Obsession of the moment. I would like to be in the state of this song instead of fall-induced antsiness. This may be spawning a Diahann Carroll thing as well. I just worked Nancy Wilson out of my system, too. I used to really dismiss the more mellow jazz women, preferring screamers like Dinah Washington or crazy virtuosos like Sarah Vaughn. I guess it’s time to shut it down when I embrace Jane Monheit. BLECH. I saw Porgy & Bess done at the Seattle Pops on Saturday night. It was so weird to hear Bess done as a proper soprano and not what Sarah Vaughn did with it.
Archive for the ‘VOGODA VIGODA VIGODA’ Category
Today in Twitter Direct Messages…
Real post coming soon, Dorrie!!
Today I bought a 1981 El Camino Super Sport. It is in wonderful, amazing, marvelous shape and I feel so lucky. For the price I paid, I thought I would get a fixer and spend three-plus years ordering parts and coaxing it along. I would have preferred something drivable, so I feel like I struck gold.
I’ve been wanting an El Camino since before I had Franny. I spent a lot of time watching the internet for deals, and getting a grip on reasonable prices, and seeing what was out there during my long two years in court. I told myself once it was settled, I would look in earnest. I happened to take a break on Friday and peeped the ads and there it was.
My gut said “yes, I think so” when I saw the ad, and then seeing the fat files documenting all the replaced parts and work records (one for the body and interior and one for the engine), I said OH HELL YES. It’s drag race ready and it really jumps. I love it SO MUCH. Welcome to the pregame show for my midlife crisis.
So, I feel like it’s important to give people insight into what it’s like to be a fabulous, glamorous blogger. Hint: it’s a lot like being a normal person, except instead of just living your life, you pay for server space and make bad puns a lot. Also handy if you’re in court occasionally.
This morning lyricsbay.com, a site known to many as what you hit when you’re arguing about whether a 900 years old Weezer song is about meth or alcoholism, for example, or you realize you’re having an emo moment. “Yes,” you say, trying to look around the eye-searing blingee shit on the site, and ringtone offers. “This 10cc song has really captured the agony of my soul today.”
Once I linked to a page on lyricsbay. Once a long, long time ago. Or, as they put it, I have been affected by a blackhat SEO scheme. Apparently they are in trouble with an analytics thingie called Google Penguin, which is a thing I don’t care about because it’s related to SEO. They have also emailed my bloghost about this “violation.” I think it’s a funny look at what Google’s up to, anyway.
Well, I will let the email speak for itself:
We, lyricsbay.com, have received the following alert message for all services of our website in Google Webmaster Tools:
“We’ve reviewed your site and we still see links to your site that violate our quality guidelines. Specifically, look for possibly artificial or unnatural links pointing to your site that could be intended to manipulate PageRank. Examples of unnatural linking could include buying links to pass PageRank or participating in bad link schemes.”
Hence, we analyzed our backlinks to look for artificial or unnatural links from the sites that are linking to us. Unfortunately, your website falls under this category, unintentionally making Google consider us participating in fraudulent link schemes.
Below is the list of the pages of your website that we’d like to be unlinked from:
Finally, please keep in mind that unlinking will be beneficial to both our and your/your client’s sites and do not offer paid unlinking since we never put these links ourselves. Apparently they are relults of blackhat SEO campaigns conducted by our competitors (unfortunately there appears to be no way to track and identify the abuser), and our both sites were involved 50/50% due to being vulnerable to such kind of attacks, which makes us believe that it will be fair if you or your client unlink from us free of charge, as courtesy.
Please note that in case we receive no positive response and you/your client will not unlink from lyricsbay.com we will have no choice but include the history of communication with your organization(s) into the reconsideration request we will submit to Google to lift the “unnatural backlinks” penalty. Thank you for understanding our position.
cc’d: My blog host
Rest assured, I am a human being and a blogger. There are no blackhat violations here. I scoff to think that in all the history of blackhat violations, anyone has come in and sinisterly put a single link on a post about getting an IUD inserted (oh, this is probably a good time to mention I’m not a gentleman). If anything, it’s more of a jimmyhat violation. GET IT? Because VAGINA? Ok, that was awkward.
