Blog Archives

the [snowboarding] Sunday, currently.

It’s honestly kind of relaxing to write the currently. This is my third Sunday, currently (Read One and Two here) and I feel a little better about posts constantly going up here on Chicks in the Mitt, because the prompts just clear my head out of all the drivel that gets in the way. You know who else likes writing prompts? English Teachers — like the one that had me write about the time my house caught fire while I was in the shower.

That’s a story, for real.

R E A D I N G Millions of old school assignments. I booted up an old family computer to pull off some tax information and found basically all my school work saved from about 6th grade through senior year of high school. I was quite the little story teller. 

W R I T I N G Valentine’s Cards, to go out for #LettersFromLA. I’ve been taking part in A Month of Letters, which means I’ve sent a piece of mail out every possible day of February thus far. You’re welcome, Grandma.

L I S T E N I N G to The Civil Wars’ cover of Between the Bars. I love the Civil Wars, so when I heard on NPR that an EP would be released on iTunesI  got excited and have been listening to this on repeat ever since. Also awesome — their cover of I Want You Back is amazing.

T H I N K I N G that I really wish I had more capable video making capabilities, because I love singing some of Joy Williams’ (of the Civil Wars) harmonies. Harmonizing with me, myself, and my sub par guitar skills sounds like a good time.

W I S H I N G I had a little bit more skill at guitar. Granted, considering the amount of time I’ve dedicated to it, I’m not terrible. But I kind of am. And I definitely wish I was better. Anyone giving out guitar lessons for free? Bueller? Bueller?

H O P I N G  for no soreness tomorrow. I spent part of the morning and early afternoon snowboarding with my old friend Arrington and his girlfriend. This brings my grand total of times I have snowboarded to four. Yes, I did fall. Mostly because I chose to fall, since I’m not very good at just stopping. Anyone not giving away free guitar lessons that is giving away free snowboard lessons?

W E A R I N G two different pairs of pants with zippers at the ankles. I’m so 1999. I don’t even know how one ends up with two pairs of ankle zipping pants, let alone ends up wearing them simultaneously, like some sort of zippered superhero.

L O V I  N G that I’m going to see The LEGO movie today. Boo might be excited, but I am ecstatic. 

W A N T I N G some Hot Cocoa, because that seems like the appropriate drink for the winter activities thing that I did earlier.

N E E D I N G to do some actual writing. I’ve been writing in the second book of my I’m not published, but at least now the first book is finished series and have hit a wall. I’m not sure what it is — but everything I’ve written lately for it just sounds like crap when I read it back. I need to sit back and take a break from it,  but at the same time, I just want to get it done. Also. I need to figure out what I’m going to do now that the first book is completed. Online publishing, maybe?
F E E L I N G like writing — but a completely different story from the one I just mentioned. Maybe I’ll just start an entirely new book. It’ll probably be about like…love. Or vampires. Or magic. Or fantasy. Or Dystopia. What’s popular nowadays, anyway?

.Link up to the Sunday, Currently here.

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Signed, sealed, delivered, WHAT THE BLEEP IS IN MY MAILBOX.

I got a letter from my lovely Lina the other day. It was a bittersweet moment, because on one hand, I was all…

I’VE GOT MAIL, BITCHES.

…and on the other hand, I was like…

How long has it been since I’ve sent mail, because so much stationary and so much envelopes and mother-fecking Harry Potter Stamps?!

Which loosely translates to me realizing that I’ve got all this stationary and all these stamps that I have neglected to use.

I have these stamps, guys. And I cannot figure out why I have not sent any of you magical, magical Harry Potter Owl Mail. Image from Yahoo! News.

Of course, this lead me to sorting out all my stationary, and finding my fountain pen, and searching all over etsy for a new-old-working typewriter that I can put on my childhood desk that my father and I are attempting to refinish for me. A girl needs a place to pen her life. Somehow in the course of all this, I found myself on a website that I come across every few years.

