is for a good cause, but I’m feeling very Monster at the End of this Book right now and am hoping that the overwhelming show of support from total strangers stops right now. I mean, really, are you aware of the magnitude of the Mexi-fro? Are you actually ready to see the ‘do that can be rightfully blamed for 32 years of bad hair days and hellaciously scary nights?

Okay, maybe I’m just trying to protect my reputation (you know, the one that I just made up in which I am hawt) from the Mexi-fro blemish I am certain is coming my way. Maybe I’m a little scared you’ll all point and laugh so long and so hard that I won’t be taken seriously ever again. Or I could just be having halloween flashbacks from when I was 8 and my mom froed out the ‘fro and sprayed it to look like a clown’s wig and I spent the entire night telling people at the Girl Scout party as they tried pulling it off that it wasn’t a damned wig.

Then I remind myself that this is for a really good cause and in memory of my friend’s baby. And I take a deep breath.

So go ahead, world. Bring it.

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