Category: Me Being an Idiot

That’s all I have to say about that.

At the End of Magic and Wil Wheaton Are Awesome!

Dear Mary,

Did you ever read that post a while back over at The Bloggess about how Wil Wheaton posed for a photo collating papers and sent it to her just because she asked?

You know how you wrote that amazing novel called At the End of Magic that your son surprised you by publishing, and how your blogging and bookstore friends are helping you promote it?


At the End of Magic and Wil Wheaton came together in my mind at the same exact moment in time, which I think can only be explained by the fact that your book and Wil Wheaton are AWESOME and not at all because I have ISSUES and my therapist sounds like Marge Simpson.

So, I thought it would be really cool to surprise you with a photo of Wil Wheaton holding At the End of Magic because if he can collate papers in a photo for The Bloggess, surely he can hold your book in a photo for me, right?

But then I thought about it some more.  The Bloggess is brilliant and has a gazillion readers.  I have ISSUES and nine readers.  Also, Wil Wheaton and I have a history, where history equals HE IS PLAYING HARD TO GET.  Consider this evidence:  I looked ALL DAY and couldn’t even spot Wil Wheaton one measly time at Comic-Con.  So, I may not have the pull it will take to get Wil Wheaton to pose for a photo with At the End of Magic. Although, in my favor, I am the grandmother of someone Wil Wheaton loves. True story.

But still. You know that me not being popular, participating in therapy with Marge Simpson, and knowing that Wil Wheaton is avoiding me would not stop me from getting a photo of Wil Wheaton holding your book, right?  Because I have skillz that The Bloggess and Wil Wheaton could put a damper on by filing a lawsuit and/or a restraining order don’t even know about.

Here you go, Mary.  Wil Wheaton holding At the End of Magic in a photo for you.

(Original photo source: Wikimedia Commons)

You’re welcome.

Love, Cheri

P.S.  The photo of Wil Wheaton holding At the End of Magic was totally my idea, so if that strikingly handsome and wonderfully talented Wil Wheaton wants to sue anyone or file a restraining order, I hereby agree to take the rap.

Mr. Wheaton, if I have to show up in court for a lawsuit and/or restraining order, would it be possible to get a photo of you on the courthouse steps holding Mary’s book?  Can I be in the photo?  Also, could I get an autograph for my youngest daughter since she showed up at Comic-Con dressed as Deanna Troi hoping to see you, and she didn’t think the Wesley Crusher hoodie I offered to buy her made up for not seeing you?  One more thing:  Here’s another photo of @JackTheBaby dressed like Wesley Crusher because I think this photo will make you think twice about suing the grandmother of this darling child since Mary got an awesome photo of you, you should get an awesome photo too. 

jackthebaby as wesley crusher

There’s still time!  Just leave a comment HERE before 11:59 PM PST on Saturday, November 8th to enter to win an autographed copy of At the End of Magic and/or to be one of eight lucky readers to participate in an online book club meeting on Skype with the author, Mary Petrie!  Please CLICK HERE to *LIKE* At the End of Magic on Facebook!

Who Has ISSUES? Me, That’s Who!

So. I have some issues. And by issues I mean ISSUES.

Who doesn’t, really? Well, some people think they don’t have issues. So, there are people who know they have issues, and people who think they don’t have issues, the latter of which is actually a double serving of ISsuEs. But that’s just my opinion, which you should take with Pliny the Elder’s grain of salt because I have ISSUES, that’s why.

So, recently, I decided to do something about my ISSUES. Again. I previously mentioned that I’ve been trying meditation hahahahahaha. Like most Southern Californians, I’ve been in therapy before, so I thought I’d give that another go. At my new therapist’s recommendation, I enrolled in an eight-week Mindful Self Compassion course, which may prove to be fatal; I’ll let you know. The course includes a half-day silent retreat at the end, which I’m positive will kill me if I actually show up. It was really nice being blogging friends with you while it lasted.

Meanwhile, back at the therapist’s office as we began to Discuss Issues With Deep Roots and whatnot, it seems her philosophy is that Examining the Deep Roots is a worthy pursuit in knowing what Caused the ISSUES, but then Doing Things to deal with the Effects of the ISSUES is Essential. Immediately she identified that one of the Effects of my Issues with Deep Roots is that I am not so good at self compassion. (By the way, “not so good at” are my words. She’d say it in some sort of positive way that for the life of me I cannot figure out how to do. See? ISSUES.) So, she recommended the Mindful Self Compassion course and Other Stuff like that as part of the Doing Things approach.

Now for the point of this post (because I do have one): Since the very first session with her, I could not place where I’d heard her voice before. It sounded familiar. I was trying to focus on WHAT she was saying, but I kept getting distracted by WHO she sounded like when she was saying it. (See? ISSUES.) Then one day she had me close my eyes to do a guided self-compassion meditation (which, by the way, did not prove fatal, although when I first closed my eyes I thought it was all over for me). With my eyes closed, fully focused on just her voice, it hit me who she sounds like.

