Revenge of the list

I could go on and on about how how much I loooooooove lists. Lists organize, prioritize, give a sense of accomplishment, provide motivation. My love affair with lists will never end. But today I discovered that they can also drive a person friggin' bat ess crazy.
I attended a workshop this week where I took some notes on a handout, as well as in my padfolio. The handout contained some interesting points that I'll surely use in the future. But in my padfolio I found this list:

• Red stars
• Skull smoking cig
• Scorpion
• Dice
• Heart with thorns bleeding
  
• Blood drops on claws
• Naked woman
• Fleur de lis
• Swordfish
• Cross
• Roses
• Amor heart
• Horseshoe
• Shark
• Beetle
• Sword thru skull
• Bird

People, tell me what the EFF that list could possibly mean! What in the world do those things have in common, and what the hell was I doing writing them in my padfolio? I stared, blankly, at the list for minutes. MINUTES. And then suddenly it dawned on me. (Ready for the big reveal? Sitting on edge? Nah, me neither) This is a list of items I saw on the fabric of a tote bag hung on the chair in front of me. I (now) clearly remember thinking, "It's times like this I wish I owned a camera phone." Because words alone cannot describe the oddity of this tote. I studied the tote for quite a while, examining the stitching to see if this was perhaps a homemade creation. Which would make sense, in my opinion. But as far as I could tell, this woman actually purchased this bag at a retail location. I quickly jotted down the list of items on the fabric, trying to cover my writing all, "I'm in third grade and don't want anyone copying off my spelling test," lest my fellow workshop attendees see what I'm writing and refuse to network with me afterward, saying under their breath, "WEIRDO." (Because that's what life is all about, apparently. Avoiding the term "weirdo.") After I had the list thoroughly documented, I closed my padfolio and became distracted by thoughts of making my own non-weirdo tote the coming weekend. Yeah, with all that extra time I have on my hands. HA.
Happy Friday, everyone. And since I'm a lemming (and wouldn't mind having a Bumbleride for me-self), hop on over to Feisty Frugal & Fabulous to enter to win a new Bumbleride Indie stroller!

Intro to the blog...again.

Hi folks,
Due to my inability to manage a blog "anonymously," I had to delete my very first post and repost with my pen name. Thanks for indulging my a) blogging blunders and b) NEEDZ ATENSHUNS!

Original post:
So here it is...my first blog post. I feel like I should launch into a big 'ole diatribe about why I decided to start a blog, what I plan to write about, share more about myself. I guess I could do all those things. Or none of them. The most overwhelming feeling I have is, "Are there really any people out there who want to read my thoughts/opinions/observations, or do I need to just open a Word doc on my computer like Creed Bratton?"

So let's start with the name of the blog: Moleskine Mama. I think I'm very clever ("How's that working out for you, being clever?") because the the name not only incorporates alliteration, which is a LITERARY TERMS I HAZ DEGREE IN RITING, but succinctly describes what I plan to post about: anything one might jot down in a moleskine notebook. Middle-of-the-night-that's-so-funny Jerry Seinfeld type musings, eavesdropping on people's conversations in Target, stupid things I do in my every day life, and maybe even a "that's so friggin' cute" moment while watching The Baby (TB). I might also talk about The Husband (TH). What I will not do is post photos of myself or my family, share personal details like my real name, or identify people in my life by their real names. Will posts have an over-arching theme, all tied together like a nicely packaged thesis? Probably not. Will they make you think deep thoughts? Even less likely. But I hope they'll make you laugh, or at least sympathetically chuckle, because apparently I think I'm funny and clever enough to write a blog people will actually read.
So let's launch into one of my favorite things: lists.
LIKES/INTERESTS:

• Lists (and crossing items off lists)
• Movies (and quoting them incessantly)
• Parentheses (apparently)
• Sarcasm
• Judging those I probably have no business judging
• Diet Coke
• Sports (mostly men's college basketball)
• Food Network
• Passively stalking people on Facebook
• Graphic design
• Writing
• Crafting/attempting Martha Stewart-esque projects
• Naps
• Post-it notes ("I'm sorry. I can't. Don't hate me.")
  

