After investing thousands of dollars in hypnotherapy and acupuncture and undergoing years of extensive counseling, I’ve finally worked through some of my techno-phobia.* Thanks to those who have pushed the little PayPal button on my sidebar. I spent some of that dough on a domain and parked it in a little reserved space at WordPress. This little broom closet of the Blog World is now officially moonbeammcqueen.com.
Wow. I’m a dotcom. It feels good. I love dots. The painting above is by Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama. She loves dots too. The photo below is of Javier Bardem. You can just stare at him if the rest of this post proves too boring.
I’ll never be able to express my appreciation to those who feel moved to donate to this site. You’ve invested in whatever the hell it is I do here, and it means more than you can imagine. I’m still not exactly sure why it’s advantageous to be the mistress of my domain, but I suppose I’ll find out.
Making the switch to dotcomdom proved to be much simpler than I’d anticipated, but still, it all makes me as uneasy as a rabbi at a pig roast. There may be glitches and bumps along the way. If there’s anything screw up-able in all of this, I’m sure to find it. I’m nervous.
If you’re a follower of this blog—WOOHOO! Er, ahem–I mean, thank you so much. A reader informed me that she had to re-click the “follow” button due to my dot com switcheroo, and you may need to do the same. If you have to re-subscribe, I apologize in advance for any grief it might cause you. Please let me know if you encounter any problems. Not that I’ll be of any help, but I’m a terrific commiserater.
Being a rather insecure woman, I sometimes ask Amadeus for his assessment of my appearance before we go out. He sighs and acts like it’s nonsense, but I value his opinion. As I tell him, “You’re the one who has to look at me.” Then he says, “You look fine,” and we drive off to McDonald’s.
It’s the same with this blog. In the coming days and weeks (and, knowing myself, months) I’ll be tweaking and tuning and making a few changes to its appearance. Just the prospect of tackling this project gives me hives, but it’s time to reorganize and attempt to make this site more reader-friendly. I’d love any feedback or suggestions you might have. After all, you’re the one who has to look at it.
Sara, at kyllingsara has given me an Awesome Blog Content Award. This is a wonderful accolade, because although she’s fairly new to the world of blogging, her site is riveting. She’s a fearless, talented writer, and it’s impossible to read her posts without being deeply affected. I urge you to visit there. Thank you Sara!!!!
RedFlameFire nominated me for a Versatile Blogger Award! I’ve mentioned RedFlameFire here recently. Her blog is another that I’m drawn to for its heart and intelligence. Thanks so much, RFF!
Lastly, but not leastly, Ann Marquez at Calliope’s Tablet has bestowed upon me a One Lovely Blog Award. This one has special meaning (not that the others don’t). Since the first day she commented here, Annie has been an ardent supporter, cheerleader and friend. She’s a published author who devotes a great deal of time paying it forward by sharing her thoughts, opinions and experiences with stressed-out writers like me. The time has come for Annie to concentrate on her own writing again, and this award was one of her last gestures of kindness before going on blog hiatus. I heart you, Annie. Thank you. By the way, you can find a nice review of Ann’s book, Journey into Probate and Back, here.
I LOVE receiving these awards. I’m horrible at determining who to pass them on to. It’s like trying to decide on the best dish at a Chinese buffet, or being forced to choose the cutest Beatle. Since I recently posted an extensive list of Blogs I Love, I’m going to give it a rest for a little while. When some of this construction dust clears, I’ll compile another list, rent a ballroom and roll out the red carpet for more fabulous bloggers. I can’t wait to see you at the after party!!
The rules of these awards usually dictate that the winner divulge a number of facts about him/herself. I almost never do this, because I’ve been blabbing about myself on this blog for about five years now, and it often seems that the needle on the Divulge-O-Meter can’t possibly move further into the red. When you’ve resorted to telling the world that you can bend your tongue into the shape of a three-leaf clover, you’ve pretty much reached the bottom of the barrel as regards self-trivia. I finally did manage to scrape some factoids together, though I’m thankful the rules don’t specify that these tidbits have to be interesting.
