So, I’m alive.
I know. Thank God, right? The world stopped turning for awhile there, didn’t it subscribers and whoever recently googled “thegirlwiththeblog.com Lena”? Sorry to put you through that. Also, sorry for a boring intro. The original opening line for my “comeback” post was significantly better.
“My hair smells like mayonnaise.”
Which was true at one point this summer, but has since faded from relevancy, much like Miley Cyrus’ virginity.
I guess I owe you an explanation, both for my extensive absence and my mayonnaise hair. I’ll start with my absence.
In March of this year, I quit my job and ditched my apartment and traveled around the United States volunteering on organic farms. I started a new blog, “www.thisisablogaboutfarming.wordpress.com.” I wrote a farewell post on here and basically called it a day. I’ve been back since late May but didn’t care enough to tell you. And I know it’s been eating you all up inside.
Now for my mayonnaise hair. Since farming I have developed an entirely new approach to my health and beauty. I now eat 80% (ish) local and vegetarian and have made a serious effort to reduce the amount of toxins in my life. I know I sound all new age. You can punch me in the face if you want.
So since early June I have not shampooed my hair, used toothpaste, deodorant, hair products, perfume, some cosmetics, household cleaning products, etc. But I am squeaky clean and smell delicious. Here is how:
Hair: I don’t use shampoo. Eff that. I use a mixture of baking soda and water to wash my hair and a mixture of apple cider vinegar and water to condition. I don’t use hair products. I use a homemade hair gel made from organic flax seed, scented with essential oils. I also deep condition on occasion with eggs, coconut oil, or in some cases mayonnaise.
Deodorant/perfume: I still use deodorant. I lied for the added drama. But it is homemade, made out of coconut oil, arrowroot powder, and baking soda. And I still smell amazing, using perfume made from water, witch hazel, and sweet orange and lavender essential oil. According to my brother, I am almost a Wiccan. I take that as a compliment.
Toothpaste: I still brush my teeth obsessively. That will never change. Except now I use a mixture of coconut oil and baking soda with peppermint essential oil.
Makeup: My blush/lip color is made from a mixture of beet powder, cocoa powder, arrowroot powder, and sweet almond oil. My eye shadow is made from cocoa and arrowroot powder. Basically my face smells like a chocolate covered beet at all times.
Household products: Dish detergent from water and castille soap, laundry detergent from water, baking soda, castille soap, and salt, bathroom/kitchen cleaner from an orange peel/white vinegar concentrate.
If you got through all of that without calling me a hippie communist, you’re better than me.
But now that I am back and prepared to start blogging again (maybe) I realize I need to get caught up in the reality of the world around me. Like how we are almost at war with Syria and the word “twerk” exists. I don’t know how or why either of these things are happening, but I don’t like them. And I intend to blog about it…
The girl whose writing experience at Dunkin Donuts is much like the Breaking Bad episode about the fly, only far less symbolic and much more about an actual fly.
I’m either exceedingly arrogant or incredibly loyal, feeling the need to post a blog about my blog’s hiatus. But I’m doing this because I do feel a sense of obligation to this domain and to the reader friends I have made, so allow me to explain.
In the past month my life has endured mammoth change. I quit the job I have been having hemorrhoids over the decision to NOT write about, I moved out of my crack den apartment and temporarily back in with my mother as the able-bearded bodied man I recently began to live with and I planned a 3 month road trip around the United States.
We are leaving tomorrow.
I know I took a long time to tell you, but I’ve had
good reason. This trip took a lot of planning, mostly due to the semi unconventional way we are going about it. We are WWOOFing. For those unfamiliar, WWOOF stands for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, which is an organization that connects travelers with farms seeking volunteers in exchange for free room,board, and meals. This took some coordination but we’ve mostly established a trip using this organization. In some places we will be sleeping on couches, in others we will be camping in someone’s yard. Can you handle the badassness?
So for this reason I am taking a hiatus from The Girl With The Blog. Not because I have stopped being a girl with a blog, but because I have become a girl with two blogs. Righteous right?
For those who have been loyal followers, fear not I will return. In the meantime, please check out my NEW blog where we hope to document the entire trip.
