The Walking Dead

As hard as it is to believe, I, the person who never watches TV, is the person my husband turns to when looking for a new show. And it’s all thanks to you and Twitter. Walking Dead has been all over Twitter for three years, and even my husband new about it because all his friends at work are obsessed with the show. For three years we avoided watching the show. We both hate scary stuff and a show about zombies sounded gross. I’m just plain chicken and my husband prefers action over gore.

I started getting tired of the feeling I was missing something, but the Mister turned me down every time I suggested watching giving Walking Dead a try. Then my husband received an Apple TV with Netflix from his employer. And I got sick the end of December/first week in January. All of a sudden, I had something to do while sick on the couch. I watched all two seasons of Melissa and Joey. Didn’t know there was a show called Melissa and Joey? Neither did I, but I quickly became obsessed with the many ways the show tries to hide Joe Lawrence’s hairless head.

One night we tried unsuccessfully to find a movie to watch. Nothing. We looked for a documentary. Nothing. Finally I just told him we were watching the pilot episode of Walking Dead and that was that. By the time it was over it would be time for bed. Time killed/problem solved.

After the first episode ended we turned and looked at each other. Then the Mister grabbed the remote, looked at the TV and said, “Dammit.” We watched two more episodes and went to bed after 1:00am.

We burned through all three seasons in about two weeks. By the end we were very, very tired.

The show is not perfect. Don’t get attached to the characters. Some plot lines are unbelievable (even for a show about zombies) and the main conflict in season 3 is boring. I have zero interest in competing camps and every time a character refers to the new antagonist as a “pretty boy charmer,” I have to wonder if they’re talking about the same weak chinned piece of milk toast I’m watching sashay across the screen in high waist pleated pants.

(Side note: What’s with the pants? Shane’s pants were the worst. He looked like MC Hammer. See above image.)

This is the character who “gets by on his incredible good looks.”

[crickets]

I guess, if you say so. During a zombie apocalypse…maybe.

Or maybe my perception is skewed. When I first got my iphone, I used it like a basic phone because I was too overwhelmed by all the fanciness. The Mister was nice enough (and annoyed) to upload all my contacts, set up my preferences, and other stuff I can’t remember. He even programmed a picture for himself. Up until recently, this is the image that popped up when he called my phone:

The likeness is uncanny!

After over a year of this, I decided I needed a change. Now when my husband calls, I see this:

Daryl Dixon is the reason to watch Walking Dead. He character is funny and trashy and loyal and heroic and someone you would never want to associate with in real life.

He is also a total Marty Stu, because never have I encountered such a well spoken, witty, and charismatic white trash racist hick able to pull an arrow out of his torn flesh and use it to kill a zombie.

And I’m fine with that.

Happy, Happy News

And somehow, an introvert allowed her extroverted friend to push her out of her comfort zone. First no sleeves, now socializing. I don’t even know who I am anymore. What’s next, sober dancing?

The great thing about Andrea, besides her charming personality, is that she is an idea person, like me. We come up with great ideas. Grand ideas, even! We just don’t execute them so much. Except for this time.

We had so much fun getting together at my house a few weeks ago. It was nice to talk to another blogger about something about which I feel so passionately. The kabillion hours I devote here are because I love it. I would love to make more money, of course, but even if coffee allowance is the most I make, I would still be here almost every day. This is the longest amount of time and energy I have ever devoted to anything by choice. I spend far more in time and money than I make, and that usually only bothers me when I pay my state bar dues in January. This has to be how Twihards feel.

(My apologies to Twihards, but you have to admit you’re a passionate bunch. It’s in the name.)

We’re doing this, Andrea and I. We’re hosting a little blogging meet-up. Emphasis on little, since our charming studio location, Salvage Life in Long Beach, can’t fit a stadium of bloggers. There is a small cover charge of one Andrew Jackson ($20) that Andrea and I will then run through the copy machine and use towards food, drinks, and much merriment. Andrea has already warned me that we aren’t feeding an army, but I am deaf to her mutterings. A party without a buckling table of food goes against everything my thighs stand for.

I’ll be honest. I’ve already tried to cancel and postpone this event 200 times. Networking…{{shudder}}. I think I feel a sore throat coming on. My stomach hurts. Maybe I’m washing my hair that day? Andrea’s not buying what I’m selling.

But I hope you do! (The party part, not the sickness part.) I would love for the two of you who live in California and read this blog to come and hang out. Because, here’s thing thing. I know most of us here are introverts and avoid social situations at all costs, but our party has built-in quiet time!

Yes! You can come be social and not even have to talk to anyone. It’s, like, my dream party. We’re asking attendees to bring everything they need to make one item they have pinned to pinterest. Something crafty, but not food related since there isn’t a kitchen. (That’s a party for another day.) It can be decor, or art, or a toy catapult. Anything, really, so long as it doesn’t damage the premises. No Cola Bombs.

