GingerMandy

I was going to write a post about how I’m incredibly busy with a few new jobs and that’s why my blogging has slacked and been total crap lately, but then I realized as I’m writing this defense, I am sitting in bed in my underwear, eating buffalo chicken dip and watching Ellen. Also, KeepingYouAwake is IM’ing me telling me to take a shower.

Irony aside, I am really busy lately. I just got 2 big projects to work on throughout the next month so my writing schedule is really packed.

I swear I’m busy. I’ll be back with something witty/snarky/creative soon, I promise. If the research and writing I’m doing on “squirting” for a sex book doesn’t suck me dry, that is. (TWSS. I know there’s one in there.)

For the past 8 weeks I’ve been doing aerial yoga at the Detroit Flyhouse with Ria and Sarah.

Both of them have written about our progress each week, but I was far too lazy to do that figured I would wait until the end and discuss it all at once.

If you don’t know what aerial yoga is, it’s basically yoga in the air. If you’ve seen cirque du soleil where they climb the fabric and hang out on a trapeze, it’s that. We are turning into circus acts, and yes, you should be jealous because this is HANDS DOWN the greatest workout I’ve ever experienced.

The first week we were there we could barely hold ourselves on the fabric in the climbing pose. Yesterday was our last session. Ria managed to flip herself upside down into a locust pose, Sarah balanced on the trapeze with her posed in mid-air and relying on just her arm strength, and I got my ass into a full split doing the dirty dreadlock pose. None of us would have been able to do these on the first day. We start another session of classes in 2 weeks, and I CANNOT WAIT. Especially since Jenni will be joining us too.

Now, since this post all boils down to us showing off our skill, here are a few photos from various classes.

Rare is a post where you find me talking about things I do, because rarely do I do things worth noting, but lately I realize I need to be doing it more due to the fact that, um…. Detroit is awesome.

That being said, Friday night I attended a show at GoComedy! in Ferndale, a school and performance improv comedy theater on 9 mile in Ferndale. It was a Yelp! Michigan event a friend invited me to, so of course it was badass (Yelp is another great community organization to get involved in if you’re looking for excellent community connections).

I have never before seen a live performance of improv comedy, but I was a big fan of “Who’s Line Is It Anyway?” back in the day, so I knew it would be entertaining. Not only were these performers funny, witty, slick and obnoxious, the whole time I was sitting there wondering “how in the hell do they do that off the top of their head? Why can’t I do that? These people are way cooler than me. Jerks.” The performance we saw was a “rock opera,” so about 90% of the performance was in the form of a song. The show didn’t get incredibly raunchy or inappropriate, but it ended up being themed around twinkie pizza, twizzlers and weight watchers so there wasn’t much perv to get into that. Now that I typed all that out, I’m sure there is actually. However, I can imagine other nights may not be so clean. The fact that these performers can get up there, ask for a few cue’s from the audience and create an entire opera blows my mind. A girl in the audience threw out the best advice she’d ever received as “don’t put twinkies on your pizza,” and it driveled into an entire song about a hefty girl taking a liking to a pizza shop owner who turns out to be gay. Had I been up there, it would have turned into “I put twinkies on my pizza and now I’m sick LOLOL!” Bad news.

They even managed to bring light to Detroit’s reference in the Journey song, and the fact that every time any Detroiter, no matter where they are, will stand up, scream and sing the “Born and raised in SOUTH DETROIT” part of the song because we’re from… near there…. you know. Where is south Detroit anyway? Windsor? Downriver? I’m sure someone is going to come on here and tell me the exact latitude and longitude of where specifically south Detroit is, so I await the response. We’ll just say it’s where the mile roads begin.

Anydontstopbelieving, Detroiters need to check this place out if you haven’t already. Also, I’m smelling a good place for another get together night… Sillygrrl? Rialeilani? Maeko? JenRem? Laureality? Supergirl? Let’s do it…

Anyone who knows me in person is well aware that I don’t know smack about fashion.

