Before you read this you should know two things:
- I changed the title of this post no less than 6 times.
- I’m writing this in my pajamas and it’s well past noon… I also may or may not be eating jerky for breakfast. Brunch. Whatever.
Uncover the Art of Your Right-Now Life
Before you read this you should know two things:
I’m in the middle of reading Mindy Kaling’s new book, Why Not Me, and can I just say that I am so in love with everything about it.
Here’s what I love about Mindy- she’s the perfect mix of confidence and self-deprecation. She laughs at herself. She laughs at the industry and it’s ridiculous standards. But she has gumption. She unapologetically believes in herself, her talents, and her general awesomness without taking it all too seriously. I dig that.
She’s also completely open about being a socially anxious elitist.
And who isn’t, really?
Everyone wants to be on the inside of some kind of club, and admittedly, Mindy herself is not exempt from such suffering. In both of her books, she essentially invites us to be in her club. It’s like she gave us the secret password and handshake, and for a few hours we get to sneak in through the back door and hang out at the party. We may be the fringe people of the club, but she invited us in and I love that about her.
Like any good friend would, she tells us secrets- like how she really feels about being “the funny one” of the sorority (no one wants to be the court jester), and how sometimes being equally grateful and ambitious in her career is like walking a tightrope (read: it’s a literal booby trap).
She tells us how basically everyone, everywhere in Hollywood wears fake hair.
I knew it!
I knew it in my knower!
Thank you for blowing the horn on that one Mindy. Me and my seven strands of hair don’t feel so bad about ourselves now. All of us girls with thin, lame hair are pumping our fist in the air, because we are liberated. It’s not our fault. We are not weird. No one’s hair is actually that amazing on it’s own.
In the last year I’ve read a few other books by some other funny ladies- Bossypants by Tina Fey, Yes Please by Amy Poehler… Not surprisingly they all seem to know each other and be friends, furthering my belief that there is an actual Funny Girl’s Club that exists, and all I know is I WANT IN. Read More…
So I’ve made a huge, tiny mistake…
I’m hunkered down in a cute little Airbnb in Oregon for a few days of uninterrupted, intensive writing time. ALONE.
Well, almost alone.
I decided to tag along with Amber for the weekend. Which is not some weird, third-person reference by the way- my best friend’s name is actually also Amber. (I know, how kitschy, right?)
She’s here to begin her yoga certification and I’m here to get some serious writing done. And by serious I mean there will be lots of GIFs involved and hopefully one or two morsels of actual creative writing thrown in. And snack breaks. Because priorities.
So I sit down at the desk this morning full of hope and good intentions, open my laptop, and go to plug it into the wall only to realize I’VE LEFT MY CHARGER AT HOME.
Classic Salhus. 🤦🏼♀️
I did manage to bring my iPad as backup, but failed to remember the keyboard that goes with it.
Can you tell it’s my first writing getaway? (Don’t answer that.)
So I’m sitting here writing to you because, well, for starters I needed a break from book proposal stuff, and for enders, I just love you guys so hard and I needed some of our good ol’ fashioned banter.
Can I make a confession?
Writing to you here is my favorite kind of writing.
Sometimes when I’m having a hard time knowing where to start, what to write about, or just feeling stuck in general, I just sit down and start typing to you. I don’t know why, but I feel safe with you guys, like I don’t have to filter myself or try to hard. I feel laid back and easy with you, like we’re sitting on a couch with a glass of wine just catching up on our things.
So tell me your things, dear friends. Read More…
I can’t believe I’m showing you this picture…
But I’ve always said I don’t mind being the butt of a joke, as long as it’s a good joke.
And, well, this obviously was. I’ll give him that.
A few weeks ago I actually got Nate to come along and help me with some back to school shopping for the kids.
I set him loose in the mall for ONE hour and he came back to me wearing this👇🏼:
I’ll just give you a moment to really take in this horrible photo of me… sleeping, slack-jawed and frowning.
It’s just so great, isn’t it?
