tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79243661831011053202024-03-14T00:10:07.279-06:00Ally B SpeakinReader Beware.Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.comBlogger235125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-29059541391873402832010-12-07T15:49:00.002-07:002010-12-07T16:01:43.605-07:00Reverb 10: It's Not (Just) Because I'm LazyI've been missing the last couple of days, which has really put a damper on this whole "post everyday" thing. <div><br /></div><div>The truth is, I haven't been very inspired about the <a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/">prompts</a>. They're incredibly introspective, and I have a wall built around me when it comes <i>those things.</i> It's not that they're <b>bad </b> prompts, just that they're not making me excited to write. </div><div><br /></div><div>Plus, I've got this crazy thing called a <i>job</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>(!)</div><div><br /></div><div>And I'm applying for this other crazy thing called <i>graduate school</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I have a class that I'm about four chapters behind in (and hey! finals are next week).</div><div><br /></div><div>So, if I'm going to put time and energy into a post, I'm going to want to be in love with the topic. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going to want to feel the need, the desire, and the pull to write.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so, if I'm moved to answer one of the prompts, then I shall. If not?</div><div><br /></div><div>Well... I'll be curled up in the corner, trying to survive the holiday season in retail and my academic induced panic attacks.</div><div><br /></div><div>(Please: <i>send me pretty things</i>.) </div>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-19640224408953946592010-12-04T18:06:00.003-07:002010-12-04T18:48:03.538-07:00Reverb 10: Wonder<div style="text-align: center;"><b>December 4: <i>Wonder</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the last few months, I've <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/10/decisions.html">allowed myself to wonder</a>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">About the future.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">About what's next.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">About what I want/need/can see myself doing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/01/new-directions.html">returned to school</a>. I'm learning new things. I'm going to keep it up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It felt good to wonder. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And it feels good to begin to act on it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="480" height="385"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6hzrDeceEKc?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-59789068162563433072010-12-03T22:22:00.003-07:002010-12-03T22:43:02.790-07:00Reverb 10: MomentI wanted to go to bed and write today's <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/search/label/%23Reverb10">Reverb 10</a> post tomorrow. My head is feeling stuffy, my body aches from being on my feet all day, and I've got a very fluffy pillow in my eye line.<div><br /></div><div>BUT. </div><div><br /></div><div>I realized that today's prompt doesn't need to be long. It doesn't need a lot of description (even though <a href="http://www.reverb10.com/december-3-moment/">it explicitly asks for it</a>). </div><div><br /></div><div> It just needs to be answered.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Short, sweet, to the point.</i></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>December 3: Moment. </b> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Describe it in vivid detail (textures, smells, voices, noises, colors).</div><div><br /></div><div>Hospital waiting room, surrounded by people who care about my family, waiting waiting waiting.</div><div><br /></div><div>My mom is out. She's doing great. And so now we're waiting for the BIG NEWS. </div><div><br /></div><div>The BIG ANSWER.</div><div><br /></div><div>The phone rings. My aunt answers. It's the nurse in the operating room. </div><div><br /></div><div>"<a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/kidney-a-go-go/">The kidney</a> is in, and it's <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/kidney-a-go-go-results/">working perfectly</a>."</div><div><br /></div>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-73636332793644529742010-12-02T16:47:00.007-07:002010-12-02T23:19:34.771-07:00Reverb 10: Writing<div style="text-align: left;">It's Day 2 of the <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/12/reverb-10-one-word.html">Reverb 10</a> project and I'm still doing it. I deserve a cookie.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>December 2: <i>Writing</i>.</b> </div><div style="text-align: center;">What do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing - and can you eliminate it?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(DISCLAIMER: I fully intended to write about why this question is bullshit and ended up answering the stupid fucking thing. Touche, <a href="http://www.reverb10.com/hq/">Reverb 10 team</a>. <b>You sneaky little ninjas</b>.) </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm looking at this prompt from two different perspectives. If the question is asking, "What do you do that doesn't contribute to your <i>story</i>", then my answer is EVERYTHING contributes to the story, and nothing should be eliminated.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">HOWEVER, I didn't take the prompt that way at first. I've taken it to be asking what it is we do that keeps us from <i>physically </i>writing each day. You might take it differently. I'm just making that clear up front because it's important to have context before reading my overly dramatic rant that follows.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">******************</div><div><br /></div><div>It seems like most of the participants of <a href="http://www.reverb10.com/">Reverb 10</a> aren't happy with this prompt.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I'm one of them.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think that my first problem with it is that it assumes that we're all <b>writers</b> or want to be writers. It excludes those who want to participate as a means to reflect on their year, but don't want to write on a regular basis.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another reason I don't really like this prompt is that it's <i>obvious</i>. Whether we're going to admit it or not, we all know the answer.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>It's us.</b> </div><div><br /></div><div>WE get in our own way. </div><div><br /></div><div>WE make excuses.</div><div><br /></div><div>And, of course, that doesn't "contribute".</div><div><br /></div><div>We do that for EVERYTHING we want or need to do. We don't do things (whether it be writing or exercising or learning to play the ukulele) because WE come up with reasons to avoid shit.</div><div><br /></div><div>And even if you blame it on lack of time or lack of money (ukuleles ain't free) or too much Facebook or TV, the only thing really holding you back is YOU.</div><div><br /></div><div>So even of you take the "writing" part out of the prompt, and add something else that you <i>should</i> or <i>could</i> be doing that you don't, you're still left with the same obvious answer.</div><div><br /></div><div>And you know what? <b><i>That's ok.</i></b> I don't <i>want</i> to write if I'm not burning with the desire to actually do it. And truth be told, I don't want to read <i>your</i> stuff if you were only writing it because you HAD to.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you have the luxury of not having to do something everyday unless you really want to, enjoy it. Don't make yourself feel like shit for not doing it.</div><div><br /></div><div>(Unless the thing holding you back is something like fear or a lack of confidence. I encourage you to try and figure that out, especially if it's holding you back from something really important, like doing the things you care about or taking risks.)</div><div><br /></div><div>(At least that's what my <del>therapist</del> <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/">mom</a> keeps telling me.)</div><div><br /></div><div>So maybe some people hated this prompt because they don't want to admit that <b>they</b> are the reason they don't write everyday, but I don't like it because there's no variety in the answers.</div><div><br /></div><div>Like I said, the answer is obvious.</div><div><br /></div><div>PS: I don't expect to like every prompt. That's fine and I still love the project. BUT, rather than just answer the prompt and not express my feelings about it, or ignore it all together and just post a blurry picture of my dog holding a cereal box in her mouth (aka: my first draft), I decided to answer honestly. I'm not meaning to offend anyone or be disrespectful.</div><div><br /></div><div>PPS: If you wrote a post today saying that <i>you're</i> the thing standing in the way of your writing or <i>you're</i> the only thing holding you back - in other words: the "obvious" answer - <b>thank you for your honesty</b>. I'm not trying to downplay your answer at all. The answer is obvious <i>because it's universal</i>, and there's nothing wrong with that. The thing I have an issue with is the actual question, not your answer.</div><div><br /></div><div>PPPS: Does this prompt make anybody else NEVER WANT TO WRITE AGAIN? I don't understand what's happened. I should have just put that stupid picture of the dog up... </div><div><br /></div><div>PPPPS: I just saw <a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/">tomorrow's prompt</a>. I like it a lot. My emotions and opinions are impossible to keep up with. </div>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-9333654959850678602010-12-01T22:24:00.007-07:002010-12-05T20:17:55.597-07:00Reverb 10: One WordSo remember last December, when I blogged every day as part of <a href="http://www.gwenbell.com/blog">Gwen Bell's</a> <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/search/label/Best09">Best of 2009 Blog Challenge</a>?<div><br /></div><div>Remember how awesome that was? </div><div><br /></div><div>Remember how it was just a handful of us at first?</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, now it's called <a href="http://twitter.com/#%21/search?q=%23reverb10">Reverb 10</a>, it has its <a href="http://www.reverb10.com/">own website</a>, and it has well over <a href="http://www.reverb10.com/participate/">1,000 people participating</a>. And this time, it's not just about looking back, but also about looking forward.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>How could I not do it again?</i></div><div><br /></div><div>And the truth is, <b>you should too</b>. If you don't have a blog, do it somewhere else! Respond in a journal, post your answers on Facebook, discuss the prompts over the dinner table with your family, write it on the side of that abandoned warehouse in spray paint.</div><div><br /></div><div>Really, <i>it's up to you.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-story/">Read all about it here.</a></div><div><br /></div><div>And now, for the <a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/">first prompt</a>, from Gwen herself:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>December 1: <i>One Word.</i></b><i> </i> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you're choosing that word. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Now imagine it's one year from today. What would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?</div><div><br /></div><div>I read the prompt at 7 AM this morning in bed. It may have been the sleep deprivation talking, but my first response was "fucking crazy". But, you know, it's not one word (unless you say it really fast: "fuckingcrazy"), and it's not very eloquent. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I decided to change it to:</div><div><br /></div><div>*DRUMROLL PLEASE*</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Important.