I’m not even afraid to admit that I wear yoga pants on a daily basis, haven’t wore a regular bra since Christmas, and feel that all I need to trick the public into thinking I’m even remotely fashionable is something involving plaid.

I mean, shoot. I’m sitting here in bed wearing a blue mens tank top and pink hot-pants looking shorts with cherries on the ass. If this doesn’t say “slave to fashion” I don’t know what does.

Anygross, Lulu’s, one of the most fashion-forward, plaid-infested, filled-with-cozy-lazy-yet-ungodly-attractive-clothing-items-for-sad-sacks-like-me clothing stores, is hosting a contest. Not just any contest. Ohhhhh, no. The blogger who writes about this contest and receives the most comments (1 per commenter) will win a $100 gift card to the store. And then, as if you weren’t pissing glitter already, they are going to give a $50 gift card to a random commenter! Are you squealing yet? YOU SHOULD BE!

All that being said, if you want to give me a chance to add something somewhat decent and fashionable to my wardrobe that doesn’t hold my ass in via spandex or zip over a bra top just for the sake of legal purposes, you better comment on this post. You won’t just attempt to make a fellow blogger you love so dearly pretty, but you’ll have a chance to win a $50 gift card if I receive the most comments. Also, if I win this gift card, I will purchase something from the site to giveaway on here. It’ll be a surprise. DID YOU HEAR THAT? I thought so.

Comment whatever you’d like, my pleasant little pop tarts. Tell me what you think I should purchase from Lulu’s to improve my joke of a wardrobe, tell me what you’d purchase if you win the gift card, or even tell me why in the hell there are winter Olympic sports that involve a combination of skiing and shooting. Are they skiing down 8 mile? I don’t think so. Well, if you can explain why this event came to be, let me know. And don’t forget to comment so I can add some pretties to my closet. Smooches.

I desperately need to update my wardrobe. I’m a broke ass writer, it’s part of the territory. Help me win this. If I don’t, it’s going to be a real turd in the punch bowl.

No matter how hard we sometimes try to stay anonymous, unbiased and relatively unopinionated, I hope by now we’ve all realized as bloggers that it’s completely impossible.

I tried being anonymous, and that was an exercise in futility. I like showing off my hair. I try very hard to keep my opinions on touchy topics (politics, religion) out of my blog, and sometimes that is hard. I like to think that while I’m hostile and snarky, I’m relatively unopinionated and don’t stir up heated debates on heavy topics.

Thanks to KeepingYouAwake, I’ve discovered Amplicate.com, a site that gathers Twitter information (peace out, anonymity!) and compiles lists of things you like and don’t like in hopes of one day taking you to dinner and serenading you with a song about your favorite things.

I figured if I typed in my username, GingerMandy, there wouldn’t be much information, and if there was information, it would be wrong. Here is what the site decided about my likes and dislikes.

Things that rock:

Tacos – um, duh… who doesn’t like tacos?
Blogging – indeed.
Peyton Manning – sure?
Nom – nomnomNOM.

Things that suck:

Bacon – determined by my tweet “I hate bacon.” Well done, Amplicate.
Mexico – but where else would I get the tacos?
Japan – bullshit! I love Asians. And sushi.
Milk – not a fan. Makes you fat.
Dave – ex boyfriend. Again, not a fan.
Kids – determined by my tweet “I hate kids.”
Poetry – determined by my tweet “I hate poetry.”
Humanity – determined by my tweet “I hate humanity.”

I guess I didn’t really make the search too difficult, did I?

It also recommended other people I may get along with according to our interests. My list may or may not have included P Diddy, Ryan Seacrest and Nick Cannon. Apparently we all love pig and dairy free breakfasts. Word.

Here’s what I have to say, Amplicate. Spot on. Spot. Freaking. On.

Now who still wants to be my friend?

Alternately titled “shit I’ve done in other places,” or “I’ve been cheating on you. Get over it.”

It all started last week when I had a horrible date. I bailed so I could go write about it. For real.

The date made me all philosophical, so I started worrying that the universe was really fucking with me. She probably is.