Julie Kavner.

So, basically, every time I go to therapy now, I hear Marge Simpson except softer and patient. But still Marge Simpson.

This is what therapy is like.
This is what therapy is like for me.


Remember That Time?

Remember that time I had to go to a function at my daughter’s school and my hair looked pretty awesome but I decided to take a shower and wash it anyway so my hair would be at the very peak of awesomeness because my daughter’s friends, friends’ parents, teachers, and school administrators would all be attending?

Remember how I washed my hair and let it air dry while I got dressed and put on my makeup?

Remember when my hair wasn’t getting dry in the air, which was weird because the air temperature that day was somewhere between Habanero pepper and thermonuclear meltdown?

Remember when I started blow drying my hair it stayed wet and slick and flat and what the heck?

Remember how I realized that I had not rinsed out the conditioner? At all.

Remember when it was time to leave for the function and I was dressed with my makeup on but it looked like Gomer Pyle had greased my head?

gomer pyleRemember Gomer Pyle? (Just curious.  Irrelevant.  Carry on.)

Remember how I didn’t have time to jump back into the shower, rinse my hair, get dressed again, reapply my makeup, and blow dry my hair?

Remember how I ran to the kitchen sink and stuck my head under the faucet?

Remember when I finally finished blow drying my hair it was helmet-like and stiff, kind of like Darth Vader meets Donald Trump?

Remember when I got the bright idea that I could fluff it up with some baby powder?

Remember when I showed up at the function for my daughter’s school attended by her friends, friends’ parents, teachers, and school administrators with my hair looking like Darth Vader meets Donald Trump and smelling like a baby’s butt?

I don’t remember any of that either.

There’s still time to enter to win an autographed copy of Kicks Like a Girl and/or be one of eight lucky readers to participate in an online book club with the author, Melissa Westemeier!  Check it out!  CLICK RIGHT HERE!

Aspiring to Be Oprah’s Dog

What’s your spirit flower?

Is your soul hippie, punk, or goth?

Who’s your ‘80s hunk?

Which BBQ food are you?

Which Downton Abbey character are you?

What city should you actually live in?

How much of a foodie are you?

What is your REAL age?

What kind of dog were you in a past life?

This is a random sampling of the quizzes found on Facebook these days. You may have even taken some. I’m not saying that I have or anything. But if I had taken any Facebook quizzes, I may or may not be Sybil Branson, living in San Diego, a 93% foodie, and 42 years old. I would have shaved off more than a decade right there, if I had taken the Facebook “What is your REAL age” quiz, so that would be a good reason right there to have done so, but I admit nothing.  Also, if I had taken the foodie quiz, I think my 100% score would have been 93% only because I don’t brew my own beer, that’s why. Or Facebook remembers that time I went to Sonic, America’s Drive-In, and ate chili cheese tots because a server wearing roller skates brought them to me, that’s why.

sonic totsBut I don’t know what is my spirit flower, whether my soul is a hippie, or what BBQ food I would be even if I were grilled all the livelong day. Good golly people, I don’t even know what a spirit flower is, do you?

But let’s consider that last quiz on my list more carefully. For two seconds. Because I could care less what kind of dog I was in a past life.  What I know for sure is what kind of dog I want to be in my next life. Let’s discuss.

oprahs dog
You get a car! You get a car! You get a car!

I want to be Oprah’s dog in my next life. Heck, I’d even pretend to be Oprah’s dog in this life if I could grow enough hair and a tail. You might be wondering why not do away with a next-life lifestyle that requires sniffing other dogs’ butts and just be Oprah with her billions of dollars, organic farm in Maui, and a home in Mendocino with its own separate tea house? Nah. Oprah has to work really hard. But Oprah’s dog? Not so much. Oprah’s dog reaps all of the benefits of her billions without so much as lifting a paw, unless you count constantly boarding that $42 million dollar jet to go from Montecito to Maui and back as a lot of effort.

So.  In addition to dividing my time between California and Hawaii, I made a list of some of the lifestyle changes that would happen to me if I were Oprah’s dog.

1. My dog house would be decorated by Nate Berkus.

2. Art Smith would make my puppy chow.

3. Bob Greene would walk me.

4. Andre Walker would groom me.

5. Tyler Perry, Maria Shriver, and Michelle Obama would be hanging out and pet me.

6. Rumor has it that Oprah left $30,000,000 in her will to her dogs, so we know with that kind of coin, I’d totally have Suze Orman manage my wealth.

