What You Should Read This Week... Because I Said So

Last week I had so much fun NOT writing a blog post that I've decided I'll do it again.

Why? Because the Internet is fun, and if any of y'all are at all like me, then you, too, struggle to find good shit on the World Wide Web and rely on others to tell you what to read. Welp, folks, I'm here to fill that role.

No, really, your Internet preferences are invalid. Right now, all that matters is what I instruct you to consume.

Ok. I am sorry. That was quite rude of me. Please let me make apologize via a dapper owl portrait.

We squaresies now? Good. Because I really did feel awful.

Now, here is the list of sites I INSIST  you view:

1) Book shelf porn

No, really. Go. To. This. Site. Because when you do, you will see this...

And this...

Seriously, all this website includes is row upon sexy row of pictures of scrumptious bookshelves. And if that doesn't turn you on, then there's something wrong with you, and we can't be kindred spirits.

2) What We've All Been Waiting For... Seriously

Um, look at this.

Because A Study of Stuff readers aren't asshats, we NEVER presume to know what another creature is thinking. Which is why we are all THRILLED that science has actually produced a new invention that will (no joke) TRANSLATE OUR PETS' THOUGHTS INTO REAL, AUDIBLE, UNDERSTANDABLE WORDS. For realz, folks, your mind should be blown. The future looks ah-MAY-zing!

3) Serious Stuff About the Gays and Religion

Some serious finger wagging is in order.

In case you've been living under a rock, let me fill you in. Arizona legislators are pursing policy that allows business owners to REFUSE SERVICE to lesbians, gay, transgenders, and queers because they claim that this Jim Crow-esque bigotry is the business owners' way of acting on their right to RELIGIOUS FREEDOM.

Just... just...

For the record, I know that not all Christians support this legislation, and I know that the people who are trying to push this through do not represent the large majority of the religious right. That being said, screw these people. What they're doing is just wrong. This article beautifully and poignantly argues how Christ would've facepalmed if he were here today.

Seriously, if you read nothing else I ever link to on this blog, please let it be this article. I feel that strongly about it.

THE END
....

Okay. I feel badly ending this whole blog on such a sad note. So, here's a please-leave-this-blog-feeling-smiley picture. Enjoy!

Oh, and if that doesn't do it, then this better...

Alrighty. I'm really done now. Bekah out!

Biebs? Please Don't Be My Neighbor

Worst. News. Ever.

THIS idiot....

... is planning on moving to my neck of the woods.

Just.... just...

I can't handle it. My brain, heart, AND soul just do NOT want to live in the same city as the dastardly douche-canoe named Justin Bieber.

Seriously. Just look at this turdlet.

Would YOU want him to be your neighbor?

Doubt it.

And so does an entire group of Atlanta residents who are LITERALLY turning to legal channels to ban this budding butthead from relocating to the area.

Turns out that the Buckhead Neighborhood Coalition found out that the Biebs has decided to stop giving poor Canada such a horrific name and is instead turning to the South for his salvation.

DixieLand. Ain't. Having. It.

So upset are they, in fact, that when they discovered that Mr. Bieberballs was considering an $11 million mansion in the city's best neighborhood, they actually protested.

No.

Really.

They protested.

With signs and shit.

Now, I'm working toward a PhD in public policy, so protests regarding urban environments is sorta my schtick. I love this stuff. And I'm not alone. In fact, there are entire books and scientific articles written on the phenomenon known as NIMBY-ism (NIMBY standing for Not In My Backyard.) I just never thought I'd get to see such an academic principle applied to the Biebs and my neighborhood. Because, in fact, the mansion the pop starlet is considering is only about five miles away from my humble abode.

Personally, I'm okay with this shmuck moving on up to the Northeast-side to his deluxe mansion in the high (property tax area). I think it's good for the kids. More money for our schools, and more opportunity for local children to see what all loserdom entails.

But if I had to pick my next door neighbor, I'd pick this guy, even if he does have a creepy obsession with puppets.

Now, speaking of the magical world of make believe, never say never. For all of you non-Bie-lieb-ers, you're right to have your doubts.

