A Letter from Katrina to Isaac (Yes, I mean the Hurricanes)


August 27, 2012, 12:09pm

Dear Isaac,

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Katrina and there is not one human being in New Orleans, along the entirety of the Gulf Coast of the United States or around the globe, for that matter, who is not well acquainted with me and my work. However, I will accept that, because you are less than seven years of age and have just formed and organized yourself, you are unfamiliar with my celebrity. A quick Google search should get you up to speed with my resume. Or you may simply click here.

With all due respect, I am writing to request that you back off from your area of target immediately and completely. Not only am I recognized as the sixth strongest hurricane in all of recorded history, I have also been deemed the costliest natural disaster and one of the five deadliest storms in the history of the United States. And I have no intention of retiring any of my titles at this time.

That you have chosen to rear your ugly, inexperienced head exactly one day before the seventh anniversary of my devastation is in severely bad form, my young friend. But then what would you know about these things? You were upgraded to a tropical storm only one week ago. You DO realize that the only reason that people are worried about you, even watching you, is because of me, right? It was I who left that post-traumatic feeling in the city that has exalted all hurricanes since. I am the bar against which all before and after me have been and will be measured.

Move on, little green neophyte. These people have endured enough. They do not need some snot-nosed punk hanging around and distracting them from the seven year reminder of my abominable efforts on August 29, 2005. I will expect to see you and your belongings on the curb waiting for a cab within 24 hours. This point is not negotiable.

Respectfully,

Katrina



 I have been asked no less than twenty times what my family is doing for the storm. As always, we are hoping to stay put. We will make the decision as the storm progresses and its nasty details unfold. Having been through these hurricanes my entire life, my stress levels are high at the moment. And I felt the need to purge a little of my internal anger and fear over the entire situation this morning. Everyone stay safe. I’ll be in touch.

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YeahWrite.Me – The Speakeasy 

The One Where I Grouse About Monkeying Around with Trifecta


Trifecta time.

The assignment? “Write a 33-word response using the name of an animal as a verb.”

The response? The latest installment in The ODNT Smart Ass Collection.

* * * * * * * * * *

The One Where I Grouse About Monkeying Around with Trifecta

* * * * * * * * * *

“DEER” Trifecta,

Please stop badgering us into outfoxing each other so you can fawn praise on three of us. I can’t bear to flounder through another assignment and I’m crawfishing out.

“Sin-SEAL-ly,”

ODNT

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My Trip to NYC … or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Wear the Ketchup Costume


Remember my recent trip to NYC? The one where I attended a writing conference with my pal, Mel at According to Mags? The schedule was intense with breakfast sessions starting in the mornings at 8am (which may as well have been 4:30am) and continued activity the whole day that went straight through to the parties which wrapped up at 1am. Realize that both of those times ended with AM. We stayed pretty damned busy.

Except for the last day. The day where we had nothing to do. The day where we had nothing special planned. So we did something a little … unorthodox. And then decided to make it the theme of our brand-spanking-new, biweekly writing link-up.

Introducing …

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Every once in a while, we all need to break out of the stuffy molds we have set ourselves in. Our day to day routines can quickly become mundane and we can easily lose ourselves in the monotony. Because who has time to be deliciously spontaneous … and delightfully unpredictable … and defiantly self-confident enough to just be a little silly?

That’s where the Ketchup With Us link-up comes in.

Check in with us on the 1st & 15th of each month. It’s just like pay day … except that nobody gets any money. It’ll be fun and easy …  because all of this stuff revolves around somebody wearing a ketchup costume. So how complicated can it be???

You KETCHUP with your friends.

You KETCHUP on your sleep.

So be sure to come KETCHUP With Us on September 1st!

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OMG! Ermahgerd! or However We’re Saying it These Days!


I could win ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS, you guys.

– – – – – – – – – –

ONE. THOUSAND. DOLLARS.

– – – – – – – – – –

Remember when I won $50 for the crazy story about The Day Things got HAIRY at Disney World? And remember what I bought with it? That’s right. A ketchup costume. Even my kids thought I was an idiot. Well, for the record, you guys will all know the meaning behind it when I publish my post tomorrow. Right, Mel? (Teaser.)

But back to the … ONE. THOUSAND. DOLLARS.