Maybe one or both of you are worried you aren’t crafty enough. Have you looked at the invite? Because surely you noticed not one picture is from this blog. They’re all of Andrea and her projects. I’m not known for being crafty, and yet somehow I am co-hosting! Just pick something and see if it works. At the very least, use it as a security blanket so that when someone looks like they are going to start a conversation, you break eye contact and say, “Can’t talk now, this glue won’t stay hot forever!”

I think I’ve covered every point I would use to get out of going to a party. Will there be a wide and varied amount of food and drink? (Yes.) Do I have to talk to people? (No.) Do I have to have to pretend be good at something I’m not? (No.)

Just come. Meet other socially awkward people who over-share online, make things–hopefully make friends. At the very least, come for the presents. Tristan* is contributing some lovelies from her shop. She designed the invite (isn’t it gorgeous?!), so just imagine what she going to put in your goodie bag.

Ready to pony up and mingle? Go here to reserve your spot. No pressure, but do jump on board quickly. Space is limited, and we were lucky Beth opened up her studio on such short notice. She just had a baby a couple of days ago!

* A special thank you to Tristan for designing this for us so quickly and professionally. It makes us look fancier than we are. Who am I kidding? It makes one of us look craftier than we are! She’s worth every penny, folks. Every single penny.

** Andrea is much better at this than I am. Here is her post on the party, and she does a much better job describing how everything came to be and how much fun we’re going to have with you there.

 

 

Poll Results

I had roughly 10% participation for my impromptu location survey, so while the results aren’t going to be entirely accurate, it was still fun to get an idea of where everyone is from. I know from the comments that a few of you thought it was interesting, too, so I decided to share the results. My apologies those who find this monumentally boring.

As I suspected, most of the readers here are from the East Coast. I suspected as much simply because of the rate comments come in on my blog. Most of my comments come in the early morning, late afternoon, or early evening–around the time the East Coast is settling into work, waiting to leave work, or killing time after dinner. Most of my comments come in the morning.

Here is a breakdown of the pie chart above.

• East Coast:  43%
• West Coast: 34%
• Midwest:      22%

That adds up to 99%; I think there is a policy joke in there somewhere.

I felt horrible about excluding, oh, the rest of the world, so I hunted around online and used a combination of Alexa, Statcounter, and Google Analytics to cobble together these (most likely) inaccurate location demographics.

 

Country/Territory by Popularity

 

1.	United States		80.23%
2.	Canada		6.75%
3.	United Kingdom		2.71%
4.	Australia		2.36%
5.	Germany		0.88%
6.	New Zealand		0.54%
7.	France		0.42%
8.	Switzerland		0.25%
9.	Belgium		0.25%
10.	South Africa		0.25%

Alexa is a great site to check out if you haven’t already. I find them fairly accurate, though nothing is ever perfect. I haven’t edited my Alexa page, though I know many bloggers have updated theirs to include brief bios. The brief bio Alexa writes about your blog or site changes frequently based on your numbers. It’s interesting to check back every now and then to see what they say about you. Two years ago Alexa said I was popular in Los Angeles. Today it calls attention to my page views and bounce rate. You never know what you are going to find out. For example, according to Alexa this month, my blog is more popular in Canada than it is in the United States.

Does it say something about you when a blog is more popular in regions and countries outside of where the blog author lives? I don’t know, but it’s interesting trivia nonetheless.

Thanks to all who took the time to answer the survey, leave comments, and put up with my countless geographical mistakes!

Event Planning

Andrea and I are planning a blogger meetup for August. Yes, you read that right. I’m helping plan a social event. Do you know it took Andrea at least three attempts over the course of six months to get me out of the house? She was like a dog with a bone! I cancelled on her at least once. (Twice. Never have I been so glad Mikey’s allergies lower his immune system.) In her last email before I buckled, she demanded I quit acting like a hermit in a cabin with a manifesto. I met her for lunch, along with two other women. It was fun.

But I was so nervous to meet everyone (stupidly, I was nervous everyone would think I was fat and ugly!) that I parked in a metered zone and forgot to pay the meter. Let me tell you, it’s the ticket on my windshield that was fat and ugly, not me.

Did you notice I said I met Andrea and two other women? That’s right, three people met me for lunch. That’s all I could get to come. And ever since then, every time I suggest a meet up I get crickets. Every time! And it’s not like I make the mistake of suggesting everyone come down to the Inland Empire. I suggest Orange County, Los Angeles, San Diego. I drive! I’m willing to travel to meet people. But no, nothing. I feel like Yukon Cornelius looking for gold.

I’ve narrowed the crickets down to a few reasons:

1. No one likes me.
2. No one lives in southern California.
3. No one likes to leave their house.

Andrea and I have been talking about this get together for a couple of days now (it was an all of a sudden decision we made) and yesterday we were on the phone talking about who might come. “I have at least 10 people interested, probably more,” she said. “How about you?”

Like lemon in a paper cut.

“Oh, you know. Between Twitter and Facebook, two people.”

“Two people? Are you serious?”

“Shut up.”