Isn’t that just so nice?
The thing is, he’s been collecting photos of me like this FOR YEARS. He has a whole arsenal of them actually, because every time we’re in the car for more than 20 minutes my face just automatically does that. It’s been a long running joke in our home because he’s been snapping photos of me ugly-sleeping and promising that “one day” he’s actually going to use them for something.
So when he came walking up to me in the mall wearing THAT ☝🏼SHIRT, it only took my brain about 20 seconds to register what he’d done.
Did you know that it’s National Honesty Day? Apparently it is. Apparently that’s a thing.
Is there like, a National Burrito Day that I don’t know about? National Don’t Do Your Hair Day? (Otherwise known as HairDOn’t Day)?
I just feel like if we’re going to give everything it’s own DAY, then we should be starting with burritos and ignoring our hair. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love honesty too. Real big fan over here.
In fact, in the spirit of honesty, I thought I’d share a few *potentially* embarrassing things you might not know about me:
1) I have two recurring dreams:
* In the first one, my friend Poopie picks me up from the airport (because I’m a traveler, obviously. I fly places and do things and it’s all very glamorous) and when she pulls up to get me, she yells, “Surprise!” and points to the back seat where Amy Poehler is sitting. Then they both yell “Get in!” and I do, and then we all laugh hysterically the whole way home, just like I always knew we would.
* In the second one, I’m sitting at the dinner table across from my husband, when he casually tells me that he’s leaving me for Angelina Jolie. I am equal parts enraged and destroyed by this news so I try to speak or cry or yell, but no sound comes out. He is nonplussed and asks me to pass the potatoes.
I just now realized that both of my recurring dreams involve celebrities. Maybe I need to quit reading People magazine. P.S. My husband would never really leave me for Angelina Jolie. MAYBE Carrie Underwood… or that chick who played Rogue on X Men (why? I just don’t see it?), but definitely not for Angelina. P.S.S. He wouldn’t really leave me for any of them.
2) The only famous people I’ve ever been told I resemble are Mayim Biyalik and Jerry Seinfeld. So…that sucks. And okay, fine, Blossom is my doppelgänger, but I’d like to think that I have more of a Jerry essence than appearance.
3) I answer to an array of nicknames including, but not limited to, “Poopie”, “Ambergesa”, “LadyBeauFontaine”, “Craig Tippie”, “Google Search Bar”, “Amberuski”, and “Bombie”. I’m not sure if this says more about me or the people I’m close to.
4) I don’t have a sweet tooth, I have a carb tooth. NO ONE SEEMS TO ACKNOWLEDGE THIS AS A REAL PROBLEM.
5) I like to use old-timey phrases and my friends always make fun of me for it. I like to slip the occasional “hide nor hair” or “willynilly” into a conversation and see where it lands. One time at a BBQ we were all joking around and sipping cocktails when I used the phrase “don’t darken my door” and they all turned on me faster than a dog on a bone. They nearly ate me alive for that one. It’s been 5 years and I still get random texts baiting me into saying it again just so they can make fun of me for it at the next BBQ. My friends are nice people, its just not in our nature to let things slide.
6) This works out well enough, because teasing is basically how I show affection. (You should see how I make out!)
7) Everyone close to me knows me knows that I’m a bad driver. What they don’t know is that I’m actually a really good driver when I’m by myself. Unfortunately I have no way of ever proving this.
8) My mom thinks I’m a hussy. I wear a lot of V neck shirts. My sister wears a lot of crew neck shirts. This makes her the more appropriately clad daughter. Its fine. I know my own truth.
9) I have zero chill. I wreck myself all the time. You know those quieter, peripheral types of people? The ones who can read a room, rarely embarrass themselves, and tend to take it all in more than let it all out? I will never be one of those people.
If you are one of those people and you’re looking to be LESS chill, I wrote this for you ??