</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Important shit happened this year. </div><div><br /></div><div>I met important <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/02/thank-you-notes-blissful-edition.html">people</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I made important <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/10/decisions.html">decisions</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Important people <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/09/kidney-go-go-preview.html">donated/exchanged important organs</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010_01_29_archive.html">started flossing</a> on a regular basis.</div><div><br /></div><div>See? <b><i>Important.</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>And? FuckingCrazy.</div><div><br /></div><div>As for 2011? I sure hope it's <b><i>AWESOMETASTIC</i></b> because it's my favorite word and it would be awesometastic (see?) if the next year was great enough to be described as such.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>So, what's your word for 2010? For 2011?</i> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div><br /></div><div>(PS: Tell me if you're doing this too, so I can <del>stalk</del> support you.) </div><div><br /></div>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-61538212157390404232010-11-13T17:47:00.008-07:002010-11-13T19:46:33.667-07:00I Like<div>I like holding a hot cup of tea when my hands are cold.</div><div><br /></div>I like to change the words to songs so that they include my dog's names. <div><div><br /></div><div>I like to walk into <a href="http://www.atlaspurveyors.com/">my favorite coffee shop</a> and ask the barista to make me his or her favorite drink.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like to lie under 3 blankets instead of turning on the heat.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like watching movies on my dad's couch.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like to reread my favorite book series, in order, over and over.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like hot chocolate from gas stations or football games.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like to paint my nails with clear nail polish, just so I can pick it off.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like to listen to sad music, even when I'm depressed, and even when I know that the sad music is making me more depressed.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like Australian accents.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like to think that dogs have accents. (Australian and other.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I like to write in coffee shops, and not at home.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like superfine tip pens.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like dangly earrings.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like soup with rice noodles.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like tea with steamed milk and sweetener.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like to have the TV on when I'm at home alone, even if I'm not watching it, because the noise and movement makes me feel more comfortable.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like new wallets.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like clicking the next button on my e-reader.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like <a href="http://www.bakerella.com/category/pops-bites/cake-pops/">cake on a stick</a> more than cake that's not.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like when dogs wiggle or wag their tails so hard that they look like they might fall over.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like when little kids giggle at stupid things. </div><div><br /></div><div>(The last time I babysat, the kids laughed for 20 minutes when I said my shoes smelled bad.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I like really long pants.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like to eat the inside of breakfast burritos, but leave the tortilla. </div><div><br /></div><div>I like flowers in bright colors.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like wearing scarves indoors.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like rain.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like sleeping on the couch.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>I like to watch reruns of sitcoms that I've seen 35 times.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>I like pouring milk on chocolate ice cream.</div><div><br /></div><div>I like this:</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="560" height="340"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1N7H-i7nczY?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like ordering Indian food at my mom's house.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like vintage (or vintage looking) jewelry.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like day planners and school supplies.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like lying on the couch when I'm sick.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like pomegranates, even though they stain my fingers when I eat them.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like slipper booties.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like women who write and sing music that's so amazing it makes my body hurt. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCilp2Dh7wQ">There</a> <a href="http://link.brightcove.com/services/player/bcpid541404745001?bclid=1266417120&bctid=106515585001">are</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EIeUlvHAiM">oh</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHAhnJbGy9M">so</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ea4E-XYLStw">many</a>.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like waking up on Christmas morning.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like making chili when there are clouds in the sky.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like the feeling when all of my clothes are put away from the dryer.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like wearing sunglasses on cloudy days.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I like <a href="http://www.rhymeswithmilk.com/life/dance-party/">dancing with boys</a> who wear glasses.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sometimes it's nice to write what you like. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So what do you like?</div></div>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-71456926598920734452010-10-15T13:51:00.012-06:002010-10-15T16:01:52.051-06:00And So I'm Trying<div style="text-align: left;">(I feel the need to warn you that this is a weird post. In fact, you should probably just go read about <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/what-gives-with-womens-shoes/">shoes</a> and <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/true-love/">true love</a> and <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/procrastination/">procrastination</a> instead.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>So... What do you want to do with your life?</b></i></div><div><br />I hate this question.<br /><br /></div><div>It makes me panicky, and queasy, and </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I DON'T WANT TO PLAY THIS GAME.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because really, </div><div>truly, </div><div>I'm not sure. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>I don't know.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">And don't tell me that "nobody knows". </div><div><br /></div><div>I've spent the past two years asking people about </div><div><b>what</b> they want, </div><div><b>observing</b> people when they </div><div><b>speak</b> to me about their lives, </div><div><b>listening</b> </div><div>to what people say when they talk about </div><div><b>what</b> they <b>love</b> and </div><div><b>where</b> they <b>want</b> to </div><div>go. </div><div><br /></div><div>And the vast majority of them know. Or at least have an idea. </div><div><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>They have a clue.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>They may not know how to get there, or have all of the specifics figured out, but the majority have <b>a direction</b> to go.</div><div><br /></div><div>(I'm aware that, sadly, many of them will never get where they want to go.)</div><div><br /></div><div><b>I</b> have no direction. </div><div>I have no clue. </div><div>I am blank.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, I know that I'm not </div><div style="text-align: center;">completely alone.</div><div><br /></div><div>But this isn't about everybody else. Saying "but Ally, nobody <i>knows</i>" doesn't make me feel any better. That's like telling somebody who's just had a really painful root canal, "<i>tons </i>of people have horrifying dental surgery at some point", and expecting that to make it ok. </div><div><br /></div><div>A few weeks ago, my mom said: </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>At some point, you have to move forward. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You have to make a decision. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You have to be an adult...</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>(<b>Moms</b>, right?)</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i></div><i><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I've spent the past two years </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">stuck. </span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Lost</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">. </span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I've been stuck </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">because </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I'm stuck. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">[And probably because I'm scared. <i>Of what?</i> Not sure.]</span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Not</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> because I'm lazy. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Not</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> because I don't care. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Not</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> because I want to stay a reckless, irresponsible kid. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">(I've never been a reckless, irresponsible kid.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Now, </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">finally</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">, I'm starting to move forward. I'm starting to push outside of my </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">very </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">comfortable </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">comfort zone. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">And I'm trying to answer those scary questions. The WHATs and WHENs and WHEREs and WHYs that make my tummy hurt. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I'm trying not to run away from them. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I'm trying to let those scary questions, those </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">GROWN UP BIG GIRL decisions, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">sit on my plate for awhile. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I'm not throwing them away and ignoring them as soon as they come up. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I'm trying.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Call it a </span><a href="http://www.stratejoy.com/blog/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">quarter-life crisis</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> if you want. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">My priorities - and the </span><a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/true-love/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">people I love</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> - are still the same. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">[Those things aren't changing.] </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">But I suppose it's time to move forward. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">To do </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">something.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I'm trying.</span></div></i>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-66105817499569181412010-10-04T13:48:00.006-06:002010-10-04T14:35:12.634-06:00Nancy W. Kappes, ParalegalToday <a href="http://thebloggess.com/">Jenny</a> wrote that her close friend <a href="http://thebloggess.com/?cat=63">Nancy W. Kappes</a> <a href="http://thebloggess.com/?p=8579">passed away last week</a>.<br /><br />I met Nancy in Chicago last year, at <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2009/07/best-night-ever.html">BlogHer 2009</a>. I was scared and overwhelmed and Nancy made me laugh so hard that I almost pulled a muscle.<br /><br />She had an impact on me. She made me smile. She laughed at my jokes. She looked me in the eyes and told me I was beautiful. She offered me vodka out of a water bottle.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">She made me feel like I belonged in <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2009/07/best-night-ever.html">that bathroom</a>. </span><br /><br />Like I belonged with those people.<br /><br />She had the balls to say whatever was on her mind, even though most of it was totally fucked up and made people uncomfortable WHICH IS WHY SHE WAS AMAZING. <br /><br />She was totally irreverent, completely inappropriate, and unconditionally herself.<br /><br />Pretty much awesome in every way.<br /><br />I feel so lucky to have spent a night with her, to have hugged her, to have politely declined <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/allybspeakin/3772287707/in/photostream/">heavy duty pharmaceuticals</a> from her.<br /><br />I'm so sorry for her family and friends. Someone with a personality like hers leaves a huge void.<br /><br />But I want them to know that she mattered, even to lil' ol' me.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/allybspeakin/3773095140/" title="Me and Nancy by AllyBSpeakin, on Flickr"><img style="width: 304px; height: 405px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2583/3773095140_9d685d18d3.jpg" alt="Me and Nancy" /></a><br /></div><br />Thank you, Nancy.<br /><br />Now I'm going to go get drunk and possibly partake in some Nancy W. Kappes style <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/allybspeakin/3772287931/in/photostream/">arts and crafts</a>.<br /><br />I suggest y'all do that too.<br /><br />*For Nancy.*Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-33205636954684485062010-09-13T00:01:00.001-06:002010-09-13T00:01:00.605-06:00Kidney A-Go-Go PreviewSo today my mom donates a kidney to my dad, an event we've been calling "Kidney A-Go-Go".<br /><br />To read all about how this happened, please visit the blog I write with my mom, <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/">She Thinks</a>. We have <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/kidney-a-go-go/">a new post up</a> where I talk about my amazing parents and my mom talks about why she's giving a vital organ to her ex-husband.<br /><br />Also, I'll be <a href="http://twitter.com/allybspeakin">tweeting</a> from the hospital waiting room with updates labeled <a href="http://twitter.com/#search?q=%23divorcedkidneys">#divorcedkidneys</a>. I wanted my dad to get me some scrubs so that I could sneak into the operating room and tweet from there, but I don't think it's gonna happen. It's a total shame because I think a picture posted to <a href="http://www.twitter.com/AllyBSpeakin">Twitter</a> of a kidney would be kind of awesome and a huge step forward for <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/09/this-is-why-geeks-matter.html">social media</a> and journalism in general.<br /><br />Alas, you'll get tweets like "My mom is totally high on anesthesia so I'm making her give me money #divorcedkidneys", and "My dad thinks having a female's kidney will make him more attractive to the ladies #divorcedkidneys", and "This waiting room is freezing and they don't get MTV and they won't give me Xanax. Fuckers. #divorcedkidneys".<br /><br />Shit. Now I'm just giving my best material away.<br /><br />So go read <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/">She Thinks</a> and if you want to check in or are just curious, follow along on <a href="http://twitter.com/#search?q=%23divorcedkidneys">Twitter</a>.<br /><br />PS: I asked my parent's permission to tweet about this. They said if it would keep me out of trouble to go ahead. I think that they're underestimating me and my multitasking abilities. I can totally tweet while searching for all of the hot doctors who have gratuitous sex in the on-call room. It happens on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grey%27s_Anatomy">Grey's Anatomy</a> all the time, and since I'll have some time on my hands, I'm totally gonna find them.<br /><br />PPS: My <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/kidney-a-go-go/">She Thinks post</a> about this is way more heartfelt than this one. And I don't call anyone "fuckers". I know, what's the fun in that? You should still <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/kidney-a-go-go/">read it</a>, though.<br /><br />PPPS: Actually, feel free to skip mine, but you NEED to <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/kidney-a-go-go/">read my mom's</a>. For serious.<br /><br />PPPPS: I'm writing all of this the night before the surgery. Tomorrow I fully expect to be super emotional and hopefully sedated.Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-78707620561594636732010-09-10T15:52:00.008-06:002010-09-12T22:21:32.499-06:00This is Why the Geeks MatterSo I was going to write this whole post about <a href="http://twitter.com/AllyBSpeakin/status/22632847788">turning 25</a> last week and how I said I'm in my "quarter-life crisis" and my dad said, "Ally, that's ridiculous. The chances of you living to 100 are slim, so 'quarter-life' really isn't accurate."<br /><br />(<span style="font-style: italic;">Thanks, Daddy.</span>)<br /><br />And I was also going to write about how my amazing, <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/about-us/">beautiful mother</a> will be donating her kidney to my amazing, beautiful father on Monday, September 13th. The short story: he needs a kidney, my mom has a kidney, she's been through every test you can imagine to make sure she can give said kidney, and now it's happening. Little bit more info: they're divorced, which apparently makes this whole thing weird to some people.<br /><br />Want the long story? I'm totally going to be a bitch and make you wait because my mom and I are publishing it on our site, <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/">She Thinks</a>, on the day of the surgery. SO, be sure to check out <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/">She Thinks</a> this upcoming Monday to get my thoughts on this whole thing, and my mom's side of the story (which will probably be way more fascinating than mine). I'm also going to be <a href="http://twitter.com/AllyBSpeakin">tweeting</a> from the waiting room with the hashtag <a href="http://search.twitter.com/search?q=%23divorcedkidneys">#divorcedkidneys</a>, so follow along if you're so inclined.<br /><br />Which brings us to why I'm not writing those posts at the moment.<br /><br />Something happened on Monday, September 6th, in Boulder County, just west of the city.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.dailycamera.com/fourmile-canyon-fire/">It caught on fire.</a><br /><br />Like for reals.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/TIq7C2euOSI/AAAAAAAAASI/XNoQBWFs9RA/s1600/IMG_0689.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/TIq7C2euOSI/AAAAAAAAASI/XNoQBWFs9RA/s400/IMG_0689.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515426351327099170" border="0" /></a><br />So I took that picture from my backyard and then wrote an <a href="http://twitter.com/AllyBSpeakin/status/23163233889">extremely eloquent message</a> and posted it to Twitter, because that's what us geeks do.<br /><br />And then something happened. <a href="http://search.twitter.com/search?q=%23boulderfire">A LOT of us started tweeting</a>.<br /><br />People from all over Colorado started <a href="http://www.flickr.com/search/?q=fourmile%20fire&w=all">posting pictures</a>, telling what roads were closed, and where the flames were.<br /><br />And <a href="http://twitter.com/fishnette">some</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/suzanbond">dedicated</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/laurasrecipes">people</a> started listening to the police scanners and tweeting everything that was said.<br /><br />And the news agencies used <span style="font-weight: bold;">us</span> to tell the public what was happening.<br /><br />Because <span style="font-weight: bold;">we</span> were the ones who knew, and who needed to know.<br /><br />And the community started taking care of each other. <a href="http://blogs.westword.com/cafesociety/2010/09/boulder_restaurants_offer_free_food_to_four_mile_canyon_fire_evacuees.php">Restaurants tweeted</a> that they wanted to offer complimentary meals to those displaced. People started offering up their spare bedrooms and couches to people who couldn't go home, or no longer had a home. Strangers tweeted offers to house pets while displaced owners figured out a place to stay.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">It was incredible.</span><br /><br />On Wednesday tweets started coming out that the firefighters needed protein bars and energy drinks to keep up their strength. Since they were defending my city, and specifically the house where my brother is currently living (he's fine, his house is fine), I decided to reach out to a couple of Boulderites who have a far more impressive reach than I do.<br /><br />First, using Facebook and Twitter, I wrote to <a href="http://twitter.com/kidquizine">Sean Foreman</a> from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/3OH%213">3OH!3</a>, who Mike and I graduated high school with. He immediately <a href="http://twitter.com/kidquizine/status/23930793234">started tweeting</a> about what was needed and where to bring it.<br /><br />Then I decided that the people who have Costco packs of Powerbars might just be following someone who works as an editor at <a href="http://www.menshealth.com/">Men's Health Magazine</a>. And thankfully I happen to know <a href="http://blogs.menshealth.com/working-out-the-details/">an editor</a> at Men's Health Magazine. And he happens to be a CU graduate who loves Boulder as much as I do. So I asked <a href="http://twitter.com/BornFitness/status/23946943878">Adam to tweet</a> to his followers that we needed help.<br /><br />Soon after Adam's tweet, companies started stepping up. <a href="http://twitter.com/DetourBar/status/23930582495">Detour Bar</a> reached out to me asking where they could send products to. (I honestly never, ever expected that to happen.) Adam got in touch with <a href="http://twitter.com/BornFitness/status/23950227049">Team Optimum</a> and today I received <a href="http://twitter.com/AllyBSpeakin/status/24118003443">SIX HUNDRED protein bars</a> which I brought to the Boulder Reservoir, where hundreds of firefighters are camped out.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And it felt awesome.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/TIrAUxCMaSI/AAAAAAAAASQ/CBHi-TEDU_k/s1600/IMG_0726.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 356px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/TIrAUxCMaSI/AAAAAAAAASQ/CBHi-TEDU_k/s400/IMG_0726.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515432156661049634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Hannah was obviously overwhelmed with excitement.</span><br /><br /></div>So the next time you hear about twitter or bloggers or those damn kids who can't stay off of their ridiculous smart phones, remember that it <span style="font-style: italic;">can</span> be <span style="font-weight: bold;">useful</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">amazing</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">a force to be reckoned with</span>. Sure, most of the time it's silly and narcissistic, but <span>sometimes</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;">when it matters</span>, the geeks online get shit done.