For those of you too uninterested in my existence to check it out, no hard feelings (JK, you blow). I’ll see you in June! 🙂
The girl with a blog about farming
A few weeks ago I took a poll. Here are the results:
Because I have no concrete evidence of how many people actually participated in this poll, I can only speculate that with 183 subscribers, it was somewhere in the range of 6,072. In which case, I congratulate myself for having so many dedicated readers. There has never been a success in my life quite as remarkable as fabricated statistics.
The main thing I gather from these results is that the only thing people hate less than politics is calling me a pretentious shrew, which really is the mother of all compliments if you think about it. Yes. I can accept this world where beards are more important than love, and 50% of voters are completely indifferent to what I write. I accept it like I accept anything. Except Kristen Stewart. I don’t accept her. Not as an actress or as a human. That was not a vampire joke.
Anyhow. Thank you to everyone who participated in this. I appreciate your feedback.
And to those of you who did not, I invite you to stop being such a loser. It’s bad for your complexion.
The girl with a bad complexion
I am alive.
I considered posting just this sentence however in an ironic sort of way it seems cryptic. As if maybe I’m not alive and my homicidal captors felt it would be wise to update my blog before ditching my body behind an abandoned Blockbuster. But I assure you, I am (not) alive.
I realize it’s been about three Miley Cyrus haircuts since I’ve written but the happenings of life have taken over mine. Luckily for me, my blog is still getting hits from Google searches like “Why are Mormons so hot?” and “I’m going to be friendless for the rest of this year.” Although I think that may be the same person.
I want you all to know, that I have every intention of posting again very soon so feel free to loosen the noose. But right now I don’t have time. I have unwritten novels and hopeless dreams to attend to. I know you understand.
The girl who misses her blog readers
PS: Thinking of doing an October Blogging Challenge (one blog per day). Thoughts?
I know you think I lied to you. I know this is how you feel.
But it hasn’t been seven years. It’s been 2 weeks. Plus I wrote you every day for a month. So there’s that. Can we suck face now? Ok.
I’ve been at work for 1 hour and 44 minutes and all I have done so far is search for local you-pick blueberry farms (please note: as a lazy American there is a very good chance I will never follow through with doing this, but will instead spend December complaining about the fact that I can’t make a frozen blueberry smoothies or locate the United States on a map….whaaaaaatt????) and watch elephants taking baths on YouTube. I could feel bad about this, but seeing as my boss is painting her nails and watching Arrested Development on Netflix, I only feel like a slightfailure of the educational system. Plus nothing is more badass than an elephant taking a bath.
But I’ve had trouble with motivation lately. Perhaps it’s my 65 hour work week or the fact that the only thing that truly motivates me in life is my inner drive which apparently died the day I purchased a Roku, but I actually have a lot “in the works” I just can’t bring myself to do anything about it. For example, I am scheduled to take the GRE (graduate school admission test) in August and have received all of my study materials in the mail. But aside from rereading the flashcard for the word “apocryphal” and trying to determine which Dawson’s Creek episode I heard it in, I haven’t done so much as breathe in the same vicinity of my math tutoring book since purchasing it, which really is a problem since I can’t correctly do math even with a calculator. This is not an exaggeration.
I need to foster some creative energy. The good thing about the May Blogging Challenge was that I had to be borderline creative at least some point every day and since I am very much a deadline-driven person, the challenge of the challenge was actually quite fulfilling. But then June came and I catapulted into a feeling of depression and lack of life purpose like, if I’m not blogging about bugs crawling on my toothbrush, WHO AM I???, and WHERE DO I BELONG?, and WHAT COLOR IS MY PARACHUTE?
It’s been an existential crisis.
So I’m thinking in order to stronghold my creative potential I will have to develop a new project. I’ve been interested in establishing a greeting card line where I can capitalize not only on my deep understanding of human emotion, but also my strength as a phrasologist (not a real word).
Here is what I’ve come up with so far:
…cause Jews don’t celebrate Christmas.
IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE IRONIC!
I think I need to work on this.
Have a great day, lovebirds and otherwise unhappy single people of the world.
The girl contractually obligated to get a dragon tattoo
Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have achieved the impossible. It is May 31, 2012, the official end of my May Blogging Challenge and I am proud to say I have actually accomplished my goal to blog every day. This is a big deal. It is the first time I have achieved a goal I have set for myself since dropping my high school shoplifting habit.