Point being, I don’t have ads. I don’t participate in SEO schemes. I used to do a little SEO work, so since you’re willing to let me unlink you “free of charge, as a courtesy,” I am willing to give you a little unsolicited advice, free of charge. You can improve your SEO ranking by sucking less. Look, I even found this journal article about how you can suck less: http://www.searchenginejournal.com/how-to-protect-your-site-and-recover-from-a-google-penguin-penalty/65292/ Hmm, wow. An online journal about SEO optimization. They don’t even have to pretend to be not about the SEO benjamins. That’s meta.
But I digress. Feel free to forward this communication on to Google as proof that I am not some kind of nefarious jimmyhat organization. I’m sure picking off one blogger at a time who was giving your site free clicks for no reason will really improve the your Google Penguin rankings.
P.S. Get a PR person
P.P.S. Hi Google!
Oh, they responded already!
On Tue, Jul 16, 2013 at 6:36 AM,
Please let me make myself clearer. Google banned our site blaming us in buying links, it’s 100% not your fault, and we are asking you to unlink as courtesy only because we have to play according to google’s rules. Removing that links would be much appreciated.
You were quite clear. You’re asking me to remove a link to your site. You are welcome to submit the above correspondence to Google as evidence that you were not buying links at iasshole.org. I’d even be happy to speak to the Google myself if you want to set up a conference call. Alternately, you may paypal me ONE MILLION DOLLARS as a courtesy for unlinking you.
Have a nice day,
I’ve moved five times in the past ten years, as I could afford something better, as we were outgrowing places, and so forth. Pretty standard for renters with young kids, I’d imagine.
As a result, I’ve had a lot of neighbors. Some places I didn’t know them at all, and some I knew all of them. I had a neighbor throw a two-day party under my bedroom window in the summer who later threatened to kill my indoors-only cat for pooping in his bushes (it was just Nietzsche, you see, who could go incorporeal at will, and not all the other outdoor cats in the neighborhood). This was probably the worst one. I had a sweet old Swedish grandma type. I had a Moonpants. I’ve tried to be a good neighbor when I could, and most people have done the same.
However, I am now, decidedly, The Bad Neighbor.
This is funny to me, because we moved to a neighborhood where you barely see your neighbors. This, no doubt, lent a hand in our immediate robbery after moving in. To this day I cannot get the neighbor across the street to even acknowledge my existence as his neighbor, in spite of directly greeting him multiple times and very obviously coming in and out of my fence. He does talk to P. so I suppose that’s something. Point being, it’s just not a very social street.
It took eight months, but I finally made contact recently with the lady next door. It turns out she’s the one who left an anonymous cake on our porch right before Christmas. I thought about going door-to-door and asking who was nice enough to leave us a “welcome cake” as the unsigned note said, but then it was Christmas and I didn’t want to bother anyone. I was weeding the front bed when she walked up.
“Hi, I’m the one who left you the cake on your porch for Christmas,” she said first thing.
“Oh, that was you. I wondered. Thanks!”
“Well, there was a note.”
“I’m sorry, it was unsigned. I wasn’t sure,” I said.
Strike one: I was an Anonacake Ingrate.
She went on to ask about my cats and told me they were pooping in her flowerbeds.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “I can give you some tips…” She interrupted me then and took her leave shortly thereafter, but not before she took in the giant gold vampire head on my porch and my children and me and my flaming red door. I got the picture we were not her first choice for neighbors.
On the border of our mildly conflicted nations there is a laurel hedge. P. has been working to cut it back over time since it was about eight feet wider than it needed to be to still provide a privacy hedge. I wasn’t thrilled with how it looked at first, especially as I saw holes appearing, but it has filled in quickly as they usually do. Then he moved on to another shrub and proudly showed me the bonafide face-height hole which exposed one of her windows. When we moved in you could not even see her house. I panicked.
“We have to go to the hardware store NOW!” I said.
“Wha? Why?” he asked.
“NO TIME TO EXPLAIN, GET IN THE CAR.”
As it turns out, there was time to explain, since the hardware store is five minutes away.
“We need a bamboo screen thingie or something,” I said.