I felt obligated to write about Valentine’s Day, so I did. It’s probably not what you’re expecting to read. Or maybe it is. I don’t know.

Once you’ve checked out all that shameless self-promotion above, head over to Ria’s place where I’m guest blogging today. I talk about donkey weiner. She ditched the cold here in Detroit for sunny San Diego, so her fellow Detroit ladies have taken over.

OK I’m done now.

Right now it’s about 4:47 am, I’m sitting here wide awake eating dorito’s and wondering why in the world I’m awake now yet grogged around all day with zero motivation. Also with no desire to eat dorito’s.

Maybe I’m PMS’ing and getting overly hormonal and thought-provoking or maybe dorito’s mixed with acid reflux and the fact that I really have to pee right now but have no desire to get up give me some wicked inspiration, but I can’t stop feeling this wave of confidence as I take a look at the projects I’m currently working on and thinking “wow, maybe I am going somewhere.”

For awhile now I’ve been all over the phrase “leap before you look.” I want to get it tattooed on my arm really bad (hey Detroit tattooer’s – WILL PROMOTE THE SHIT OUT OF YOU FOR FREE INK) (ok maybe tattoos are a bad thing to ask for free) (however I’ll do it anyway) but I’m poor.

It’s a good phrase, no? I mean, some people might think leaping before looking is a horrible idea. Like if you’re about to dive into a giant tank to go swimming or snorkeling, you might want to look first to make sure it’s not full of sharks. If it is full of sharks and you insist on diving in anyway, you might want to look and make sure there is an easy escape plan before a shark decides to chew your bicep, calf and face off. In that order.

Also, if you’re going to eat an entire plate of spaghetti and follow it with doritos and then ice cream, you might want to look ahead at the potential consequences before drinking a cup of coffee and maybe add some Pepcid to that little diet you’ve created.

Also, if you’re going to wear a shirt that says “Victoria’s Secret Bombshell,” you might want to consider whether or not you look like a sexy, metaphoric “bombshell” by VS standards, as in a size 00 model, or a “bombshell” as in one that is going to explode out of that shirt. I’m just saying, when you’re wearing a shirt that was originally designed for a model on the “toothbrush down the throat” diet you might want to consider the mockery that will ensue when anyone (aka 90 percent of the US female population) decides to wear it.

Other than that I think it’s pretty beneficial. Thoughts? What am I thinking. It’s Friday. Of course you have no thoughts.

If you don’t want to think about that, answer me this: Is it pretentious and snotty to have a FAQ page? I kind of want one even if it’s just loaded with questions that have been asked one time by people who have already been reading me for the past year and already know the answers.

If you can think of something you want to ask me or think would be beneficial to have on my FAQ page, ask me. I may or may not answer it, I may or may not include it on the page, and I may or may not give you a legitimate answer that doesn’t involve sharks, dinosaurs or John Travolta. No promises.

No, not those lighter days, sicko. This is not TMI Thursday and I am not sponsoring Playtex.

It’s Memoir Monday once again thanks to my boy Travis, and if you remember last week, I’m being forced to play along, otherwise he claims he’s going to take my mother out to dinner and never speak to her again. Story of my life.

Anyplayer, according to Travis today is “picture” Memoir Monday. So all it really has to be is a picture. Except I can’t just post a picture without some sort of explanation because, well, I just can’t… so I’ll start off with the pic and follow with an explanation. Why did I even say that? That is self explanatory. Obviously I’m going to do that. OK here you go.

Now, for the reasons I am posting this picture:

I got a new laptop for Christmas and this is really the only somewhat old picture on it. Also, I’m really vain and want to show everyone how skinny I was back in the day. Don’t even tell me you’ve never done it. Everyone likes to post pics of their better days. Not that this was one of my better days because one of my fondest memories was my mother forcing me to eat a 6 inch grinder sandwich followed by an ice cream sundae despite the fact that I had just ate 4 slices of pizza yet she didn’t believe me because she didn’t witness it, so there was a lot of heartburn involved, too. Also, it wasn’t my high metabolism and I didn’t always eat that way, it was the ballet. I did a lot of it. Probably too much. I’d post a pic of me in a tutu but you’re not ready for that. Also, being 90 pounds was not that cool because every time I bumped into something I got a massive bruise that would last for weeks. That mixed with this ridiculous haircut was not a good look for me.

