I met Dr. Sana Johnson-Quijada the first time she left a comment on my blog a few months ago, and she has been a dear blogging friend ever since. Dr. Sana is the author ofA Friend to Yourself, a blog she started to help people become friends to themselves, a concept someone I know (::cough cough:: myself :: cough:: heave:: ) could definitely use.
Every day for a year Dr. Sana, a psychiatrist and mother of three, is writing on ways to be a ‘friend to yourself.’ Her posts, as she says on her About Me page, are from her life experiences and her training, but she often uses fictionalized characters to illustrate her point. She even writes about perfectionism (not that I have a problem with being a perfectionist or anything).
Dr. Sana’s posts are always relevant to the human experience common in us all. Yesterday’s post was about how revenge often ends up hurting you more than the person on whom you avenge yourself. I can’t help thinking with such awful things going on now and those seemingly getting away with it that this is an important message. There is also the self-care tip of not hurting yourself or others, reminding us emotional abuse can be as bad as physical abuse.
I strongly suggest you start reading Dr. Sana’s blog for common sense tips on caring for yourself and those around you. I’m sure you will find her writing as useful and full of insight as I do.
Yay! I finally have a post for my new blog! A charming little poem about losing my nightguard. If you wish to leave a comment or tell me you hate it, but prefer to leave the comment here, that’s cool too. Here’s the link to a garish hell:
Another blogger in the Blogging for Books program who reviewed the same book I did, with my permission posted some of the questions from me and and the commenters from my post. I always try to oblige. Anyway, if you want to see how some Christians answered our queries and opinions, please see
I was going to post this on March 25th to commemorate my first year of blogging, but my friend invited me over to hang out, so I guess I’ll do it today. I will list some links and excerpts from the past year that I favored. This is a chance to reminisce or to brush up on my ADHD-style masterpieces. Pay attention. There will be a test!
Here is an excerpt from my very first post, March 25,2010:
I worry about murderers, carjackers, rapists, etc. causing harm to my mother and sometimes to myself, but mainly to my mother when we are apart. Look at the news, awful things happen ALL THE TIME. But when something awful could have actually happened I was calm and I handled it.
Ok, so 3 or 4 years ago we tried out a newly opened Chinese buffet. It was later in the afternoon, just past lunchtime, so there was only a couple other patrons and they were in another section of the restaurant (this was before the state made smokers into lepers and my mom could still smoke inside). We were eating, the food was good too, which makes this all the greater a tragedy . Suddenly, one could hear yelling in the kitchen. It kept up steady and seemed to stay in the kitchen, so I felt confident in my safety at grabbing something else. Oh what to get, what to get. Soup? Or a couple of those slivers of cake?
Oh, the possibilities! Oh…….. oh …….oh shit!
The shit had now officially hit the fan. The argument spilled out near where I happened was, no further than 12 feet. A man was surrounded by 3 guys and 2 women, and boy, was he ever pissed. It was a good thing I don’t speak Chinese, but some things are universal, a psychotic rage is distinguishable from someone mildly miffed that he burned the General Tso’s chicken. Psycho Cook then took a soup bowl and smashed it on the floor, but this must have not been cathartic enough, for he soon lunged at another cook. I remained unnoticed and began to deliberate what to do. I wasn’t panicked I remember, a little nervous and disconcerted, but panicking? No, not really. Would someone else have totally freaked out? I’m not sure . Perhaps they would have the common sense to be scared, not just a little frightened. So I weighed my options, a little list in my brain:
A:) Every woman for herself, haul ass out the door and hope your mother will follow. But I would never leave my mother if if any harm could come to her, so scratch that.
B:) Run past the offending party back to my mother. Run, fat girl, run!!! No, that didn’t seem sensible either. Let the lunging crouching tiger become aware of Hidden Dragon here? Not a good idea in my estimation.
C.) Act normal (or fake it in my case since I ain’t never been normal, just seen the brochure once or twice). Yes this is the best idea. If I ignore whatever the screaming, striking cook is doing and act like an unconcerned customer I might have more of a chance at not attracting the ire of this poor guy. Time to not be too particular, so I grab a bit of orange and start back, walking as far away from Psycho Cook ‘n pals as I dared. One of the waitresses sat at the table with my mom kind of hiding out. The waitress said to us, “I hate Chinese people. All they do is fight.” ( disclaimer: She was Chinese or Malaysian herself, so she could say that I guess). She proceeded to tell us the story of the restaurant. Appears a few guys got the idea of opening a restaurant together. Too bad that among the angry lot, one was totally insane and off his meds. Happens in the best of restaurants.