“Who are the two people?”

“They aren’t the five that unfollowed me on Facebook last week, I’ll tell you that much.”

I can’t do much if you don’t like me. I mean, I can try and send you links to bloggers far more annoying than me and see if that helps, but you probably already read them, too.

I can’t do much if you don’t leave the house. I know how that goes. Meeting new people in a social situation isn’t easy for those of us who consider reading historical fiction until 2:00am a roaring Saturday night. And I’ll be honest with you, too–the meetup will be fun, but it won’t top an unexpected plot twist in a quiet house.

I can’t do anything if you don’t live in southern California, either, but I can at least ask you where you live, so that the next time I invite people to hang out on Twitter and Facebook and no one answers, I can recover my dignity by later tweeting, “That’s okay, I know most of you live in Cleveland!”

So, here is how I would love for this to work. I’ve composed a geographical survey. If you read this blog, can you please indicate where you live? I’ve broken the country down into regions, excluding California, which I made its own answer and separated into north and south.

Then, if you have a blog and would like to attend (I can’t wait to meet both of you!), can you say so in the comments?

If you don’t have a blog, I would still love to hear where you live out of curiosity. Based on absolutely nothing scientific, I think the majority here lives on the east coast.

Finally, I would love to hear from you in the comments even if you don’t have a blog. Jokes aside, I think another reason I’m greeted with deafening silence on facebook and twitter is that not everyone in the world has a blog, making a blogger meetup pretty unimportant.

Wishful thinking?

Edited to add: Sigh. I completely forgot to include non US residents in my survey. Please feel free to join in the conversation in the comments!

Edited to add, ii: I guess I forgot Maryland, too. Great. Sorry about that.

Edited to add again, iii: I forgot Louisiana? That’s it. Wikipedia is dead to me.

Edited to add again, iv: So, I was trying to be funny in my post but it may have come across as sad. Trust me, I’m not sad! I think it’s funny, truly.

I Get Around

This is a picture of Mikey’s reading and writing skills homework. I posted it a couple of weeks ago on my facebook fan page. We all agreed the aunt sounds like trouble.

He was so sweet about showing it to me. Actually, he seemed nervous and eager for my approval. He walked up to me and said, “Mom, I want you to read my short story and tell me if you think I did an awesome job.”

Done and done.

I post a lot of stuff like this on my fan page. I rarely talk about being on facebook, mainly because I absolutely abhor the phrase fan page. Every time I type it, speak it, or reference it, a Humility Fairy dies of suffocation under a pile of letterpressed business cards with neon accents. (Hand-painted, watercolor.)

Can we call it something else? Something catchy like, That Place Jules Uses to Post Really Random Thoughts. T.P.J.U.P.R.R.T. for short. And we won’t call you Fans or Followers (Gah.) because I can’t possibly describe anyone as either and still look at myself in the mirror. The people who like T.P.J.U.P.R.R.T. are just Really Good Listeners.

Because you have to be. A good listener, that is. Every week I get almost as many unlikes as I do likes on Facebook. With the exception of today’s post (have mercy) I tend to be more serious on the blog. I’m not sure why, and people who meet me in real life are often taken aback by my supreme dorktitude. It’s true, and maybe one day you’ll experience it yourself. In all honesty, my great hair is all that saves me from a lifetime of quizzical sidelong glances.

Sadly, I can’t post pictures of my hair with every post I publish on Facebook, so I get unlikes. On Facebook I’m more opinionated, more crude, more loud, and more willing to make fun of people in a public forum. That comes as a shock to people who like my facebook page expecting to read tips on how I organize sock drawers. (Roll them and separate them by color. Follow through for a week. Then lose hope.)

And so, I get unliked. A couple of weeks ago I might have kind of maybe a little bit made fun of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy. That cost me a small percentage of my Really Good Listeners. In my defense, I couldn’t resist. I read an excerpt online and the female character cries out, “Argh!” during an intimate moment. Argh? Of all the onomatopoeias in the world, E. L. James picks Argh. I have never ecstatically cried ‘argh’ in my life. Not even on Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Thus concludes my disclaimer. If you are at all easily offended, bored by proud mama moments, or wear an eye-patch and carry a parrot on your shoulder, maybe being a Really Good Listener isn’t for you. If not, please feel free to like T.P.J.U.P.R.R.T. today. I promise to give you absolutely nothing in return for your kindness, other than ammunition to use against me in a heated Twitter exchange.

Speaking of Twitter, you can follow me here and read the broad proclamations I present as truths.

I also take a lot of pictures of pets, food, plants, and shoes and then publish them on Instagram. I’m @pancakesfries. I’d link to something, but it’s doesn’t work that way. Instagram wants you to work your sausage fingers in a miniscule search field and then cry out in frustration.

And finally, when I’m in need of another s’more recipe, I troll Pinterest. I’m pancakesfries over there, too. Make sure to check out the book club board because new books are added every day.

Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest. I think that’s it. What can I say? I get around. Argh.