Friday, February 26, 2010

So Not Pretty... *At All*

When I brush my teeth, I get toothpaste everywhere.

I don't know why. I don't know how.

Somehow, toothpaste gets on the mirror, on my shirt, around the sink...


And now it's even worse because my dentist insisted that I get an electric toothbrush, (you know, because apparently I am incapable of thoroughly cleaning my teeth the old fashioned way?) which means that the toothpaste is churned to the point of full on toothpaste froth.

When I brush my teeth, it looks like I'm a rabid dog.

It's not cute.

Mike isn't allowed to watch me as I brush my teeth because he just laughs and points.

Laughs and points.

Which makes me laugh, which means even more toothpaste ends up covering the bathroom walls and floor and ceiling.

He's also not allowed to watch me wash my face.

Because when I wash my face, water also gets


The counter, my shirt (again), the floor...

And Mike says things like, "Ally, I know you're a smart person, but you do not look like it right now."

But this all works just fine because I just wash my face AFTER I brush my teeth, then the water just washes all of the toothpaste froth off of everything.

(Who's not smart, now, Michael?)

Except the mirror.

I have no idea how I get toothpaste on the mirror...

(PS: I'm trying out a new commenting system that's dynamic and shit (that's the technical term). All you need is a name and email, or you can sign up for a Disqus profile (so I can see your pretty little face next to your note) here, so please say "hi" to Bonnie and Hannah, because they don't think anyone cares about them.)

(PPS: That's a lie. Bonnie and Hannah don't even read this blog.)

(PPPS: Bitches.)

Friday, February 19, 2010

Blurg: It's how I feel.

I am sick.

Have been since I got back from Blissdom.

That's almost TWO WEEKS.

(And I'm not the only one. Which means that there was obviously some sort of terrible germ bomb released during the conference.)

(Alert the officials.)

I lie in bed every morning, taking stock of how I feel, and think to myself "Today. Today I will feel better. Today I will walk the dogs. I will go to the gym. I will clean the house. I will be productive."

And then I realize that I can't breath through my nose.

So I take another shot of nasal spray.

(I should buy stock in the stuff.)

And then I sit up and cough up a lung.

And then I brush my teeth.

And then I have to lie down for a few minutes because standing up is hard.

And then I heat some water up for another cup of tea, pour another serving of orange juice, swallow another multivitamin, and watch a ridiculous amount of Law and Order: SVU.


And although I am now qualified to solve some pretty fucked up crimes, I don't really think it's that productive.

(Depends on how you define "productive", I guess.)

(But really, if you need someone to solve some crazy-ass crime involving drag queens or strippers or guys with foot fetishes, I am ON IT.)

Yesterday I decided to not be sick anymore, so I took the dogs for a walk. This was partly to assert my control over this wretched illness, and mostly because Bonnie had that look in her eye that said "I know you're sick, mama, but if you don't get me out of here today, I will cut you."

And I went to class where I started to see dots because there is NO OXYGEN getting to my brain because my nose is trying to murder me through suffocation.

And I realized that I can't push it. I need to make peace with that fact that my body will heal in time.

But that's bullshit, so instead I'm sitting here, wallowing in self-pity, because that's how I role.

PS: I thought it would make me feel better to buy things, but I can't really leave the house. And I have no money. So I downloaded a million free books for my Kindle.

PPS: Most of the books that are $0.00 on Amazon for the Kindle are either classic novels or Christian romance novels.

PPPS: I don't know why either.

PPPPS: So I have a ridiculous amount of classic novels on my Kindle now. I may never read them, but I feel way smarter.

PPPPPS: Feeling "way smarter" does not make up for the fact that my right nostril has been stuffed up for 12 days, but today... my left is more stuffed up. The hell nose?

Monday, February 15, 2010


I've never been fond of Valentine's Day.

The pressure (the pressure!) to be romantic, in love, nice, just sets couples up for disaster.

(Meaning, I usually overreact about something which ruins everything.)

(I take full responsibility.)

It never turns out like it's supposed to.

(The same goes for anniversaries and birthdays or any other "special occasion".)

Inevitably, someone will say something that causes their other half to role his or her eyes, to grit his or her teeth in frustration, to scream something regrettable.

The dishes will sit dirty. The trash won't be taken out. Something will go wrong.

Something starts the fight.

(And no, it's not because of PMS.)

(At least not completely.)

This year we made plans to go to dinner and then dancing Saturday night, and then for a massage on Sunday.

Lofty plans for someone who doesn't like Valentine's Day.

But, alas, I got sick, so Saturday was spent watching a crappy movie and ordering Chinese food, the nasal spray never far away.

(By the way, can you overdose on nasal spray?)

(I refuse to Google it because I know it's going to say "yes, you can overdose on nasal spray AND you're going to die".)

And the massage was postponed because nothing is less relaxing than dripping snot everywhere while lying naked and face-down on a massage table.

But with all of the canceled plans went all of the pressure. We just had a weekend together.

We saw the perfect romantic movie for Valentine's Day: Sherlock Holmes.

(The sexual tension between Jude Law and Robert Downey, Jr. was palpable.)

(There better be a make out session in the sequel.)

To be "valentines-y" we brought a heart-shaped box of chocolates into the movie theater.

