After a record-breaking day yesterday (my page views grew by almost 19 times my previous highest record), I was left a little breathless. What do I do now? All these great folks liked my mini-reviews, but I can’t possibly read enough to mini-review everyday, can I? Where do I go from here?
To try and answer these questions, I looked back over my archive. What do I normally write about? I realized my entire blog can be summed up in these three words: books, cats, and crazy. I write about the books I read, the cat I love, and other events in my life, which usually just end up showing how crazy I am. I suppose a few more subscribers isn’t a good reason to fix what ain’t broke, so I’ll stick with my formula for now.
(Dear New Friends,
I’m not sure if I’m always as talented or smooth as my Freshly Pressed post. I hope you’ll still be my friends after I reveal my inner Crazy Cat Lady.
With Hope, Amanda)
I am a comfort eater. There is nothing I want more in the world when I am feeling stressed or sick or frustrated than a plate of, preferably cheesy, pasta, and a big glass of cold milk, followed by something chocolate-y for dessert. It’s bad, I know. I’m working on it. As I inevitably stress about our move, I’ve only had one bag of Milano cookies this week, and no pasta. Go me! Yay for being a grown-up!
As much as I am a comfort eater, I am also a comfort reader. Whenever I’m feeling stressed or sick or frustrated, I want to curl up with a familiar, well-loved book. That book used to be Alice in Wonderland, but that was back when I was classy, and, let’s be honest, a bit of a literary snob. I’m over myself now, and thought I still adore Alice and her crazy gang of Wonder-folk, my go-to comfort books are none other than Mr. Harry Potter himself. I own paper backs of the entire series, and they are all well-loved, having been read at least three times each by myself, and at least once by Tyler. This lovely little dear will probably be my constant companion for the next week as I struggle against claustrophobia while the boxes pile up around us.
What about you? Do you have a security blanket book too? Who are your literary best friends, the books you’ve read a hundred times and still love?
I have started a trend I should probably stop, mostly because it is upsetting the cat. Also, it’s kind of weird. This is the Crazy-Cat-Lady part. Are you ready?…
I’ve started taking the cat’s name in vain.
“Holy Cambria! That is a lot of boxes!”
“What in the name of Cambria is going on here?”
Other similar exclamations have also found their way out of my mouth. I don’t know why. It needs to end for two reasons.
- It has, understandably, made her a little jumpy. She mews every time I do it, and I realized she probably thinks I’m mad at her. Or she thinks I’m going to feed her, and then she gets sulky when she finds out there is no turkey involved.
- Let’s be honest, it’s really odd. Like the old lady down the road who always murmurs old-fashioned phrases to herself like, “Heavens to Betsy,” or “Oh Lawsy,” except this one is made up and I’m not old.
As if you didn’t get enough crazy in the Cat section, here is a little more for you: I have a new-found obsession with hipsters. I don’t particularly admire them as they seem a little vapid, and I don’t want to be one, it’s just that people keep telling me I am one. It doesn’t matter so much, except that if this is going to be a thing in my life I at least want to know what the thing is. Also, it seems to be a negative thing, so if I am to become a social pariah I want to know that too. When this first started last month I didn’t even know what a hipster was, so I started polling friends and reading Urban Dictionary. And you know what I discovered? Everyone has a different idea of what a hipster is, but there is some overlap. This is the apparent consensus:
Thick-rimmed glasses: check.
Vintage or thrift store clothing: check.
Snobby attitude: hopefully not.
Liking of indie music: check. I love me some She& Him. So sue me.
Counter-cultural: Um. Does being a theatre nerd in high school and college count? No? I didn’t think so.
Thank makes the score Hipster Amanda: 3, Normal Amanda 2. The points are stacking up against me a bit. Apparently I am an accidental hipster. Who knew?
What do you consider to be “hipster”? Is it a negative thing in your mind? Should I be afraid? I just don’t know. And thinking about it has stressed me out a little bit, which brings us back around to books. I am going to go read Harry and try not to think about hipsters, or boxes, or the fact that I am crazier than muttering old ladies.