Turns out that everything you just read is a complete hoax. Except I didn't fall for it. But TIME magazine did. The national news site ran a small clip on Bieber's possible move (no, really, they ran an article, and you can read it right here.) But they didn't check their sources.

As CNN said, it had all the elements of being an irresistible story, but ultimately it proved too good to be true. Yes, rumors were circulating about the Biebs moving to Atlanta. But the protest group was complete crap. It was a publicity stunt put together by the hosts Rock 100.5's morning show, "The Regular Guys." And they did a FAB.U.LOUS job tussling the media into a tizzy.

One of the co-hosts, Time Andrews, actually created a fictitious persona and took that faux dude for a press junket. CNN, BBC, TIME, TMZ --- together the media world slapped together some 45K stories about the protest group.

"Justin Bieber's relocation to Atlanta can be nothing but bad for our children, as well as the community. Some can't even let their children play in the driveway without fear; he has raced vehicles under the influence, before. What's to say he won't do it again?", he said to the AP.

As a former journalist, I gotta say, this whole thing cracked me up. Hopefully it did you, too.

MWAH!

And by MWAH, do I mean kisses, or is it just a shortened version of....

Oh Pho!

{From Chris}

Down here in Atlanta, there exists a stretch of road full of the most amazing and legitimate food in the city. Whether it's traditional Vietnamese or a low-country boil you're craving, Buford Highway has got your fix.

If you don't live in Atlanta, you will this one time be forgiven for not knowing about the gastronomic delights that are Buford Highway. In recent years, the entire area has sprung up into an ethnic culinary mecca. Whatever you want -- be it Ethiopian, Australian, Turkish, Mexican -- it's on this highway, drawing attention to itself with big, tacky signs. 

Waffle House crosses all boundaries

 And so, when I found myself craving a delicious bowl of pho, there was only one place to go.* I found myself at Pho Dai Loi the other night ordering a bowl of pho with beef tenderloin, tripe, and tendon.

"What's pho?", you might ask?  Well, you certainly should ask, because it is God's gift to our mouths.  Pho is, at its most basic, a big bowl of broth, noodles, herbs, and meat.  From there, you can add more of everything!  Limes, sirracha, cilantro, bean sprouts, and on and on....

Pho Dai Loi is one of those fantastic pho shops that has a menu, but that's pretty much a formality.  The server greets you with a basic "What you want?" because you're not here for conversation.  You place your order, and before you can realize how how delicious the place smells, your order is already sitting on your table.

Oh my gawd. Becky, look at that bowl...

Look at that bowl!  There is nothing in that bowl you do not want inside of you!

Forks?  Where we're going we don't need forks...

Now some people may get a little worried about how to eat this.  It's really simple.  Spoon in the left hand, chopsticks in the right.  Slurp soup, slurp noodles,slurp meat, slurp broth -- all while keeping your head near the bowl to enjoy the yummy smells and to avoid that less-than-dapper splatter.

Sweet Baby Jesus....so delicious....

Oh, did I forget to tell you about Vietnamese spring rolls?  These are not the fried egg rolls or the fried spring rolls from the Chinese buffet.  Wrapped in rice paper, a Vietnamese spring roll is like a good sausage.  Soft but firm and with a satisfying snap when you bite into them.  Inside that delightful spring roll is a burst of cool and fresh flavors that are even better with a little peanut sauce.

Also, since I don't have the skill to deftly wrap up this post with a quality last paragraph, let me just clue you in. This is the end. No, really. You can stop reading now.

*Buford Highway. Have you not been paying attention at all?

Lazy Pants McGee

So, instead of working on my own blog, I've been perusing other people's online works. Why? Because my middle name is Lazy Pants McGee.

Or Fat Pants McGee.

Or Bitchy Pants McGee.

Really, it depends on the day.

ANYWAY... my point with all of this is that I've been feeling a little sluggish, so I haven't really put together a proper post. And I was all like, "Oh! No! The! Horror!" about it, until I realized that most bloggers are actually all hater tots about truly writing.

