Category Archives: Uncategorized

real quick now: reporting back

A quick between-posts update on my experiment of yesterday:

I didn’t write anything down.

<insert crying-laughing emoji here because lol julie what did you tell yourself oh so funny you predicted the future lol lol lamorslfololololamo>

Because this is an inconsequential thing over which to dwell / lament / beat oneself up – I won’t.

(I will say this: I was a few percentage points more aware of the songs in my head yesterday and this morning. This counts for something, for whomever counts such things).

What’s on your daily soundtrack?

How much thought do you put to the song that’s currently stuck in your head? If you’re like me, a song plays on a loop in the background of your conscious thoughts for most of the day. Only sporadically do I focus my attention on that music: What song is that? Why is that song playing in my head?

Sometimes it’s a song from a commercial that I don’t even remember seeing or it’s one I heard playing in the background as I shopped or dined out. Sometimes it’s triggered because some of the lyrics contain words I repeated to myself or heard others say- maybe I even read those words somewhere?

Of course, what’s playing is just a line from a larger (longer) whole: the chorus, perhaps? Occasionally just music without words; these times can be the most frustrating for me because sometimes I can’t place the larger piece from which my brain has arbitrarily taken it.

I’ve set out to intentionally write down each time I’m aware that a song or piece of a song is stuck in my head in a given day but this is not the simple task it poses as.* See, this requires a level of mindfulness that is difficult for me to maintain for an entire dang day. My success comes in fits and starts: I’ll start off strong and fade. Or I pick back up as the day is ending. But to do so throughout an entire day? Difficult.

But not impossible!

I’m going to give it a go today.

To start: I have a bit of a song in my head but I have no idea what it is. I’m going to dive down a Google/YouTube hole and come up for air in a bit. Stay tuned, folks…


*as which it poses? Under which it poses? Help.

I am unmotivated by motivated people.

Happy Daylight Savings Time, y’all! It’s already November, which means it’s time for me to suddenly remember that I vowed last year to participate in NaNoWriMo – or, as I like to call it – Naw, imma no write no mo’.

Because that’s what I do, every year.

This year, though? This year will be –

Eh. The same.

What happens when one falls into the habit of beating themselves up for not doing x, never starting y, putting off z? Well, let me tell ya, Dear Fucking Reader: Their drive to do anything is gradually eroded into a delicate pile of pulverized hopes and dreams, scattering to the four winds with an errant sneeze.

So I’m tryyyyying – sorta – to give myself a little grace. I guess. But not too much, because I think it’s probably important that I have a little discipline, too. Nothing hard was ever achieved without hard work. That sounds like something I saw in an inspirational tweet once, I think.

So I’m NOT 30,000 words into my debut novel right now.* But that doesn’t mean that I can’t take some initiative and get back in the swing of things. See? I’m writing this now! Look, ma! I’m doing it! Actually, don’t look. There’s too much swearing here.

Until next time, pals. I’ll try not to make you wait a month for another post.


*I don’t even want to write a goddamn novel. Fiction is HARD. Telling stories that I’ve lived through or heard about it way easier. Right? This can’t be just me.

Do people without microwaves drink their coffee faster?

“You strike me as a minimalist. The kind of person who doesn’t have a trash can or a microwave.”

I took this as a compliment when someone told me this the other day, but I was quick to correct her that I am most definitely not a minimalist.

Wouldn’t that be something, though?

I occasionally catch myself daydreaming about that possibility. And at the risk of sounding full of myself, I think I could hack it a bit more easily than some. Again – because I think about the logistics of it fairly regularly.

Of course, I’m only considering my own personal definition of minimalist: one without extra stuff. Someone who uses everything they have. I don’t think I’d take it so far as to get rid of the trash can. The microwave could probably go, though. We can go days without using ours. In fact, my only regular uses for it are to warm up cups of coffee that I’m taking too long to finish or to gently warm up a sandwich or make popcorn. Sandwiches can be warmed in the oven. Popcorn can be made on the stove.

I guess I could reheat my coffee on the stove, too?

Or just drink it faster.


Hi-ho, Cheerio.

I have a dim memory of the introduction of Apple Cinnamon Cheerios to my local supermarket aisles. One moment while I consult the Internets to confirm that this occurred within the span of my memory.

Ah, yes. 1988. This tracks.

Anyway. My point is: I’m old enough to recall a time when only two Cheerios flavors existed: OG Cheerios and Honey Nut, and the hubbub surrounding the addition of Apple Cinnamon to this grainy fray.

Of course, more flavors slowly appeared over the years. I believe Multi-Grain Cheerios was one of the next to be introduced, no?

One moment.

Yes. Released 1992, relaunched 2009.

The mid-2000s unleashed a steady stream of new flavors: Frosted. Fruity. Banana Nut.* And as time passes, the onslaught increases in frequency. More recently we’ve seen Peanut Butter. Chocolate. Ancient Grain. Even a Pumpkin Fucking Spice flavory’all.