10) I’m working on my first book proposal. This one falls more under the category of Potentially Embarrassing rather than Already Embarrassing. I’m proud of myself for going for it, but I’ve never done anything like this before. At this point I really can’t tell if I’m hatching brilliance or polishing a turd, but I’m almost done and I guess we’ll find out soon enough. It’s probably not smart to talk about it because what if it goes nowhere? But it doesn’t matter because I’m incapable of keeping things in. Refer to #9-?? Classic Blurter over here ??. I know no other way. Wish me luck, though?
I’d love nothing more than to hear a confession from you!
Give me a juicy tidbit! Tell me an embarrassing story!
Come on! It’s National Honesty Day! Do it for your country?
*this post was sent from my computer and my heart*
This is a safe place, right?
Actually, now that I think about it, it does seem like you guys know a lot more about me than I know about you.
Cool, now that we’ve agreed on that, there’s something else I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. Come close and huddle in, because this one is, how shall we say….one of my “less delicate” posts.
I should start by telling you that I recently turned 35.
On the one hand, life is beautiful. I have a husband who’s loved me well for 15 years and he knows the exact movie quote that will communicate his feelings to me in any given situation (because, priorities! ??).
I have two healthy, spunky kids who fill me up and empty me clear out
10 100 times in a day.
I have a local community of friends, a dream I’m working towards, and Jesus by my side.
Great. Grand. Wonderful.
Nothing to complain about here.
Unless you count the totally unexpected and seriously WHACK things that are starting to happen to my mid-30’s body.
Things are changing y’all, and they’re changing fast.
It seems to me there are two types of people in this world: Huggers and Non-Huggers.
Some might refer to them as Introverts and Extroverts, but in the end it mostly boils down to the hugging.
You know those quiet, peripheral types? The ones who can read a room before they say one single regrettable thing? Those rare, mystical birds who never embarrass themselves in social settings?
Yah, I’m not one of those people.
I talk a lot, I think a lot, I feel a lot, and not surprisingly… I hug a lot.
Like, all the time.
Maybe too much.
Last weekend I flew across the country to attend my very first writers workshop. It was everything I hoped it would be and more. I met hundreds of brand new people, I learned a ton of valuable information, and I extroverted all over the place. I was in my glory.
I hugged hello, I hugged goodbye, and I hugged “nice to meet you”. It wasn’t until one particular moment on Thursday evening that I noticed someone standing to my right, a woman who I had never met but “knew” from the Internet (as one does). I turned and officially introduced myself to her AS I was already going in for a hug, when I felt more than saw her frozen smile as she valiantly attempted to not recoil from my embrace.
She was shorter than me so my armpits tragically grazed her shoulders as I scooped her in to myself. She stiffened just enough to signal her discomfort and it wasn’t until that exact moment that I remembered I’d heard somewhere that she didn’t really like to be touched. Not like it was a phobia or anything, she just wasn’t the handsy type.
Real cool, Amber’s Memory! Thanks for showing up late, but “This information would’ve been useful to me YESTERDAY!” (Name that movie).
By the time you read this, some of you have already enjoyed weeks of your littles being back in school.
It’s okay. It’s fine. I am not jealous of you.
It’s something I’ve learned to deal with, living in our time zone over here in the Pacific Northwest. The views are stunning, the air is crisp and clear, the rivers are wild and mysterious. But living life on some kind of delayed loop from the rest of the world really bites sometimes.
It seems that %80 of humans get to experience most of life a solid 2-3 hours ahead of us Oregonians. When it comes time for anything really important, like election coverage, the Bachelor finale, or one of the precious few new Game of Thrones episodes, I’ve learned the hard way to STAY OFF THE INTERNET. Otherwise it all gets spoiled.
Also, don’t judge me for putting the election in the same category as junk TV. This is where we are in 2016.
Adding insult to injury, everyone and their Aunt Fay also gets to be on a school schedule that is roughly an entire semester ahead of us. Every single May I see pictures of my internet friends’ kids doing cannonballs into pools with Hasthag-FirstPoolDay while I am counting down the 17 lunches I still have to pack with Hasthag-DoUncrustablesCountAsLunch?
