Archive for the ‘ Just plain nonsense ’ Category

Zombie Apocalypse

I spend a lot of time thinking about the zombie apocalypse. What I would do, how I’d survive, whether I’d even want to survive in a world over-run by flesh-eating corpses.

It’s the reason I’m curious about learning how to hunt. Why every time I go to the grocery store it reminds me that I really should learn how to cultivate and harvest my own food already. Why I waited until Aidan was one to wean him (call me crazy, but I didn’t want to have a starving baby and no formula if our little family had to hit the road in a hurry).

We actually do have a plan, should the zombie apocalypse ever occur. We know exactly where we’ll go, and how we’ll get there, and what we’ll do when we arrive. I’m lucky in that I have a husband who will entertain these kinds of thoughts with me, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. The last thing you want is to be that chick who gets herself a gun and then can’t get the safety off the thing in time to defend herself against something that’s trying to eat her face.

All that to say (and a full half of you wondering wherever I misplaced my marbles) I found a house that is so cool, so perfect it needs must be shared. Check it out:

It’s a house in Warsaw, Poland that was built by KWK Promes. Their intention was to make inhabitants feel as safe as possible. Some highlights:

  • Second-floor drawbridge entry
  • All the windows and doors can be covered by giant slabs of concrete and metal safety mesh at a moment’s notice
  • Indoor swimming pool, so you can work on your fitness without worrying whether there’s a raging zombie waiting to tear your face off

Seriously, go check it out. The pictures alone will blow your mind. I vote we take up a collection and build one in the US, and then move to it in the event of a zombie apocalypse. All in favor?

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It’s been a long time since I had the stomach flu, so maybe my memories are too hazy to be of much value, but I don’t think I remember the Bottomless Pit of Recovery phenomenon.

Do you know what I’m talking about? How, after a week of feeling like complete, unmitigated crap, you feel better and suddenly the world is an all-you-can-eat buffet and you’re slavering over rolls, and candies, and MOAR MEAT RAR.

My goodness, but I’m having a difficult time sticking to my newly forged healthy eating habits! I just want to celebrate life. With French toast. And peanut butter cups.

Lunches that would normally fill me up have me hungry again in an hour. It’s like the second trimester of pregnancy all over again, only this time there’s no ravenous fetus to blame. Just a newfound appetite and zest for life.

Regardless, I still must stick to my goals. This is not the time to get sloppy. I’m fifteen pounds away from my goal weight (a goal weight which I can’t actually ever remember being, though I’m sure I was once. I mean, it’s not like I skipped 170 lbs on my way to 217, is it?). Fifteen. Well, technically 14.4 pounds. But still. So close!

So even though I have my energy back and I rocked my workout at the gym yesterday morning and I feel like I could bench press school buses with my mind powers, I shall be reasonable. Stay on track. Not shovel tortilla chips into my mouth on Cinco do Mayo even though they go so perfectly with the too many margaritas I’m going to drink after Aidan goes to bed.

Now is not the time for foolishness. Now is the time for perseverence.

After I lose the weight, though? FOOLISHNESS. You can bet your sweet bippy that Wes is taking me out for some French freaking toast after I hit my goal weight.

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The Quest for Skinny Erika Week 11

You can tell how far apart the pictures have been taken by examining the length of my roots...

I have to make this post quick because I have a baby with a cold who’s decided a thirty minute nap is sufficient even though it is NOT. I can’t state that unequivocally enough. Thirty minutes? Is insufficient.

Anyway, I lost weight this week, almost called it quits on the whole eating well thing because apparently I am insufficient, and then I blogged about the whole thing for the Fitness Together Sammamish blog. If you feel like finding out how that whole shindig shook out, maybe you’d like to take a little trip over to their blog?

It’s here. And below? A penguin getting tickled. You’re welcome.


EMBED-Ticklish Penguin – Watch more free videos

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Creative Doldrums

I’m stuck.  Petra, the novel I worked on during November and finished at the beginning of this month, is done.  I’ve revised it for errors, I have a couple people reading it over for me, and for all intents and purposes I’m done with that novel until those people give it back to me with their ideas.

Contrary to feeling jubilant, this leaves me feeling…aimless.  I quit my job (granted, it was my four hour per week job) in order to pursue my dream of getting published.  When Aidan goes down for a nap, I fire up my laptop and stare at the most infuriating sight in the world: an insistent, blinking cursor.

I’ve got nothing!  I came up with a possible novel idea last week, but when I sat down to start it I felt like I couldn’t quit get a handle on my approach to the story.  First person or third person?  Set before or after or during the inciting incident?

