The rest of away

It’s taken me a bit to somewhat process this past weekend.
(Side note, I’m watching Teen Mom 2 and this is the second one of these dumbass girls I’ve watched act like an invalid after her boob job. What the actual hell is the matter with me, watching this nonsense?)
Anyway, we spent the weekend at my first comic convention. I was prepared and not prepared – I mean, I’ve watched the documentaries and the sitcoms and read articles, nerds are weird. I know this.
But it was a good opportunity for the podcast, so I went. With Prozac. Prepared to network and schmooze.
While there’s lots to tell you about the weekend in general (like hello awesome food!, and being in the same room as Billy Dee Williams’ pee, and the time I thought I might see a man die and I acted anything but admirably), right now I want to focus on the actual event.
How it was stinky. Crowded. Germy. Confusing. And absolutely spectacular.

We had preordered our tickets (which was my first time ever to use Passbook on my phone, and I totally felt like the Jetsons with my virtual roboticket), so there wasn’t much of a wait to strap on some armbands and stand in line with pretty much every variety of person on the planet.

Seriously, this was as good as people watching gets. Costumes and pajama pants, stilettos and flip flops, and absolutely everything else imaginable. Spandex. Sequins. Feathers. Rubber. Metal. Cardboard. Want to wear some ears and a tail? Awesome. Top hat? Help yourself. Flippers with no other hint of a costume? Have some nachos.

And yeah, they stunk. Some of them did. Some of them smelled fantastic – particularly these two chicks who I’m fairly absolutely concretely certain were prostitutes. But they were all so… connected. It was such a community of all these people who mostly didn’t know each other. There was trust in so many iterations – from the toddler in his Iron Man outfit who won a sword fight with a Stormtrooper to the mom of two in her steampunk corset and bustle who didn’t give a shit what you thought about her cellulite. It was freeing just to be there, to be able to take in the attitude of acceptance.

And also…the talent. It was a grab bag of you-pick-it eeney meanie miney holy balls. I have never been in tossing distance of so much ability in my life. It was amazing and humbling and completely exciting. I still don’t really have the right words.

I am not and never have been what anyone would call a cool person. I’m not with it or hip or anything the kids like these days. And in theory, neither were these people, right?

I mean, according to the movies and high school and anything I ever learned from band camp, these are the punch lines, right? The nerds, the geeks, the people who don’t fit in.

Except these people were amazing. They were real and colorful and…themselves.

That’s it. That’s what it was.

There was no apology in any of this past weekend. No one was sorry for being whoever it was they wanted to be. It was open and obnoxious, and the most authentic experience I’ve ever had.

I met some amazing people. Made some connections I will treasure. Hopefully some of the people I met will take a turn to post here sometime soon, and I’m excited about that.

For now though, I’m still sorting through everything I learned this weekend. About myself, about my world. About comic books and zombies. About how lucky I am to realize that just because there’s no one like me doesn’t mean there’s anything to change about me.

***all photos used with permission, courtesy of Keith Reed, whom I found on the Twitters.

 

Embracing the kook within

Historically I have never been what you would call a joiner.

It's all too much, man. Too much work.

It's why I don't have friends. It's why I find my own things and bury myself in them. Hell, it's why this blog has not died a raging fiery inferno death – because I do it whenever I please and big middle finger when I don't.

But my husband, he's a joiner. He gets all up IN all kinds of shit. And he does it because he's good at it. I support that. How could I not? It makes him happy. Happy him, happy me.

So in a grand gesture of solidarity and total outside-my-comfort-zone-ness, I am donning my brand spanking new JustUsGeeks tshirt, hauling around my weight in purple bluish memefont flyers, and going to a comic & toy convention.

Yeah, that's right. You heard it here first.

 

But you know what's crazy? I'm excited. Like, stupid excited.

So by the time you read this, Josh and The Guv and I (Catch that? Did you? Yeah, I said my name and his name but not Lucy's name. More on that later.) will be tooling off toward Kentucky. Or, well, Friday morning. So whenever you read this in relation to Friday morning. Because I think I'm going ahead and publishing this tonight.

 

See it? It's already happening. DARING.

Wish me luck!

Of boobs and smartphones.

Since 2007 when I left behind my BlackBerry Pearl for an outrageously expensive device called an iPhone, I haven’t really looked back.

Well, that’s not true.

I tell myself that I embrace change, that I’m flexible and open to new things and cutting edge and all that. Truth is, it’s all a lie. I mourned MySpace like a close personal friend. I stayed with Xanga until it started growing cobwebs. And when I made the leap from BlackBerry to iPhone, I hated it. It was delicate and I was going to drop it, I knew it (and I did, several times). It was so much new to learn. But I did. And I jailbroke and hacked and felt very Sandra Bullock in The Net. I got so comfortable with the iPhone that I kept getting them when it was upgrade time. Where I previously got a completely different phone every time I was eligible (tiny Nokia, anyone? or what about the Razr when it was a thing?), I got into a groove where just enough changed but not everything.

And in the meantime, the rest of the free world did pretty much the same thing.

So I had the same phone as everyone else. Big deal.