Meanwhile, the fray moved more towards the kitchen and another waitress came over. “We got to go now! He threatening to kill people.”
Ever the scrupulous idiot that i am I tried to give them money fast, but they said not to worry about it. Fair enough, but I did manage to give the waitress 10 bucks at least and wouldn’t take it back. This all happened really fast. One or two of the men stayed with the wigged out chef and everyone else made for the door. When outside several people got into one car and left. The other patrons had already left before hell broke loose.
Safely away my mother and I were like “well…that was….different.”
The fireworks were beautiful and I think we had the best view we ever had, sitting in our fold-out chairs in clear view of where they were shot off. Then we went to the Chinese take-out for some soup. This joint gave birth to the term “seedy.” There’s always interesting people there. Someone opened the door to yell to a patron that their mutual pal is in jail, but she already knew and was cross but seemed to not view it as being as newsworthy as her friends did.
Soup is a rather ritual-oriented meal, especially the robust hot and sour they serve at Seedy China. The soup is spicy hot and would not do for the average Anglo to gulp down, but it is the best I’ve ever tasted. In case you aren’t fortunate enough to know how to eat a pint of soup the proper way, allow me to school you on the perfect and essential way. You can thank me later for this vital skill.
Please recall, gentle reader, we did not grow up in a sty and must actaccordingly. Unfold your napkin and set it in your lap (if you are lucky like me your stomach is one large flap and if utilized properly, can act as a ‘paperweight’ for the napkin in your lap). Take your spoon and begin. Begin from the left and take sips until you’ve taken a sip by dipping your spoon, working vertically until you’re at the right side of the bowl. Then put a few of those crisp noodles, at least 3 of them since you really prefer things in 3′s. Eat the noodles in your soup. Now repeat the entire ritual until you’re done, and if you’re good at it, people won’t even realize you have a ‘strategy’ for eating.
Once upon a time (like yesterday), I took a look in the bathroom mirror and my eyes were red, particularly my right eye. Not like bloodshot-been-opening-my-eyes-too-long-underwater-someone-been-on-a-drunk-red, much weirder. A horizontal line seemed to divide my eye in half in the middle, reddish at the bottom half and normal white on top.
I looked into the eyes of death.
My mind began to conjure up what symptom of my imminent death was this.
I had mostly given up my of several years’ obsession with the idea of contracting AIDS by bizarre means not pertaining to intercourse or needles, so scratch that one for now.
Cancer? Maybe that’s it, I thought. I always swam in outdoor pools without goggles due to my high tolerance for chlorine, and I loved looking at the sun’s rays dancing on the pool’s bottom.
So I ask my mother, a retired nurse, what dread disease is this one?
What malady is about to dispatch me, to nail the lid of my coffin, strike me down in the prime of my life?
Apparently, the good people of Rich White Cemetery in their good sense, believe a decent cemetery should expel all living patrons by 5pm sharp regardless of time of year. But the fun part is locking the gates without a glimpse for suckers who failed to read closing time upon entering. I wasn’t too concerned, though, since I had my cell phone, not to say that would be too fun a call to make to the cops. I suggest we walk around, that surely somewhere remained unlocked, especially since I saw a not-so-paranormal-looking couple just a few minutes ago walking.
Two gates locked, we’re padlocked in Perdition. We keep walking until a third gate. This one looks a tad different and I walk up to it, a side entrance and the damn thing opens like the pearly gates to Glory. Mama walks back to our ghetto fabulous classic 1994 Mazda MPV, me waiting so no one locks this gate on us. I look at this gorgeous azalea I remember from last year, a dark red-purple flower about the size of a common magenta azalea but much darker, so awesome. I take a peep at the graves near the gate, all the while keeping my eye on said gate. No one, not St. Peter, not the devil, not a grounds keeper, is gonna lock that damn gate without me at least screaming loud enough to wake the dead.
Safely delivered from captivity, we go downtown to have a look at the teabagger rally, I mean the Tea Party, that has gone on all day. We listen to Sean Hannity on the radio waxing rhapsodic about the noble Tea Party activists nationwide and Reagan this, Reagan that. Every time I listen to Hannity, I tend to think if he could dig up Reagan and marry him he would, anti-gay marriage or no.