(Eating a box of chocolates in a dark theater forces you to eat what you get rather than scouring that little chocolate treasure map under the lid that tells you exactly where the caramels are and how to avoid that weird coconut creme crap. This can either be exciting or stressful, depending on your various neuroses... and food allergies.)

(Also? If you bring a box of chocolates into a dark and quiet theater, maybe open it in the car beforehand because the amount of wrapping and ripping and noise involved in getting to said caramels and weird coconut creme crap is just astounding.)

(Especially since you're trying to be all covert and shit about smuggling Valentine's Day themed candy into the theater.)

Finally, we went to a crowded coffee shop where we drank tea and did the most romantic thing ever:

Mike taught me math.

(It was hot.)

And nobody fought over the dishes or the trash.

And it was good...

(AND I know how to do logarithms.)


What did you do? What didn't you do?
Do you know what log10 of 10 is?
Because I totally do.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Thank You Notes: Blissful Edition

(This post is sappy, personal, and ridiculously lovey. Not your thing? Read my first Blissdom post instead.)


Dear Esther,

Thank you for being my friend, not just online, but in person.

Thank you for making me think, for sharing your stories, for sharing your insight,

for being you.

Thank you for checking on me when I got locked out of my hotel room, and thank you for *not* making me feel like a total idiot when I pocket dialed you (twice) and left you messages of me discussing the best cookie choice with the sales girl in the hotel lobby.

(It was white chocolate cherry, in case that wasn't clear from my message.)

(Sorry 'bout that.)


Dear Casey,

Thank you for hugging me when I shared one of my biggest fears with you,

for getting it,

for getting me.

Thank you for telling me to "do it" when I said I might cry. (Not in a mean way (DO IT), but in an encouraging way... I thought I should clear that up.)

Thank you for stopping me when I was leaving the party the first night, for talking to me instead of allowing me to wander around by myself.

Thank you for telling me I'm awesome, for being awesome yourself, for being my new found lobster.


Dear Mary Anne,

I hereby dub you my Fairy Blog Mother.

Thank you for hugging me, telling me you were proud of me,

being my safety net.

Thank you for telling me which side of the stage to stand on to get my picture taken with Harry Connick, Jr. You're basically the best Fairy Blog Mother ever.


Dear Steph,

Oh Steph. Thank you thank you thank you for hanging out with me.

For letting me essentially stalk you.

You are stuck with me now, my dear,

because I adore you so.

Thank you for saying hello, for dancing with me, for letting me hold that beautiful tiny dancer of yours.

Thank you for inspiring me.

(Seriously, Ivy is so freaking cute she makes my uterus hurt).


Dear Alli,

You throw one hell of a party.

I am forever in awe of you.

Thank you for letting me be a part of it,

for including me,

for stopping to hug me whenever you saw me,

for being amazing.

Thank you for saying "Ally B Speakin'" with the best southern accent ever... it makes me smile every time.


I met more women than I can thank here. They all deserve it, though, and I thank them too.

Seriously, ladies, if we talked, hung out, danced, hugged, or even rode an elevator together,

thank you

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Blissdom or Bust (on The Island)

Remember last year at this time when I totally stepped out of my comfort zone and went to Nashville for a blogging conference and had an emotional break down which resulted in many tears and many anti-anxiety drugs and then I stalked Jen Lancaster and ended up having a great time and making lots of friends?

(No? Read about it here.)

Well, I'm back. Blissdom '10 is happening and I am happy to be a part of it. I would love to tell you about how I helped stuff swag bags, hung out with Carmen, and how I had an awesome evening with Esther (and how I love her so), but something else needs to be addressed.

I have entered an alternate universe, and it is called the Gaylord Opryland Hotel and Convention Center.

Yes... this is the INSIDE OF THE HOTEL... and it's NOT VEGAS.

I don't think that this is even really Nashville. I think this is some weird "in-between" place that has a smoke monster lurking and possibly an entrance through a wardrobe.

It's a giant atrium with different "islands" where the rooms and restaurants are.

(I'm in the Swan Station "Magnolia".)

*Totally* looks like Nashville, right?

The inside is basically a huge rain forest with palm trees and exotic flowers and PURPLE WATERFALLS.

The first thing I thought when I saw this purple waterfall? What animal was slaughtered there that has purple blood. My mind scares me.

I'm afraid The Others will get me if I stray too far away on my own.

(And by "The Others" I mean the people who are here for The National Tea Party Convention in the same hotel.)

(Sarah Palin is their keynote speaker... you decide which Lost character she is.)

With a hotel so big and filled with greenery, I have spent an enormous amount of time trying to find my way around. When I was packing I decided to wear cute shoes because this is a conference with 500 other women and cute shoes are very important when making a first impression with this many females. I figured that it didn't matter that these cute shoes are slightly uncomfortable because I'd just we walking around the hotel...

Well, after the fucking 5K that I've walked in the past 20 hours, my feet are in so much pain.

(So much pain that I flossed (you bet your ass I did) while sitting on the edge of the tub with my feet soaking in hot water.)

But I will persevere. Not because I'm so vain that cute shoes mean more to me than saving my feet, but because the only footwear that I have that would be comfy enough for walking through this crazy place are my slippers.

And I just won't go there... yet.

This map was not helpful *at all*... and Google Maps didn't help either.
(I tried.)

PS: You might be asking "Why would you buy shoes that were that uncomfortable in the first place?" Because I didn't expect to walk a marathon in them. Also? They're pretty.