Grrrrrrrr.

Everything I started was awful.  Just awful.  So then I started a short story based on another idea I’d had, but I hated that one too.  Suddenly I was feeling less “wannabe novelist” and more “idiotic idea-less person”.

So, I reckon I just need to keep writing, even if I hate every single thing that I come up with right now.  It’s just such a dismal prospect after the ease with which I wrote Petra.  I swear that novel wrote itself.  Everything about it worked for me.

Now I’m in the creative doldrums, which is a horrible place to be.  You know what, though?  Maybe you guys can help me come up with my next idea!

These polls will be open for one week, and then I’ll take the winner of each category and write a brief excerpt of the novel you helped me write and publish it on my blog for you to enjoy.

Thanks for your help!

Where should my next novel be set?

  • All over the world. Think Amazing Race! (9%, 1 Votes)
  • Seattle. Rain coat optional. (45%, 5 Votes)
  • India. Delhi belly! (9%, 1 Votes)
  • California. Surf's up! (18%, 2 Votes)
  • Siberia. Brrrrrr! (19%, 2 Votes)

Total Voters: 11

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Who should my main character be?

  • Bubbles. A goldfish. (9%, 1 Votes)
  • Lola. A newly-broke high-society woman. (36%, 4 Votes)
  • Balzac. A retired mime. (18%, 2 Votes)
  • Genevieve. A tall, mysterious parisienne with a dark past. (0%, 0 Votes)
  • Chauncy. A plucky taxi driver turned amateur sleuth. (37%, 4 Votes)

Total Voters: 11

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When should my novel be set?

  • Prehistoric times. (8%, 1 Votes)
  • Biblical times. (0%, 0 Votes)
  • Early 1900's. (33%, 4 Votes)
  • Present day. (59%, 7 Votes)

Total Voters: 12

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An Appeal for Minivan Drivers

This is an appeal for mercy, or maybe just grace, for minivan drivers.  We get a lot of flack, you know.  People hate driving behind minivans.  They assume we’re slow, crazy soccer moms too distracted to drive properly.  Maybe they’re just afraid that the bags of sleep deprivation we hold under our eyes are contagious.  Whatever the reason, it’s a reliable bon mot that people dislike minivan drivers.

I’d like to present a plea for understanding.  I fully admit that minivan drivers are not always the best drivers, but I’d like to temper this admission with the proposal that maybe everyone else on the road isn’t always the best driver either.  And maybe even for less legitimate reasons than minivan drivers.

Because as sexy as minivans are (RAWR), we’re not driving them for their aesthetics.  If you see someone tooling around town in one of these mammoth vehicles, chances are excellent it’s because they have at least one child.

Why does this qualify minivan drivers for special treatment?  Well, in case you’ve never had the pleasure of driving with a child of any age, let me explain just a few of the on-the-road situations the average minivan driver may be experiencing even while you cut them off in traffic:

  • It’s baby’s nap time, and he or she is screaming an unholy banshee wail that is destroying the driver’s eardrums to pitiful mush.  The driver, depending on how far away from home he or she is and therefore how desperate he or she has become, may or may not be trying to sing nursery rhymes, distract baby with toys dangled from an arm painfully extended backward and around, or propel the minivan up a ramp and over the cars separating him or her from a crib for wailing, miserable baby.
  • Car-sick child in the back who is threatening to vomit.  The back windows of a minivan don’t open and, as such, desperate driver is trying to rummage around for a barf receptacle all while trying to avoid running car into a ditch.
  • Houdini child has liberated him or herself from safety restraints and is giving the driver a small heart attack as he or she watches the child cavorting around the backseat.  Driver then has to alternately cajole or threaten child back into car seat while trying to merge through traffic (past people who won’t let him or her into their lane) to look for a safe place to pull over.
  • Driver hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep since…Well, it’s been so long that if you ask him or her a blank look will likely replace any cogent answer.  If you don’t think this merits the driver some understanding, you’ve obviously never been sleep deprived.
  • Siblings in the back seat are fighting/singing obnoxious songs/rubbing muddy feet on their clothes or the seats/annoying the stuffing out of you.  They say that no one knows how to push your buttons quite like your kids.  And they are absolutely right.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that minivan drivers are definitely not the best drivers out there (that honor probably goes to ambulance drivers) but we may have the most legitimate excuse for our poor driving.

So if you see a minivan driver pulling up close behind you, her crazy eyes willing you to merge out of her way because you’re not even going the speed limit, just do her a favor and let her pass.  She’s probably got at least one bodily fluid to clean up when she gets home, and she could probably use a break.

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