I always turned my nose at these oat monstrosities. I was disappointed in Cheerios for caving to such silly demands for breakfast garbage. A Cheerios purist, I am.

Until yesterday, when Gentleman Friend and I went grocery shopping and he added a box of Blueberry Cheerios to our cart.

I rolled my eyes, but readily admitted this was not a downright terrible combination. After all, Kellogg’s is currently churning out boxes of brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tarts cereal. It could be worse, is all I’m saying.

And after trying a bowl of Blueberry Cheerios this morning, I felt compelled to publicly announce that I’m once again a Cheerios believer. The power of blueberries compels me.



*Looking for a stage names for your gay men’s barbershop trio? Here. You are welcome.



Mistgakes? I’ve made a few.

It’s been not-quite-one-year since I took a new job with the same company. In that not-quite-a-year I’ve learned, essentially, one single lesson:

I don’t know anything.

New ways of doing old things, the proper ways to submit Official Stuff, Who is in charge of Whatever, how to get ahold of that Who… not to mention my newly-broadened vocabulary, which includes several dozen new acronyms that I sprinkle sans abandon into my everyday speech.

I went ’round and ’round with several people today, in an attempt to “fix” a problem that – erm, turns out – was of my own doing. After realizing my error, I unleashed a barrage of “Thank you for your patience while I learn this process” emails. Somewhere along the way, I read that this is a mentally healthier than simply saying “sorry I fucked up” over and over and over, and “mentally healthier” is one of my top priorities as I navigate some of these finer points of my job.

Turns out, it’s really – like really-really – easy to get caught up in the argh I don’t know what I’m doings and I’ll never get any of this right the first times. Ironic, considering that these are statements that, when spoken by anyone other than myself, I’m able to easily shoot down. Of course you won’t get everything right the first time. How else will you learn? Who is perfect on their first try? You’re being ridiculous.

Maybe the person I should be thanking for patience is myself.




*Fun fact: The misspelling in the title was completely unintentional. Then I decided to leave it.

People at the airport.

I’m quickly discovering that I could probably write a book full of Things and People I’ve Observed At Various Airports: it’s a gd oil geyser of material.* One of my favorite and most personally-respected sources of journalism agrees, as evidenced by this gem that showed up in my bookface feed today:


right? Spot on, Onion.

Were I to make a list (spoiler alert: I’m making a freaking list) of other airport caricatures, I’d include the following:

    So. Many. Devices. We get it, dude: you have a job where you type the things into the computer. You are Quite Important. You must make phone calls about the type-y things you’re doing. These calls simply cannot wait, even if it is 6:15 am. If I look closer at your laptop screen, I am 100% sure I’ll find that you’re just Lorem Ipsum-ing through a generic Excel file. You do not need two laptops, dude. That other one is definitely for porn. Don’t confuse the two.
  2. The “carry on rules do not apply to me” over-packer.
    …the fuck, lady? Wheeled suitcase, “purse” (that’s a duffel bag, ma’am), laptop bag, travel pillow, blanket, plastic sack of drinks and snacks from Hudson News and a live lobster. And all of it will need to go in the overhead bin.
  3.  The carefree flip flopper.
    Dressed wildly inappropriately for the current climate (shorts and sandals in Denver in January). Nary a speck of luggage in sight, he will simply walk off the plane at his destination as if he simply materialized there and has been living there all his damn life.
  4. The loudspeaker.
    Every single conversation is held at max volume. Everyone from here to the shoeshine stand 7 gates down knows she loves Jennalyn and Ashton very much and she’ll be home soon, she can’t believe that the flight’s been delayed twice, and that there are so many Foreigns working at this airport. Like, all of them. But that’s totally fine. I mean, someone’s got to clean the bathrooms and sell the US Weeklies. Like, I couldn’t do it, but good for them.





*side note: I’ve been combing through my years and years of random storytelling and I’ve finally FINALLY figured out a cohesive theme under which I can collect existing tales and produce new ones into – fingers crossed – some sort of publish-able product. This is just a side note. More to come on that later, maybe.


notes on a [bacon] scandal

I’ve been doing a lot of traveling for work for the past few months and frankly, it makes me tired thinking about it so I haven’t even gotten around to writing about it.

Unfortunately, there are just too many quick little nuggets of weird that I’ve unearthed to not take at least a half-hearted effort to share. So here I go. I’m going to type until I get tired. Which might be soon, don’t hold yer breaths.