Instead, they're doing "round ups" of the funniest/best/whatever-ist things they've found online that week. Well, la-dee-frickin-da, other bloggers! If you can can cut corners, then dammit! I can, too!

So, here it is. My round up.


Cat People (And Democrats!!) Are Totes The Bomb - TIME : I effing love science. Why? Because it actually dedicates real and serious time to conducting surveys that result in such findings as cat people are more likely to be politically liberal than are dog owners, who trend toward conservative. I knew there was a reason I loved kitties! Go DNC!

 When You're Feeling Self-Doubt & Lack of Motivation - Zen Habits : This is a fantastic (and ironic, given the subject of my rant above) article about how to move past self-pity and get shit done instead.

Kick Ass Stuff - The Bloggess : Blogging icon and best-selling novelist Jenny Lawson is hilarious, and so is her Pinterest board. This link comes with a warning, though. Once you start scrolling, you will be ADDICTED! (Especially when you get to the one-eyed cat pirate. No, for real, it's glorious. Sad, but inspiring, and glorious, and funny.)

Go Naked, Eat Breakfast, And Other Productivity Tips From Famous Peeps - Mental Floss : This is a wonderful collection of tips for getting stuff done. No, seriously, these tips are kinda/sorta fabulous.

Hilarious Olympic Shit - Distracitfy : I don't know why, but this cracked me up disproportionately to how funny it actually is, so I'm sharing it, just in case you're in a giggle fest mood, too.

Realization: This round-up actually took more time than sitting down and writing a thoughtful post.

One Cat, Two Cat, Crappy Cat, Yellow Cat ...Or Calico Cat?

If this morning is any indication of how my day will be, then my day will be exactly like stepping barefoot into a warm pile of cat shit.

Yup. One of my litter-trained felines decided to leave me a late Valentine's Day chocolate kiss. Except it "kissed" my just-pedicured-yesterday foot, and there was 0 amounts of actual candy in that mess.

But who? Who gifted me this experience?

It's a purrfect Caturday mystery!

Was it Khaleesie? The newcomer to the family? Who might more logically have more troubles remembering to use the litter box, as she has had only a short amount of time to grow accustomed to the fecal facts of the house?

Doesn't this little shit look sinister as heck??

This particular suspect was noticeably absent from late night cuddles, and then this morning, after the shit-stepping-incident-of-2014, she was all about snuggles. Apology love, perhaps?

And then there's this pisser.

He's pissed on my pillow. He's pissed in my purse. He's pissed in shoes, on fresh laundry, in shopping bags filled with new clothes. Just about the only place he hasn't pissed recently is the litter box.  Okay. So that's not quite fair. He hasn't had an *accident* in more than a year. But he's a notorious offender, so... logic forces me to question if he would move up the feline felon ladder to shitting. After all, he, too, was noticeably absent from morning cuddles, and he offered no apologetic affection once I was up.

Bah.

It's impossible to determine which is the offender. And I already have another mystery to solve: "Who Is Going To Clean This Mess," and I've already found one clue: A piece of paper on which I personally wrote, "It sure as shit ain't gonna be me."

In the words of a famous comedian, cancer can suck my lady balls, because I just kicked it right in the toosh! REMISSION, baby!

So, I just beat cancer.

And I'm so darn excited about this that I'm going to repeat it, only this time with capitalization and exclamation points: I JUST BEAT CANCER!!! That's one thing off the ol' New Year's Resolution list, eh?

Pardon me while I wiggle out my happy dance:

P.S. I kissed this man, and I liked it!  

Well, that was an okay happy dance, but I'm looking for something with a little more verve, pop, smooth. Ah, here it is. My true happy dance:

I mean, dayuuuuuum, I deserve it. First, poison invaded my body. Then doctors made me ingest radioactive smoothies (the assholes.) And then, I vomited, gained 80 pounds, grew a beard, and oh, and I shit myself. (You can read about that saga here: No, Really, I Talk About Crapping Myself, and It's Hilarious) So, yeah, thanks, cancer. I'm glad you died. Oh, and stay dead. You best not come back to haunt this girl, because, if you're even thinking of playing zombie, let me warn you:

For real, you did.