DO YOU EVER GET REALLY IRRITATED BY PEOPLE WHO TYPE EVERYTHING IN CAPS? EITHER THEY ARE REALLY ANGRY AND FEEL AS IF IT’S GOING TO FURTHER THEIR POINT, OR THEY ARE BORDERLINE RETARDED AND CAN’T FIGURE OUT THAT ALL THEY HAVE TO DO IS MOVE THEIR FINGER 7/16 OF AN INCH TO THE LEFT TO TURN OFF THE CAPS LOCK. I HAVE AN AUNT THAT I DON’T EVEN LIKE THAT ADDED ME ON FACEBOOK JUST SO WE COULD BE FARMVILLE NEIGHBORS AND SHE TYPES EVERYTHING IN CAPS. THINGS LIKE “IS FARMVILLE DOWN IN SOUTHEAST MICHIGAN? ALL MY LOCAL FRIENDS ARE HAVING TROUBLE AND CAN’T GET ON BUT MY SISTER IN FLORIDA CAN GET ON JUST FINE.”

SOMETIMES I TYPE IN CAPS. USUALLY DURING GCHAT CONVERSATIONS WITH TRAVIS WHEN HE TELLS ME SOMETHING REALLY EXCITING LIKE THE FACT THAT HE’S GOING TO BE ON THE TYRA BANKS SHOW. THAT TOTALLY DESERVES CAPSLOCK PRAISE.

TRAVIS AND I GOT TO TALKING ONE DAY WHEN WE WERE BOTH SQUEALING AT EACH OTHER IN EXCITEMENT AND REALIZED WE WERE BOTH TALKING IN ALL CAPS TO EMPHASIZE OUR EXCITEMENT. IT LED TO REALIZING HOW WE GO ABOUT TYPING THINGS IN CAPS.

WHEN YOU TYPE SOMETHING IN CAPS DO YOU TYPE IT WHILE ACTUALLY JUST HOLDING DOWN THE LEFT SHIFT KEY, THINKING YOU’RE ONLY TYPING A WORD OR THREE AND THEN CAN RELEASE IT, THEN REALIZE WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY IS WAY MORE EXCITING THAN YOU THOUGHT AND IT ALL HAS TO BE IN CAPS, AND THEN THINK “MAN I REALLY SHOULD LET GO OF THE LEFT SHIFT KEY AND JUST HIT CAPS LOCK SINCE I’M TYPING SO MUCH IN CAPS AND MY FINGER IS STARTING TO CRAMP AND I HAVE TO DO A WEIRD SORT OF ALTERED BEND OUT OF HOME ROW TO REACH THE “A” KEY THAT WOULD NORMALLY BE TYPED WITH MY LEFT PINKY, WHICH IS INSTEAD OCCUPYING THE LEFT SHIFT KEY.” BUT YOU DON’T DO IT BECAUSE YOU’RE LIKE “OK ANY WORD NOW I’M GONNA STOP TYPING IN ALL CAPS AND I CAN LET GO SO MAKING THE SWITCH TO CAPS LOCK IS TOTALLY POINTLESS.” BUT THEN IT’S NOT AND YOU JUST KEEP FUCKING TYPING IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE THE FACT THAT YOUR FRIEND IS GOING TO BE ON THE TYRA BANKS SHOW IS REALLY EXCITING AND EVERYTHING YOU TYPE ABOUT IT SHOULD PROBABLY BE IN ALL CAPS. SO BASICALLY WHAT YOU DID WAS TYPE A HUGE ASS PARAGRAPH IN ALL CAPS IN ORDER TO EMPHASIZE YOUR EXCITEMENT, AND INSTEAD OF USING THE CAPS LOCK KEY YOU JUST USED THE LEFT SHIFT KEY THE WHOLE TIME EVEN THOUGH IT WAS A REAL PAIN IN THE ASS AND CAUSED YOU TO OVERANALYZE WHY YOU DON’T JUST MOVE YOUR GOD DAMNED FINGER.