So the noble tea folk are down at the federal courthouse at the river. Good for them, I suppose, since the joy of being American is the ability to protest for what you believe. It’s WASP Party 2010 downtown and rather fun to look at as long as you recall everyone is entitled to believe as they like, that is until I see this one woman and I have my What the Flying Fuck?! moment of the day. She has this sign, “Obama, Go Back to Kenya. I Will Buy the Plane Ticket!” Now, I could be wrong, but to me it sounds like some racist saying no more than “Go back to Africa.” Sure, I get the whole Birther rumor popular among some people. But honestly? Honestly. Could Obama be from Kenya and a closet Muslim? Could I be an Ethiopian albino and a closet Hare Krishna? Anything is possible, but probable? Um no. She has a right to her opinion and I have the right to think she’s plumb ignorant with a limited touch on reality.
Unfortunately, it seems I favor quite a few excerpts from my first 2 months. I know these aren’t literary masterpieces, but they were my first efforts. I think I got better at not rambling so much as I went on. I hope those of you who weren’t here from the first like this, and my first dear readers like “Lisa in Review.”
Do y’all like this and should I continue this base self-aggrandizement? Am I just being redundant?
I gotta do a book review on a book I got from bloggingforbooks.org. Hey, I was like, “Eh, what the hell? Free book! (I enjoyed it too, but don’t worry I’m not becoming a book blogger except every now and then).
Retrieve my stupid political post from Rejectionville and post it here. It’s a moot point now anyway, but whatever.
Finish my damn Christmas Post (once I get my netbook back from the pawn shop).
Do more OCD; less tangenty, boringy stuff.
Still want to write more of my memoirs, thrill a minute.
Answer my comments much faster.
I love you all and thank you for everything. Y’all don’t even know how much you mean to me and how you’ve helped me,
PS, If anyone dislikes this color let me know or even the font.
One morning, I was looking at http://myblogguest.com, just checking out the scene, wondering if I could persuade someone to publish a political post I had done…when I saw someone I knew in the blogosphere: Robblogger! Small world wide web! I was in the forum for folks looking for someone to write for, having not received satisfaction in the other forums. I believe it was Kismet! Anyway, he already had one taker, but being a fan of his and figuring he could always use a plan Z, I asked. I’m surprised he accepted. It must be that Canadian politeness (I think it’s a law that you have to be nice there or they exile you to Siberia or New Jersey). I wrote him this on the forum:
Hey Robb, It is I, Lisa from https://ocdbloggergirl.wordpress.com If you ever want to guest post on my blog, you’re welcome to write about anything you want. I’d suggest you guest post on all other blogs that offer before mine b/c they likely have a much larger audience. You’d be bound to get a few more readers to your blog off of me, b/c my most loyal readers are humor bloggers and the others dig humor. In fact, I have one guy who loves Canadian humor (so do I!).
I have 25 wordpress subscribers, 2 email subs, 6 Networked Blog followers, 10 Google Reader readers and 3 cats.. Plus I am on twittier, FB (friends only there), Stumble Upon, reddit, Digg, and delicious. Not awful, but definitely not super mega status.
And bless him, he accepted! His blog has a huge following, and some of you may also know him, so this is a huge honor for me! If you aren’t familiar with Robblogger , you will no doubt want to check him out. His posts are hilarious!
May I ask a few favors of everyone reading this, even my lurkers? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you promote this post on your social networks? Could you leave comments and/or hit the like button too to show your approval? Could you post a neon sign outside of your homes about this post and get his URL tattooed on your chests? I just want him to get the most out of this as possible since it is such a great honor to have him, but whatever you do, make sure you check out his blog Inspired by Caffeine and Nicotine! 🙂
Without further ado, Robbloggerrrrrrr!
Well hello all!!!
Some bad news for you, I’m afraid. Your gracious mistress has turned over control of her blog to me for the day. It is my belief she might have been hit by a blunt object causing her to think I might add some value to these festivities, but for whatever reason I am thankful.
I love this blog!!!
I’m a poetry fan, but never quite got the hang of it and always think I have to rhyme everything, and it ends badly for me when I try to rhyme in time the gift is not mine and I end up writing about my favorite spice thyme or how it is a crime choking a mime with a lime.