<br /><br />****************<br /><br />The fire isn't out, yet. As of this moment, 169 homes have been confirmed as destroyed, and several of those houses belonged to firefighters. There are lots of ways to help, if you're so inclined. <a href="http://www.9news.com/news/article.aspx?storyid=151823">Click here for more information. </a>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-76355003870365601932010-08-23T11:34:00.009-06:002010-08-23T12:50:14.521-06:00NYC, The Bloggess, and Dild0s. Yeah...I've been home from NYC and <a href="http://www.blogher.com/blogher-10">BlogHer</a> for almost two weeks and I'm still having trouble digesting it all. The different parts of the trip have been bouncing around my head since I got home, and getting them all on the page has proven to be a challenge.<br /><br />So I've settled for a list of my favorite highlights. Maybe you don't care and you won't find this entertaining at all, but for the sake of posterity I'm choosing to not really give a shit about that.<br /><br />(If this doesn't appeal to you, might I suggest you head on over to my other blog with my mom, <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/">She Thinks</a>? Today's topic: "Is there a correct answer to the question: 'Does my ass look too big for these jeans?'" Trust me, you want to <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/does-my-ass-look-too-big/">check it out</a>.)<br /><br />And so I present:<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;">Ally's Highlights from BlogHer '10 & New York City<br />or<br />What Ally Can Remember<br />(not because she was drunk (the whole time) but because NYC and BlogHer always tend to end up blurryish...)<br />("blurryish" is totally a real word.)<br /></div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />The hotel bathroom.</span> If you read about <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2009/07/best-night-ever.html">my last BlogHer trip</a>, you know why this is a highlight. As I walked toward the ballroom for a party, I saw the closest bathroom and immediately turned for it. <a href="http://twitter.com/TheBloggess/status/20421350653http://twitter.com/TheBloggess/status/20421350653">Of course</a>, my most favoritest writer/blogger/comedienne/crazypersonEVER, <a href="http://thebloggess.com/">Jenny The Bloggess</a>, was there. What's more, she remembered me. She hugged me. She was happy to see me. It made me feel like I mattered. And I never even made it into the actual party, because I was right where I <del>wanted</del> needed to be. Later she called me her personal <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarah_Silverman">Sarah Silverman</a> (of the bathroom). My mom hates Sarah Silverman, but I'm pretty sure Jenny loves her (as I do), so I'm taking that as an amazing compliment. Or maybe Jenny hates Sarah too and I've completely misinterpreted our relationship.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Going to Bloomingdale's.</span> My grandparents were New Yorkers through and through, no matter where they lived. Even though they loved Colorado, New York City was a huge part of their identity. And Bloomingdale's in NYC is a big fucking deal. So when Mike bought a pair of shoes, and they put them in <a href="http://twitter.com/rhymeswithmilk/status/20481918876">that famous Brown Bag</a>? It meant something to me. Especially since it was the day before my grandma's birthday, and I think she would have been thrilled.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Seeing some amazing girls from high school.</span> Because Mike came with me, a pseudo-high school reunion happened in the city while we were there. One of his friends lives in Manhattan, another in Brooklyn, one came down from Boston, and another made a last minute trip in from St. Louis. I was a little nervous because I didn't actually know these ladies in high school. I knew who they were, but I never talked to them or hung out with them. (I suggest you <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/topics/high-school/">read this</a> to get an idea as to why I don't know many people in my graduating class.) I was afraid I wouldn't be comfortable with them. But the time spent with these girls were some of my favorite moments in NYC. We laughed our asses off. <a href="http://twitter.com/AllyBSpeakin/status/20606185885"> We drank our asses off</a>. I felt like we were ALL old friends, which was wonderful.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Getting to spend time with </span><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://twitter.com/amcmoore">Angela</a><span style="font-weight: bold;"> and Crystal (AKA </span><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://twitter.com/perckle">Perckle</a><span style="font-weight: bold;">).</span> These ladies made me laugh and reminded me why I love to go to these blogging conferences.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I thought I saw <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toby_Flenderson">Toby from The Office</a> eating pizza by himself at 3 AM.</span> Thankfully Mike convinced me it wasn't him before I asked Fake Toby if he wanted company and if he could sign my bra...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I decorated a dild0.</span> (See how I spelled it with a zero? I'm being sneaky.) Yep, it totally happened. I fell in love the awesome girls from <a href="http://www.edenfantasys.com/">Eden Fantasys</a>, and they hosted a dild0 decorating party on the last night of the conference.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/edenfantasys/4876743970/" title="DSC_0883 by Eden Fantasys, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4121/4876743970_c7221df0f8.jpg" alt="DSC_0883" height="500" width="336" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I was going for "<a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/03/its-all-about-accessories.html">Lady Gaga</a>" but ended up with "Drag Queen". (Yes, those are two different looks.) But trying to make a <a href="http://nymag.com/daily/fashion/2009/10/lady_gaga_mocks_her_bubble_dre.html">bubble dress</a> on a sex toy is fucking hard - er, difficult - y'all. Crafts have never been my strength. This party also involved spending some more time with Jenny, Angela and Perckle, plus the awesome ladies from <a href="http://twitarded.blogspot.com/">Twitarded</a>. (In case you're wondering, being at a sex toy decorating party with Twilight freaks led to some interesting and awesome conversations.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Eating with the lovely, amazing, AWESOMETASTIC <a href="http://talltara.com/">Tara</a> on the last night of BlogHer.</span> We laughed, we walked through Times Square, and we made Mike feel uncomfortable with talks about <a href="http://twitter.com/tarable/status/20901210829">pregnancy</a> and vaginas. (Are you seeing a theme to my weekend?)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Seeing <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3g4ekwTd6Ig">Wicked</a>.</span> This was my third time seeing it, and it's still amazing and magical.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Having dinner with my cousin and his fiance.</span> It was the first time I've met his future wife, and it's nice to know I'll have a new cousin who I adore. Plus, we had cheese fries, which is always a big fat bonus.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Spending time with Mike.</span> After all these years, he's still my favorite person to explore with.<br /></div></div>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-82395719287426480602010-08-04T13:09:00.005-06:002010-08-04T13:50:59.747-06:00On BlogHer and a New Project<div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Her: Why are you going to New York City?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Me: To see my friends.</span><br /></div><br /><a href="http://www.blogher.com/blogher-10">BlogHer</a> is this week and I'm so freaking excited. I'm excited to see the people that I only get to see once, <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/02/thank-you-notes-blissful-edition.html">maybe twice</a>, a year. I'm excited to run around Manhattan with Mike. I'm excited to eat and drink and shop and OHMYGOD people I just want to GO already.<br /><br />It's easy to get caught up in the drama of the conference. To get obsessed with free shit and private parties and who's who and where the cool people are. I'm trying desperately to stay away from it all. I'm trying to control my knee jerk reaction to grab everything handed to me (I DON'T NEED ANOTHER FLASH DRIVE), or to try to get into every party there is.<br /><br />Because? It's not worth it. I'm not going for all of that. Hell, I'm not really going for the conference part at all. I'm going because I just want to see some amazing women who I love dearly. (And I'm so <a href="http://www.thestilettomom.com/">sad</a> that <a href="http://www.adventuresinbabywearing.com/">some</a> of <a href="http://asouthernfairytale.com/">them</a> won't <a href="http://www.whiskeyinmysippycup.com/">be</a> there.)<br /><br />I'm going because most days I feel completely lost, but when I'm with these people, I feel like maybe I get it. Maybe it'll be okay. Maybe...<br /><br />And for that? I'll put up with muggy New York City in August.<br /><br />Alright, enough with the sappy BlogHer crap. Onto bigger and bloggy-er things:<br /><br />My mom and I started a new blogging project together. It's called <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/">She Thinks</a> and it's now live. Every week we take a topic submitted by our readers and we each write about it and post it on <a href="http://www.shethinks.com/">www.SheThinks.com</a>. We already have 3 posts up, and every Monday there will be a new one, so tell us what you think. We're also on <a href="http://www.twitter.com/ShesThinking">Twitter</a> and have a <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#%21/pages/She-Thinks/128179817225634?ref=ts">Facebook</a> page, if you're into that sort of thing.<br /><br />Otherwise, <span style="font-style: italic;">I'll see you in NYC</span>.Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-50028912942961715362010-07-20T13:15:00.008-06:002010-07-20T15:50:26.475-06:00Fight or FlightA few weeks ago Mike and I had to go downtown at 2 in the morning to help a friend with a flat tire.<br /><div>(Because we're the best friends <b>ever</b>.)</div><div><br /></div><div>We decided to take the dogs with us because we're also the best parents <b>ever</b>.</div><div><br /></div><div>So while Mike was helping with the tire, I took the dogs out of the car so that they could roll around in the grass because rolling in the grass is apparently the best activity <b>ever</b> when you're a dog.</div><div><br /></div><div>At one point I looked up and saw a deer running down the sidewalk. It was majestic and beautiful and then it turned and started to run (gallop?) <i>right at me</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>The deer was at least 6 feet tall and had fangs and foam coming from it's mouth.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>(Mike tells me it was cute and little and possibly even a baby but I'm thinking he's just blocked the horrible image from his mind.)</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>The smart, reasonable part of my brain knew that this deer was way more scared of me and my two barking dogs than I was of it. </div><div><br /></div><div>The other part of my brain, the part that thinks <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2009/08/devil-kitty.html">cute cuddly kittens are going to rip my throat out</a>, was screaming THIS IS HOW YOU ARE GOING TO DIE, ALLY.</div><div><br /></div><div>(I think I should point out that I had just seen this presentation at <a href="http://igniteboulder.com/">Ignite Boulder</a>. Check out the whole video, but particularly the part at 2:08.)<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/AtyydlDsS5I&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/AtyydlDsS5I&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>(Thanks a lot, <a href="http://www.onlineaspect.com/">Josh</a>.)