Because from Day Numero Uno, I decided that I had to choose between either laughing or crying at the fact that the world had collided in such a way that in the space of a week my precious young cat unexpectedly kicked the kitty bucket, my big old ass finally turned 30, and the doctors told me that the giant tumor on my thyroid was, in fact, not a good thing after all.

I mean, WHO HAS THIS LIFE? Besides me?

So, seriously, I decided to embrace the funny. And then my doctors told me something I didn't want to hear:

Turns out, this shit is apparently serious.

So, I hit a scary, dark, dreary, evil patch. (Which I wrote about and you can read here: The Blog Post I JUST Mentioned ) And I started being even more melodramatic than usual, and my loved ones started getting sick of that shtick, as evidenced by this conversation with my husband:

Me: I love you.
Chris: What the hell brought that on?
Me: I had a passing pain in my neck, and I thought I might have an aneurysm. No, seriously, I might. I'm just sorta sitting here waiting to drop dead.
Chris: I've been waiting years for that...

But it's hard not to think of your mortality when this is a typical conversation at your home:

Me: My feet really hurt because of... oh, what's that disease? My poly-cystic ovarian syndrome? No. That's not it. The other one...
Chris: Cancer?
Me: No, the other one.
Chris: Your depression? 
Me: No, the one after that.
Chris: Your anxiety disorder?
Me: No. Ha! I remember now! My plantar fasciitis!
Chris: Oh. I forgot you had that one. 

So, with all this (sometimes literal) shit piled on my (metaphorical) plate, I occasionally lacked my typical optimism and instead embraced my surly, sullen side.

I would bunker down in bed, crippled by the knowledge that I was sick.

But over those crucial months, I learned a few lessons along the way. And even though my battle with cancer isn't over (I still have the tumor, which causes weight gain, irregular hormone surges, and intensely severe depression AND anxiety), I think my (thought-up-on-the-fly-because-I-needed-to-post-because-it-has-been-almost-two-weeks) list is ready to help me deal with whatever comes along.

Lesson One: Find the funny, or else you're f*cked. *

If you can't laugh, then whatever battle you are fighting is already lost. Focus on one moment of joy. For me, that's the time that I thought my spontaneous shitting HAD to mean I had colon cancer. While researching that illness's symptoms, I ran across a bumper sticker that said, "I lost my colon... but I'm still full of shit." See what I mean? Hilarious. That crap still cracks me up. As does this:

Lesson Two: Love the ones you want to; don't waste your time with the rest

Sounds harsh, but there it is. When you only have so much energy, it's important to determine where you want to spend it. For me, it was my immediate nucleus. If I had to be sick, then I had to spend quality time with the things that made me the most happy. I prioritized my interactions. First, my immediate family (Chris and the cats). Then, friends (huge shout out to my dear pal, Mariah, for being the best rock anybody can throw at a disease) Then, the rest -- siblings, grandparents, nieces and nephews, etc.  Everybody else could suck it. If they weren't worthy of my time and energy, then they didn't get it. Now, I'm not saying to go out with the slogan, "Be a bitch!" Be compassionate, caring, kind, attentive. But don't intentionally throw good after bad.

Why in the name of all that is Rice Krispie Treats wouldn't I want to spend all of my time with these blokes? 

Lesson Three: Get a kitten, dammit!

For realz, y'all, don't take things too seriously. My list here; it's ironic. Because nothing peeved me more than trying to read up about a disease and having everybody on the great world wide web tell me how I should feel and what lessons I should take away from my brush with being really, really, really sick. How you want to deal with your issues is YOUR thing. Not mine. Sure, I'd recommend the above two points (find the humor and spend quality time with your actual loved ones), but those helped ME. They might not help you one iota. And that's fine, because it's YOUR thing that is going to help you. Find that thing. For me, that thing was getting a remission kitten. And even better than just getting a remission kitten was naming her Khaleesie, after the mother of dragons in George R.R. Martin's epic saga "Game of Thrones."

