A Slight Pause In My Midlife Crisis For Some Awards

If you’re one of the many bloggers who’ve been on break or one of the handful of unique visitors landing here because you typed “psycho woman pussy good” into Google, or one of my loyal skimmers, or if you just dropped by to get another look at Muskrat’s snuggie, let me get you up to speed:

I am a Hippie. 

Yes, as determined by my readers (because I once got arrested for skinny dipping) and also by my Teen (because I make him walk to school) it’s now official.

And this Hippie's been writing recently about her Card Carrying Gay Buddhist Buddy (Medical Marijuana Card, that is) whom she is learning many things from.

Except Buddhist Buddy can’t seem to help her cut through the cycle of midlife crises—which reared its graying head last week with the double whammy of taking a career-diving job and discovering her supervisor was a former student.

But that didn’t stop Britain’s most distinguished undistinguished writer, Chris Wood from awarding this double-whammy post. For the long, sad, Sarandon-saturated story, scroll down. OMG! This alliteration thing is contagious.

It should be noted that I am only the second recipent of this award, after the wicked funny Bee, and the fact that Chris is on my list of top ten bloggy crushes in no way influenced his decision.

Thanks Chris. I feel so very honored. You now have a reserved VIP spot on my couch for the tour across the pond to promote your book:

which can be purchased here on Amazon.


And if that award wasn’t enough to temporarily relieve this migraine of a midlife crisis, Cat from My Name is Cat has given me another great, but less grammatically-correct award:

Thanks so much Cat!   And on top of that Bossy stopped by to express her sympathy.  In short, being a failure never felt so good.


NOTE TO NON-BLOGGY WRITERS AND GOGGLING PERVERTS FROM DUBAI: I apologize, but it’s a Blog-Award-Blog world out here. This is all part of the gig. So in order not to bore the bloggness out of you, here is a video rap on correct grammar that I ripped off from Dan at The Art of Panic.

It's Sistersalad's  Yo Comments Are Whack  And it's good.  I mean, well.  No, I mean, ah, excellent. 

Now, the Butterfly award comes with rules that state I'm to pass it on to five others. If they choose not to pass it on, that's cool. I do it in order to give my fellow bloggers a shout out.

They are the wickedly funny:

The Self Deprechaun

Just Because You Don't Need It

Heinous at Irregularly Periodic Ruminations

Vodka Mom at I Need a Martini Mom

Unfinished Dude's wife. Tradition has it that I award The Dude. But this Hippie has decided it's his wife's turn. She writes a damn funny story about Himself funky-white-boy-ing it up with his bros and one h-e-double-hockey sticks of good blog Herself.  She's:

Shieldmaiden96  at Dispatches From the Northern Outpost

Now Chris' Nobel Prize for Awesomeness also comes with stipulations for me:

1. This weekend, thy shall drink much beer. Beer is the fruit of wisdom, and killer of brain cells that don't pull their weight (I can prove this here).
2. Teachers don't get much credit. Remember your value: You change the world for people.
3. You must be at the Cavern of the Crescent Sausage at sunrise on Winter Solstice, wearing a Viking helmet and Neil Young t-shirt, holding a bowl full of lasagna.

I think this Hippie can handle that.

************************************************

For these and other wicked bloggers, visit Humor-Blogs.

For another peek at The Snuggie, scroll down.

STAY TUNED: More Tuesdays With Buddhist Buddy--The Straight One

Groupie or Stalker? You Decide

At the risk of not revealing too much I found out that when Colin Farrell’s in town for the Toronto film festival he goes to Hemingway’s for a drink. What a coincidence! I go there too when I’m in town for the festival. And I am in town every September (but mainly to run into John Cusack).

So I parked myself at the bar in Hemingway’s and waited and waited and waited (and accidentally learned all about hockey while waiting). Colin was a no show. Newspapers reported he got a little bogged down with picking up a homeless guy and finding him an apartment.

Friggin’ homeless guy.

And then I ate at a restaurant in Malibu where John Cusack reportedly sits at the counter eating his avocado eggroll. After a no-show, I hopped over to the nearby drugstore. I figured he'd have to buy toothpaste sometime. I waited and waited and waited (and accidentally counted 34 different brands of toothpaste among countless whitening and breathe refreshing products). Turns out John was in Chicago visiting the family.

Friggin' Cusack family.

So I couch surfed in Chicago—but not to run into John. I was there for the real guy in my life - Jeff Tweedy (and yes, for a harried with children chick I do get around). Last February I bought a scalper’s ticket on eBay (after seeing this guy twice in the last 6 months) because I love Jeff Tweedy. I mean, I LOVE JEFF TWEEDY. My life’s motto: WWJTD.

And who is Jeff Tweedy? This, Internets, is Jeff Tweedy:



And hang in there for Nels Cline's fabulous whammy guitar stuff.

Muzzle of Bees

There's a random painted highway
And a muzzle of bees
My sleeves have come unstitched
From climbing your tree

And dogs laugh, some say they're barking
I don't think they're mean
Some people get so frightened
Of the fences in between

And the sun gets passed from tree to tree
Silently, and back to me
With the breeze blown through
Pushed up against the sea
Finally back to me

I'm assuming you got my message
On your machine
I'm assuming you love me
And you know what that means

Sun gets passed, sea to sea
Silently, and back to me
With the breeze blown through
Pushed up above the leaves

With the breeze blown through
My head upon your knee
Half of it's you, half is me
Half of it's you, half is me

For more Music Mondays, check out Soccer Mom in Denial. For more folks in denial, check out Humor-Blogs. For more Wilco and Couch Surfing in Chicago, stay tuned.