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Happy Blovaversary… To Me!

About halfway through the day yesterday, I realized something:

It was my 1 year Blogaversary.

One year ago yesterday, I posted my first ever blog post, and got a totally awesome reaction from my family and friends. I can’t thank you guys enough for such a great response, as it helped give me the confidence to keep it up. (I won’t lie, it also gave my ego a little bit of a stroking…and it kind of needed it at the time…)

Today, my blogging isn’t nearly as frequent, or as much of a production as those first few posts…and maybe not quite as funny as I (tried really hard to be) was when I first started out…but I’m definitely more honest, and truly appreciative of the comments, shares, and support that I receive from my current blog followers.

I know my readership has dwindled, and I haven’t put a huge amount of effort into finding new followers…but I’m in kind of a recharge and reevaluate mode.

When I first started, I was very unsure of myself and the terrifying world that is Social Media. Luckily, I had irreplaceable help from some truly great people, and if it hadn’t been for them, I probably wouldn’t have gone from, “Hey…blogging sounds…kind of…interesting…” to “Oh, hey there, I’m a blogger. Here’s my business card.”
Like I said, however, I just had no idea of what I wanted, or who I was as a blogger. Now I’m starting to get ideas.
I’m going to ease up on the “features.” This isn’t a blog that is organized enough to have a “weekly this,” or “monthly that.”

Except the Monthly Male. I might make him the Sometimes Male, as he’s got some really good posts and people seem to respond to them well.

Wait. Let me retract that. Sometimes Male probably isn’t the right title, as Paul is Always a Male, and I don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression. Sorry about the accidental hit on your masculinity, Paul. I’m going to stop talking now.

Anyway, I’m just going to stick to the posts. I’m going to continue to be honest, and I’m going to do a much better job of responding to your comments…because comments are the biggest reward you can get as a blogger, and I can’t believe I did such a crappy job of ignoring those rewards.

So, hey guys, thanks. Thanks for being awesome, sharing my posts when you think people would like them, and for sticking with me in my very first year. A whole bunch of people start blogs all the time, and most of them quit after a couple of months. If it weren’t for you guys and your super-cool powers of being nothing but the best, I’d probably have turned into a diaper or a dish-wand by now.

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Excuse me, but I think you left your adulthood over there…

As I was leaning against my kitchen counter this morning, taking a sip of my half-caff coffee (I didn’t have enough decaf and didn’t want the grinder to wake the baby), I took a look at the alphabet magnets on the fridge and had a realization that hit me like a, well, a refrigerator.

My God, I’m an adult.

Granted, this realization involved a fact of which I am plainly aware; I had just forgotten it for a few moments. This happens quite a bit, actually. Usually it’s when I’m running around the apartment after a shower, trying to find my pants, that I walk in and realize there is a baby taking a nap in the living room. A baby…who was created as a result of being married to my husband.

When the hell did that happen? (Okay, obviously, I know when that happened. If you’re not trying to be a jerk, you’ll get my drift.) Wasn’t it, like, yesterday that I was staring longingly at the yuppy/hippie (I call them yippies) men in the student union, positive that I was going to die alone and unhappy? Or with someone and terribly bored? Or as a direct result of eating the campus Taco Bell?

Let me stop where I am before I really piss off some people: I do not believe that being married and having a kid are the main criteria used to determine someone’s status as an adult. That just happens to be how my adulthood has taken form. I know that there are plenty of single people without kids out there who are more adult than I am.

Anyway, when I have these “epiphanies of the obvious,” something that always pops up in my head are little chunks of wisdom I wish I could give to a younger Lauren. Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy with where I am now, but had I known a few of these things, I may not have been so stressed out.