Remember the Brite book I just created entitled The Back to School ABCs? Well, IT WAS JUST NAMED A FINALIST in this week’s contest for ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS. Good God, I hope I don’t have to wear a damned swimsuit for the last round of competition. Does anyone have any double stick tape … and a sarong … and maybe a Snuggie?!!?

Michele, how can we help you win ONE. THOUSAND. DOLLARS?

All you need to do is click the image below. CLICK THE SNOT OUT OF IT! I need views, likes & comments … and shares (via their Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest & Email buttons) to get even more views, likes & comments. So, please click it … and do your thing!

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Do you guys know what I could do with ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS?

That’s 200 bricks of Havardi Cheese. Is it enough to build my bucket list house of cheese? Well, no. No, it’s not. But I’m pretty sure I could make a cheese igloo. Which, if you think about it, makes a lot more sense anyway. Cheese needing to be kept cold and all.

Remember, it takes a Village

… to build a CHEESE IGLOO.

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Happy 1st Anniversary, ODNT!


Yes, that’s right. Just one year ago today, I wrote a blog post

… then sweated buckets about it, sent proofs to half a dozen people, second guessed myself, ate a pound of cheese and drank a bottle of wine contemplating it, considered scrapping the whole thing, third guessed myself, cried quietly, berated myself in front of the mirror …

and hit publish.

It’s been a very interesting first year. CLICK ON THE IMAGE BELOW to see just a few of the highlights in my scrapbook.

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If you’re interested in reading some of the stories in this scrapbook, I’ve included the links for you at the end of this post. Because I understand lazy. And I know I would NEVER bother to look them up on my own. And I’m assuming that, if you read this blog, you’re probably lazy like me. So I did your heavy lifting for you today.

Thanks to all of you for riding shotgun with me the past year. Here’s to year number two!

The Posts that Inspired ‘Things You Read About on ODNT (2011-12)’

  1. Man Boobs Quiz  & Answers *
  2. Hoarder on Wheels
  3. Naked Mole Rats Introduction & Tweeting Spree
  4. Norma Stitz *
  5. Bitchy Barbies Introduction, Playdate & Acquisition
  6. Red Hair Dye Phobias
  7. Drug Hallucinations
  8. Tumor Look-a-like Contest *
  9. The AMC Letters: One, Two, Three & Four
  10. Bag Balm
  11. Just Say No to Saving the Earth
  12. Paging Mr. Baldwin: The Appeal & The Response
  13. Hunger Games Prequel
  14. My Junior Novel (maybe)
  15. How does one say Goodbye to a Toilet?
  16. A Hairy Day at Disney World
  17. A Cow named Michele
  18. Creating a New Identity for my Class Reunion
  19. When Johnny Depp came to my BBQ
  20. Spray Cheese Delivered to your Door
  21. Things You Learn While Drinking Wine
  22. A Bloody Good Idea for Next Summer
  23. The Hamster’s Going to Need a Lot of Therapy

* These posts have been deleted for undisclosed reasons. And, for the record,  it is NOT because I’ve been served with restraining orders from John Travolta, Norma Stitz and Homer Simpson.

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CRAP! This post is for all of my Email Subscribers!


WARNING: You just received an incomplete post from me. It’s like eating raw cookie dough or going to a party while the host is still naked. Delicious and funny but not as good as waiting for the finished product.

This is what happens when you attempt to write a post while also watching TV with your kids. Do me a solid. You know that ‘Happy First Anniversary, ODNT!’ post you just got an email about? Well, it’s not finished cooking yet. I’ll be posting it again in its completed form after midnight on my actual one year anniversary. Which is … tomorrow.

I don’t know why I thought I could write a post AND watch TV at the same time. Damn you, America’s Got Talent! I blame Howard Stern and the dude taking shots to his crotch as his “talent.”

To sum up, IGNORE the first post email you just received. EMBRACE the second one you get after midnight!

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It’s a Boy! … I mean Girl! … Wait! Crap. I mean Boy!


Wouldn’t this have been a horrible way to come into the world?

Gender identity. Something that my generation is probably a little more liberated about than all others before it … and possibly since. We were introduced to Ziggy Stardust as very young children and spent our teens years rocking to one set of dudes in eyeliner and lipstick after another on 80s MTV. Seriously, I think Duran Duran’s Nick Rhodes wore more make-up daily than I wore at my own wedding. And it was considered totally hot back then. Except I’m pretty sure we said “fine.”