Every single August, when we are finally finding our summer groove, everyone else is posting pictures of their littles holding tiny chalkboards with their new grade written on it, or pictures of their own feet on a charming brick path next to the one maple leaf that has managed to dislocate itself from it’s home and fall to the ground, indicating that Fall has indeed arrived.
What’s the deal with that anyways? Everyone needs to calm down already with all this “Fall in August” talk. August is not Fall! August is definitively a SUMMER month. Can we please sort this out, because it seriously messes with my head and gives me a severe case of FOMO.
Just when I think that I am truly enjoying the days at home with my littles, and patting myself on the back for ‘counting my blessings’ and ‘soaking up the moments’, I see a picture of some first grader with a backpack on and I start sweating and rethinking my whole angle. Read More…
Well friends, summer is drawing to a close, but I still have a couple more guest posts lined up for your reading enjoyment. Today’s post is coming from Heather Bender, a fellow hope*writer, but more importantly, a fellow GIF-lover. It’s no secret that I would (and could) communicate solely with GIFs and still get along just fine in life. Which is saying a lot, considering I’m a writer. Heather is funny and open, and whether you’re a writer or not, you may relate with her quandary.
Amber and I met through Hope*Writers earlier this year, and we quickly found that we spoke the same bizarre twin-language of GIFs and pop culture references and the holy trinity of Poehler/Fey/Wiig and TALKING IN ALL CAPS about our various insecurities around writing. So, when Amber and I started messaging about guest-posting earlier this summer, I let myself have a zero-chill (© Amber Salhus) awkward fangirl moment:
Is putting me on her guest post schedule!
Because she thinks I’m a “good fit” for her audience!!
OMG OMG OMG!
OK, so fast forward to a few weeks later, when I had to actually prove it, and write.
Yeah. About that.
I promised Amber that I’d have a post ready by Friday. Tomorrow.
Total word count: 0.
I am right this very minute stress-eating potato chip crumbs out of a paper cup and staring blankly at my laptop, desperately casting for a topic. Hint to future guest posters: Do not read the other guest posts in a misguided attempt to determine an original angle for your piece. You will only become more convinced that you have nothing interesting to add. That lack of self-confidence will crumble into despair once you realize you’ve eaten all the potato chip crumbs.
I’ve been thinking about this post for weeks, but not writing it. Because, you guys, I’ve also been busy procrastinating on other things! I have my own blog to ignore. I also have a mountain of laundry, a 10-month-old who has decided that not being held 24/7 is NOT HIS JAM, and something in the fridge that’s only getting furrier. Amber should probably get in line, because I’m busy being bad at life and writing. Read More…
Well the third annual Road-trip is officially on the books and I can honestly say it’s been the best one so far. Which is saying a lot, because we spent more time in the car than any other year.
32 accumulative hours, to be exact.
Not that I’m counting or anything.
As I told you guys last week, Amber and I decided to go big this year and brave the 12 hour drive to Disneyland. Which was really more like a 16 hour drive because CHILDREN. We spent 4 eight-hour days in the car (round-trip) and I’m happy to report that the kids handled it amazingly well. There was no melting down. There was no fighting. There weren’t even any complaints of hogging air-vents, or “she won’t stop looking at me!” like we’ve experienced in years past
And bonus: we listened to the entire Hamilton musical on the way, because what the heck else are you supposed to do in a car for 8 hours? Now, I should pause here to admit that I have been extremely resistant to all of the hype surrounding Hamilton. I had no intention of getting sucked in. I had no intention of caring at all. I certainly had no intention of becoming one of those people who are always blithering on about a musical and insisting other people listen to it.
But you guys.
It’s so good.
It really is incredible.
I had chills more than once listening to it.
It was kind of like that one time I thought I’d casually watch just the first episode of Scandal, and the next thing I knew it was 3am and I was in too deep to ever turn back. I’m afraid that Hamilton, much like Scandal, is a polarizing trend. You’re either in, or you’re out. There is no gray area. Read More…