Needless to say, I’m feeling rather pleased with myself. During the month of May I explored the parasitic aspects of my mother’s relationship, established the “Sunday Night Round Up” which is basically my way of saying ‘I’m too lazy to write a real blog and you people will read anything (suckers),’ diminished Twitter for the 47th time which has shockingly had little effect on people’s decision to use it, revealed six more characteristics of my future ex-husband, diagrammed the woes of my crack den apartment, honored Bob Dylan with a creepy yet serious birthday shout out, explored all of the ways and reasons I suck at being a young person, and most recently revealed to a shocked internet audience that real women have confidence in addition to their curves, muscle tone, and everything in between. It’s been an interesting month; a fulfilling month. But I am exhausted and I need a break that does not include me blogging about needing a break. You feel me? I know you do.
So I am going on a brief hiatus, that will likely last anywhere from 12-? hours, while I figure out how to approach my blogging schedule in the future. While I don’t plan to continue the daily blogging, I do hope to establish some sort of consistency, as I know you will be waiting, uncomfortably on the edge of your seat until my next post.
Any feedback or suggestions on blogging schedule preferences, hit me up in some fashion, via comment, email, or midnight knocks on my door. I won’t answer, but I will call the police and relish the thought of your incarceration.
In the meantime, check out the last 31 blog entries. I promise, I worked semi-hard on them.
The girl who hasn’t changed contacts since 1978
I have no friends. I have no IRAs. I have no access to medical marijuana.
I have nothing.
Nothing but this blog. It may not help me pick out clothes, give me hope for a stable retirement, or force me to hallucinate about totem poles carved out of watermelon, but it is there. It is there when I need it and more often when I don’t. The problem is, no one reads it.
Ok, fine. That’s a lie.
A lot of people read it. At least there are more people who read it than there are people I know. Which isn’t saying much when you consider I know 4 people. But nevertheless, it is not enough.
In my old age, I’ve become grubby and selfish and even needier than usual. I WANT MORE READERS! And why not? This blog is a comprehensive publication! One day I might blog about governmental affairs of the Obama administration, the next about the impressive size of my bladder. Say, whaaaaat? It ain’t no big thang.
That is why I am asking you, committed readers, to please pimp my blog. Pimp her all night long until she is sore and miserable and in need of topical ointments. She wants to be read.
Email a post, tweet a quote, tattoo my name on your face. These are all great ideas that will not only validate me emotionally but also bring further readership to my blog. Which is an international issue I am sure you are all incredibly committed to.
For those of you who are new to this, allow me to remind you of the true depth of investigative blogging I do here at thegirlwiththeblog.com
Like for instance, sometimes I talk about beards:
Other times I write about politics:
And occasionally pop culture
Plus 59 other blog entries for your and no one else’s enjoyment! So please, PIMP MY BLOG, bitches!
Then listen to this song. It’s great.
The girl who knows there’s no success like failure and that failure is no success at all.
This “every day for the month of May” b***shit has got to stop.
I can’t keep blogging.
I have nothing left to say. At least not to you people. You silly people reading my blog. What is wrong with you? What sort of dark hole is in the core of your existence that keeps you coming back to this train wreck of a url? I imagine something related to your childhoods and the Hot Wheels you never got to play with and the Uncles you always had to. Maybe I am being presumptuous.
I am definitely being presumptuous.
Here are a few things I Googled today:
Do spiders have lungs?
Gene Hackman: Dead or Alive?
What is the population of Greenland?
Who lives in Greenland?
What language do Greendlanders speak?
Why can’t I stop thinking about Greenland?
Then I watched this video:
Now, I’m going to go to sleep and dream about situations in which I can smile and say the words “ultimate social destruction” without referencing a CW drama.
The girl who shouldn’t have a blog
I need some goals in life. Goals more impressive than leaving my contacts in past 11:00 pm.