Where am I going with this? Do I have a point, you ask? Well, yes. Yes, I do. Thanks for asking. Remember Herve? The newest member of my household? The rodent that my dear little ODNT, Jr. pined for, submitted blog posts about and finally won for her birthday?

Yes. THAT Herve.

She knew what she wanted to name her pet before we even went to the store. So, it’s not like he looked like a Herve or anything. Don’t most kids go with names like Peanut or Nibbles? Not mine. I remember her saying, “I cleared out a spot in my room. I’m ready to go pick up Herve now.” I tried explaining that Herve might not actually be a HE but she contended that the name would still work as HER– ve. “Fine,” I answered, worrying quietly about how much money I’d be shelling out over the years for a hamster with a confused sense of self.

We brought him home, always certain he was a him, until one day he fell asleep belly up in my hand. And his tiny “features” indicated to me that we should be making more of an effort to accent the first syllable of his/her name. From that point on, I decided to embrace the pink cage and buy our hamster some diet food, fancy chocolate and maybe a subscription to Cosmo.

So Her-VE became HER-ve. (Ask Chaz Bono. It’s a difficult adjustment to make. For any species.)

Weeks passed and things were rolling along just fine. While the kids were in school, HER-ve and I enjoyed long lunches together at a little bistro in town. We got mani/pedis at a cheap nail joint around the corner. We even formed a book group and started talking about 50 Shades.

Until one day last week when I saw HER-ve dragging a “bag of gym balls” behind her/him. And my girl kept asking why her hamster’s butt was getting so big. (If you’ve never noticed how gifted rodents are in this department, google it. Or just click here. I could not bring myself to post a picture of hamster testicles. You’re in the driver’s seat now. YOU get to decide if you need to see this image.)

Anyway, now we’re back to Her-VE. Our lunch dates have ceased and I switched his magazine subscription to Sports Illustrated. And I don’t clean his cage as frequently. He’s got hands. If he wants it clean, he can help out once in a while.

And my girl? Well, she doesn’t give a hamster’s ass what he is. As long as she has a rodent threatening to break free from his cage and scare the crap out of me in the middle of the night somewhere in this house, she’s happy.

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She even drew this picture for today’s post.


Let’s just hope we can finally commit to the blue rodent bedding from Petco.

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The Simple Life of Anna Fiorella (for Trifecta)


But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing. – A. A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner (1928)

Famous last lines. They can wrap things up or they can leave us hanging. They can make us laugh or they can make us cry. They can stir up warm, wonderful feelings or they can make us want to scream obscenities and beat the book repeatedly with a hammer until we ultimately throw it out the window.

But, most importantly, last lines can be inspirational.  And they’re exactly what we’re talking about at Trifecta this weekend. Participants are asked to write an “amazing closing line to a story in exactly 33 words.” Well, Trifecta, I have no idea if my submission is “amazing” but I do know that it’s the first thing that popped into my head. And sometimes I think you need to jump at these moments.

So here goes …

* * * * * * * * * *

The Simple Life of Anna Fiorella

* * * * * * * * * *

She turned to look over her shoulder one last time but he was already gone. And she was a child again. Her marriage? Her career? Her son? Had it all been a dream?

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EXTREME MAKEOVER EDITION of my ‘Back to School ABCs’ Post


Hey, will you guys please do me a favor? If you like my Brite book below, please Like it! Tweet it! Facebook it! Pin it! Email it! And Share it! 
But you need to be ON THE BRITELY SITE for it to count! 
Dude, there is actual MONEY involved!

Remember The Back to School ABCs I posted a few days ago? Well, I just did a little something creative with it … thanks to the good people at the Britely company. (Shameless plug.) It’s a cool way to add some color to my otherwise monochromatic (meaning GREEN!) posts. Yes, I know my blog needs a new look … or at least a little renovating here and there. Anyone want to go curtain and tile shopping with me? I’ll drive. This place is a mess.

Anyway, please take a look. This whole Brite bookmaking process was a lot of fun. And my post is now much more visually appealing and concise. … I know. You don’t believe me at all. Me? Concise? … You’ll see. CLICK ON THE IMAGE BELOW TO SEE THE EXTREME MAKEOVER. Right now. What the hell else are you doing? Do it for me. And because … because … it will help save the planet!

What do you mean what do I mean? I AM being serious. …. Fine. You really need me to explain HOW? … Well … because if you’re reading my BRITE … then you’re NOT reading a book or a magazine … that are both made of PAPER … which comes from what? Duh. TREES! … So, the Earth? She is saved. And it’s ALL because you read my Brite. That’s all you have to do.