7. Dr. Oz would fix me up if I caught a parvovirus or something. I bet he’d even explain to us what is a parvovirus while wearing those purple gloves of his and making Oprah (but not me because I’m a dog, remember?) hold some dreadfully gory body part.

8. Iyanla could fix my life, which is not the same as getting fixed, amirite?


Well, if this isn’t the “tale” wagging the dog, I don’t know what is. But, doggone, I’m out of ideas. Help me!

Do you have any thoughts about how my next life would be improved by becoming Oprah’s dog? Would you want to be Oprah’s dog? If not, what would you like to be in your next life?

Photo credit:  Every one of these photos was shamelessly jacked from Google Images by using high-tech search terms such as “Dr. Oz purple gloves” and “Sonic chili cheese tots” and “dog driving car.”


Blog This Mom Goes to Comic-Con

Comic-Con began in 1970 as the first comic book convention for fans of comics, related movies and literature, and science fiction/fantasy.  It was a single-day event held in March at the U.S. Grant Hotel in downtown San Diego, which drew 100 attendees and was successful enough that a larger Comic-Con event with 300 attendees was held in August of the same year.  By comparison, I can tell you that this year there were 300 attendees in line at every restroom.  Okay, that’s an exaggeration because there were plenty of restrooms, but lines are a thing at Comic-Con as much as anything else.  In fact, to stand in some lines (such as to get certain autographs or for various events) you have to get to Comic-Con early to stand in lines for wristbands.

Comic-Con boasts over 130,000 attendees in recent years.  Comic-Con moved around a bit to accommodate its growing audience until it settled in the massive San Diego Convention Center in 1991.  The Exhibit Hall is 460,000 square feet, but even that can’t hold the event any more.  Satellite events take place all around the SDCC, turning Downtown San Diego and the Gaslamp District into a giant Comic-Con campus.  Attendees are packed like sardines in the convention center and roam the streets dressed in all manner of comic book, science fiction, fantasy, movie, and television character costumes.  At the very least, attendees wear themed t-shirts.  My youngest daughter and I were no exception.

My daughter was dressed as Deanna Troi from Star Trek: The Next Generation.

IMG_6728I was wearing my daughter’s Castle “Writer” shirt, which is a take off on the vest Richard Castle wears when he’s rolling with the police, in case you didn’t know.  Too bad I didn’t see Nathan Fillion at Comic-Con because I think he would have been very impressed that I have a Minion (never mind that in this photo I look like I need to go pee pee).

castleWe didn’t have wristbands to get in the Robot Chicken autograph line, but my mother used to say that “the squeaky wheel gets the grease,” so after chatting with the line monitor people a bit, I asked and they let us in.  My mother also used to tell me not to talk to strangers, but I’ve never followed that advice.  The Adult Swim and Robot Chicken folks were all very kind and gracious.  Also, Seth Green took a selfie with me, like a boss.

IMG_9878Laura and I waited in a Very Long Line, which part of the time was outside in the Very Hot Sun, to attend the Fan Favorites Panel, which Very Much Delighted both my daughter and me.  The entire panel was awesome.  We had our favorites of the favorites.  Misha Collins for her.  Gwendoline Christie for me.  Later, my daughter got Sean Astin’s autograph and he posed for a photo with her (as did Seth Green).  They were both very sweet to my daughter, and Sean Astin told her how cute she was at least four times because she is cute, that’s why.

But it wasn’t all fun and games and comics at Comic-Con, at least not for me.  I had one assignment, and only one assignment from my daughter:  Spot Wil Wheaton.  Laura is a huge Wil Wheaton fan.  In fact, we recently scored two tickets to be in the on-camera audience at The Wil Wheaton Project, which made me very popular with my daughter for five minutes until I read the part that said audience members must be 18.  #momfail

So I took my Spot Wil Wheaton assignment Very Seriously.  In so doing, I pretty much creeped out every guy with a beard at Comic-Con as I scanned the crowd for Wil Wheaton, to no avail.  Just so you know, these guys at Comic-Con were not Wil Wheaton:

IMG_9849This photo in the events schedule was the closest I was able to come to finding Wil Wheaton at Comic-Con for my kid.

IMG_9852So, I offered Laura the very cool Wesley Crusher hoodie that we found in one of the vendor booths. But apparently a hoodie is not the same thing as seeing Wil Wheaton in person.  At all.

wesley crusher hoodieSo, I guess we’ll try finding him again at Comic-Con again next year.  Wil Wheaton, if you see a lady with a Minion who’s talking to strangers and eyeballing every man with a beard, don’t worry, it’s just me looking for you.

If you didn’t have Comic-Con tickets, you can always console yourself with pot* and chocolate by entering the Blog This Mom!® & Gary Rith “joint” FREE POT & CHOCOLATE GIVEAWAY.  Click HERE to enter before July 30th at 11:59 pm Pacific Daylight Time.