So I’ve decided that for the month of May I am going to write a blog post…
Ok, it’s not as dramatic as the caps lock and high frequency of periods would indicate. But it is a goal. A real one. Not like that time I said I’d stop eating like a pig and hating myself. I actually have a game plan:
I am going to blog every day. On the days I don’t want to blog, I am going to either
A. Post pictures of myself in various states of dress on my Linkedin profile, thus destroying future career prospects to serve as a reminder of my failure to achieve my goal.
B. Stop crying like a bitch and write one anyway
Because in reality, this would not be an impressive goal to achieve. Lots of people blog everyday! Not me. I am too busy doing more important things like microwaving slices of American cheese and crying for no reason.
This is going to be like, so totally validating for my existence. Yay.
The girl who even when alone is embarrassed every time “Bare Naked” by Jennifer Love Hewitt comes on her iPod.
WARNING: This blog post contains graphic depictions of my wasted youth that in no way reflects on the other members of the 99%, but rather leeches off of their popularity in hopes that the mere mention of the 99% will illicit further readership.
In the international social system, the people are represented by two separate but not equally important groups: the destitute 99%, who don’t like to bathe; and the unreasonably r*ch 1%, who never have to wear the same pair of underwear two days in a row. These are their stories.
December 14, 2011
After a lengthy evening of bedside reading and late-night cyber intercourse, I startled myself this morning when I awoke prior to the nine o’clock hour. As I stretched my limbs, I was greeted by the heavenly sun. I gazed in wonder at its blossoming rays, remembering the words, of that guy, in that one Youtube video, who said the sun is one of few things left that is still virtuous and uncorrupted, knowing not of class warfare, Katy Perry, or my attempted tax evasion. I paraphrase of course.
The two family shih tzus, Sam and Molly Bean, greeted me and helped me to dress. As Molly tied a ribbon in my hair, I cradled Sam, softly humming the melody of “Sing Sweet Nightingale,” a song so beautiful, I nearly forgot about my dwindling credit score and non-existent retirement options.
I travelled to the house’s single washroom, where I bathed with toilet water and Comet. I proceeded to brush my teeth with such vigor and disdain, my toothbrush shattered, dramatically, in my hand, splitting into two pieces. This was the first red letter moment of the day.
After bidding farewell to the defective remains of the Crest corporation mouthpiece, I spent several hours baking Christmas
cookies. An activity formerly reserved for the bottom-feeders of society, unable to afford fancy Wal-Mart bakery goods, has at once turned profitable! This holiday season, I am selling cookie trays as a supplemental, unreported, income. I cackle in victory every time I deposit the virginal checks into my credit union, unmolested by the greedy, corporate, government, Wall Street, fat cats, gobbledygook.
I spent the remainder of the afternoon, indulging in the performing arts, single-handedly choreographing and performing a dazzling rendition of “Proud Mary” for the dogs. They validated my efforts with a sneeze and a yawn. I was touched.
By the evening I was off to work at the local coffee and donut establishment where lack of customers and professionalism, allowed me to blast Bob Dylan, write on my laptop, and obnoxiously consume three large coffees in six hours. One customer tipped me $1 for serving a $1.75 cup of coffee. I smiled and thanked him, but spat at the ground where he stood, as soon as he exited, scoffing at his condescending gesture. Surely he was one of “they who must not be named”….the 1%.
…I just named them
After work, I journeyed yonder across town, weathering the elements on my two mile drive….
I can’t lie. I’m writing this from work. I’m bored. There are no customers, except one creepy pregnant chick sitting in the corner, eating a McFlurry and staring at me, and some old dude who keeps talking about how he sleeps in the nude. I worked here in high school. A few years later here I am again, with a college degree on my wall, a certificate of divorce in my desk, and nearly three years of seriously professional work experience, with salaries, commissions, paid vacation, and health insurance to validate it. At least I have this blog…right?…RIGHT? Shoot me.
Just as I was writing this the pregnant chick came up to me and showed me a text of her daughter-to-be’s name. Then she told me about her G.E.D. test and her problems with her cheating boyfriend, who says he loves her, even though he’s broken up with her four times since she got pregnant. She makes me sad. Like a three-legged puppy or a pageant baby. I want to adopt her.
Now I’m going to go mop the floor, wipe the counters, and run into a knife.
Thanks for reading.
The girl who despite harsh sarcasm, actually supports the Occupy Movement