DISLIKES/AVOID LIKE THE PLAGUE:

• Most seafood
• Misusing the variations of "there," "your" and "to"(Want to see my nervous "Lisa Turtle allergic to Screech" twitch? Send me an e-mail saying, "Hi their! I just wanted too know if your going to happy hour tonight.)
• Superfluous apostrophes
  
• I guess most grammatical errors, although I'm sure you'll find plenty in these posts.
• Clowns
• Any political/religious/lifestyle extreme. Because really, no one is 100 percent correct on everything. Shades of gray people, shades of gray.

Cripes, this is like one of those e-mail chain surveys/Facebook notes on steroids! I get to talk all about mememememe! What shall I share next?

Take ON me

I don't claim to be the smartest person in the world. Nor do I wax philosophical about how much better I am than you (well, at least not to your face). But boy did I get a reality check this weekend. Inspired by "back in the day" photos people were posting on Facebook, I decided to give the new scanner a whirl and get some similarly aged photos up. With TH out for a guys' night, TB fast asleep and the house to myself, I browsed through old photos, chose which ones to scan, and plopped down at the computer to get those suckers up. Ahhhhh, MM, 'tis you who is the sucker. Scanning is an easy process, no? I opened the bed, put my photo face down, closed the bed and pressed the green button. Green means go, right? Press green button. Nothing. Press green button repeatedly, cursing scanner. FINE. Go to desktop and click on scanner icon. THUMP! "You're doing something completely forbidden" sound of death thump resounds. Some crap about not being able to scan comes up. Okay...so let's...just...use the troubleshooter? First step: make sure the scanner is plugged in. Well that seems easy enough. Locate cord, see cord is perfectly plugged into surge protector, pat myself on the back for reading instructions. Press green button. Press press press press press press press GREEN BUTTON. Scratch head, confused, and think perhaps that ONE outlet on the surge protector is faulty. Unplug, plug scanner back into a wall outlet. Press green button. You see where this is going, people. I've just wasted a good 10 minutes of my life trying to figure out how to operate a scanner I KNOW works, because TH installed and tested it just weeks before. So, adding to my brilliance, I finally give up and refer to the installation manual. Steps 1-4 have been established. Step 5: Turn scanner on. Well...um...wait, what? The beautiful graphic in the manual shows an arrow pointing to the on/off button on the SIDE of the scanner. OMG. In the words of Bif Tannen, "Well lookie what we have here!" An EFFING ON BUTTON THAT I FAILED TO PUSH BEFORE TRYING TO SCAN A PHOTO. Sheepishly press on button. THEN push green button. My photo is scanned in all of five seconds. Happily scan numerous photos, post to Facebook, go to bed exhausted at what an idiot I've become. (Side note: I own an Epson Perfection V500 Photo Scanner, and it is a wonderful piece of equipment. Quick, easy [unless you're an idiot like myself] and photos came out great. I have yet to try the slides and negatives scanning, but looking forward to doing that once I recover from my on button debacle.)
In other news, I had my first, defensive "Mama Bear" moment yesterday at church when the man in the pew next to me (holding his 8 week-old son) asked how old TB was and I said about 5 months. To which he replied, "Wow, she's SMALL!" And I'm all (in my head), "Wow, you can shut up now!" Really wanting to comment on how his baby looked like Benjamin Button. But I just smiled my good, Christian smile, and changed the topic. That is likely the first and last time this week I play the role of "nice Christian."

I never used to be this creepy...I don't think...

I have a problem. Since the wonderful world of Facebook was opened to me six whole years ago, I've slowly been falling deeper and deeper into the world of internet stalking. Not like dangerous stuff. More like calling someone and hanging up. And not even that direct. I can't help it. I looooooove knowing what other people are up to, want to see photo updates, want to know them, but not really KNOW them, you know? And at the same time, because I know I'm not the only nut job out there, I keep my privacy settings VERY private. I'm just a friggin' hypocrite. Or maybe I'm just selfish...give, give, give me to me, while I never provide anything in return. Who knows. Regardless, I need to curb this problem. What was once some innocent link-following on Facebook has turned into full-fledged Googling and blog searching. And LinkedIn! And Twitter! It's a GD smorgasboard of stalking platforms out there! So you heard it here first...I'm trying to quit. The first step to quitting is recognizing you have a problem, right?

Since I'm a poop, I haven't posted on there the numerous random things I've been thinking would make appropriate posts...too lazy, actually doing work/baby caring/life, whatev. So here's a list (LISTS! YAY!) of those thoughts...

