What is Slow Blogging (and Why I'm Doing It)

Dear Friends, 

I love you. You know I do. 

Here's how much I love you. When I think of you, I look like this:

But I've felt guilty lately because I leave you hanging for weeks at a time with no SUPER WISE WORDS about the state of my pubic hair. And I feel guilty that (some of) you still hope I will post MORE things about my personal grooming habits. You check your reader, or type in my url and blammo...nothing.

It's not that I haven't been writing because I don't love you, or don't love writing, or don't love this blog.

It's that this blog grew and grew and grew and instead of it staying the cute little Kindergartner with whom I enjoyed both hand-holding while crossing the street AND semi-intelligent conversation, it became a surly teenager to the point where I really didn't understand it OR its music anymore. 

Side note: you haven't felt confusion until your blog starts wearing black lipstick and a sour expression and is all zits, slammed doors and tense silence.

So imagine my delight when I recently read this article and found that there was a whole mess of people out there, like me, who thought, "Why am I pushing content just to push content?"

In fact, they're calling it "Slow Blogging." Erin Loechner says it best:

"We live in a world of more; this much is obvious. More things, more information. More time-saving tricks we use to find the time to uncover even more time-saving tricks....

I want less. I want less for this site; I want less for my life. I want to return to the days when I didn’t feel the need to “keep up” with the Internet. Where less truly was more, where editorial calendars didn’t exist and the words “I should totally blog this” were never uttered.

I miss the days when blogging itself was my muse. When the simple act of sharing something I stumbled upon was the joy itself, rather than a frenzied race to click link after link in hopes that I’ll have discovered something truly amazing."

There was a time when many of us, myself included, felt like daily blogging (or more) was the only way to be heard in an ever growing digital landscape of cute kittens and crazy recipes and snarky gossip blogazines. 

But that's not why I started TNR in the beginning. I started this blog because I needed SPACE. I wanted a place to breathe deep into the part of me that needed to write, to share, to get my emotions out on a screen. 

And sure, I could have just as easily kept a diary to do that, but ever since my divorce, it's been important to me that someone, somewhere can maybe benefit from the words I write.

The last year or so has shown me that I, in fact, have NOT been:

a) tapping that part of me that needed creative SPACE and

b) posting anything that has truly been helpful for anyone. (Well, except for this.)

I'll admit it's been a lot of navel-gazing and whining and filler posts with some vibrator reviews and f-bombs thrown in for good measure. And that, friends, is not only a disservice to me and my creativity, but a disservice to those of you who come here looking for something...more.

All that to say, I would like to get back to the original intent of this here blog...to share my experiences and stories with the hope that what I've been through, what I learn about myself and life and relationships, and the way I communicate it all to you is somehow entertaining and helpful.

What that means is, posts here will likely be longer, "soul-puke" type stories and anecdotes. They may require a cup of coffee, a blanket, and some heavy petting (what? You don't read with friends?).

I'll post on Thursdays or Fridays mostly, so you have time over the weekend to read, take notes, and compose your response essays. Or, you know, just read at work when you're bored and waiting for 5 o' clock to roll around. 

I'll still have guest posts in the mix and if you'd like to submit one, I'm cool with that, too! I just figured, after looking at one my very favorite blogs (which is about cake, obvs) and realizing that in two years of weekly entries she has not had ONE throwaway post, that I could do the same.

I want to focus on value rather than frequency, joy rather than productivity, substance rather than filler.

And hell, there are plenty of other wonderful blogs out there that write multiple posts about the "Top 10 Ways to Lose Weight by Only Eating Curd" or "72 Reasons to Start Wearing Adult Onesies this Winter" that you don't need me to add my voice to that mix. 

Let's slow blog this shit out of this space together, shall we?

Love, 

TNR

PS--I'm already working on my piece for next week, tentatively titled, "Why My Parents Giving Me a Purity Ring at 16 was a Bad Fucking Idea." (No pun intended.)

On the Eve of a New Year...

2012 was a doozy. 

