Hats Off*

I never would have thought of myself as A Hat Person, but I would have been wrong.

See, my friend B has lovely, sleek hair that holds curls and waves in a way that makes me more than a little jealous. Lamenting how my sad, flat, baby-fine hair makes it tricky to go work out and then go somewhere—yes, I am a sweater (no, I don't mean a knit top/jumper; I am merely a lover of sweaters)—because I can't just wash-and-go. Well, I could, but it's largely inadvisable. (Rather like that next-to-last sentence. I've been told I write like I talk; it's a feature.)

Trust me on this. The amount of work it takes just to keep my tresses from pulling a Marcia is kind of astounding.

ANYway...

B cocked her head to the side, blue eyes beaming at me as if I'd lost the rest of what passes for my mind, and delivered a mild reprimand wrapped in advice: "You have the Hat Gene, sistah. USE IT!"

Oh. Well all righty then.

With that, I embraced being A Hat Person.

The Tick Was Right!

"An object at rest cannot be stopped!"

The aforementioned Bomber

Things I learned from The Tick... or, more accurately, a character on the Fox animated series (the Evil Midnight Bomber What Bombs at Midnight, for those of you keeping track).

Though this isn't the first time I've found wisdom on network television (don't judge!), it's a hilariously uncomfortable thought.

Sure, my spring performing schedule and subsequent lack of weekends thew my blogging for a loop. So why is it that we're almost to August—when did that happen?!—and I'm still finding myself without a groove?

Because I know really talented people... and greedily want some swag...

I am so excited about The Blood Keeper... I told my friend Tessa (the author) that I had a crush on her first book, and that's not even hyperbole. So when Miss Natalie put out this contest to get ARCs (Advanced Reader Copies), well... had to jump on it. I mean, there's blood. And magic. What's not to love? *le swoon*

And THEN I saw the cover:

The Road to Acceptance

I'm in an introspective headspace lately, internets, so my bloggyposts will probably reflect that. But who knows—I might rebel soon (imagine that!) and boomerang back to inanity (face it—it's just a matter of time).

In my more worn out and reflective state of mind—and seriously, self, what is up with the having to get exhausted before you will tune in and pay attention to what's going on? Other than, ya know, the obvious distraction technique and other such nonsense—I've discovered yet one more counterproductive thing I do.* When get to feeling as I have been lately, instead of just acknowledging the mental or physical fatigue, honoring it, working through it, and such, I get a little embarrassed and angry.

What. the. HELL.

Nothing like kicking yourself when you're down, right? 'Cuz that's all helpful and stuff.

Sheesh.

I don't know if it's my brain needing some kind of justification for the tired—which is a distinct possibility, given how I take after my perfectionist father (who also lays claim to a Protestant Work Ethic despite being a cradle Catholic)—or guilt of some kind (see previous comment re: being raised Catholic). Could be a little from column A and little from column B, I suppose.

Now that I'm pondering it (by way of vomiting words onto a pixelated page), it might be yet another way to distance myself from the actual emotion of a thing by intellectualizing it. (Those of you who know me IRL can quit smashing your respective foreheads into your desks and/or guffawing now, thanks.)