1: Though my husband Amadeus loves football, I remain fairly clueless about the entire concept of large men in tight pants and hardhats crashing into each other at full force, all because of a little brown leather spheroid. I used to occasionally become bored sitting beside him while watching this phenomenon, until I mentally began turning everything the sportscasters said into sexual innuendo. I do this all the time now. When commentators start discussing tight ends, positions and what great hands a player has, I just smile. Note: this works especially well during post-game re-caps.
2: My daughter has joined the Air National Guard. She aced her entrance exam, killed on her physical, and today she swears in. She’s a great swearer. She’s doing it for the sign-on bonus, the college program and the benefits, trying to build a secure future for her daughter (the Grandpea). Still, she’ll be at basic training for 5 months. The Pea will be with her daddy, but the separation will be hard on all of
them us. She’ll no doubt be spending a lot of time here at Camp Mimi.
3: I’ve learned so much from Amadeus. I love his easygoing nature, the way he interacts with the world and the deep impact that music has had on his life. He’s a good, good man, and his presence enhances my life immeasurably.
4: I’m related to a bandleader who was the musical director for Ed Sullivan, Jackie Gleason and Kate Smith.
5: I believe that there are few songs more beautiful than the Grandpea’s rendition of “Skidamarink a Dink a Dink.”
6: For five years, I lived in a trailer out in the middle of Nowheresville. We had no phone and no running water. Chickens would barge in through holes in the cabinets and lay eggs in strange places around our aluminum abode. This was during the period that my ex-husband and I refer to as our “Green Acres” marriage.
7: When I was a little girl, I had freckles, and I hated each and every one. My mother assured me that they’d fade as I got older, but I didn’t believe her. I tried everything short of washing my face in battery acid to get rid of them. This included eating burnt toast and scrubbing with lemons, like Jan Brady did on “The Brady Bunch.” Nothing worked, but Mom was right. Time took care of them.
8: Amadeus and I don’t have cable television, and we seldom miss it. We’ve become addicted to retro TV. Many of our evenings are spent with Perry Mason, The Untouchables, Peter Gunn and The Fugitive, unless the weather’s bad, in which case our evening is spent cursing at the bad reception.
Please forgive me if the preceding paragraphs are as blah and zig-zaggy to you as they are to me. You see, I am deep in the throes of withdrawal. I have once again given up my addiction to those cylindrical tubes of joy, cigarettes. Goodbye, happy yellow package. Goodbye my peace-pipe smoking, Native-American friend.
The decision to quit was motivated more by finances than health concerns, but the end result is the same. I’m bitchy, twitchy and foggy. It’s difficult to form sentences and my eyes keep going out of focus. I’ve been sleeping a lot, and I swear, I’m hallucinating. Earlier today, as I lay curled like a Cheetoh on the sofa, sweating and drifting in and out of consciousness, I glanced over at my husband and realized that he looked like a 6-foot tall Bic Lighter, though I kept this information to myself.
I’m determined to kick this addiction. Though I’ve tried and failed in the past, this time I’ve figured it all out mathematically, and I believe I can do it.
Estimated cost of cigarettes per year: $2,817.36
Gym membership per year: $530.00
Annual savings: $2,287.36
Of course, this doesn’t include the retainer for the trial lawyer I’ll need after I go insane and kill the first little old lady who runs over my heel with a grocery cart. Anyway, there’s a fitness center within walking distance of our house. I plan to treadmill and resistance train and Zumba my way through withdrawal, and save thousands of dollars in the process. I’ll keep you posted on my progress, once the tremors subside.
Good Godzilla, this is a long and rambling thing. Sorry. I hope you have a safe, happy and memorable Memorial Day weekend. Oh, and thank you for visiting moonbeammcqueen.com!**
*Techno-phobia: A deep and abiding fear of 21 century gizmos.
**No tobacco plants were harmed during the making of this post.