A Scholarly Discourse on Office Supplies, Swamp People and Jensen Ackles

I have a guilt thing. Blame religion, or my undiagnosed generalized anxiety disorder, or my fourth grade teacher who once lost it and caused a giant fracas by shoving all the books off a student’s desk, giving me a deep, abiding phobia of frosted blond hair and fractions (what’s wrong with a good decimal point, anyway?). Her name was Mrs. Christian. I sometimes wonder what happened to her. And then I have another drink and think: Whatever.


So since I’m all about (a) making lists and (b) following along with Monday Listicles at The Good Life, it was a little slice of heaven to find this week’s topic is guilty pleasures. And that’s right, people: binder clips, once again, make the list. You’re welcome.


Subtitled: Really, more of a list of my favorite stuff because, well, I feel guilty about everything.

1. Stockpiling random office supplies: Binder clips, for example. Also, mini-staplers that fit in my purse but do not make it through TSA screenings, white-out (more for the smell than the usage), Sharpies (usage and smell, BONUS!) and post-it notes. In fact, if I could wallpaper my house in post-it notes, I would. Hey, post-it-note wallpaper! I smell an Etsy store! COPYRIGHT, PLEASE!

2. (And while we’re in the category of items that make every list I write) Starbucks: Because mine is not an every once in a while Starbucks habit. No, friends. I have a daily tall non-fat no-whip mocha plus a piece of marble cake plus a venti black unsweetened iced tea “for later” kind of habit. And so yes, I could have a much nicer car but in fact, I choose to spend my car payment on caffeine. WHAT.

3. People (the magazine, not, you know, actual people.): If you don’t like it, we’re not friends. Well, okay, maybe we’re friends but we don’t have a drink-too-much-tequila-in-mexico-and-almost-get-kicked-out-of-our-hotel-for-drunken-stealing-of-a-comforter kind of friendship. (True story.) (What do you mean, you don’t want to be friends with me anymore?). Speaking of:

4. A really good, really cold margarita on the rocks. With no salt.

4b. Note to any actual, physical stalkers out there (not the good internet lurking kind, I’m talking the crazy leave-dead-rodents-on-your-lawn kind): I’m leaving you my drink order in case you want to show up at my house stalking me with, you know, STARBUCKS AND ALCOHOL. Which would increase your chances of being well-received by, oh, ONE ZILLION PERCENT.

5. Okay, fine. I watch 16 and Pregnant. And Teen Mom. And Gossip Girl and ANTM and anything on the CWΒ and especially Supernatural (because I’m sorry, Jensen Ackles is DIVINE), and fine, yes, I have been known to zone out to an episode or two of Swamp People and Toddlers and Tiaras. They’re really not all that different, if you think about it.

6. Yummy-lovey Dane’s hair: It’s been time to cut it for two months, and it’s all shagging down into his eyes, and when it’s wet it drapes all the way down his neck past his shoulders, and he’s all Um, Mama, could you please stop sniffing my head?, but OMG y’all, I can’t quit it. There’s something about the curls and the smell and the baby fineness of it all that I. Want. To. Eat.

Look away, people, look away.

7. Re-reading rejection letters from literary agents and journals: Well, God knows I have enough of them, and some of them are quite nice, and so every once in a while when I think I totally suck as a writer, I’ll go back and read the nice ones (like the time The Iowa Review told me I made like, seventeen rounds of their editorial review and jusmissed the cut. F*ckers. But also, like I said: kind of nice).

8. Watching the downfall of major college football programs: What? I never said I was a nice girl. Perhaps you’re mistaking me for the editors of The Iowa Review.

9. Making fun of grad students and sorority girls: Because I’ve been both, and well, I can. See (8).

And finally:

10. Blogging: My taxes are overdue, my Target bill is unpaid, I have forty letters to send to agents and journals, and I’m pretty sure the strange smell permeating our downstairs has to do with my decided lack of personal hygiene, but man, this stuff is addicting. So glad you’re here (and crazy enough)Β to read it!

Smooch -s


34 thoughts on “A Scholarly Discourse on Office Supplies, Swamp People and Jensen Ackles

  1. Blogging is SO addictive! I just started about six weeks ago and it’s kind of consumed my life since then. Great list, though I don’t think I have nearly a thick enough skin to re-read rejection letters. I’m still struggling to gain followers on this blog thing πŸ™‚

    • i’ve not been at it that long, either, so i’m totally with you. the rejection letters, however, get easier with the, ahem, passing decades. πŸ™‚ your blog is wonderful! if you write it, they will come! πŸ™‚

  2. I love this. I blame my old minivan that is barely a model up from the ones with wooden siding on Starbucks too! Love dane’s hair. I cried when my son had his cut for the first time after he turned four. He wanted it…

    • ooohhh, wooden siding. i LOVE some wooden siding! dane may be four before we cut it – i keep pulling it back and looking at him and then starting to cry and saying “next week, next week…”

  3. ok, MAYBE baby Dane could use a trim. I’m only saying this because I love you. And he’s soooooooooooooo pretty. So, so, so pretty.