“Well, we’re looking at ten years here, probably. She’s not that old. She’s already mad about the anonacake and our cats. I think we should plug that hole.”
He got it and we did.
Then there is the matter of my address. I filled out the little form to change my address before moving, as you do. I filled out P’s at the same time, since address changes were on my to-do list for moving. I double checked the address before dropping them in the mail. They were both the same, and correct, and as neatly printed as my deformed-from-years-of-typing hand could make them. P. started getting mail, and I started getting *some* mail. At first I didn’t think I was missing anything, since I got the deluge of catalogs you get when your mortgage broker and real estate agency sells you out.
Within a couple of weeks, our letter carrier figured it out–all my mail was going a couple of blocks up the street. One number had been entered incorrectly at the post office. Of course the letter carrier told me I filled out the form wrong, to which I said nothing, because it doesn’t matter. She put in for a change and all my first class mail started being forwarded correctly. The poor neighbor whose house my mail was going to had dutifully bundled some of my mail and had passed it along to the letter carrier, along with an angry note scrawled in pencil, “Figure out your mail forwarding! I’m going to start sending this back!!” Actually I’d prefer that to the note and the puddle my mail had been dropped into. Then the sender would know the mail was going to the wrong place.
Because of this early mistake, apparently this neighbor is now doomed to get my junk mail for all time. I still get junk mail forwarded with angry pencil scrawl, which I recycle. I know my neighbor isn’t walking it up the street, because I have a locked mailbox. The letter carrier is “forwarding” these pieces up the street. I thought about dropping them a note letting the neighbor know what the situation is, but I am not sure I want someone who is this angry to know where I live. So I will keep recycling the junk.
This weekend I am going to finish up an application for a writing fellowship that’s due Monday. It’s drafted, I just need to make sure it’s perfect. And then I will enjoy this lovely rainy weather. Happy summer. :(
So. Small claims court. We meet for the first time. I have before me, I kid you not, almost twenty pieces of evidence. Emails, invoices, signed court orders, bank statements. And they all have Post-Its with labels and numbers that correspond to a handy timeline that dates back to 2011. I’m leaving my crazy eyes at home, but I have put my angry eyes in my butthatch.
Here is my prediction: the GAL will skate in, make a sad lament about how she’s claimed bankruptcy so my lettuces are long gone, and heavens to Bukowski should she be responsible for any of my legal fees?
I am supposed to be writing right now and for the next twenty minutes but I am a weeny bit distracted. I only got through about 400 words before my brain started scrabbling at me. I’ve been averaging about 2k words a day lately, now that this thing’s picked up steam. I’m writing on my lunch hour, the entire thing, and from 5 a.m. to 6:30. And usually while my kid’s at her therapist. I feel I’m somewhat hopeless as an editor, so I’m trying to write tight now. I’ve created a pretty detailed outline of the whole thing.
I should back up a little. Last month I started another story that’s in the same universe of the story I wrote in March and April. I thought it would be shorter, and comedic. And then in the first part of it I killed someone off and had the main character discover it, at which point it revealed itself as a murder mystery and I realized I had enough plot for a book. I am hovering around 40k words and am working on chapter 9, which is really exciting, because in the last three chapters they are going to figure out who dun it and catch the fucker. I feel like I need to pants for about 10k words, at which point characters and plot points will reveal themselves like out of some spirit animal voodoo haze, after which I need to start plotting if I’m going to actually finish.
This is going to sound bonkers, but I will tell you I am trying to have a healthy relationship with writing right now, because now that I’ve killed the fear I felt for so many years it is absolutely consuming me. I lay in bed and think about writing. I think about it in the shower, on my commute, etc. This story I’m writing right now came to me as I was half awake and I actually stood upright and sleepwalked to my dining room and wrote the synopsis. I know I can get single minded about things but so far I don’t see a down side to this one, really. It’s getting me into bed at a reasonable hour and I feel more creative and articulate during the day, and like when I’m at work working I’m, um, working because I am not thinking about an alcoholic mutated donkey who has human hands who starred in two terrible movies called Donkey Surgeon and Donkey Surgeon II. Okay, I do think about Herman Ignacio at my desk sometimes.