</div><div><br /></div><div>So I screamed. And Bonnie barked. And Hannah LUNGED FOR THE GOD DAMN DEER because she's cute but not exactly the smartest canine. And the deer stopped and stared because apparently that whole "deer in headlights" thing also applies to "deer being barked at while girl screams profanities". </div><div><br /></div><div>So there I was, at 2 AM, trying to drag 100-plus pounds of dog away from <i>Bambi on Steroids</i>, screaming something eloquent like "HOLY-FUCKING-SHIT-MIKE-GET-IT-GET-IT-GET-IT."</div><div><br /></div><div>He just stood there, yelled at me to run, and then laughed his ass off.</div><div><br /></div><div>Really, Mike? If I have to get the spiders out of our house because you're busy hiding in the other room, then I think it's only fair that you take a more active role when I'm being run down by a predator. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Is that too much to ask?</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>(PS: I just Googled "are deer predators?" and all that came up were articles about the predators <b>OF</b> deer which totally isn't what I asked, Google. Apparently deer are pretty much at the bottom of the food chain and they just eat a whole lot of grass, BUT some deer consume meat when it's available. So really? I feel confident in saying that Bonnie, Hannah and I <i>could have</i> been eaten that night.)</div><div><br /></div><div>(PPS: Mike tried to tell me that there are so many "deaths caused by deer" because of traffic accidents that happen when deer are in the road. Yeah, nice try buddy. You're just trying to explain why you didn't rescue us. I'd like to see how many of those deaths were caused because the victim was MAULED and then EATEN.)</div><div><br /></div><div>(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">PPPS</span>: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">OHMIGOD</span>, don't Google "how many people are mauled by deer?".)</div><div><br /></div><div>(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">PPPPS</span>: And the results from searching "how many people are eaten by deer?" are really disappointing.) </div>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-26729044211369872282010-06-21T14:40:00.010-06:002010-06-21T16:05:20.757-06:00I Shouldn't Be Allowed to Talk to ChildrenLast week I went to a <a href="http://www.girlsintech303.com/events/saturday-summit/">summit</a> put on by <a href="http://www.girlsintech303.com/about/">Girls in Tech</a>. It was all about mentoring and <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> mentor, the fabulous <a href="http://talltara.com/">Tara Anderson</a>, spoke. She talked about the qualities that make a good mentor, and though she left out the most important part of <span style="font-style: italic;">our</span> mentoring relationship (booze), it was really interesting.<br /><br />Part of her presentation involved an activity where each of us took a note card that had a picture of a character from a movie. Each of these characters was either a mentor or a mentee (?). So there was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Potter_%28character%29">Harry Potter</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albus_Dumbledore">Dumbledore</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yoda">Yoda</a> and whatshisname from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_wars">Star Wars</a> (I think the one with daddy issues), and others.<br /><br />Including <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hannibal_Lecter">Hannibal Lecter</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clarice_Starling">Clarice Starling</a>.<br /><br />Guess who I got?<br /><br />So I walked around looking for who had Jodi Foster and what do ya know but my counterpart is one of the three 14 year-old girls that was there. And she had no idea who the fuck Hannibal Lecter was or what <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silence_Of_The_Lambs">The Silence of the Lambs</a> was about. So it fell to me to teach, or <span style="font-style: italic;">mentor</span>, if you will, this poor soul.<br /><br />This is what we were here for. To impart wisdom on bright young girls who need our guidance.<br /><br />So I explained: "<span style="font-style: italic;">Silence of the Lambs</span> is an award-winning film about this chick, Clarice Starling, who's in the FBI and she's trying to find this creepy guy who takes women and puts them in this hole and makes them put lotion on themselves so he can make a giant suit made out of their skin so he can dance around in front of mirrors and so Clarice goes to this other creepy guy named Hannibal Lecter who's in prison because he's kind of screwed up and really likes to eat people, which isn't really good, ya know? So anyway he has to help Clarice because really? What else is he gonna do with his time? And he's really smart, plus I think he kinda gets off on watching her struggle."<br /><br />I paused to let the girl take it all in. She just looked at me like <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> was the weird one (even though <span style="font-style: italic;">she's the one who hasn't seen it</span>), and then she decided to share what she thought a good mentor should be like.<br /><br />She said that a mentor shouldn't just give their mentee (seriously, is that a real word?) the answers, but should support them and let them figure things out on their own.<br /><br />Which is EXACTLY what Hannibal Lecter did for Clarice Starling, so I nodded my head and said, "You know what? You're just like Hannibal Lecter".<br /><br />Looking back, maybe I shouldn't have compared her to a serial killer, but really? The resemblance in their mentoring philosophy was uncanny. It was like she was meant to be told about this shit by <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span>, which is pretty powerful.<br /><br />Basically, I'm the best mentor ever. Just think how good I'd be if there was alcohol involved.<br /><br />Maybe next time...<br /><br />If her mother ever lets me talk to her again.<br /><br />PS: BUT REALLY? Isn't it better that she learns about this from someone like ME, in a safe environment, rather than some freak on the streets? Her mother should be thanking me.Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-46889801810442286992010-05-25T13:34:00.006-06:002010-05-25T14:56:31.540-06:00Yay for YAYesterday I confessed something on <a href="http://twitter.com/allybspeakin">twitter</a>, and I feel the need to share it here, too.<br /><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://twitter.com/AllyBSpeakin/status/14641814523"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I love young adult fiction.</span></a></p><div style="text-align: left;">There. I said it.<br /><br />(Though if you've been paying attention to this blog, <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2009/07/obsessed.html">it's</a> <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2008/06/i-just-finished-twilight-by-stephanie.html">not</a> <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2009/12/best-of-09-favorite-books.html">really</a> <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2008/12/book-nerd.html">a</a> <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/search/label/Twilight%20and%20Edward%20Cullen%20have%20Given%20me%20Unrealistic%20Expectations%20for%20Love%20and%20Life">secret</a>.)<br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0545162076?ie=UTF8&tag=albsp-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0545162076">Harry Potter </a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0316031844?ie=UTF8&tag=albsp-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0316031844">The Twilight Saga </a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=albsp-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0316031844" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" />, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/142314189X?ie=UTF8&tag=albsp-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=142314189X">Percy J</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/142314189X?ie=UTF8&tag=albsp-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=142314189X">ackson and the Olympians </a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=albsp-20&l=as2&o=1&a=142314189X" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" />, and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0439023483?ie=UTF8&tag=albsp-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0439023483">The Hunger Games</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=albsp-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0439023483" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" />: all of these novels make me swoon. Make me happy. Make me sit on the couch for hours reading and wishing that I was a wizard who's parent is a Greek God and who has a beautiful vampire who will save me from the evil government that is trying to kill me in the Hunger Games.<br /><br />I know I'm not the only one. We all have a guilty pleasure that makes us question our sanity. We all have something that we love, something that we feel a little weird sharing with others.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I admit that I feel a tiny bit ashamed to say that I'd much rather read a book written for a 14-year-old than a Jane Austen novel (unless it has <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1594743347?ie=UTF8&tag=albsp-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1594743347">zombies</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=albsp-20&l=as2&o=1&a=1594743347" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" />). </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Shouldn’t I be reading something that’s full of words that I don’t know?<span style=""> </span>Shouldn’t I be struggling through something written by a famous guy who died two centuries ago?<span style=""> </span>Shouldn’t I be reading something that’s teaching me things other than the politics of werewolves and vampires, or the magical charm for unlocking a door?<span style=""> </span><br /><br />Sure, often times I'm happy to pick up a book that's little more <span style="font-style: italic;"> intellectual</span>, a little more <span style="font-style: italic;">complicated</span>, a little more <span style="font-style: italic;">appropriate for my age</span>. But the truth is that I like to read for fun. I like to read to escape. I like to read because it's entertaining. I like to read to <span style="font-weight: bold;">imagine</span>. A lot of young adult fiction has all of this, and a lot of young adult fiction is written by amazing storytellers. And there's nothing wrong with liking that.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">(Right?)<br /><br />So, I'm asking you: <span style="font-weight: bold;">what is<span style="font-style: italic;"> your </span>guilty pleasure</span>. Is it trashy reality TV? Romance novels? Tabloid magazines? <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Justin_Bieber">Justin Bieber</a>?<br /><br />You don't have to be ashamed. I won't make fun of you.<br /><br />(At least not to your face.)</p><p class="MsoNormal">PS: If your guilty pleasure includes drama and awesomeness in the female blogging community, check out <a href="http://sheposts.com/">She Posts</a>. I have a huge bloggy crush on the editor, <a href="http://www.faintstarlite.com/">Esther</a>, and I'm running their <a href="http://twitter.com/sheposts">twitter account</a>. <span style="font-style: italic;">So why wouldn't you check it out?</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><!--EndFragment--> </p>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-41272295639020437242010-05-07T14:58:00.003-06:002010-05-07T15:46:02.080-06:00Sq-wormThe other day I spent some time pulling weeds. It had been raining, so it was easy to get the little buggers out of the ground. But with the soft, wet ground, came gross, slimy worms.<br /><br />I just don't like them. They're all creepy and crawly and they come out of nowhere. Like when I pulled a large clump of dandelions from the ground and a herd? gaggle? pod? family? of worms came pouring out of the dirt. There were <del>billions</del> <del>bunches</del> 5 of them, and I was not pleased.