I love Malcolm Gladwell’s work. The first book I ever read by him was The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference which led me to read Outliers which led me to read David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants. He is a brilliant thinker and writer, and if you’re looking for something in the social psychology realm, you should definitely check him out.
I was listening to excerpts from an interview he gave, and one of the things he said really stood out to me:
“I feel I change my mind all the time. And I sort of feel that’s your responsibility as a person, as a human being — to constantly be updating your positions on as many things as possible. And if you don’t contradict yourself on a regular basis, then you’re not thinking.”
This is the story of my life. I’ve changed my political party. I’ve changed my views on marriage. I’ve changed my style. I’ve changed the state in which I lived. I even changed my stance on David Hasselhoff (he’s dead to me now). Continue reading
Hello, Hooked on Tonics.
What an amazingly catchy intro that was! I’ve been sitting on that gem all these months while I’ve been away. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I see a major book deal in my future.
I’ve received thousands hundreds a few questions during my absence from WordPress about where I’ve been, how my battle with body hair is going, and which browser I chose in the Bing it On challenge. I’m using this post as a means of addressing all ten of my readers at the same time because I believe in efficiency, and want to use my saved time to watch reruns of Cop Rock on Netflix. Continue reading
My friends mean a great deal to me. I don’t have very many of them, but the ones I do have are incredible people. My loyalty runs deep.
I recently got into a fight with one of my oldest and dearest friends. This is someone who knows me better than I know myself sometimes. He has been a listening ear over the years, and supported me when things in my life were falling apart.
Our bond is so tight that our friendship is like an extension of myself.
Our argument wasn’t explosive. Neither of us said anything hateful to the other, nor did anyone utter the words, “You’re dead to me.” It was simply one of those conversations where you realize you’ve reached an impasse with another person. Continue reading
I have never made a secret of the fact that I hate dating. I don’t take any joy in the dressing up, the flirting, the awkward first date conversation. The thought of having to dip my toe back into the dating pool is less appealing than getting a rectal exam from Edward Scissorhands.
Just as many women are, I am riddled with insecurities. My thighs are too wide, my nose is too big, and I am sure that my breasts and waistline are slowly trying to become one entity. I look at men’s magazines and see what men want. I’m just not the kind of girl who looks good frolicking in a string bikini at sunset.
One of the things I hate most about dating is the “maintenance” associated with it. We’ve got to keep our skin clear, our hair nicely coiffed, and mostly importantly, our body hair to a minimum. As someone whose mustache could grow to impede my ability to breathe through my nostrils, this is no easy feat.
The most torturous of our follicle upkeep is the bikini wax. I have a pretty high threshold, but even I cannot help but wince at the idea of hot wax being ripped from my chicken mcnugget.
At one point in my life I was much more of a masochist, and kept my Virginia Woolf in check with the use of a waxer. The girl I went to at the time was amazing, but as with all great beauticians, they eventually become overbooked. I consulted the internet, and found a woman who had a slick website, and great rates. Continue reading
I’ve given a lot of thought to whether or not I’m running a successful blog, especially in the last few months. I kind of abandoned it, and felt guilty for letting my readers down. I wasn’t gaining any new followers, my page views were abysmal, and my social networks had become stagnant. Fail whale.
When I first started this, I was purely driven by fame and wealth. I wanted to earn Scrooge McDuck status, making so much money I could swim in it. Eminem would write derogatory things about me in his songs, and I’d become the target of a Republican Tea Party attack. My aptly titled “Tonic” perfume would sell in Sephora stores around the world.
Okay, so that’s a bit of a stretch. Well, except the perfume part because I really do think it’d be cool if people smelled like I do. That mix of desperation, underboob sweat, and awkward sexual tension took me years to perfect, and I just want to share it with the world. Continue reading
NaNoWriNO Day 24
Topic: Colon Hydrotherapy
I decided to take a much-needed vacation from a former (writing) stomping ground, and to my surprise, my absence did not go unnoticed. When I got back I had e-mails, notes in the Newsroom, and offline messages on Yahoo Messenger asking where I had been. Many theories were tossed around. Had I finally been institutionalized? Did I run off with the men of Thunder Down Under? Had I suffered a major brain freeze from a Slurpee-gone-wrong? Another writer threw out the possibility that a poo expert on the site (yes, we had one) had kidnapped me, and performed massive amounts of crap extraction on my colon.
Luckily, I was safe from harm, but an idea was sparked. Not having any shame, or ladylike tendencies for that matter, I resolved to leave my fecal matter in the hands of a perfect stranger. I began to research the process of Colon Hydrotherapy, its benefits, and reputable places where it could be performed. I decided on a place near my work, and made an appointment with a woman named Irina for the next week.
I tossed and turned at night over the next few days. Visions of Sugar Turds danced in my head. I could not believe I was willing to part with something that was such a fundamental part of me. I began to wonder who this woman was, and why I was going to allow this professional stool stealer to take what was rightfully mine away from me. I blamed her flashy website, something that had gotten me in to trouble many times before. This is exactly how I became a lifelong member of the Shannon Doherty fan club.
The morning of the appointment I was a nervous wreck. I could hear faint cries coming from my colon, begging me to reconsider my hasty decision. I drank away my sorrows at the local Starbucks, and decided to be strong. I had made my decision, and I did not care what my poop thought about it! Continue reading
Head over to A Clown on Fire and help me crush the competition in this post I wrote for Clown’s blogging duel against Edward Hotspur. Yeah, I handed his ass to him. Did you expect any less?