ANYONE ELSE DO THAT?

Yea. Me either.

The other day I posted my first ever blog post in an act of narcissism showing how much my blogging may or may not have changed since I created my corner of the interwebs.

It’s sort of weird how things work. One day you’re sitting on your couch with your boyfriend and say “I’m going to scrap this site I have where I rant about politics and celebrities and make one where I write about my life.” And he’s like “why do you wanna do that? What are you going to write about?” and I’m all “hell if I know, but damnit I’m going to do it because I like talking about myself and you’re sick of hearing it.” And then you create this blog and join a blog network and before you know it there are like 5 people reading you despite the fact that all you’re doing is writing about how you just moved in with your boyfriend and you guys are disgusting slobs and you’re broke and fat and life is hard and he won’t get a puppy.

Gradually more people start reading you, and before you know it you’re like “oh my Jesus, I’m starting to get famous.” And you start worrying about looking gnarly if people see you on the street and recognize you in public, then you remember you’re anonymous and no one from Detroit reads you anyway.

You kids have read through my breakup with said boyfriend, my admittance as to why I’m a horrible girlfriend to some men (and why I have no desire to change those qualities), my adventures during work travels, my short-lived obsessions with men just out of my reach, my theories on why mayonnaise will make you claustrophobic, and my transition into quite possibly the biggest career change of my life.

I can say with confidence that if it weren’t for this blog, I never would have took the plunge into a freelance writing career. I don’t know how to explain the logic behind that, but I can assure you that if you’re a fellow blogger you probably understand this. So thanks, guys. Now where’s my book deal? Oh, right. I need to write a book first. Sigh.

Blogging gave me the chance to meet Just A Girl, and if you read me you came to realize she’s become one of my best friends in the whole world. Blogging caused me to spontaneously buy a plane ticket and fly to DC to party with fellow bloggers I’d never met before, but “trust me Mom it’s totally fine. They’re just like my real-life friends, except, ya know, from the Internet.”

All that being said, if you’re still not convinced that blogging will change your life and allow you to meet some wicked amazing people and you still think it’s for failure writers and kids who abuse commas and run-on sentences, I’ll give you a list of all the bloggers I’ve had the chance of meeting in person at least once in this past year and that I really like.

Just A Girl, JP, Shine, LiLu, Maxie, Lexa, RachelSmiles, Cavy, Griffin, Dysfunction Junction, 12Minds, Alexa, Rachel, Suburban Sweetheart, francoBeans, Snay, Flipflops in the Rain, Mary, Patrick, and probably many others. If I forgot you, call me out.

That list doesn’t even include the beautiful Detroit ladies I recently had the chance of meeting. Rialeilani, Sillygrrl, Maeko, Laureality, JenRem, and SuperGirl, you chicks are badass and I can’t wait for us to have more meetups. Who knew there were so many girls in Detroit that are THIS FREAKING COOL? I can’t believe it either.

A lot has changed and happened in the past year, and I believe you kids are responsible for approximately 60-45% of it. You know, 85% of the time. If this next year isn’t bigger and better than the last one, I’m going to scrap this piece. Got it? Continue to impress me, or the blog gets it. Or just pay me to sit around and be a handsome billionaire and all will be well on the Ginger front.

Just kidding. I want to say thank you for helping me create an amazing year full of life changes and relationships I’ll undoubtedly never forget. Also, thank you for convincing me to take the plunge into this career technically called “writing” but consists more of “couching it out in the middle of the night in Hanes sweats and my ex boyfriends wifebeaters.”

Thank you. Thank you for your loyalty,  your encouragement, your friendship, and the ability to snarf at my occasionally snarky sense of humor that my mother could never bring herself to love. For that, you’re all the cat’s pajamas in my eyes. I love you all.