This year reminds me a lot of the biblical creation story. I was without form and void...and then boomsauce, life was like, "Let there be light, motherfucker."

And like being blasted in the face with light at 5:30 a.m. while having a wonderful sex dream about Bill Hader (my apologies to your wife, sir), that shit can be painful.

But I've recalibrated (I think. Ish.) While I felt like I lost myself for a moment, I've proactively taken steps toward my personal un-cocooning, as it were (it were, indeed).

Here's how...

-I participated in the most ridiculous round of therapy ever. When you Google "therapy for shame and depression issues related to an authoritarian upbringing" and find an actual result, you should go see that person at least once. It'll be weird, and you'll be like, "You want me to say what now to that empty chair that supposedly represents my mother?" but it'll be good for you. Promise.

-I bent my body into shapes and forms in a room like a sauna. I'm slightly more bendy than when I started, but not that much more. My spirit, however, feels much more flexible. Cheeseball, but true.

-I spent a week in a city that made me feel alive and energized. I do, truly, heart NY.

-I found Zen in the little things, like wiping down counters and sweeping floors. It is a kindness to myself to keep my home in quiet working order.

-I read book after book (after book) that continually reinforced that I have a bad tendency to over-complicate. Simplicity is key...in emotion, decision-making, and how I move within the world around me. 

-I found that I have done a pretty darn good job in the last year of cultivating and growing the kind of friend and support group that makes a positive difference in my life. They will force-feed you sugar when your heart is broken, help you distill your thoughts into streamlined goals and actions, continue to see you when you are a total, TOTAL Debbie Downer, and dance with you to terrible, brain-liquifying pop music.

(They will also do hilarious things like add "to-do" items ("Fingerbang myself") to my whiteboard list without my knowledge...which are then discovered at inopportune moments, like having a gentleman caller over. THANKS GUYS.)

-I reclaimed my sense of confidence, and threw off the fear that I'm too old, too late, and too broken to be loved, sexed, or do anything truly great. (Good god, I'm 33...YOUNG still! All my parts are still in their original places! Calm the fuck down, Storer!)

There is still so much work to be done. But as my friend Anthony reframes it: "I'm perfect just the way I am. I just need a little tweaking."

Bring it on, 2013. 

You Are Powerful

I sent a friend an email recently, letting him know how proud I was of him and how I was excited about the work he was doing.

In his reply, he thanked me and confessed that he had been doubting himself in a new project. A little encouragement was what he needed to dispel his doubts, trust himself and get back to work. 

I was a little surprised. This friend is one of the smartest, articulate, successful people I've ever met. He is gifted in many ways, and the work he is currently doing is right in his proverbial wheelhouse. 

To hear that he also has periods of doubt (when so much of the reason I love him is because of his self-assuredness) surprised me. I mean, it shouldn't...we're all human. We all have days of, "Well, fuck. Why do people trust me to do things again? I just put the iron in the refrigerator. Again."

His email got me to think, though, that:

a) Being successful in life is about the "youness of you" combined with the shit you're good at and

b) This Youness+Expertise is a bit like a scale. Or maybe more like a cycle. Or a Venn Diagram. I don't know...I didn't pay a lot of attention in Visual Representation for Blog Posts class.

Anyway, on the one side, we have our "youness"--the things that make us unique individuals--and on the other, we have the shit we're good at.

Sometimes we'll feel pretty all right with being us, and that'll drive that day's work. Other days we will doubt our ourselves, and those are the days we just have to rely on the shit we're good at.

The best days are the days there is a balance or intersection...we trust our unique ability to be powerful in our "youness," as well as our ability to execute the things we know. 

All that to say, if you're doubting "you" today, trust what you know. If you're doubting what you know, trust yourself and the "you-y" stuff you can bring to the table that no one else can. 

Put that on a poster with a kitten. Or maybe this Venn Diagram I drew on the back of a boarding pass. Yeah, I'm an artist.

So get out there. Be you. Trust what you know. Get Narnia.

Dating Rules: Pitfalls, Mantras and Freedom

This is a guest post from Barry Cooke.

“We’ve got to have rules and obey them. After all we’re not savages.”

