That Loopy Feeling

image by Derek Farr (DetroitDerek)

I wrote a blog post the other night. In my head. While I was falling asleep. No worries, I remember it. I'm just too tired right now to spin that particular yarn. I'm still working on that project that I mentioned previously. It's nearing completion. But its end could mean just the beginning for something much larger. Am I being cryptic? Ah, but of course! (Say that last sentence in a French accent, s'il vous plait.) (I'm not sure why, but I feel like I'm channeling that lovely blue poppy Elizabeth tonight. You know her, oui? Ah, but of course you do! Or at least should. Go see her blog. She's funny. And charming.) (And for the record, I accidentally wrote "blue ploppy" the first time. It's fun to say. Say it.)

Anyway, I've got the Unnamed Project going on. And on top of that -- and this is the thing that's really sucking my energy -- there's a new project in my life. One that involves my alarm going off at 7:00 in the morning. If you know me even a teensy bit, you will know that this is, how shall we say?, la torture. I am a night owl. My biological clock tells me to go to bed in the a.m. hours and get up in the p.m. hours. So I'm all kerfuffled with this new project. It also requires me to drive a long distance to a real office and work around real people. I have to wear a bra and shoes all day long. It's exhausting. (Sometimes I slip my shoes off under the desk. I think it's only a matter of time until I start unhooking my bra and eventually furtively pulling it out through my sleeve.)

But the Far Away-Ass Early-Must Wear Bra-Project has some big plus sides. One: It's casual work attire. So apart from shoes and a bra, I can basically wear whatever I want. Two: It's good work. Good meaning: steady, well compensated, and pleasant. But wait, before you feel anxious, hear this: I am still a freelancer, people. This is merely a longer term contracted project. So don't worry your pretty little heads about me going corporate again. (As if working for one YMCA and two universities ever made me corporate.) I mention this last point for two reasons: One: To maintain my street cred as a creative contractor. Two: To point out that I'm still accepting additional freelance work. (Look at me, shilling for compliments and clients. Woot!)

So as you can tell by the tone and content of this blog post, Projects 1 & 2 are making me loopy. If, by some off chance, this post is not hilarious (as I suspect it is) and is actually annoying (for you) and embarrassing (for me), please let me know gently. Otherwise I might have to whip you in the eye with my bra. Or throw a shoe at you. Any excuse to get out of these damn things.

And now I'm going to go watch Le Lost. (That's French for Lost.) I bid you bonsoir!

NaBloPoMo: All (Good) Things Must Come to an End

Oh the pressure.

This is the last day of the National Blog Posting Marathon Madness. (Would that be NaBloPoMaMa instead of NaBloPoMo?) I feel compelled to do something fabulous with this post, like dress it up in high heels, a little black dress, and maybe sweep its hair up into a Breakfast-at-Tiffany's-esque 'do.

Because really, aren't you all tired of hearing about my struggle to post every single day in November? I certainly am. As a reward, I'd like to write a post that astounds you, or makes you chuckle, or leaves you with a nice warm feeling in your tummy, like a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies and a nice glass of milk.

But it's Friday night and I have to get ready to go to this Rave in the warehouse down the street and I still have to find my glowstick. Okay, I'm really just waiting for my husband to come home so we can make popcorn on the stove and watch a movie. I'll leave you guessing as to what kind of movie it will be. Perhaps a quiet British film like "A Room with a View." Or maybe something more American, like "Live Free or Die Hard." Whichever it is will determine how I eat my popcorn, according to Eddie Izzard. Don't know him? Check him out:

[warning: strong language in this video]

And as Eddie once said at the end of a show, he likes to leave people feeling "ehhh." And so I leave you.

Not with a bang but a whimper.

(C'mon! It's not like I won't be back. Will you be back?)

Haiku Cop-out

Up early today.
Email makes my eyes so tired.
Turn off computer!

For more haikus, head on over to Mommy Needs a Cocktail's NaBloPoMo page where it's been all haiku all month. Today's poem sums things up nicely:

Put me out of my misery Haiku

It's almost over.
NaBloPoMo killing me.
What was I thinking?

Yoga: A blind date

Dear Yoga,

I'd heard about you for years. The way women – and even some men – go crazy for you, falling head over heels in love. They swear by your ability to make them feel young and sexy. I have to say, I was certainly intrigued. I even tried to get to know you through a few video tapes from a friend. Those tapes feel cheap now. Because just like sign language, knitting, and the Kama Sutra, you are definitely an enigma that one must experience in person.

Oh, the promises you make. They sound so delightful. "Follow me, and you will become bendy and strong," you say. "I will give you good posture, a lean body, and a peaceful mind."

I fell for your sweet-talk, you rascal, you! Oh, yes, Yoga, I'm calling you a rascal. On the surface you're all patchouli oil and soothing music with wooden flutes and chirping birds. But I've seen your real face tonight: a cold, cruel face, like that of a Drill Sergeant. This evening, on our very first date, you humiliated me, demanding that I hold poses I couldn't even attain. "Now look back at your thighs," cooed the instructor (your little slut). And I thought, "Look back at my thighs? I can't even find my thighs!"

I didn't expect you to be easy. I'd heard you make people work for it. But still, I didn't expect to sweat so damn much. I have Mr. Treadmill for that.

But you are a sly downward dog, Yoga. After 40 minutes of torture, you spoke to me in honeyed tones. You asked me to lie on my mat in the darkened room, just breathing. "Doesn't your body feel stretched and relaxed?" you asked. "Feel how the tension has left you. Let it all go, and invite in calm and peace. There, now. How do you feel?"

How do I feel, Yoga? How do I feel?!

I'll tell you after next week's class.

Until then, namaste.

Not as good as the original, but still fun

Are you stuffed to the gills with mashed potatoes, turkey/tofurkey/turducken, and pie? Sit back and enjoy some mindless fun at Qbesq. It's like this, but online. Now all I need is a virtual Lite Brite. Oh wait: there's one of those, too.

(link to Qbesq via Anna Pieka Valentine)