ding! ding! ding! my 100th follower!

I have been waiting, I kid you not, months, if not 3 years, 7 months and 3 days, for my pathetic 96 followers (the number 96, not the actual persons following) to grow to an awe inspiring 100. And guess what? It happened. Today. (Check sidebar to the right to verify).

Ding! Ding! Ding! (Insert 3-second soundbite).

(Which I couldn't find so I inserted this 4-minute music video instead, Gunther's ding ding dong song. I suggest you click the arrow and listen as you read my dedication post.)

Okay so the best part of my 100th follower experience? I didn't even have to go trolling to lure this honorable personage to my blog table.

No, readers, he found me! Because with a name like ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL I presume he identifies with the male gender. One never knows these days.

Just to be sure, I also looked at his profile picture.

Yes, I would say he is , in fact, a he.

But then, as I was uploading ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL's picture so my other 99 readers could gender judge for themselves (or gendge for short, because I do believe we need a new verb for this specific purpose, don't you?) I noticed that his profile image was labeled "keanu." So now, unfortunately, ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL's gender certainly is further obscured.

Sorry for the ambiguity, ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL. Feel free to jump in and clarify.

By the way, if ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL had used this image of keanu as his profile picture I would have been even more confused.

But back to this amazing masterstroke of blogenius, which is ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL electing to become my 100th follower, or, 100th sexiest person alive as the case may be. In honor of this hallowed event, I have decided to dedicate one post to this incredibly kind individual. Or more precisely, his blog.

And thank the almighty gord lod, ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL's blog, Appellate Sky, is effing hilarious. A stroke of comic genius. I mean, whoever would have thought one could stay awake through, let alone emit laughter* throughout, a blogpost talking about the termination of the space shuttle program?

But it is true, my other 99 friends. Trust me on this. You will not be sorry to read about ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL's excellent adventure through the intergallactica in his 2002 Chevy Malibu. Nor about the 4000 ton dildo for moms. Who among us can resist that?

I am every bit serious about the laughter factor, that is, in case you think my attempt at acerbic wit undermines my sincerity. I also want to add that he is a southern gentleman who hails from the state of my maternal heritage, Louisiana.

So thank you ELLIOT MACLEOD-MICHAEL for jumping aboard and thank you to my other sexy, smart, kind and amazing 99 loyal followers (and to those 8 who routinely leave comments to prove your loyalty) for helping give my humble coffeeyogurt some semblance of blogospheric relevance.

And now? I am going to spend the rest of my Saturday morning reading more about that 4000 ton dildo.

*when a smile has an orgasm, as defined by urban dictionary.

digi-history in the making: first text ever from my husband

Whereas I am ever one-pay-scale-away from becoming a device-slut, it could be said that Sam has bought a ticket on the slow boat to digi-land.

As in,

- it was the year 2010 before he replied to his first email

- 2011 before he composed one from scratch

Put a nail gun or a miter saw in his hand and he is home on the range. Digital texting? Not gonna happen.

Until tonight. He is away tending to his mother. He and his sister are at her house. It's looking to be the first step along the path of moving her toward an assisted living situation. Convincing her. Not something any son or daughter looks forward to.

So while I was grocery shopping, I sent him a text for the first time*

A bit anti-climactic, wouldn't you say? Instead of replying, I just smiled. And waited for him to call, i.e., bypass the whole confounded texting nonsense. In his mind, not mine. Me? I lubs me some texting.

*Thanks to Mental P Mama and her Parentexting series, I was able to take a screen shot of her screen shot and pretend that I can take a screen shot of my own.

dead at 27

Amy Jade Winehouse

(14 September 1983 — 23 July 2011)

I am stunned but not surprised. Sad to the point of tears. I loved this young singer's voice. So bluesy and raw. This decade's Janice.

I remember so clearly the first time I heard Amy's music. A driveway moment. Saturday night. Sitting in the living room of friends. Vodka and cranberry in my hand. A vintage orange and pink tumbler.

Who is this? I loved what I heard. The newly acquired Back to Black, Amy's album destined to win six Grammies. I asked to replay the album later in the evening. I was so excited to hear someone new, someone who sounded this good. I never stopped loving her sound.