*POTteryteaPOT.  What did you think?  Gee whiz.

I’m Being Followed & A Free Pot* Giveaway

I’m Being Followed

bees kneesI really need someone who can interpret signs from the universe to please explain to me why I am being followed by bees.  I’m not making this up.

Bee Incident #1:  There was the near-death experience with the bee that flew into my house.  Okay.  I didn’t have a near-death experience.  It was the bee that almost died because I was going to squish it, that’s why.  But I didn’t squish it.  However, I’m pretty sure that it knew I was going to squish it because it flew away and formed a bee posse to come after me.

Bee Incident #2:  A bee flew into my car the day before yesterday.  After it flew into my car, it flew around inside of my car, buzzing loudly.  I didn’t squish it though because I wanted Hannah the Bee Rescuer to be proud of me.  Also, I didn’t squish it because I was running away from my car making screech-y noises.

Bee Incident #3:  Yesterday, on a sidewalk full of people outside of my local Coffee Bean, I was attacked by a Very Giant Flying Object that made loud buzzing sounds.  I can’t be 100% certain it was a bee because it had a landing lights and a flight attendant on board passing out roasted peanuts, but it was BUZZING and following me in a stalker-ish and serial-killer-like manner.  I was running in an evasive serpentine pattern on the sidewalk making screech-y noises while people drinking coffee observed attentively.  Then the Very Giant Flying Object went after my friend.  She started running in an evasive serpentine pattern on the sidewalk making screech-y noises while people drinking coffee observed attentively.  So I yelled at those people, “Don’t any of you dare take out your phones and video this!  I don’t want to see this on YouTube later!”  True story.  And then we ran into the parking lot and hid under our cars.

Obviously, the universe is sending me a message, but I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS, PLEASE HELP ME.

Free Pot!

gary and wifeOnce upon a time, I started this blog in 2006.  I became friends with a blogger who, among other scintillating characteristics, is also a potter of considerable distinction.  We love each other but only in an imaginary cousinly way because the potter has a hawt wife he calls Missus Tastycakes and I have a long-suffering an awesome husband, a Hot Toe Doctor, and Adam Lambert.  Back in the olden days, Gary and I used to do joint (no pun intended) giveaways on our blogs.  What’s that you say?  Giveaways?  Why, yes.

Come back on Monday to learn more about Gary and find out how to enter our Free Pot* Giveaway.  Also, chocolate will be involved because what goes better with free pot than free chocolate? 


*pot, as in pottery, yo. What did you think?

Use The Force, Cheri

Because I am a complete idiot love my children, I agreed to do the Star Wars Half Marathon at Disneyland with my two oldest daughters in January of 2015.  This means that I have six months to write my own eulogy train. In fact, Disney even offers free training programs and nutrition tips on the runDisney website to prepare runners for crossing over to the other side the finish line.  Sure, I could use six months of training and good nutrition because I often have to stop for a rest period when I walk from the couch to the fridge, that’s why.  However, I have come up with a program of my own that I think you will agree is far superior to the one Disney suggests because as long as I can get from the couch to the fridge I’m happy, that’s why.

“I suggest a new strategy, Artoo: Let the Wookiee win.” ~C3PO

This is my grandson’s ride.  My grandson will totally let me borrow his ride because he loves me.  But if my grandson’s parents are all, “No, you can’t borrow the stroller because it has a 70 lb. weight limit warranty blah blah blah, then I will totally boost this ride when they are busy changing a diaper or watching Top Gear with him.

BOB Revolution Single
This is my grandson’s ride.

Assuming that I do not get arrested for grand theft stroller, I will need to pimp my ride.  The first thing I will do is install one of these bad boys to keep me cool during the race.

stroller fan
Who wants a ride with no A/C? Not me, that’s who.

Because the half marathon takes place around Disneyland, I will obviously need a snack tray.

stroller snack tray
This tray is not for sippy cups and Cheerios, yo.

The snack tray is for my Gibson Girl hot fudge sundae.  Obviously.

gibson girl sundae
As if.

Race Day Strategy:

1.  Strap myself into the stroller.

2.  Attach fan.

3.  Install snack tray.

4.  Obtain Gibson Girl hot fudge sundae.

5.  Have my two oldest daughters take turns pushing me in the stroller for 13.1 miles to collect my Star Wars Half Marathon Commemorative Finisher Medal at the end.

I don’t think number five is too much to ask because in order for my children to even be there to push me 13.1 miles in a stroller for the Star Wars Half Marathon, I had to go through childbirth, diapers, potty training, carpools, PTA meetings, drivers training, prom dress shopping, college tuition, and two weddings, that’s why.

“The chances of survival are 725 to 1.” ~R2D2

If you have a better training program and race day strategy, I’m all ears.

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