<br /><br />So I ran to the door and calmly asked Mike how he felt about worms, because I care about his emotions and all. He informed me that he didn't like them, which really fucked up my plan to pretend to care about his emotions when really I just wanted him to come outside and pull the weeds from the worm infested area. So I told him there were millions of worms crawling out of the ground and I needed his help and he asked what I needed help with and I said picking the weeds from the danger zone... and helping to save the worms.<br /><br />Mike: Wait... save them from what?<br /><br />Me: The concrete. They're all displaced in the sun and they're all going to burn up and die so get out here and help me save them.<br /><br />Mike: But you don't like them!<br /><br />Me: True, but I'M NOT A MONSTER!!! I may not be fond of them but I respect their purpose on this planet, and I don't want to be responsible for a worm massacre. WHO DO YOU THINK I AM?<br /><br />Mike: So let me get this straight: You want me to go outside and <span style="font-style: italic;">re-bury them</span>?<br /><br />Me: Well, just get them back onto the grass and they can... burrow?<br /><br />Mike: Yeah, no.<br /><br />Me: <span style="font-style: italic;">Miiiiiiiiiikkkkkkkkeeeeee</span>.<br /><br />*Mike put his headphones on which I'm pretty sure means he wants to listen to music <span style="font-weight: bold;">while </span>talking to me, which is sort of rude but also kind of understandable, so I screamed.*<br /><br />Me: MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEE. YOU DON'T WANT THIS ON YOUR CONSCIENCE!!<br /><br />*Shockingly, that didn't work.*<br /><br />So I did what needed to be done and got a stick and proceeded to pick up the squiggly bastards with the end of the stick and placed them in some dirt and covered them up so the sun wouldn't dry their slimy little bodies out <span style="font-weight: bold;">because I'm a wonderful person</span>.<br /><br />And I've made my peace with the cluster of weeds sitting in that part of the yard.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">It's decorative.</span>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-41476831263306118862010-04-17T13:05:00.006-06:002010-04-17T14:47:58.945-06:00Free Falling<span style="font-weight: bold;">The Scene</span>: the bus station in Denver, on our way to the bars to celebrate <a href="http://www.rhymeswithmilk.com/">Mike</a> and <a href="http://thehumancondition.tumblr.com/">Mark's</a> <a href="http://thehumancondition.tumblr.com/post/499159071">birthday</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I think to myself</span>: if I continue to button up my coat while we climb these stairs I'm going to fall.<br /><br />Then I fall.<br /><br />Hard.<br /><br />On my knee.<br /><br />In front of a large group of people waiting to get on the bus for Boulder.<br /><br />And, because the physical pain and the humiliation is causing me to get dizzy and nauseous, I PANIC, because I'm awesome like that.<br /><br />When we finally get me off of the damn death stairs and get up to street level we notice that our connecting bus is waiting on the street. Mike tells me to run and I sweetly say "are you fucking kidding me?" so he tells me to hobble instead and starts to drag me to the bus. I take a seat and realize that I'm shaking uncontrollably. I take out my trail mix (which I have in my bag because I'm a child and require snacks when I leave my house), and begin to eat.<br /><br />Me: Shit, there's bus station floor all over my hands!<br /><br />Mike: Wipe them on your pants.<br /><br />Me: There's bus station floor all over my pants!<br /><br />Mike: I can't take you anywhere.<br /><br />So I have a busted knee AND I probably have some sort of horrible bacterial infection from eating contaminated trail mix.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jump to 5 days later</span>:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Scene</span>: walking the dogs down my street.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I think to myself</span>: there's a guy pushing a little girl on a Big Wheel across the street, so I have to stay on this side, because <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2009/04/noted.html">Hannah hates Big Wheel</a> bikes. I'll just walk up half a block and then cut across the street, then home! Thank god because I have to pee.<br /><br />So I rush up half a block, check over my right shoulder to make sure the Evil Big Wheel with the Evil Child with Evil Pigtails isn't near us... and I catch a glimpse of a guy walking behind us.<br /><br />So I whip my head around because the last thing I need is for <del>Bonnie</del> <span style="font-style: italic;">somebody</span> to go ape shit on some Evil Man walking near us and I then proceed to miss that all important step over the uneven concrete and as I begin to fall I say <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">"You have GOT to be kidding me..."</span><br /><br />So I jump up as fast as I can (because when you fall in public you get up super fast and act like nothing happened EVEN THOUGH YOU'RE BLEEDING FROM YOUR ELBOW) and I limped across the street and home.<br /><br />So, if you're keeping track, that's me falling in public and hurting myself TWICE in less than a week. I have so many bruises and scabs that Mike says I look like a fifth grader. My mom says that I'm making up for the fact that I never fell or injured myself when I was a kid, and Mike thinks that I just need more agility training.Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-19402977271372135972010-03-31T14:45:00.008-06:002010-03-31T16:09:21.605-06:00It's All About the AccessoriesSo I got the following comment in response to <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/03/what-i-do-when-its-snowing.html">my latest post</a> with pictures of <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/search/label/I%20like%20my%20Dogs%20more%20than%20I%20like%20most%20People">my dogs</a>:<br /><blockquote>Oh dear...a cry for help. :'( I'm sorry to break it to you, but posting pictures of your pets on your blog or web site (no matter what species) officially makes you a "cat lady" (no matter what gender you are). No one's judging you...a common affliction of those dwelling in wintry climes. And you're not alone...I once did it. I even used a photo of my cat's face for a forum avatar. (Yes, I'm ashamed...but publicly admitting to almost being a member of the plastic curler-fuzzy slipper-flannel house coat set is part of the recovery.) Sorry to be this harsh...but it's necessary.</blockquote>So, dear commenter, I have a response.<br /><br />I think that the most important part of this whole thing is <span style="font-weight: bold;">"the look"</span>. If I'm truly a "crazy cat lady (who actually has an <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2009/08/devil-kitty.html">innate fear of cats</a> but I guess that's beyond the point)", then I need to update my look. But (BUT), I refuse to go with your regular run-of-the-mill plastic hair curlers and fuzzy slippers and house coat ensemble. No, I need something a little more...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">AWESOME.</span><br /><br />(Of course.)<br /><br />The first step is the hair curlers. Now, I totally think it's possible to rock regular hair curlers (ahem, <a href="http://thebloggess.com/">Jenny</a>), but I want something that screams that I'm not your average chick who has an unhealthy obsession with my animals.<br /><br />My first thought was to get some hair curlers like <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2009/11/i-need-some-5-inch-heels-stat.html">Lady Gaga</a> in her most <a href="http://www.mtvmusic.com/artist/lady_gaga/videos/492192/telephone_long_version_.jhtml">recent music video</a>. See, she's modeling <span style="font-style: italic;">empty beer cans.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S7O87kQ0Q_I/AAAAAAAAARo/saeEROTSEUc/s1600/gaga+beercans"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 315px; height: 275px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S7O87kQ0Q_I/AAAAAAAAARo/saeEROTSEUc/s400/gaga+beercans" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454911305208316914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Photo found <a href="http://www.bostonherald.com/entertainment/music/general/view.bg?articleid=1239326">here</a>.</span><br /><br /></div>They just scream AWESOME (and RECYCLING), so I thought I'd try that. Problem is that the only beer we have in the house is <a href="http://twitter.com/pabstbrigade">Pabst Blue Ribbon</a> in <span style="font-weight: bold;">glass</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">bottles</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(because we're classy)</span>, and I just don't think I'll get the right curl with glass bottles. I mean, there's a reason Gaga went for aluminum, right?<br /><br />(Plus, wearing glass bottles in my hair doesn't seem like the safest thing in the world.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">So I thought maybe I'd take a page from the awesome <a href="http://thebloggess.com/?p=3474">Nancy W. Kappes, (paralegal)</a> and use <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2009/07/best-night-ever.html">empty prescription bottles</a> as hair curlers. I got all excited and went to empty a bunch of pills when I realized that I get my medication from fucking Target, and Target decided to reinvent the prescription bottle so they're totally useless now.<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S7O-ylIQG2I/AAAAAAAAARw/OOQ9CRc_z84/s1600/target+bottles"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 295px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S7O-ylIQG2I/AAAAAAAAARw/OOQ9CRc_z84/s400/target+bottles" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454913349845261154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">This photo is from <a href="http://www.designrelated.com/inspiration/view/ChristiWillette/entry/3075/target-prescription-bottles">this article</a> where the author praises all of the awesome things about it.<br />(Notice that using it as a hair curler is *not* on the list.)</span><br /></div><br /></div>Well, if I wanted zig-zag curls I would have kept my (kick-ass) hair <a href="http://images.google.com/images?hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=wJR&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&q=hair+crimping&um=1&ie=UTF-8&ei=scezS43NLIL-NZj8obQJ&sa=X&oi=image_result_group&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CCMQsAQwAA"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">crimper</span></a> circa 1989.<br /><br />(Shut up, it looked cool.)<br /><br />Needless to say, that ain't gonna work either. Alas, I'm just giving up because I don't have beer cans and I don't have appropriate shaped prescription bottles and all of this disappointment has made me tired and I don't even want to think about the rest of my cat lady attire.<br /><br />I'll just accept that I'm crazy and keep my hair and clothes the way they are, thank you very much.<br /><br />(I could totally be persuaded to wear fuzzy slippers, though.)<br /><br />PS: I understand that "wearing the curlers" and "actually curling one's hair" can be different. I don't know if crazy cat ladies even take out the curlers, or are worried if their hair holds the perfect curl, but (again), I'm not your average cat lady. I just figure if I'm going to all the trouble to get the damn beer cans to stay in my hair, I might as well have the end result look nice.<br /><br />PPS: <span style="font-weight: bold;">Comments make me happy.</span>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-99230065679068592010-03-19T15:54:00.012-06:002010-03-19T16:32:19.203-06:00What I do when it's SnowingFirst of all, I'm not dead, I just haven't had the "blogging bug".<br /><br />(I'm sure it'll pass.)<br /><br />But for now you get pictures of the dogs with sarcastic writing on them!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You're welcome.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P1OO2EmjI/AAAAAAAAAQo/Dit5QjnqSv8/s1600-h/The+Bon-Bon.