And then Josh started his podcast, and in among the episodes we got the drift that maybe there were different phones we could be into. Maybe we were missing out on some great stuff because we were so comfortable in our expensive glass shell.

Then, thanks to Craigslist, this happened:

slide-1-whiteMy first Android phone.
I liked it, really I did. The screen was sharp and clear and BIG, the camera wasn’t bad, and the weather was right there so I could see that it wasn’t raining nearly as much as I wanted.

It was a lot to learn, but I was excited about it. I learned about Android rooting and hacking and sideloading and all kinds of stuff.

But I missed my iPhone. I still had an iPad, and I missed how everything synced together so flawlessly. I thought that would go away and soon I would love this phone and OS just as much as I did my Apple stuff.

Just the opposite happened. The more time I spent with this phone the more I absodamnlutely hated everything about it.

I felt like a baby. A spoiled brat. Which I suppose I am, but if I know exactly how to fix a problem WHY WOULD I NOT DO IT?

So, this. And all was right with the world.

The end.iphone-5-thin-side-640x353

And now for something completely different.

I am a girl, and I have boobs. The question of feminism and bra-wearing is one that I have never understood, really. I mean, I don’t think it’s sexist that I don’t want to be all flopping around willy nilly. No one is using me as a food source at the moment, so let’s REIN THOSE SUCKERS IN.

But in the 20+ years that I’ve been wearing bras, it’s not something I have ever particularly enjoyed.

I’ve heard just like everyone else that some outrageous percentage of women is probably wearing an incorrectly sized bra. I remember that episode of Oprah. Just like everything else in life, though, I just assumed it did not apply to me. How stupid would I have to be to be wearing an illfitting undergarment EVERY. SINGLE. DAY?

However stupid it is, turns out I am just that amount of stupid.

bbreddit

I am a member of a community called reddit where everyone has something to say about absolutely everything. It’s fun times. The community itself is as big as the Interwebs, and it’s broken up into smaller sections called subreddits. The subreddits encompass…well, everything. From beers in the shower (r/showerbeer) to pictures of awesome abandoned stuff (r/abandonedporn) to, yes, how to properly fit a bra (r/abrathatfits). So after I read some stuff about how my bras were probably all kinds of wrong, I set about proving them wrong by measuring myself. Angels would sing in the key of 38D, lo and amen.

Except they were right, and the angels were singing more along the lines of 36H.

So that’s the tale of how I got a boob job just by changing bras.

keep calm and wear a bra that fits

Tomorrow’s post is about boobs and smartphones.

Been a while, yes?

A lot of times when I don’t post for a while its because I got out of the habit. More times it’s because I just flat have nothing to say.

I said as much on Twitter yesterday, which drew a response from the lovely Leslie in the form of this comic from The Oatmeal.

I’ll leave you with that.

How to be condescending

If you are on Facebook (and if you’re not, WHO ARE YOU?), chances are you’ve seen a link circulating recently about how your fascination with your electronic devices can make you miss your children’s lives.

If you haven’t seen the link, here it is. It appeared on my facebook wall more times than I can possibly tell you, always accompanied by “OMG, you must read this,” or “I’m crying. So true.”

Now, the content of this article is very heartfelt and very to the point. She talks about how being lost in one’s digital gadgets can be harmful to your relationship with your children, how the children learn that whatever is happening is more important than them, all sorts of statements that had just enough truth seeded into them to make any modern-day, smartphone toting, social media savvy parent feel like dog shit gone white.

Now, to be fair – she does dedicate a couple of sentences to how this is the modern world and sometimes we have to be accessible. Sometimes it’s necessary to allow laptops and smartphones into our lives.

Generous.

May I offer my point of view? I’m gonna.

I’m a blogger, and a full-time online student. I’m also married to a podcaster who is also a full-time student. Technology and the gadgets involved are completely enmeshed in our lives.

I love my iPhone. My iPad. To a lesser degree, the computers and such which inhabit my house – and there are a lot. I love to text message. I love to steal a few minutes in the day to check facebook, tweet something random, or peruse my blog stats for the day.

Certainly, as a society, we are more interconnected than ever before. I talk to my husband while he’s at work. I always have a camera because I always have my phone. And yes, I check my phone before I talk to anyone in my family because EVERYONE IN MY FAMILY IS USUALLY STILL ASLEEP SINCE I WAKE EVERYONE UP.

Some people escape into books. Some into painting or gardening or building rockets. This has always been the case. I don’t really see any difference.

Of course it’s important to acknowledge your family and the others in your lives. To look them in the eye, listen when they talk, and be fully present when they need you – but I don’t see that as having anything to do with being less connected. I see that as being a decent human being.

So, my response to the article is as follows:

I am a connected mom. I interact constantly and I learn constantly. My children know they are important. They know because I’m their mom. I bandage scrapes and icepack bumps and come running when they have nightmares. They do not have some woeful mourning inferiority because I sometimes play Jetpack Joyride.

Because I show them moderation, they learn that I am, as they are, members of a continuous mechanism. Everyone is connected, everyone is important. I don’t have to throw away my iPhone to be a good mom. I just have to use good sense. And I think that’s a better example than anything else.