See. I knew I could get us there. Enjoy!

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The Back to School ABCs (According to ODNT)


If you like this post, be sure to check out its 

EXTREME MAKEOVER EDITION.

With so many brands named, I should’ve been PAID to write this post.

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A is for Alarm Clock. The two of you haven’t spoken all summer. And suddenly you realize you’re going to be facing off with that bitch every morning for the next nine and a half months.

B is for Bookbag. These days, you can choose between backpack-style (which, because they’re so heavy, will slowly stunt your child’s growth) or rolling (so your kid can look like he’s racing across a busy airport to catch the red eye to Phoenix). Honestly, I never even used a book bag. I used an oversized rubber band (which doubled as a pretty powerful weapon) to get the job done in Nineteen-Eighty-Before-There-Was-Fire.

C is for Contact Paper. You’ll need it to cover workbooks, assemble special projects and repair folders, novels and notebooks. Oh, and did I mention that if you haven’t already purchased it that you’ll soon be racing around town to at least a half a dozen stores, fruitlessly, only to realize that you’re screwed and you now need to order it online? (And how exactly do you think I know this?)

D is for Duct Tape. Because their school shoes will inevitably fall apart when you can count the remaining days of the year on your fingers and toes. And you’d rather send your kid to school looking like trailer trash than purchase new ones so late in the year. (Gosh, I hope no one who calls themselves ‘trailer trash’ is reading right now. Which would be insane because WHO would actually call themselves trailer trash AND be able to read?)

E is for Erasers. No matter how many you have right now, it’s not enough. Your kid is way dumber than you think. He’s going to make mistakes the likes of which you could never predict. Plus, apparently it’s super fun to erase. So, go. Go get more. Now. They’re like 45 for a dollar. We’ll wait.

F is for Food. Lots of it. In the most overprocessed, orange-powder-covered, pre-packaged, single-serving forms you can find. Sure, all that convenience adds up. And, yes, it’s not always the healthiest option. But you’ll thank me when when you realize you need to pack a lunch in fifteen seconds because one of the kids sees that the cafeteria calendar says Shepherd’s Pie.

G is for Goo, as in Shoe Goo. For those more discerning than the duct tape people mentioned above. (“More discerning” = you buy name brand Cheetos)

H is for Haircut. School pictures are just around the corner and you want them to look clean and fresh in the yearbook. Also, accept now that picture day is likely the only day they’ll look clean and fresh all year. (See “S” below. You should learn to love dirt. Embrace it even. Dirt is your friend.)

I is for Ice Pack. Not for your kids. (Duh.) For you. For when they have so much freakin’ homework that you work with them for hours and find yourself going to bed with a splitting headache from the math you had to reteach yourself and then somehow explain to your kid. Patiently.

J is for Jelly. And peanut butter. Unless your kid is allergic. Then you need to find something else that pairs well with jelly. Like ham. Or cream cheese. Or maybe just more jelly. And buys tons of all of it because you’ll be slapping that shit together at warp speed a lot in the morning.

K is for Kleenex. Dear God, don’t forget the Kleenex. If just ONE kid uses it, isn’t it totally worth the effort?

L is for Lunch Kit. ‘Cause they need something in which to tote the Bologna Pizza Lunchables to and from school. When I was a kid, we called them (rusty, dented metal, Donny & Marie) lunch boxes. “Lunch Kit” makes it sound like something you buy with the food already in it. (God, wouldn’t that be awesome?)

M is for Milk Money. Of course, today they can also get three different kinds of juice, bottled water, whole milk, 2% or chocolate. (What the hell kid isn’t getting chocolate milk every day, by the way?)

N is for Nail Scissors. Keeping things under control here is one of the best ways to avoid bringing a DNA sample of each child in your kid’s class into your home. I truly pity those of you with nail biters. Just think of what they’re ingesting. And contracting. And bringing home to YOUR immune system.

O is for Os, as in Cheerios, Eggos, Honey Nut Toasty Os, etc. Curiously, any food that ends in O is sure to make a great breakfast on school mornings. It’s fast, your kids will love it and they can even make it for themselves. (Yes, I am fully aware that Spaghetti-O, Oreo and Dorito end in O. Check the above criteria and tell me they don’t fit in perfectly.)