I love people who can poet it up!
And I love this blog!
Who the hell am I? I’m Robblogger, and you can find me over at Inspired by Caffeine and Nicotine. No poetry I promise, but I have a Princess who takes over every Saturday, I talk an ordinate amount about midgets, and often I have pictures. Not bad eh? Oh yeah, and I’m a Canadian eh? Let’s move on…
How to Write a Guest Blog Post Maybe Badly!
I know a lot of things wrong!
One of the things I most often wrong know is the lyrics to songs.
Growing up I used to happily sing along to that AC/DC classic, whatever the hell it was, and was convinced it went something like this:
“I want to Rock and Roll all night!
And part of every day!”
I thought it was a message about responsible Rock and Rolling. Like, I quite like to Rock and Roll all night, then in the day I go to work, do a little shopping, maybe my laundry, then I Rock and Roll part of the day.
I was more than disappointed when I learned the lyrics were:
“I want to Rock and Roll all night!
And party every day!”
Seems to me with a lifestyle like that there’s not a lot of time left to devote to much of anything else.
I’ve mentioned my friend the Princess. She claims that I steal her material. I like to think of it not so much as stealing it, but that she just thinks of it seconds before I was going to think about it.
So in this blog post I have taken every effort not to use anything she happened to pre-think of before me.
Here is a picture of a coat hanger!
I didn’t take this picture. I’ve recently moved to Northern Ontario and the technology I’m working with at present, just to complete this blog post, requires a computer operating system that fills two very tiny warehouses.
Diane Aimeee of About Writing, and my Online Marketing Manager was good enough to add the picture of the hanger de coat for me.
P.S. Just when you thought it was done there’s still a little more in the P.S.
Okay patient, patient readers, let’s break this post down.
Let’s see how to badly write a guest post.
I start with a first title.
A little intro and a little asskissery for the bloggerette who let me do the post.
I slip in a shameless plug of my own blog. If I can, I mention my friend the Princess. She likes to see her name in type and will probably view the blog six hundred and seventy two times just to see her name.
Then I do a “Let’s move on….”
I like “Let’s move on…” I can segue out of the intro and into a second title.
I’m a fan of the old Rocky and Bullwinkle Show and that’s where I stole the two titles idea from. I’d explain it but it’s probably better if you google it. This post is looooong enough already.
I didn’t know what to write about and AC/DC came on the radio and I remembered how embarrassed I was when I was corrected about those lyrics. So, that’s what this blog post became all about.
I figured another great way to get the Princess to view this blog hundreds of times was to mention her name twice, and she challenged me to do a blog post with material she couldn’t claim was inspired by her.
If you know anything about me, which you probably don’t, I’m all about bird homicide with minimal rock use, and that’s two dead birds, one rock saved!
I heard it was good to break up a blog post with a picture, and I’m existential enough to think a picture of a coat hanger in the middle of a blog is funny.
I really do have a computer that I think DaVinci invented so I can’t download pictures yet, so I asked Diane Aimeeeeee to do it for me.
And, I think that is a nice way of plugging her blog as well. More slaughtered birds and conserved stones. Plus, I don’t think I’ve paid her this month. That should keep her happy while I round up enough tin cans to scrape together her fee.
Then I use “The End”.
I think that’s nice so everyone reading knows they’ve come to the end.
Then because someone might be a little sad that it is over I often add a P.S.
P.S. It could be argued that mentioning I was challenged by the Princess not to use any material inspired by her could in fact be construed as much of this post being inspired by the Princess. If you think like that I’m not sure we can be friends!
Robblogger’s unique and twisted outlook on life can be found at
and despite the fact that he claims not to be a writer, he has written a book. It is a hilarious book about travel available on Amazon for Kindle called Don’t Go There! A Robblogger Look at Travel. Stay tuned for his second e-book coming soon to a Kindle near you by friending him on Facebook and following his tweets, @Robblogger.
Lisa again. Give a hand to Robblogger. His book is .99 US, so make sure you grab a copy!
If anyone wants an obligation-free guest blogging opportunity, let me know. Almost all subjects welcome, but I reserve the right to say no if I don’ feel comfortable or feel it’s inappropriate.
I am going to make my way in this blog on a metaphorical bridge of thoughts and perceptions from day to day to try to connect the known with the yet unknown. My bridge is like a single plank which will require the supplement of others.