ANYWAYZ. Wish me luck today, or wish me to choke on a peach pit. Whatever! This is my update. I’ll be back. Oh, and I’ll be back with a bonus. My lawyer is in real grown up court today with SeaFed doing something ELSE. HA. Way to bury the lede, SJ.
Kiss the brown star,
I was reading an article on iasshole.org
Girl no you were not
…and I wanted to know if you offer guest posts from different authors.
Okay, I’m listening.
I thought it would be nice to have an opportunity to present a piece of content from our perspective that would engage with your blog’s readers. Our goal is always to provide high quality content that can naturally attract traffic and links.
And I lost my erection again! DAMMIT. Think of cancer oh yes sexy cancer wait there it is again
I work as the Social Media manager for
We can provide more examples more related to your site if desired.
I need some SEO shit up in here about ass-to-ass STAT. Puns intended, including some puns I did not even write down.
If there are any topics that you would like to see written about
or ideas you’ve had for posts but not had time to work on
Video of an exploratory scope from stern to stern. What, exactly, is happening with my lower esophageal sphincter?
Looking forward to hearing back from you.
Fuck. Fuck this! Fuck you! I’m doing this anyway! You cannot stop me!
This is not a hack. I am just psyching myself up to write more. Maybe just for ten minutes today, though. Ok.
I have a flu bug and if you tapped me I would be hollow right now. I really hope I can go back to work tomorrow because I like eating and buying ugly clothes. But since I am here, I will write a little. FUCK YOU, anxiety and self-doubt.
I want to talk about something else but my brain is pretty one-track today. And a little white noise. I may end up deleting all of today when I am done.
This is a request and dedication to Krumpy, whose texts have been cheering lately, possibly not the intended effect: Don’t Smoke in Bed
Here’s a great thing, and I am not sure if that’s an ironic statement or not yet. When I was younger I used to like to have sex, at like 11 p.m. If you asked me to fill out a form, I would have said something stupid like “Anytime is good for sex, bra” but the truth is I was a night owl. Maybe more like a night vole, because I have crap night vision. Awake, enjoying myself, but will probably get eaten by a hawk or lawnmower.
Nowadays sex is like “When am I conscious, this old person that I have morphed into? Business hours are between 5 a.m. and 9:30 p.m. (No orders may be placed after 9:15.) Ok so 7:15? Child is doing the dishes? Sounds good.” Yes, I made my Feral Dwarf do the Easter dishes. She does not get to be Strudel for this post because that is a term of endearment. She was cross about this injustice. Dishwasher loading. A crime against her people (short lazy ones). She does not do the big heavy ones or the super greasy ones. Just load the dishwasher and wipe the counter and EARN YOUR KEEP ALREADY, A LITTLE AT LEAST.
There is dish bitterness. There is no lock on my door. (That changes this week.) Feral Dwarf BARGED into my bedroom last night because she found the answer “Planning a muffin party” unsatisfactory with regards to her demands about WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE. Door opened, bang, a la Swazye kicking the door down Roadhouse-style.
“Oh…what? WHAT?” she said and then retreated back to the kitchen again. I heard maniacal laughter echoing down the halls.
“Poor thing, she has finally snapped, blinded by taint,” I said to her father. “I better go check on her.”
I threw my robe on and walked into the kitchen, where Feral Dwarf was still laughing her moronic little head off.
“Are you ok,” I said, attempting to be concerned and parental. “Do you understand why it’s not nice to barge in on people.” I cannot produce a rising inflection when I am in serious parenting mode.
“Was that…THE DIRTY DRAGON DANCE?” she asked me. Ever since Buffy had sex with Spike and broke the house it has been henceforth been known as the DDD, as in, “What is Buffy DOING with Spike??” “HA HA HA THAT’S HILARIOUS,” she continued. “THAT IS THE MOST HILARIOUS THING. I AM SO TELLING FRANNY.” Wow, was this conversation getting away from me.
Also, she said this last bit in tattle voice. Tattling on me that I was having sex, me, the person who had sex to make her. I think the cat’s out of the bag on that one.
“Okay, Franny knows, because it is a normal thing that adults do,” I said. Then I said something stupid, because everything you can possibly say as a parent at this point is going to be A. stupid and B. indelibly written on your child’s memory. Good luck with this one, I mean it. “You should be glad that we like each other. Really.”
