Hey Darling Ones,

I had a Zoom today. Is that a proper noun yet? Are they Zoom calls? Video chats? Is the proper terminology “I zoomed today”? Can we get the Chicago Manual of Style to make a ruling that I will promptly ignore? I have been Zooming my ass off lately because I’m a very important business lady who does the business all the time.

Because I’m zooming all the time I’m keenly away for my zoom performance. Usually I start out awkward with the nervous laughter and TOO LOUD TALKING. Eventually I calm down a little and conduct myself like a Yeti raised by humans. I manage to moderate my volume and the little voice in my head is so busy chanting “don’t swear” that I usually don’t say anything stupid. Then the end of the Zoom comes and the sheer force of my uncaged awkwardness leaves my Zoom meeting partners looking like that old Maxell Ad.*

It’s so bad. I do not know how to end Zooms. I’m a Minnesotan, we are bad at leaving things. I was raised to pat my knees and say, “Well, I suppose.” That mean it’s time to get the hell out of here. It worked on the phone too, sans knee pats. However it does not translate to Zoom.

In the olden days when I had to go to meetings they were in a room, in a building, and I just got up and left when the meeting was over. Now, I grin stupidly at the camera doing the Forest Gump wave while trying to find the “get me out of here” button. In all the Zooms I’ve done since the pandemic began I have never exited one with elegance and aplomb.

To be fair, I have not done much with elegance or aplomb in my nearly fifty years on this planet so I’m not entirely sure why I think I should do this one thing well.

I’m not sure who the official in charge of units of measurement is, but I would like to petition them for a measurement we could use to accurately convey the amount of awkwardness one exudes in any given situation. A Yetimeter? They could name it after me, a Jodi if they wanted to. Maybe something like a gigawatt would work. Because after my Zoom today I exuded at least 1.22 gigawatts or metric fucktons or shitloads of awkwardness today.

Gracelessly yours,
Jodi

P.S. Whenever I think of units of measurement, I think of the poem “By the Light of the Silvery Silvery” by Mike Doughty (a line of which is featured in the header image). I had an MP3 of him reading the poem which I’m 99.9% sure I downloaded from AudioGalaxy back in the wild west days of the internet. I had to dig that MP3 our of the iTunes deeps to listen to it, and then I inadvertently fell in an early-aughts nostalgia hole and I haven’t quite climbed my way out of it yet.

 
*Hi, child of the 80s here. Grew up with two fingers hovering over the record/play buttons waiting for the DJ to play my song so I could make the perfect mixtape. I was today-years-old, as they say, when I learned they are Maxell tapes and not Maxwell. Huh.

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Hi Darling Ones,

There is a fingers-spread, hand-sized wet spot on the kitchen ceiling. I suspect the guest bathroom toilet is leaking some place that I cannot see. There is no water on the floor of the upstairs bathroom so maybe it’s in the under the floor parts? I do not know because I am not a plumber. However, I did schedule an appointment with a plumber and do you know hard it was to discuss this problem without using the phrase “wet spot” six-hundred times? Very hard.

My inner Beavis & Butthead cannot let me say “wet spot” with the accompanying “heh-heh-heh-heh.” I would have thought I would be well past the horny fourteen-year-old everything is a funny sex euphemism stage of my life by this point. Surprise! Wet spot makes me laugh like a goon.

I am not mature enough to be a homeowner, of this I am 100% sure.

I noticed the wet spot yesterday afternoon while I was making Sadness Breakfast Burritos (I was sad, I don’t know why). I told myself I could magical think my way around it for a day, but if it was still wet this morning I would have to do something about it.

Bleh. So now I have a plumber coming over between noon and two on Wednesday. If you never hear from me again after that, the plumber did it! I super hate having strange men in my house when I’m alone. I’m convinced they will murder me for reasons. This is why I had to stop watching a lot of true crime shows.

The irony is, not an hour ago a random dude knocked on my door. I wouldn’t have answered it but we made eye contact through the window and my Minnesota niceness would not allow me to hide after being so clearly seen. Bleh.

So I stood as tall as I could, using all of my six feet and five inches to fill that doorway as I opened it to see what he wanted. Dude was masked up and holding a small container of paint with a paint brush. He explained where he lived and how his neighbor, Sherri, had got some extra paint from the Homeowner’s Association to fix the trim on the front door.

Apparently, when we all got our front doors painted in July, they painted them while they were closed leaving a thin strip of faded, old paint framing the door. I had not noticed this at all because I rarely come in through the front door. Also, I did not really care.

However, since he was so kind and going door to door offering to paint the trim for people, I could not resist. It was the cutest, and also I was way bigger than this guy and if he had murder on his mind I could have for sure taken him.

What followed was the most awkward eight hundred and sixty-eight minutes of my life. That’s how long it felt like it took him to paint the trim. Really, he was here for maybe four minutes total. In that time I learned he is a Vikings fan with a son and at one point had two cats, Woody & Buzz. Sadly, Woody died at the age of sixteen after a lifetime of diabetes. His brother, Buzz, is still going strong and will be seventeen in November.

Being a homeowner is fun,
Jodi

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To Whom it May Concern:

It has recently come to our attention we are in need of a refresher on the procedures & policies that govern this organization.

We would like to direct you to the What & When portions of the About section. While you’re at it, you should listen to the song “I Will Dare” from which this website stole its name.