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P1OO2EmjI/AAAAAAAAAQo/Dit5QjnqSv8/s400/The+Bon-Bon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450469598900296242" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P1WVeELAI/AAAAAAAAAQw/RHUg635Wxtk/s1600-h/Ditzy+Hannah.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P1WVeELAI/AAAAAAAAAQw/RHUg635Wxtk/s400/Ditzy+Hannah.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450469738117606402" border="0" /></a><br />I don't know which they like better: the snow, or the fact that several times a day they get dried off with a towel.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P11sCOFGI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/ZxWp36xfHys/s1600-h/Refusing+to+participate.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P11sCOFGI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/ZxWp36xfHys/s400/Refusing+to+participate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450470276750775394" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P33drAkTI/AAAAAAAAARQ/QHvN39EJNPY/s1600-h/Resigned.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P33drAkTI/AAAAAAAAARQ/QHvN39EJNPY/s400/Resigned.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450472506278318386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P5svP226I/AAAAAAAAARg/P464zg3DCaQ/s1600-h/Ohmigod.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P5svP226I/AAAAAAAAARg/P464zg3DCaQ/s400/Ohmigod.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450474521040968610" border="0" /></a><br />I tried to get Hannah to sit while holding the towel in her mouth, but she flat-out refused. I would accept that she wasn't in the mood, but after I took all of the pictures she walked around carrying a tennis ball for about 13 minutes straight.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P4boBPKGI/AAAAAAAAARY/sqQuEwKkbbU/s1600-h/mocking.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S6P4boBPKGI/AAAAAAAAARY/sqQuEwKkbbU/s400/mocking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450473127531194466" border="0" /></a>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-60481036787049063472010-03-08T14:24:00.008-07:002010-03-08T14:55:39.461-07:00Just a Couch (?)Our assignment from the <a href="http://blissdomconference.com/wisdom-workshops-2/#inspirational-writing">Inspiration Workshop</a> at <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/search/label/Live%20from%20Blissdom%20Twenty-Ten">BlissDom</a>:<br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-family:arial;">"In her amazing book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/What-Lynda-Barry/dp/1897299354" target="_blank"><span style="font-style: italic;">What It Is!</span></a> writer/artist </span><span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;font-family:arial;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1267967385_0" >Lynda Barry</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> shares (among</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> other flashes of genius!) a simple exercise she learned from her college</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> professor and mentor Marilyn Frasca. It's one I use all the time to get</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> my mind in gear.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Here's how it goes: With pen and paper, make a list of ten couches</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> you've known in your lifetime. (This also works with other words, but</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> couches are my favorite because they are central to many moments in your</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> memory.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">When you've made your list, take a deep relaxing breath and find the</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> couch that has the most powerful emotional charge for you. Then begin</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> writing</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> about it...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Keep writing for three minutes until you've reached the end of the</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> vignette. Keep the pen moving. Three minutes will seem like a long</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> time. But don't stop. If you run out of words, doodle a little till</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> they come again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Don't edit! Keep the memory and emotion there in all its raw glory!</span>"</blockquote>****<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">There's really only one couch to write about.<br /><br />One couch that <span style="font-weight: bold;">matters</span>.<br /><br />That represents an entire chapter of my life.<br /><br />It was covered in duct tape and chewed on by puppies.<br /><br />It was sticky and gross and falling apart.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">It was over my head and everywhere.</span><br /><br />It was dirty.<br /><br />It was a conversation piece.<br /><br />It was important because it was ours. And it was sad when it was (finally) gone.<br /><br />It was our<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">badge of honor. </span><br /><br />It proclaimed to all the world that we were poor, sad college students getting useless degrees and we had this shitty couch to prove it, god damn it.<br /><br /></div><br />****<br /><br />I wrote that down in three minutes.<br /><br />(I don't write very fast, so it's not very long. Also? Three minutes isn't that much time.)<br /><br />When I came to post it I edited certain things (even though the rules say not to) because I could make them sound better here (and because I'm a hard core bad ass who doesn't listen to rules)<br /><br />.... then I went back and took the edits out, and wrote what I wrote on paper with pen.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Word for word</span>.<br /><br />(It was really hard to do.)<br /><br /><br />****<br /><br />When they first told us about this assignment I laughed to myself.<br /><br />The <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2008/03/our-couch.html">first post</a> I ever wrote was about that same stupid couch.<br /><br />Come play this game yourself <a href="http://www.adventuresinbabywearing.com/2010/03/couches.html">here</a>, or on your own, and let me know if you do...<br /><blockquote></blockquote>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-68123813764320413882010-02-26T15:52:00.008-07:002010-02-26T16:57:59.037-07:00So Not Pretty... *At All*When I brush my teeth, I get toothpaste everywhere.<br /><br />I don't know why. I don't know how.<br /><br />Somehow, toothpaste gets on the mirror, on my shirt, around the sink...<br /><br />e-v-e-r-y-where.<br /><br />And now it's even worse because my dentist insisted that I get an electric toothbrush, (you know, because apparently I am incapable of <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/01/public-service-announcement.html">thoroughly cleaning my teeth</a> the old fashioned way?) which means that the toothpaste is churned to the point of full on toothpaste froth.<br /><br />When I brush my teeth, it looks like I'm a rabid dog.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It's not cute.</span><br /><br />Mike isn't allowed to watch me as I brush my teeth because he just laughs and points.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Laughs and points.</span><br /><br />Which makes me laugh, which means even more toothpaste ends up covering the bathroom walls and floor and <span style="font-style: italic;">ceiling</span>.<br /><br />He's also not allowed to watch me wash my face.<br /><br />Because when I wash my face, water also gets<br /><br />e-v-e-r-y-where.<br /><br />The counter, my shirt (again), the floor...<br /><br />And Mike says things like, "Ally, I know you're a smart person, but you do <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> look like it right now."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />(Who's not smart, now, <span style="font-style: italic;">Michael?</span>)<br /><br />Except the mirror.<br /><br />I have no idea how I get toothpaste on the mirror...<br /><br />(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 <a href="http://disqus.com/">Disqus</a> profile (so I can see your pretty little face next to your note) <a href="http://disqus.com/profile/">here</a>, so please say "hi" to Bonnie and Hannah, because they don't think anyone cares about them.)<br /><br />(PPS: That's a lie. Bonnie and Hannah don't even read this blog.)<br /><br />(PPPS: Bitches.)Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-12203976613963507522010-02-19T13:44:00.006-07:002010-02-19T14:35:12.944-07:00Blurg: It's how I feel.I am sick.<br /><br />Have been since I got back from <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/search/label/Live%20from%20Blissdom%20Twenty-Ten">Blissdom</a>.<br /><br />That's almost TWO WEEKS.<br /><br />(And <a href="http://mooshinindy.com/2010/02/17/vlogging-with-snot/">I'm not the only one</a>. Which means that there was obviously some sort of terrible germ bomb released during the conference.)<br /><br />(Alert the officials.)<br /><br />I lie in bed every morning, taking stock of how I feel, and think to myself "Today. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Today</span> 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."<br /><br />And then I realize that I can't breath through my nose.<br /><br />So I take another shot of nasal spray.<br /><br />(I should buy stock in the stuff.)<br /><br />And then I sit up and cough up a lung.<br /><br />And then I brush my teeth.<br /><br />And then I have to lie down for a few minutes because standing up is <span style="font-style: italic;">hard</span>.<br /><br />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 <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Law_%26_Order:_Special_Victims_Unit">Law and Order: SVU</a>.<br /><br />(<a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2009/09/importance-of-good-goals.html">MARISKA HARGITAY</a>.)<br /><br />And although I am now qualified to solve some pretty fucked up crimes, I don't really think it's that <span style="font-style: italic;">productive</span>.<br /><br />(Depends on how you define "productive", I guess.)<br /><br />(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.)<br /><br />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, <span style="font-weight: bold;">I will cut you</span>."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />And I realized that I can't push it. I need to make peace with that fact that my body will heal in time.<br /><br />But that's bullshit, so instead I'm sitting here, wallowing in self-pity, because<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> that's how I role</span>.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />PPS: Most of the books that are $0.00 on Amazon for the Kindle are either classic novels or Christian romance novels.<br /><br />PPPS: I don't know why either.<br /><br />PPPPS: So I have a ridiculous amount of classic novels on my Kindle now. I may never read them, but I feel way smarter.<br /><br />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. <span style="font-style: italic;">The hell nose?</span>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-91855106158132581932010-02-15T14:25:00.006-07:002010-02-15T15:17:05.518-07:00Romance-yI've never been fond of Valentine's Day.<br /><br />The pressure (the pressure!) to be romantic, in love, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">nice</span>, just sets couples up for disaster.<br /><br />(Meaning, I usually overreact about something which ruins <span style="font-weight: bold;">everything</span>.)<br /><br />(I take full responsibility.)<br /><br />It never turns out like it's supposed to.<br /><br />(The same goes for anniversaries and birthdays or any other "special occasion".)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />The dishes will sit dirty. The trash won't be taken out. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Something will go wrong</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Something starts the fight</span>.