I would love to go back in time and say:

On high-school crap:
Hey. You’re not Molly Ringwald. Your high school stuff does not have enough importance to warrant a full-length movie. Only a very small percentage of your high school problems are actually going to matter in the future, and that percentage probably doesn’t have much to do with high school.
On not drinking alcohol:
Keep it up. A few years from now, you’re going to be very proud of yourself for never having to lie on your stomach in a pool of cornfield-water while hiding from the cops.
On the ever-stressful issue of college theatre:
Hmm. Guess what? You’re attending college in a very small university town. The fact that you didn’t get cast does not mean that you are the world’s worst actor. Now, in a few years, you may notice your ego inflating. Let’s also remember that, for the same reason, getting cast in a bunch of shows does not mean you are the world’s best actor, either. Nobody likes an obnoxiously pompous Theatre major.
On the inevitable occurrences of emotional angst:
Yeah, I know you’d rather grab some Mint Chocolate Chip and watch the Princess Bride, but you should really start on that paper. No, seriously, Past Lauren, you should start on it now.

As I said, this whole “realization” thing is something that happens quite a bit, so I’m always thinking of new things to tell my younger, less emotionally mature self. Not that I’m the world’s most emotionally mature woman, but I’d say I’ve definitely obtained some wisdom. Either way, I’m sure there will be more Advice for my Younger Self in the future.

Speaking of realizations…I’m off to work on the budget.

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Hey! What did Winter ever do to you!?

Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know. “It makes driving crappy.” And then, “It makes me have to scrape my windows.” Oh, and also, “It makes my gas bill go through the roof.” And finally, “I can’t wear flip-flops anymore!”

I don’t really have anything to say that would make traveling in snow remotely enjoyable, but I do think it’s time we gave poor, old Winter a break. Remember when we were kids? And, oh man, when we looked out the window and saw big, fluffy flakes falling out of the sky, how excited we would get? I do. I especially remember staring up into a big gray sky that still managed to hurt my eyes a little bit, my tongue stuck way out, trying to catch snowflakes. And then I’d get dizzy from staring up for so long and I’d fall down on my butt in the big snow pile by my feet. Those were the days…Those were the magic days.

I’m a firm believer in a sacred, age-old Philosophy called Davism. Dave is my dad, and I’ve witnessed many great gems of wisdom spew from his mouth in my lifetime. Granted, he has recycled some of his philosophies from his dad, Chuck. This is an even older line of thought, Chuckism, and will take much further study before it is properly understood. One of my favorite mantras of Davism is, “You’ll just have to get happy in the same pants you got mad in.” I think that is what wise, old Winter is saying to all of us. I believe we owe it to this abandoned and betrayed Season to take a good look at our Winter pants and decide how we can be happy in them once again.

First of all, beverages. Hot beverages. Next time you’re pissed at Winter, make yourself a big mug of hot cocoa (I’ll post my Grandma’s recipe for homemade cocoa at the end of this—it’s pee-your-pants good.) and wrap both hands around it and smell it like you’re on a Folger’s commercial. How can you not appreciate the Winter magic of this? (Note: Maybe wait a minute or two before wrapping both hands around said mug of cocoa…I don’t want any lawsuits over this…)

Secondly, slippers. All winter clothes, actually. If you hate Winter, but don’t have a pair of slippers, that may in fact just be your problem. Before you say anything too slanderous about the Season, go out and buy a pair of slippers. Fuzzy, simple, squishy, firm…There are so many options. Personally, I prefer my old, gray and blue flat-footed slip-ons that my mom bought me in sixth grade (And, no, my feet haven’t grown since I was 12. So what.). Last, but most definitely not least, (for all you baby-lovers out there) footie pajamas. What. Is cuter. Than a baby. In footie pajamas? Nothing.

Thirdly, books. Or movies, or entire seasons of TV shows, or music. Another gift that our dear Wintry friend bestows upon us is that heightened sense of Awesome that surrounds our favorite media when it’s cold outside. Give me one of my seventeen copies of Wuthering Heights (I may have a problem), a big fuzzy blanket, and turn on some John Mayer (pre-dumbass John, of course) and you will find a content-as-a-kitten me wrapped up in some perfect Winter magic…And then I’ll get up and shut the music off because I can’t ever concentrate on a book when there’s music playing…But then I’ll get back under my blanket and be content once again.