Lesson Four: The most important tip

Tune back into A Study of Stuff! I know we've been irregular with our posts lately, but, as this post shows, we've been a bit busy with the bad stuff, the good news, and a new family member. From here on out, we are dedicating ourselves to posting AT LEAST every Wednesday. Keep checking in, and leave comments. You want us to write about something? Being pet owners? Being thrift shoppers? Being killer cooks? Being adventurers who travel to local haunts? Whatever. We don't care. We just want to have fun with YOU. So, y'all come back, ya hear?



* I would type out the whole word, but my mother reads this thing, and I don't want her to think I'm too much of a hell-bound hussy.

Southern Hospitality

Ok, so last week's Epic Cluster Flurry was hilarious.

Two inches of snow and the whole Atlanta metro area went bananas. Babies entered the world, only to be stranded on the side of the road with every other schmuck. Stuck in the Granddaddy of traffic jams, people chose to abandon their cars and hoof it the 10 miles or so to their homes. The local transit train system caught afire, and cars literally sank into the ground, presumably never to emerge again. 

See? I wasn't lying. No hyperbole here, y'all. 

As a born and corn-fed Yankee, a few giggles were in order. To me, when I say, "We got snow," I'm usually referring to something like this: 

It ain't snow until you've hauled ass up a drift to scoop snow off your roof. No ladders required, folks.

The word "Snowmaggedon" cannot be evoked unless a) you had to shovel yourself out of your door, b) you are concerned about your roof collapsing, and c) the temperature is sitting around "if you step outside, your eyes will literally fuse together from frost." That's usually somewhere around the -20F range in Iowa, where I've endured all of the above. 

And when somebody says that he/she got stuck in traffic because of the snow, I anticipate this sort of scene: 

Not this: 

I admit I had a few laughs at Atlanta's expense... until I realized that these Southerners are quite prickly when it comes to their snow, and that mocking them about their city's lack of infrastructure and inability to handle even the smallest of dustings is akin to saying that someone's Nana's grits taste like gravel. In short: Them's fighting words.

So, now I'm feeling poorly. 

Just awful.

Downright miserable.

I ridiculed my new state of residence, when a lot of things about the situation were, in fact, not funny. (See second paragraph about BABIES BEING BORN ON THE HIGHWAY!)

So, as a peace offering, I am providing a link to this sweet article: How Atlanta Really Isn't So Bad

It chronicles how Atlantians aren't actually just asshats who can't drive (although, I'm just saying... you know what. No. This is a peace offering. A peace offering!) in snow. Instead, they're some pretty cool peeps who put their life on hold to help others.

For example, neighbors of the local backlogged interstates bundled up and walked along the lines of gridlocked commuters, offering them hot chocolate, cookies, water, aspirin, gas, blankets, and other goodies.

One guy stayed in one particularly slippery spot just so he could help push every single car who fell prey to the persnickity area. Some other dude bought and carried numerous bags of salt and salted one whole street by himself. Another fella just walked down the street in front of his house, inviting in stranded strangers. That guy might have forgotten to tell his wife his plans, so that will probably be an awkward conversation later. 

Corporations and politicians also proved they have some semblance of a heart. Chick-fil-A fed people free of charge, the Fairfield Inn allowed people to camp in their lobby (because all the rooms were full). Kroger prepared all the food they had in stock in their deli and fed the people who were sleeping in the aisles. And, yes, people, even the local legislators got in on the action, as the local Congressmen and Congresswomen opened their offices at the Capitol and let people sleep on their couches and their floors.

Don't get me wrong. All this generosity and selflessness was just plain ol' fashioned Southern hospitality at it's best. No doubt that.

But, keep in mind, this is also the city where I was walking down the street and some woman hollered at me from her car. I walked over, thinking she wanted directions. Instead, she asked me if I saw a trash can. When I said that I indeed did not, she handed me a plastic plate still half full of food and said, "Here, honey, please be a dear and throw this away for me," and then drove off.

Ah, Southern hospitality.