While you are encouraged to be sassy, opinionated, and argumentative, you cannot be abusive. What constitutes abuse is solely up to the discretion of the management. Being a first-time or long-time reader does not entitle you to be abusive.

In fact, we’re sorry to say, it entitles you to nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Zip. This website is free. It does not ask you to pay a subscription nor does it serve you advertisements. It solely exists for one woman to share her thoughts with the world.

Being a reader of this website also does not entitle you to dictate what is written on the website, nor when/if/in what manner the author chooses to share her life. She does not need to justify why she chooses to write about a subject on a certain day, though she frequently does because readers have been known to jump to conclusions, draw assumptions, cast aspersions, and the like.

In fact, one reader who was so bad at the internet she contacted the man the author was dating as well as one of the author’s friends to tell them the author was suicidal (based on the reader’s interpretation of blog posts) and ought to be committed. Because that one reader, twenty years ago, was so bad at the internet the author made the choice to not share her romantic life on this website until the romance was over. You have her to thank for never getting any salacious details.

The Management would also like to remind those whom it may concern that you are under no obligation to read every (or any) word written on this website. As far as we know, there is no law dictating reading of this website. This is not required reading for the SATs, the ACTs, the GREs, the LSAT, nor the MCAT. There will not be a pop quiz on the themes and symbolism of I Will Dare dot com at the gates of heaven should you arrive there. Maybe in Hell. We’re not sure.

We hope these clarifications enrich your experience of I Will Dare dot com. We will return you to your regularly scheduled programming once the author has had more than four hours of sleep.

If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to ask.

Thank you,
The Management of Supergenius, Inc.
Jodi Chromey, President
Wendell G. Hobbes, VP of Global Sales & Cuteness

P.S. I know you should not respond to critics, but I’ve been arguing with that comment every time I close my eyes. It’s why I failed at sleeping last night and instead cried while listening to “Midnight Organ Fight” until 4 a.m. I’m a little salty I have allowed this to take up so much of my time and emotional energy. Now that I’ve gotten it off my chest I’m really hoping I get to sleep tonight.

P.P.S. My community came out hard for me yesterday and that was wonderful, though I’m angry I needed it at all. It’s a kick in the teeth to be told nobody will ever love you while also being told you are shallow and talentless, even when it’s coming from someone you don’t like or respect. Anyway, I love you all. Thank you for reading and not being scary weirdos.

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Dear Darling Ones,

I would like you to know I considered “Woah, we’re halfway there” as a headline but went with Wilco because while I was waiting for my vaccine this morning the local oldies station, KOOL 108, played “Bad Medicine” by Bon Jovi. That seemed like more than enough Bon Jovi for one momentous occasion.

Long before the entire world became copycat angry hermits I’ve joked about being feral. And to be honest, it’s only kind of a joke. I’ve basically lived alone for the better part of twenty years and I’ve worked from home since May 2009.

I should come with a label that says “unfit for human consumption” because my ability to read social cues or make small talk is at about negative one thousand.

Take, for instance, today, while the vaccine woman prepped my arm she asked, “How have you been?”

“Oh, pretty good,” I said with my full Minnesota accent making the best of those Os. “I’m very fortunate and I’ve been a work-from home freelancer for twelve years, so not much really changed for me.”

She cocked her head at me and wrinkled her brow. “No,” she said. “I mean how are you right now. Are you sick of anything?”

I was all, Umm, I was okay but now I might actually die of humiliation. But with my mouth I said, “I’m fine. Good.”

So that’s how my interaction with another human went today. Thankfully, I didn’t tell her that she was the first person to touch me in more than a year, and the only reason she didn’t learn that #funfact is because I didn’t think of it until right now.

Despite what my anxiety dreams foretold I had zero problems finding Canterbury. However, when I left I got spit out on the whole other side of town than where I wanted to be. I had not been over by Canterbury for four score and seven years and the joint has changed. I ended up over by the Amazon warehouse and Shakopee Ballroom (where Sister #2 got married in 1995).

Now I’m half-vaxxed and have the next appointment on May 12th. As I told Twitter I should be back to making flimsy excuses for why I don’t want to go anywhere by Memorial Day.

In other news, Sister #4 sent me the adorable card pictured above that is allegedly going to transform into wildflowers once I get it planted. It’s gonna be like the Amaryllis Watch all over again.

How excited are you?
Jodi

The post The COVID Diaries: Something in My Veins, Bloodier Than Blood appeared first on I Will Dare.

Pictured above is a Taco Bell cup filled with “Tropical Drink” which is different than Fruit Punch, though I love that too.

Even though I loathe plastic cups, I love this one. I know it was supposed to be used once and then disposed of, but it holds so much ice and has a straw! Mostly I drink out of my water bottle and when I want something that is not water, a Smurf glass from 1983.

So, I’ve been using this cup for iced beverages since I got it on December 11th. I know it was December 11th because I went to Taco Bell after grocery shopping during my quest to shove as many chicken taco roll-ups into my body as possible during their limited run.

Until the 11th, I would use one cup for a week and then replace it with a new cup. However, when I went on the 18th (I grocery shop on Tuesdays) my roll-ups were no more, and thus my reason to go to Taco Bell. I feel the need to explain this to everyone who comes over so they don’t think that I had Taco Bell that day. I’m not sure why I care.

The post Day 150 of 200: Hobo Cup & Pointless Explanations appeared first on I Will Dare.