And then the drugs. Those reapers of so many young and troubled musicians. A tabloid photo showing her arms so thin, her skin so sallow. References to meth addiction. It occurred to me, She could die, too. I anxiously followed her up and down progress.

And now today.

Rest in peace, Miss Winehouse. You sure didn't seem to rest on this earth.

when faces talk

When it comes to cleaning it's always been this way for me - I don't need to clean so much as I need a reason to clean. This weekend I had my reason. My sister and two little nieces are flying down from the north country.

While I was cleaning and vacuming the car (twice a year affair, if that) I found myself smiling despite the one hundred degree temperature and the sweat dripping down my nose. I was thinking about how my sis and I get to laughing hysterically during our visits, mostly because she makes the most ridiculous faces.

Some people call it mugging.

Mugging seems to be a family tradition. My mother always made crazy faces, usually conveying surprise or mocking disapproval. Then there's my sister who routinely puts on clown faces. And now my daughter. When she was a toddler, my husband's sister remarked how animated she was. I didn't understand what she meant. She said my daughter was a lot like me and my sister in that way, that we were so expressive. Huh? I still didn't get it. What was so different about us? I was intrigued.

Many years later I do get it. I've been paying attention. Whereas I used to think everybody made faces when they talked, I've come to see that people's expressiveness ranges from rarely using gestures to regularly making faces to tell a story or emphasize a point or punctuate a joke.

My husband, Sam, and his sister are quick witted and funny but hardly ever make faces in the middle of their story. Maybe never because I can't think of an example where they did.

Some of my friends are dry witted and completely deadpan to the point of almost missing the joke. I like both kinds of humor but think I'm partial to the making faces thing.

Like for instance, my favorite comedians have a thing about mugging:

Martin Short

Kristin Wiig

Andy Samberg

I've also come to realize how much I make faces when I talk. Sometimes I'm overly aware of it. It's like looking out from my own face, noticing my expressions from behind my face and seeing their effect on people. And I wonder if I look ridiculous. If they wonder why the heck I find the need to make so many faces, why can't I simply tell a story without the goofy mannerisms.

What about you? Are you one of the expressives or one of the deadpans?

I want my, I want my, I want my HBO

And not for the movies. I've got Nitflex for that. I want to get HBO so that I can watch this guy:

what besties can teach us

I was reading Jenn's post about a group of bitter divorcees who were handing out advice to their kids on how to avoid a bad marriage: wait until you're at least 30 years old to marry.

I replied that I thought it was ridiculous to pick an arbitrary age and think that is the magic bullet.

I married around the age of 30 and I think I have a pretty good marriage so you might think the bitter divorcee advice holds true. But I dont' think it was just our age that made it so. I think it was the fact that he was available as often as I wanted him to be. He didn't weasel out of dates or show up late or not show up at all. He cared about my well being (in the bedroom, even). He valued me as a friend and as a person with thoughts and opinions that mattered.

Not exactly advice on marriage but a good parallel, I read an article by a therapist who suggested we teach our daughters to only have sex with someone who feels like a best friend, who acts like a best friend. Someone who you can talk to about anything, who you trust will stand by your side, who helps you when you need it, who is reliable, who shows up, who is kind in words and actions. Most of our kids know what a best friend looks like so it's tapping knowledge and feelings they're already familiar with.

What kind of advice would you give someone who wants to know the secret to choosing a healthy mate?

Painting: Besties by Danielle Fraser

blog neglect - guilty as charged

It's been so long since I've posted. I wish I could say the reason for my neglect is that I was vacationing at some gloriously beautiful destination like the one pictured above ... and ... well actually, I will say that.

Because it's true.

San Francisco. Muir Woods. Santa Cruz. Henry Cowell State Park. Monterey. Big Sur. My dream vacation. First trip to California (I know, I know). I loved every minute and have so much gratitude that I got to see it all with my husband and three kids.

That's Big Sur's McWay Falls in the picture. Taken by my own hands with my own trusty camera. No swiping of google images for this cup of yogurt. No sur.

And recovering from this vacation? An acute episode of post vacation blues, people. It has taken quite a lot out of me, this returning to normalcy. So please bear with me while I adjust to life back in Dulltown at my house on Hotashell Boulevard.