    Also maybe because it makes me cry to see little 18mo boys with long silken locks when my own 18mo boy has a military grade BUZZ CUT!!! SOB!!

  4. I love this list so much. Totally stockpile office supplies. Sucks now to be a freelancer so I don’t have a stash to raid. Re-reading rejection letters is like re-reading old journals for me. And Dane’s hair is fabulous. I’m protecting my youngest son’s hair from my husband. He took my older son to get his cut and came back with a crew cut. I almost cried. Now, I don’t care if the 2 year old can’t see. I love his floppy hair.

    • well, thank you. my husband keeps threatening to cut dane’s hair and i don’t care what i have to do, HE WILL NOT PASS (sorry, geeky lord of rings ref there). also, i loved surfer boys right up to the moment i married my ex-military husband so there’s a high likelihood there’ll be a ponytail at some point in his future. πŸ™‚

    • eh, taxes. i’m a week late just replying to y’all! what’s the irs really going to do to us? (IRS, PLEASE DON’T COME GET ME. PLEASE.).

      thanks for loving on that hair, i just can’t get enough of it – although my husband did tell me today that he thinks dane needs a sweatband. very 1982 of him. πŸ™‚

  5. I absolutely love this list! Seriously. (The only ones I can’t really relate to are numbers 5, 8, and 9…but I have more than enough to compensate for those!) And I love that child’s hair. Please don’t cut it!! At least not yet!

    • why, thank you! sorry for my tardiness in replying, too!

      when i cut that hair, i suspect the wail of anguish will be audible over most of the nothern hemisphere!!

  6. I’m with you on the margarita on the rocks…my husband and eldest DVR Swamp People. And I had a major US Magazine fetish a few years ago.

  7. Loved “People – the magazine, NOT actual people!”
    I like SFB’s hood just the way it is.
    Also I have a shit-pile of rejection letters myself. I feel a post coming on about ’em….!

    • HA, you crack me up. i’m all for reading a post about rejection letters. somebody should do a linky where we all post our best/worst rejection letters and then make terrible, fabulous fun of them. i love the ones where they put my name on the letter – but then don’t spell it right. hmmm. a for effort, i guess?

  8. We are freakishly similar. Really. I have a thing for rejection letters. And margaritas. I have a personal rejection from The Missouri Review that means almost as much to me as my third child. I swaddle it now and then.

    • so i thought i replied to this like, way earlier in the week, but i think i tweeted to you instead – which makes me laugh because i am such a social media idiot. ANYWAY, this is totally my favorite comment for weeks because (a) if you’re similar to me, it is, unfortunately (and yet fabulously) bound to be freakish and (b) YES YES YES that is exactly how i feel about that iowa review letter (and a few others). I would rock it to sleep if my husband wouldn’t divorce me for it. sigh.

  9. I didn’t cut son #2’s hair until he was…I dunno, almost four? He had lovely pre-raphaelite chestnut-colored curls tumbling around his shoulders…LUSCIOUS. and also? was really hoping that I’d have a daughter (shsssh). so there’s that. I have no rejection letters b/c I’m not brave enough send things out, other than a novel that has been rejected by three of the BEST publishing houses in new york. Something to be proud of, that’s what, right? You can make fun of sorority girls but I dibs cheerleaders and the midwest, because that was me. Her name was Debbie and I killed her somewhere in my first year of college. But the pompons are still moldering in my mother’s attic. Shudder.

    • oooohhhh, luscious pre-raphaelite curls – i am totally going to steal that and go around describing dane with it! πŸ™‚

      you can totally have cheerleaders and the midwest if i can have big-hair texas. and YES i totally did the same thing – that first year of college was useful for so many things, wasn’t it?

    • as long as it’s not mine, i feel okay with it. although i can’t help feeling bad for the players who get stuck in the middle – the non-nfl talent players, i mean.

  10. Can I just say that I wish we lived closer because you and Ii share the same love of everything. However, Dane’s hair grows way faster than Carter’s (but same sweet color).

    • yes, yes, yes, perhaps you should move to the east coast. or i could move near you, although, well… doesn’t it get cold there or something? just think, we could watch the cw while organizing our paperwork and making fun of tri delts. or something like that. and oh that carter is yummy.


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