Now, if you don’t like hot beverages, winter clothes, or any kind of indoor-entertainment, then I don’t know what to tell you. I guess it looks like you’ve peed in your winter pants and the only way to get happy is to either take them off (trust me, though, it’s cold out there) or find a blow dryer and pretend it didn’t happen. Either way, we won’t tell…(Because we’re Winter People and we are tolerant, forgiving, and attractive.)

Grandma Anderberg’s Hot Cocoa:

½ Cup sugar
2 Tbsp. Baking Cocoa
½ cup water
Pinch salt (to taste)
2 ½ cups milk

Cook sugar, Cocoa, and water on stove till smooth. Add milk (you can do more or less milk, depending on your preferences) and salt. Let the glorious mixture cook till it is the temperature you like, pour it into your favorite mug (I pick mugs according to my mood), wiggle your toes in your slippers and get nostalgic about something. You could always throw some peppermint schnapps in there if you get too nostalgic, but that, of course, is optional. I personally prefer this particular cocoa to be innocent and untainted.

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FFML

WARNING: I’m about to drop an F-Bomb. Just so you know. Only one, though. Promise.

So, this has been bothering me for awhile now. I’m sure most of you are pretty aware of the term “FML.” If you’re not, (sorry, Grandma…) it means “fuck my life.” And I HATE it. It’s predominantly an internet term (phrase?), but people text it and say it and it just makes me angry.

I know, I know. I love my self-deprecating, sarcastic humor just as much as the next person, but this one really pokes my bear. As much as I want to rant and rave without any kind of organized fashion, I will fight the urge, and lay it out for you:

There are a few different categories of FML:

1. Self-inflicted
2. Really. Really?
3. Okay, yeah, that sucks, but still…

If you go to the website www.fmylife.com, you will find many stories people have submitted that they feel are worthy of the label “FML.” I’m not sure if this site is the origin of the term or simply a perpetuation of it, but either way, it’s party central. Super Lame-O Pity Party Central, that is.

The most predominant and, in my opinion, unforgivable style of FML is the “self-inflicted”FML. Here is a (paraphrased) example:
“Today, my female significant other broke up with me via text. She is sitting in the same seat as me on a long car trip, and we still have a few hours to go. FML.”

Okay, buddy. First of all, what did you do to make her dump you? Secondly, and more importantly, whose fault is it that your relationship has become so technodependent that this chick is Dear John-texting you? Yours. And hers. Not your Life’s. Your Life has been busy providing you with plenty of opportunities to communicate like an actual human being. Next!

The next kind of FML is just, well, stupid. I file these in the “Really. Really?” section. Things like (and though I’m paraphrasing, I’m not making it up):
“Today, I called my out-of-state parents to see if they would use their credit card to order me a pizza. They said no. FML.”

Really. Really?
No, but seriously. Really!?
Obviously, this FML doesn’t warrant too much confusion on why it’s stupid. I could say a lot of things, but what I will say is that if that were my son, I’d pay for a plane ticket to get to his house as fast as I could and slap him across the face with a piece of pizza. And then I’d eat it in front of him. Moving on…

This last FML, filed in the “Okay, yeah, that sucks, but still…” section, is a little different. Time for an example:
“Today, I got home to find my apartment broken into and completely ransacked. All of my furniture and valuables were gone. FML.”

Okay, so, yeah. That really sucks…however…let’s check a few things. A) Are you still alive? B) Do you still have family and/or friends who love you? C) Is the robber still in your apartment? (You should probably check this one first, now that I think about it…)

If the answers to these questions are, “Yes, yes, no,” then I’d say rather than “F-ing” you, your life is doing a pretty good job of taking care of you. Maybe you should get off the internet and try to figure out how you’re going to clean up your current situation.

Not to get all Debbie Downer here, but what really bothers me is this: In a culture where suicide is running rampant among younger and younger demographics, treating life as something that is not only casual and trivial, but aggressively trying to screw you over, is just plain dangerous. Instead of actively pursuing ways to make life more fulfilling or even just tolerable, people are running to their computers or phones to whine to the entire universe about how they are flippantly taking their lives for granted. This is not a healthy trend. So I say “F-it.” FFML.