I’ve debated joining the Letter Writers Alliance for awhile now, but always told myself not to until I have more time to write. It occurred to me then, that I am never going to have more time to write. If I want to write letters, I need to find time and write letters. So, this is me, dedicating via blog, that I’m going to do just that. New Year’s Resolution style, I’m going on a #LettersFromLA kick, because it’s something I love to do.

And on that note, here are the top five things I would really appreciate finding in my mailbox:

5. Maybe not this exact barrel but…

this is from the 1920’s and was used to ship silver and china. Photo from http://plentyofcolour.com, click photo for link.

I always wanted to get something from Tiffany’s in the mail because you see that blue and you just know that’s where it’s from. Granted, this barrel wouldn’t fit in my mailbox, but still. Tiny version maybe?

4. Unique stationary of any sort…

The personalized mail from suburbanpenpal.wordpress.com is absolutely awesome. Click photo for link.

Freshly pressed definitely knew where my head was at this morning when they featured SuburbanPenPal.wordpress.com. Her letters are so unique, I did that awkward girl sqeeee just looking at them.

3. Here is a Pinata.

Ole. Courtesy of afewofmyfavorites.com. Click photo for link.

Seriously, it’s a pinata. In the mail. Enough said.

2. The Police put it best.

Yes. That is a message in a bottle. Photo from olderandwisor.com. Click the photo for the link.

Sending out an SOS? YES.

And finally.

1. Put a bird on it. Or put it in a bird. Or something like that.

Courtesy of that site I might finally join, the Letter Writers Alliance. Click the photo for the link.

It’s just like having your very own Carrier Pigeon. But he’s dead. I mean, fake. He’s not alive. And he goes in the mailbox. Someone, mail me a bird.

 

So, I’m pulling out my fountain pen later, kids. It’s letter writing time. I think I might actually keep this Resolution.

 

Happy [Belated] Birthday, Honest Abe! And also BEARDS.

I was scrolling through my timeline today, when I saw the following tweet from Letters of Note:

from twitter.com/lettersofnote

from twitter.com/lettersofnote

Letters of Notes is one of my favorite blogs to read — one for the snail mail, since ya’ll know how much I love my #lettersfromLA, and two for it’s content, which is always fun to read.

I knew Lincoln’s birthday was somewhere in February, but not exactly when. As you may or may not know, my father bears a resemblance to Abe Lincoln, which is generally what I use to describe him when I tell people about him.

“Yeah, that’s my Dad, the tall guy that looks like Abe Lincoln with a moustache.”

Therefore, in honor of [the day after] Honest Abe’s birthday, I bring you the following story:

When my sister and I were in grade school, my mother didn’t drive, so it fell upon my father to pick us from school and activities and the like. However, my father has an issue with time, and being on it, probably because all the thousands of clocks in my house are set five to ten minutes apart. No one ever knows the real time.

This ended a lot of times with being the last kids picked up, or going over to friends’ houses until Dad came to get us. This also involved me being exposed to hockey, but that’s another story for another time.

So, one day, VS and I are waiting with all the kids to get picked up and the principal yells out to us, “Hoyer girls! Your dad is here!”

And so I looked at the car. And I looked at VS. And VS looked at the car. And VS looked at me.

But neither of us went to the car. Because there was a strange man sitting in the car that was absolutely not our father.

The parking lot emptied, and VS and I remained. Obviously, Dad was just late. The principal took us back towards the school with him to call our dad and find a way home, when we saw the strange man walking towards us. He was tall and skinny like dad. He had the same old blue coat like dad. He had the same old, ugly boots as dad.

“Isn’t that your dad?” asked the principal.

Where,” VS asked, scandalized. “Is his beard?!”

Apparently, my dad had had the day off. And with that day off, had decided to shave off his beard, rendering him basically unrecognizable at first glance to his daughters.

Fully Bearded Father. Back in the day, it was a brown beard.

Fully Bearded Father. Back in the day, it was a brown beard.

If you read the letter I mentioned over on Letters of Note, you’ll find out how Lincoln grew his beard, and maybe gained a few extra votes in becoming president. Seriously. Go read it. Maybe get caught up in reading a few more letters.

