Last month I skimmed the NaBloMoPo writers’ community on Ning.com. Creative types… chillin’ online… kickin’ it old school. As a seasoned online community band-wagoneer my trigger finger got to itching. What followed is unclear… first- the pretty lights… weeeee!!!! oo- soooo dizz-z-zeeee…

Next thing I remember I had regained consciousness to find a confirmation e-mail awaiting my attention. After reading the induction letter I realized – much to my horror – that implicit in my joining I had actually agreed to <gasp!> do something. Turns out that participation based online communities do exist outside of those urban legend-based Dateline NBC pieces designed to scare the crap out of middle Americans tragically conjoined to vinyl barcaloungers.

Here’s the deal: members pledged to publish one entry per day for the month of November, the idea being that on when the clock struck midnight on November 30th each person would have raw material for a book manuscript. Even if it only leads to me writing this one piece, that’s one more than I may done anyways, right? As for my own participation in this campaign, let me break it down with a simple equation used to calculate complex probability ratios:

Joining 11/15 + general uncertainty of life direction = 0%

Regardless, here I am – a month and a half later typing furiously so that I can lighten the load of “to-dos” brought into the New Year. That and I wanted to alleviate the guilt from not having responded to the bloggers who “tagged” me for a writing assignment. (They seem to be quite lovely – between the two of ‘em there wasn’t one threat of karmic reprisal for breaking the chain.) Considering the latency of my own response, tagging other folks would be a bit hypocritical. The buck stops here: I will be “it” for the rest of my days. The other requirements will be satisfied, so that’s gotta count for somethin’, no?

✓ Link to the person people** who tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
✓ Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.
❑ Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
❑ Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Without any further ado I present seven tidbits which expose me for the quirk-meister that I am.

1. There’s an involuntarily face I make when tearing up lettuce for salads. My nostrils flare, the soft palette** is raised and my lips purse ever so slightly. “Lettuce face” is especially pronounced with iceberg lettuce, though romaine is also a trigger. The inventor of the bag-o’-salad is my personal saviour.

2. When I was a teenager my mother told me the date I was conceived. My ears began to bleed and I now have a bonus reason to “Remember Pearl Harbor”. Seriously Mom- TMI.

3. I have a weakness for men with prominent noses. I’m not sure what it is. The resulting effect is equivalent to some sort of cryptonite/catnip alloy.

4. I have a hard time walking by someone with a tag sticking out of their shirt without fixing it. When appropriate, I usually tap them on the back to let them know.

5. I like folding laundry… and no: I will not come over to your house to fold yours. (OK- I might but only if you are clearly not doing it right.)

6. I frequently use three different words as prefixes or suffixes: ninjas, monkeys, and pants. Adding them to just about any word or scenario = insta-comedy.

7. I have the tendency to tidy up when I’m at a friend’s party. I don’t break out the vacuum or re-arrange the cabinets but I do try to help with recycling bottles, bringing dirty dishes to the sink and tossing discarded napkins/cups/paper plates. Having hosted a few parties myself I am all too familiar with how much it sucks to wake up the next morning and survey the wreckage.

*Credit for this witty colloquialism goes to my l’il brother and his turdy friend who, in days of yore, would follow me around the house chanting that phrase over and over and over and over…
**Thanks Girl Robot and Lily Potter Knits!
***For those who haven’t had vocal training, raising the soft palette opens up space in the nasal cavity and allows for greater resonance without putting additional strain on the vocal chords. The exercises used to teach this technique involve weird facial expressions (fake beauty pageant smiling, yawning and curling the upper lip while raising the nose) to create the effect until muscle memory kicks in.

Tags: ado, itching, Lily Potter Knits, New Year's Day, online communities, Remember Pearl Harbor, Robot, seasoned online community band-wagoneer

“I met my boyfriend at the airport last month.”

That statement looks simple enough but like most things in life, the true meaning is open to interpretation. To wit:

➥ The narrator is romantically involved in a serious enough capacity that the threshold of tentative exclusivity* had been crossed. (Travel concierge services are typically reserved for phase 2** or 3*** of a relationship.)

➥ A flame was kindled in a TSA detention cell – an impressive feté of personal chemistry considering lighters are contraband in any international airport of significance.

➥ Hypothetically, one could imagine mutual literary pursuits forging a connection. While not ‘literally’ ‘official’ it wouldn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure that several indicators symptomatic of a figurative phase 2 were present.

Let’s re-cap:
Phase 1*
Beta Faze

Phase 2**
Two individuals wearing synchronous dopey/addled looks as if in a constant state of running open-armed-daisy-field marathons.

Phase 3***
Flannel pajama pants are donned in lieu of wearing make-up. (Well for women that is… men wearing makeup is usually a pre-cursor to phase 4b****.) Shlep and fetch duties have become an unspoken mandate.

Phase 4a
Happily ever after – two individuals fuse to form a collective entity. (Oh Whitnard- if only I had the time and motivation for a photoshoperama session.)

Phase 4b****
Unhappily ever after – while I am very supportive of alternative lifestyles I, personally, do not wish to date a man who would borrow, stretch and ruin any of my favorite apparel. (A provisional exemption was granted once for Halloween but I don’t see that permit being renewed.)

Tags: concierge services, Halloween, rocket surgeon

My dad and brother had ritual called “Super Sunday”. Every Wednesday (just seeing if you’re paying attention) they’d go to the jobsite and Richard would be his helper. Afterwards they’d go to the Union Chowder House in Weymouth for fried clams. Apparently, this particular house had a nintendo for when the homeowners grandkids visited and Richard jumped at the homeowner’s offer of a cold beverage and a few rounds of video games.

As they were leaving Mrs. So-and-so told my dad how lovely Richard was and said, “Next time bring his brother too.” My dad was puzzled, “Uh- he where’d you get that? I don’t have another son.” She went on to explain that Richard had told her about his identical twin brother. Apparently, this fib came fully loaded with a background story, perhaps even a few adventure stories thrown in for good measure.

In the car on the way home my dad asked my brother why he had lied. The little peanut said matter-of-factly, “I dunno. There was a lull in the conversation and I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”

Tags: cold beverage, Super Sunday

I write this here because it needs to be recorded. Despite my repeated and insistent suggestion, my brother will not do so ’cause he doesn’t play well with others and hoards ‘the funny’.

“Kara, women are emotional creatures. They have feelings… sometimes as many as 5 a day.”

And we do. A smart woman moderates those emotions so that she has enough points remaining at 4pm EST to participate in the transformational goodness of the Oprah Winfrey Show.

A-men.