1. I saw an advertisement the other day for Espresso Sliders. SLIDERS. What the eff? Is everything miniature now by default a "slider?" I love me some REAL sliders, so I'm a little miffed the term is now bastardized. What's next, tampon sliders (ooooh, pun!)? Come on folks, let's stretch those marketing brains a tad and not just fall on some, "but it's so hot right now!" word. P.S. there IS a term for what you're trying to sell: it's called espresso macchiato, bees.
   
2. Not that I don't have an appreciation for my life and how forunate I am to have it, but man, there are some times where I am just UBER grateful. Friends, co-workers, people I don't even know that I read about...they all have so many issues and problems and MAJOR things going on in their lives, that me being a whiny little bee about, jeebus, anything, makes me realize just how good I have it, and to shut the eff up.
   
3. I am hugely disappointed by the fact that my daughter will likely have numerous classmates named after Twilight characters. You know what, Edward and Jacob are great boy names...that are now and forever associated with the word "team." (Side note: I am on neither team, as Twilight is dreck, and yes, I'm stating that as my official opinion even though I've never read a page. And all my knowledge of Twilight is based on Burger King commercials advertising Team Edward and Team Jacob cups.)

Okay, off I go to NOT stalk people on the internet.

Mommy, mama, mum, mumma, mom, mommy, Lois...

(For those of you who don't watch Family Guy, I apologize for the incoherent post title above.)

Sooo...part of the whole reason I started this blog was because I was fairly (and still am) addicted to a) thebump.com (I'm what they call a "lurker," someone who never posts but just reads), and b) amalah.com. I was reading about and observing all these women who literally blog FOR A LIVING. Okay, not so much on thebump...most of those women just have glorified brag books as blogs, logging their daily interactions with their child(ren). Which, don't get me wrong, is a great and wonderful way to chronicle some of the most challenging and rewarding times in a woman's life. But a small handful of those "bumpies" (just threw up in my mouth a little bit for actually using that term) have some interesting things going on and I actuallly find myself liking what they're putting out in the universe. I think I think what a lot of readers do (and what those bloggers are trying to get across): THANK GOD SOMEONE ELSE HAS EXPERIENCED THIS WITH THEIR CHILD. Throw in a little wry humor, some cute baby photos, witty commentary, and you have yourself a mommy blog. So maybe that's what I'm going for here...I don't know yet. But do I have to "out" myself and actually put a face on my blog? Why can't I just be the Girl in the Green Scarf a la Confessions of a Shopaholic (HORRENDOUS movie, by the by)? I guess I'll worry about that once I actually have any semblance of a following.

Speaking of confessions, hypothetical readers, here's a random list of some...some mommy-related, some not...

• I read thebump.com boards, like, way too much. Although I never post anything, I totally, flat-out judge almost everyone on there...because, in case you didn't know, I'm a judge-y person. I know I shall one day receive my comeuppance, and I'm not looking forward to it.
• I hate myself for repeatedly getting the line, "I'm throwin' on my Louboutins" stuck in my head throughout the day. (But love the fact that I know how to correctly spell "Louboutins.")
• I am the kind of woman I would hate if I were not myself: I was back into pre-pregnancy jeans two weeks after giving birth. Two months after giving birth those jeans were hanging off me and I had to buy new jeans, a size smaller. Breastfeeding does wonders, people. I wish I could attribute exercise, a healthier diet, forgetting to eat...but none of those things happened. My "exericse" was lazily walking around the mall for an hour pushing a stroller, making numerous stops to browse. My "diet" was shoving whatever I could easily prepare one-handed into my mouth. And forget about forgetting to eat. FEED ME, SEYMOUR.
• The first couple months of motherhood I seriously doubted myself...and my ability to raise a child. And I have an angelic child. The Baby is so healthy, so happy and is a great sleeper. Yet, in those first few weeks, I literally found myself holding TB up to my face and seething, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?????" as she wailed because she was probably just effing gassy or something.
  
• I (not so secretly) aspire to acquire enough of a following (and blog acumen) to do what Amalah does...only with less cussing. Because I'm still terrified of my mother stumbling upon this and wringing her hands, her head hung low, muttering, "I didn't raise her to talk like that!" No, mother, you did not. And for that reason alone, I shall resort to "initial speak," which my brother instituted in his household upon having kids.
  

Well, folks, that's about all the ramblings I have for now...more (much, much more) at a later date.