Courtesy of LettersofNote.com

Courtesy of LettersofNote.com

Moral of the story: grow a beard, and fabulous things like becoming the president could happen to you. And maybe your kids will know who you are, and let you take them home.

 

Technology, you bitch.

I had this whole post I was going to write about how I’m on this letter writing kick. Seriously. It’s my latest obsession.

#LettersFromLA

I’ve hashtagged it. I’m trying to use up all the stationary I’ve accumulated over my life, which is an excessive amount.

This is the just pile that fits in my desk drawer. There’s more. Lots more.

Do you want a letter on Pohacco stationary? I’ve got that. Hello Kitty? Got it. Beatles notecards? I’ve got oodles. Those dollar bins at Target tend to sell cute little notecards, and they are only ONE DOLLAR. I must buy them. In case, you know, I write letters someday. Like today.

But while I was prepping to write this great post about letters and HOW YOU CAN GET ONE FROM ME, complete with doodles and Gelly Roll writing, I decided that I needed some inspiration.

I head to iTunes, ready to sing along to “Amsterdam” by Guster.

I wanna write you a letter, wanna write you a book…wanna…NOT BE ABLE TO PLAY THE SONG BECAUSE MY HARD DRIVE IS NOT WORKING.

I seriously start hyperventilating. My life is on this hard drive. All my music, every single photo I’ve taken since I got a digital camera back in 2005, every book I’ve written, homework going back to at least the seventh grade (God only knows why I’ve kept that), my effing TAXES, did I mention EVERY SINGLE PHOTO THAT I’VE TAKEN SINCE 2005?!

My first thought is to call theAsian and cry. Since he is 100% Asian, he has a tendency to be able to save my life when technology fails. Which is a lot.

Maybe it’s because my parents decided to marry and thus create a little half n’ half baby. But Technology and I do not get along. Someone told me once that I need to defriend Technology. And they are correct.

Case in Point:

I finally get an iPhone. It’s so shiny and pretty and the best phone I’ve ever had. Two weeks after getting it, I’m biking to soccer practice. I put the iPhone into my sweatshirt. The sweatshirt into my stuff sack. When I get to the field, the screen somehow managed to crack to oblivion.

“Did you drop it?” asks HSM while I cry to him at the Apple store. “You have to drop it just right for this to happen.”

“It was wrapped up in my sweatshirt in my bag on my back!” I wail.

He shakes his head. “This would only happen to you.”

While typing one day, LeBebe tries to Houdini out of his playpen (He’s just learning to walk at this point).

I immediately jump up to catch him, and when I’m holding him and telling him why we do not climb out of our playpen, I turn to see my computer. Which I dropped on the floor. Oops.

“I brought a computer for you,” I tell theAsian.

He laughs. “I’m guessing that means it’s broken?”

“No,” I say defensively. “It works!”

“But…”

“I dropped it and the screen flashes now.”*

I load all of my worldly possessions onto a hard drive to attempt to keep my computer from being overloaded. I go to plug in said hard drive and it will. not. load. It won’t even recognize. I take the thing to Best Buy. Geek Squad, save me.

“I can’t figure it out.” The guy hands it back to me, shaking his head. “It should work fine, but it doesn’t even want to load.”

“What about my files?” I am about to cry.

“SOL.” He shakes his head at me. “But I won’t charge you since we couldn’t fix it.”**

I buy a new digital camera. A few weeks into owning it, Macy and I are out and it somehow drops and breaks.

I cry.

We go to a casino. I win big money. I buy a new camera.

Fast forward five months. Macy and I are at a hockey game. I put the camera into my pocket. We climb on a tree.

I wake up and the camera screen has cracked.

Technology. Hates. Me.***

*Normally, I don’t drop things. Technology just blows up on me. I have witnesses.

**theAsian managd to successfully pull all my data off the broken hard drive and put it onto a new drive. Fuck you, Geek Squad.

***Feel free to donate to the “Buy L.A. a new hard drive foundation.” It will be my third hard drive. Although, I did manage to get it to connect by using a camera USB cord. I just can’t touch it, or it yells at me and starts making scary noises.