Peals of laughter! Never has there been a jollier dwarf in all of North Seattle!
She should be glad we like each other, too. Shit is hard, man. And almost didn’t work out at all. A summary of my early 30s: I got an IUD in and literally wanted to die and it almost ruined everything that is good in my life. YMMV.
Later FD’s dad reminded me that I got the IUD in because he was afraid then to get a vasectomy! Afraid! I sincerely enjoy when I am reminded of something to be mad about. WHY? I am not actually going to be mad about it, but for like ten seconds I can shake my fist and go “YOOOOOOO GUY.” It’s good for you.
I tried a different tack, which really, I should have just changed my name and moved to Fife at this point.
“Do you…know…how you got here?”
She stopped for a minute, thought.
“Well, not really, no. Sort of? Wait, LIKE THAT? HA HA HA! So that is what all the noise is about in there,” she said. “I am so telling Franny* about all of this.”
Franny came home and it was pretty much forgotten then, but I am sure they’re going to gossip about it on the way to school. I took my customary Sunday night shower, which is so relaxing and kind of puts a period on the weekend and gets off whatever I have done to myself that day (yesterday was FINALLY finish painting the hall!). Franny was clingy as usual and wanted to come in, so I told her she could and she hung out and talked about her weekend while I conditioned my hairs.
“Sooo your sister was kind of…a thing happened tonight,” I said.
“Yes, your sister walked in on me and P. tonight while we were doing an adult thing that adults do together.”
“You mean the dirty dragon dance?” Franny asked. “Ha ha, oh, Mom. That sucks.”
Sigh. “Yes, that. I just wanted to give you a heads up, because she is freaking out with the hilarity of it all, and will want to talk to you about it. So let me know if there’s anything you want to discuss with me later or if you have questions about anything relating to sex IN GENERAL, okay?”
YOU KNOW I am not a prude. I agree with Dan Savage when he said that kids don’t want to hear about your sex life. Or anyone’s really. Until they are ready for it, and then it should be their friends’ lives, not mine. They are busy being kids. I am okay with them seeing network television type sex scenes and them being very knowledgeable about the biological particulars of sex and knowing it’s a thing that adults do. None of this is secret. But I will tell you I have a line, and that line is a smoking crater in my brain that happened when my mom told me a story about her experience with monster black cock. I would tell you the story, but see: smoking crater.
ANYWAY, my child walked in on me having sex and thought it was the most hilarious thing ever. Later she apologized for being a barger. Therapy savings: questionable.
*Franny, just then, as it turns out, was on her way home from her dad’s, so we all got to have bananas foster together and watch Easter Angel. Her dad does this funny thing where he texts me around two or so on Sunday to come get her from some arbitrary fair place he has decided on that week. I ignore the text and then he has Franny call me and make a sad voice, because ‘don’t I want to rescue my widdle precious miserable baby?’ Well, of course I do, but she will be okay one more night and I will see her Monday, after he drops her off at school, which is how it’s supposed to go according to the parenting plan. Then he gets SeaFed up (GET IT.) and brings her home around or after suppertime. They went out to Chinese food for Easter. Franny: “It was terrible, I told them they should just bring me home so I could have PROPER Easter dinner because I knew yours would actually TASTE GOOD.” She is really just Not Nice over there which makes me cringe because I am trying to get her to experience an opposite outcome of my life (N.B. blog title). But I get it.
Fogcon was really nice. Guess WHAT HAPPENED. I wrote something for the first time in literally two years. Whenever I go to California it is like a giant therapy session that I attempt to keep to myself, because oh my poor patient friends. ANYWAY I had a little breakthrough(s):
1. I’m killing my fear, since fear is the mind killer.
2. Also, JUST TELL THE STORY, SJ. Duh.
3. I need to live my life like court will always be happening and will never end. Meaning my pursuits need to keep happening because I am going to die someday and do I want to say, good thing I took two years off from something I love to spent them biting my fingers about court? A world of no.
I had to dash in and say that. Also note to self, triple-fisting Greek coffee, old fashioneds, and scotch may cause mouth burns. OINK OINK. How are you?