<br /><br />(And no, it's not because of PMS.)<br /><br />(At least not completely.)<br /><br />This year we made plans to go to dinner and then dancing Saturday night, and then for a massage on Sunday.<br /><br />Lofty plans for someone who doesn't like Valentine's Day.<br /><br />But, alas, I got sick, so Saturday was spent watching a <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1152836/">crappy movie</a> and ordering Chinese food, the nasal spray never far away.<br /><br />(By the way, can you overdose on nasal spray?)<br /><br />(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".)<br /><br />And the massage was postponed because nothing is less relaxing than dripping snot everywhere while lying naked and face-down on a massage table.<br /><br />But with all of the canceled plans went all of the pressure. We just had a weekend together.<br /><br />We saw the perfect romantic movie for Valentine's Day: <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0988045/">Sherlock Holmes</a>.<br /><br />(The sexual tension between <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000179/">Jude Law</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000375/">Robert Downey, Jr.</a> was palpable.)<br /><br />(There better be a make out session in the sequel.)<br /><br />To be "valentines-y" we brought a heart-shaped box of chocolates into the movie theater.<br /><br />(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.)<br /><br />(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 <span style="font-style: italic;">noise</span> involved in getting to said caramels and weird coconut creme crap is just astounding.)<br /><br />(Especially since you're trying to be all covert and shit about smuggling Valentine's Day themed candy into the theater.)<br /><br />Finally, we went to a crowded coffee shop where we drank tea and did the most romantic thing <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span>:<br /><br />Mike taught me math.<br /><br />(It was hot.)<br /><br />And nobody fought over the dishes or the trash.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And it was good...</span><br /><br />(AND I know how to do <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Logarithm">logarithms</a>.)<br /><br />(SCORE.)<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;">What did you do? What didn't you do?<br />Do you know what log10 of 10 is?<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Because I totally do.</span></div>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-78017446716441577652010-02-09T16:16:00.003-07:002010-02-09T17:19:39.137-07:00Thank You Notes: Blissful Edition(This post is sappy, personal, and ridiculously lovey. Not your thing? Read <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/02/blissdom-or-bust-on-island.html">my first Blissdom post instead</a>.)<br /><br />********************<br /><br />Dear <a href="http://www.faintstarlite.com/">Esther</a>,<br /><br />Thank you for being my friend, not just online, but <span style="font-weight: bold;">in person</span>.<br /><br />Thank you for making me think, for sharing your stories, for sharing your insight,<br /><br />for <span style="font-weight: bold;">being you</span>.<br /><br />Thank you for checking on me when <a href="http://twitter.com/AllyBSpeakin/status/8758227787">I got locked out of my hotel room</a>, 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.<br /><br />(It was white chocolate cherry, in case that wasn't clear from my message.)<br /><br />(Sorry 'bout that.)<br /><br />********************<br /><br />Dear <a href="http://mooshinindy.com/">Casey</a>,<br /><br />Thank you for hugging me when I shared one of my biggest fears with you,<br /><br />for <span style="font-weight: bold;">getting it</span>,<br /><br />for getting <span style="font-weight: bold;">me</span>.<br /><br />Thank you for telling me to <span style="font-weight: bold;">"do it"</span> when I said I might cry. (Not in a mean way (<span style="font-style: italic;">DO IT</span>), but in an encouraging way... I thought I should clear that up.)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Thank you for telling me I'm awesome, for being awesome yourself, for being my <span style="font-weight: bold;">new found <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TyvRjF0NBeM">lobster</a></span>.<br /><br />********************<br /><br />Dear <a href="http://www.thestilettomom.com/">Mary Anne</a>,<br /><br />I hereby dub you my <span style="font-weight: bold;">Fairy Blog Mother</span>.<br /><br />Thank you for hugging me, telling me you were <a href="http://www.thestilettomom.com/2010/02/08/blissdom-post-2-amazing-women-hugs-and-kisses/">proud of me</a>,<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">being my safety net</span>. <br /><br />Thank you for telling me which side of the stage to stand on to get my picture taken with <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/01/stop-being-stalker-day.html">Harry Connick, Jr</a>. You're basically the best Fairy Blog Mother <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">ever</span>.<br /><br />********************<br /><br />Dear <a href="http://www.adventuresinbabywearing.com/">Steph</a>,<br /><br />Oh Steph. Thank you thank you thank you for hanging out with me. <br /><br />For letting me essentially stalk you.<br /><br />You are stuck with me now, my dear,<br /><br />because <span style="font-weight: bold;">I adore you so</span>. <br /><br />Thank you for saying hello, for dancing with me, for letting me hold that beautiful <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/southernfairytale/4342106586/">tiny dancer</a> of yours.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thank you for inspiring me</span>.<br /><br />(Seriously, <a href="http://www.adventuresinbabywearing.com/2010/02/this-is-it.html">Ivy</a> is so<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/southernfairytale/4341608481/"> freaking cute</a> she makes my uterus hurt).<br /><br />******************<br /><br />Dear <a href="http://fussypants.typepad.com/allison_worthington_media/">Alli</a>,<br /><br />You throw one hell of a party.<br /><br />I am forever in awe of you. <br /><br />Thank you for <span style="font-weight: bold;">letting me be</span> a part of it,<br /><br />for <span style="font-weight: bold;">including me</span>,<br /><br />for stopping to<span style="font-weight: bold;"> hug</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">me</span> whenever you saw me,<br /><br />for <span style="font-weight: bold;">being amazing</span>.<br /><br />Thank you for saying "Ally B Speakin'" with the best southern accent <span style="font-weight: bold;">ever</span>... it makes me smile <span style="font-weight: bold;">every time</span>.<br /><br />******************<br /><br />I met more women than I can thank here. They all deserve it, though, and I thank them too.<br /><br />Seriously, ladies, if we talked, hung out, danced, hugged, or even rode an elevator together,<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">thank you</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">.</span>Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924366183101105320.post-81663083727592045472010-02-04T11:30:00.010-07:002010-02-04T12:48:06.661-07:00Blissdom 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 <a href="http://www.jennsylvania.com/">Jen Lancaster</a> and ended up having a great time and making lots of friends?<br /><br />(No? Read about it <a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/search/label/Live%20From%20BlissDom%20Oh-Nine">here</a>.)<br /><br />Well, I'm back. <a href="http://blissdomconference.com/">Blissdom '10</a> 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 <a href="http://momtothescreamingmasses.typepad.com/">Carmen</a>, and how I had an awesome evening with <a href="http://www.faintstarlite.com/">Esther</a> (and how I love her so), but something else needs to be addressed.<br /><br />I have entered an alternate universe, and it is called the <a href="http://www.gaylordhotels.com/gaylord-opryland/">Gaylord Opryland Hotel and Convention Center.</a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S2shzGDPBLI/AAAAAAAAAQY/n12lj7GTFls/s1600-h/photo%2810%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S2shzGDPBLI/AAAAAAAAAQY/n12lj7GTFls/s400/photo%2810%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434474537033860274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Yes... this is the INSIDE OF THE HOTEL... and it's NOT VEGAS.</span><br /><br /></div>I don't think that this is even really Nashville. I think this is some weird "in-between" place that has a <a href="http://lostpedia.wikia.com/wiki/The_Monster">smoke monster</a> lurking and possibly an entrance <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lion,_the_Witch_and_the_Wardrobe">through a wardrobe</a>.<br /><br />It's a giant atrium with different "islands" where the rooms and restaurants are.<br /><br />(I'm in the <a href="http://lostpedia.wikia.com/wiki/Swan"><del>Swan Station</del></a> "Magnolia".)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S2shRAQGJxI/AAAAAAAAAQI/uZpqTEE1pYI/s1600-h/photo%288%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S2shRAQGJxI/AAAAAAAAAQI/uZpqTEE1pYI/s400/photo%288%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434473951361640210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">*Totally* looks like N</span><span style="font-size:85%;">ashville, right?</span><br /><br /></div>The inside is basically a huge rain forest with palm trees and exotic flowers and PURPLE WATERFALLS.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S2shnN1KpCI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/O0DPoNqwOpc/s1600-h/photo%289%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 296px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S2shnN1KpCI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/O0DPoNqwOpc/s400/photo%289%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434474332963906594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">The first thing I thought when I saw this purple waterfall? What animal was slaughtered there that has purple blood. My mind scares me.</span><br /></div><br />I'm afraid <a href="http://lostpedia.wikia.com/wiki/The_others">The Others</a> will get me if I stray too far away on my own.<br /><br />(And by "The Others" I mean the people who are here for <a href="http://dailycaller.com/2010/02/04/media-descends-on-nashville-for-first-national-tea-party-convention/">The National Tea Party Convention</a> in the same hotel.)<br /><br />(Sarah Palin is their keynote speaker... you decide which Lost character she is.)<br /><br />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...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S2siC2J3PLI/AAAAAAAAAQg/AR25IxW2dEw/s1600-h/photo%2811%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S2siC2J3PLI/AAAAAAAAAQg/AR25IxW2dEw/s400/photo%2811%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434474807644601522" border="0" /></a><br />Well, after the fucking <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">5K</span> that I've walked in the past 20 hours, my feet are in so much pain.<br /><br />(So much pain that I flossed (<a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/01/public-service-announcement.html">you bet </a><a href="http://www.allybspeakin.com/2010/01/public-service-announcement.html">your ass I did</a>) while sitting on the edge of the tub with my feet soaking in hot water.)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />And I just won't go there... yet.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S2sgqhkoKlI/AAAAAAAAAQA/v9NGLE4PP8Y/s1600-h/photo%287%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZDd-uWUneKQ/S2sgqhkoKlI/AAAAAAAAAQA/v9NGLE4PP8Y/s400/photo%287%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434473290291227218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">This map was not helpful *at all*... and Google Maps didn't help either.<br />(I tried.)</span><br /></div><br />PS: You might be asking "Why would you buy shoes that were that uncomfortable in the first place?" <span style="font-style: italic;">Because I didn't expect to walk a marathon in them.</span> Also? They're pretty.Ally Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06216447038656584128noreply@blogger.com9