P is for Patience. You’ll need silos of it … when they come home saying things like “I didn’t think it would be on the test,” “But Mrs. Delery only said for HENRY to stop doing it,” and “SHE kicked ME in the stomach first!”

Q is for Quinoa. I like to keep some on hand to set out on the kitchen counter to create the illusion that it’s a staple in my family’s diet when we have friends over to play. It helps make the other mothers feel inferior to you and allows you to laugh condescendingly and say things like “We use it in everything” and “I just got tired of feeding my kids so much toxic poison.” NOTE: Be aware of this foreign word’s pronunciation (ˈkēnwä) as you will not sound superior but rather like a jackass if you go with the more pedestrian version (kwin-OH-ah) that I threw around for years.

R is for Reasons. Your kid is going to be late for school, forget his homework and act out once in a while. And “We got caught in traffic,” “The dog ate it,” and “It wasn’t ME!” just aren’t cutting it anymore. So, my advice is to get cracking now. It’s early in the year and there’s plenty of time to start crafting some unique and original excuses for the teachers. Once written, you need to drill your kids with recitations until they can utter these new story lines without tears or laughter. Only then will they be bulletproof when problems arise.

S is for Scrunchies and other hair accessories. Yes, it’s hot in August. And, yes, it’s a good idea to keep her hair out of her eyes. But mostly it’s the best defense you have against a lice outbreak at school. That and dirty hair plastered with lots of hair spray. Not that I would have ANY idea what I’m talking about here. (cough)

T is for Tide Pens. (Okay, where’s my endorsement money?) Because at the end of the day their clothing is going to look like a crime scene of unidentifiable stains. And you’re not going to want to do laundry every day. This magic stick buys you the time you need as a human being between spaghetti stains, Kool-aid catastrophes and blood baths. (Fine. Maybe not BLOOD baths.)

U is for underarm deodorant. I thought about suggesting uniforms, umbrellas or even unconditional love. But I’m sticking with underarm deodorant. If your kid is in middle school or even getting close to it, do his teacher a solid and buy some today. There’s never been a better time to try it. (Still need convincing? Offer to sub one afternoon following recess. It’s worse than peeling onions.)

V is for Virus Prevention. In whatever form you can get. Purell, Lysol, hand soap, tissues, flu shots, whatever. Just buy it, please, and use it. I do NOT want whatever your kid is peddling. ‘Case, you know, MY kids are always the innocent victims.

W is for washable. Anything that comes with this label is your friend. Case in point – Let’s say your kid comes home with colorful streaks all over her shirt.

  • Scenario A – After learning it’s her washable markers … You: (sigh) Take off your shirt and put it on the washer. I’ll go spray it down. And wash it. Again. (sigh) … OR …
  • Scenario B – After learning it’s her indelible Sharpies … You: Holy shit. I mean … Shoot! Well, NO! I shouldn’t have said that, but this isn’t about ME! What were you thinking? … You know what? I don’t even care. Just take the damned shirt off and put it in the trash. Or wait, put it with the rags so we can be reminded of this moment every time we clean the son of a mother … $&@%#!! … What were you THINKING?”

X is for Xylophone. Yeah, I know. This one seems weird. But not in MY house. Because, for the past two years, my girl has lugged her instrument (the LARGEST one in the band, thank you very much) into the school with either Dave’s or my assistance and left it in a special place to pick up for her lesson. Because she couldn’t navigate the halls with her heavy book bag AND this oversized musical behemoth. NOTE: New parents, start introducing your toddlers to toy trumpets and flutes now. They’re much more portable. Ooh, or a piccolo. Seriously, it looks like a damned pencil.

Y is for Yellow Highlighters. Trust me when I say if you try to replace your boy’s dried out highlighter with a pink one you may as well be asking him to go to school wearing your old prom dress. Avoid this disaster and keep some (androgynous) yellow on hand.

Z is for Ziplocs. They make great snack holders, lost tooth biohazard receptacles and school supply organizers. In a pinch, they can even serve as starter wallets on days where there are bake sales, book fairs and other money-gobbling festivities. But don’t be surprised if they come back home some days filled with playground rubber, bug collections or some half-eaten snack that you are absolutely positive you didn’t send to school with your child that day.

Feel free to share with friends … because blog posts are like germs.

They’re at their best when contagious and spread around.

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read to be read at yeahwrite.me