  • A woman eating from a quart-sized plastic baggie of hard-boiled eggs. When I think “airport snack,” I generally think “granola bar.” Not this dame. Just living her best, breakfast buffet life right there at gate C2.
  • A man loudly complaining about the lack of Pepsi products. “Everywhere around here only sells Coke. Coke is so low-class,” he snarled as I looked over and saw a Pepsi machine not 20 feet down the concourse.
  • A stand in the Denver airport selling Climax Jerky, which – I know, I know. It’s a brand name. But tell that to my brain, which lay giggling in the gutter.
  • The worker at Auntie Anne’s who asked for my order, then promptly squatted down behind the counter to look for something. I sort of peered over the counter to see if I should, like, keep talking? Because what was happening? “Go ahead!” she called up to me. “I’m listening!”
  • My very damp belongings in my checked bag. I know, right? I never really gave much thought to my suitcase not being at least kind-of waterproof. I’ll never pack important papers in there again (Luckily my work stuff was okay. With the exception of all of my Post-it note pads, which ended up in a gross, wrinkled mass in my pencil case.
  • I ate In-n-Out Burger. It was good, but my earth was not shattered. I’m not sure it was worth the 1.5 mile walk from my hotel.
  • However, the dude ahead of me in line at In-n-Out Burger paid for his double double with a 100-dollar bill. His change was something like 97 dollars.
  • I ate at the hotel restaurant for breakfast a few days in a row. Day one: as Server Assistant Bro was filling up my water, a woman on the other side of the dining room is waving her arms wildly. Server Assistant Bro and I whipped our heads around: was someone choking on their made-to-order omelet? EXCUSE ME. EXCUSE ME? SIR? OVER HERE, SIR, she shrieked. Turns out her bacon was overcooked. I know because she told him that her bacon was too crispy in the same tone of voice you’d use to tell your Cocker Spaniel to stop pissing on the ottoman.
  • If only she’d had the made-to-order omelet.
  • Last day in town: guess who busts into the restaurant and demands to speak to someone in charge! Ol’ Shrieky McWellDoneBacon! Something was remiss with her bill from… a previous day? At this point I wasn’t able to pay attention; I was too consumed with cringing and flinching each time her voice ratcheted itself up an octave of sarcasm. OH, WELL, I GUESS IT’S HARD TO ADD THINGS UP, HUH? and THIS VOUCHER SAYS FREE. WHAT DO YOU THINK FREE MEANS? DOES IT MEAN I GET CHARGED FOR JUICE AND COFFEE?
  • Few things say TURNT like Friday Night Karaoke at the Holiday Inn Bar. I fell asleep too early to witness the spectacle, but in my mind it was all I ever hoped and dreamed it would be.
  • Speaking of falling asleep early…

Amazon also recommends: a good GI doc

Hi. I’m one of those people who order many, many things from Amazon. Side note: I am also one of those who are easily guilted by Netflix documentaries that tell my brain I’m a terrible person for buying my razors in bulk over the internet and that I’m personally responsible for killing the dreams of the owner of the artisanal razory in my hometown.

There are also times when I remember that my hometown lacks a supplier of hand-crafted facial tissues and I think I’m probably not single-handedly responsible for the downfall of the maker economy.

So yeah. I’m about to place an order for some bulk toilet paper and baking soda and other household shit that 7-year-old me never in her wildest dreams imagined a credit card could ever be used for. And in placing said order, I have the option to Subscribe and Save! which is always so very tempting because I imagine myself to be some sort of thrifty, efficient shopper (spoiler: I’m not) but I’ve never committed to this because what if I’m wrong and my delivery is mis-scheduled and I end up running out or overstocked with something?

I currently get kitty litter sent to us this way on the cheapy-cheap through another company but I am CONSTANTLY amending my delivery schedule because – for example – right now we have roughly 439 lbs of it stored in various nooks and crannies of our abode because I didn’t stop the auto-deliveries in time and they just kept marching in like those buckets in Fantasia

I digress. Angrily so.

Anyway, I figured I’d try to calculate how often I order TP from the Amazons and try the Subscribe and Save! option. Among the presets from which I can choose is an “every 2 months options” which….well. Let’s math it out, shall we?

Product: one 24-pack of “mega rolls” of toilet paper (308 sheets per roll)
Delivery frequency: once every 8 weeks

Assuming that the “2 month period” equals 8 full weeks/ 56 days and that the next delivery arrives just as the previous supply is vanquished, this would mean a household is using 43% of one roll of toilet paper in one single day.

This is:
* appx. 132 sheets per day

Which, in a household of 4 toilet-using and bowel-moving humans, is:
* 33 sheets per day

Which, based on personal experience with this particular – high-quality – brand and the average number of sheets used at a time (I am not a toilet paper scrooge, tmi and btw), equals:
* Anywhere from 8 – 11 trips to the bathroom per day

Or, in my particular household of 2 toilet-using and bowel-moving humans, this equals:
* Anywhere from 16 – 22 trips to the bathroom per day

Horrified, I simply added my purchase to my cart. I’ll Subscribe and Save! another time.


the future of grammar.

If I’ve learned nothing else from sci-fi television, it’s that advanced civilizations do not use contractions and their grammar is often impeccable. This gives me hope for the future: will my great-granchildren live in a world without dangling participles?

Or will things continue on their current path: will my great-grandchildren never learn what a participle is?

Oh, the humanity.