- Jack, from ‘Lord of the Flies’ by William Golding

 The human race has always lived by rules of some description, many of them written, and others that are just “known.” 

There is one code of conduct, however, where failure comply will result in a fate worse than mere imprisonment or a fine. This is the code of dating.

And a Herculean code it is too; there are hundreds of dos and don’ts to observe and not only are they different in every culture but nobody has taken the time nor claimed the authority to make them official. 

There is documentation, of course, where industrious self-help gurus looking to make a quick buck will take advantage of the lovelorn by selling their own Magna Cartas of romance. 

The more savvy of us worked out very early on that no-one can ever truly master the ins and outs of the dating game, mostly because its very nature is elusive. If you’re any good, you won’t get much time on the field.

The question on every unlucky lover’s lips is WHY; what reason could there possibly be to have so many rules for something that comes so naturally (or should)? 

For example, even the ritual of events preceding the actual date is riddled with pitfalls for both parties involved. The man is expected to make the approach in most cases but if the female decides to take the initiative she is putting herself at risk of confusing him. To avoid this awkward social situation and to ensure that the male doesn’t neglect his part of the deal it is her duty to make eye contact, affording him the opportunity to move in for the kill.

Once that tricky business is over and a conversation has been struck up it is frowned upon to express any form of clear admiration from either side. Instead, you must trade witty remarks that verge on insults until one of the parties involved (again, usually the man) finds a reason to swap contact details. 

What follows is perhaps the most notorious dating statute which consists of waiting for a set period of time - approximately 48 hours - before getting in touch to organise a rendezvous. Any more than this suggests a lack of interest while any less reeks of desperation. 

Most of the dating rules we live by are rooted in the 1950s and have very little to do with the small, balanced world we now inhabit. Firstly the man is no longer duty bound to fulfil these conventions and it is now totally acceptable for a lady to make the approach or to be the first one to call. 

While it is acceptable to break the rules, however, it can also start the entire relationship on the back foot and the male may have issues further down the line, as old habits (and insecurities, and cultural norms) have a tendency to die hard. 

One mandate that has strengthened its resolve is the 48-hour calling rule; although some may consider a quick phone call to be a sign of enthusiasm, it also translates as desperation to many others who reason that person has no other social life to speak of.

As a great number of us turn our attention to dating websites and meeting potential partners through social networking, the laws that we have grown up with are subverted in front of our eyes. 

Whereas approaching a member of the opposite sex was always tainted with the possibility that your ‘target’ was not in the market for attention, at least as a member of an online dating site you can be sure of why your peers are there in the first place. Anonymity affords shyer users the chance to try pick-up lines they would never consider using in person, often with mixed results.

We may protest at the number of rules we have to live by, and the fact that goalposts are moving all of the time, but the advice always comes back to that old adage; “Be yourself.” 

This article was written by Barry Cooke. Barry is a respected usability consultant who has been working in the Internet market for over 15 years in a number of different sectors. He is also a social media expert and a passionate user of social networks such as Twitter and Badoo.

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ABG: Always Be Grooming

Last week I posted this:

I've decided that I'm going to gauge how excited I am about meeting someone (a dude someone) by my relative excitement (and subsequent follow-through) in grooming my nether regions. Right now my excitement level is hovering around a 1, with a strong leaning toward 0.

A couple of you were like, NO. DO NOT GIVE UP!

Actually, I think one of you compared your genitals to a small woodland animal, but that is neither here nor there. Or over there. It's not really anywhere. But I digress.

All that to say, there's not caring about your appearance, and then there's the slippery slope into clogs and cats and eye fucking twenty year olds at the bar shortly before going home, drinking a bottle of wine, then going on a midnight cleaning binge (for all that cat hair), and having an unfortunate accident involving the fridge and your now lifeless body which no one will find for two weeks because you don't go out all that much anymore anyway. 

So, even though my enthusiasm level for dating still hovers at around a 1 (on a scale of 1-10, with 1 being, "I enjoy sleeping in the middle of the bed FOREVER, thanks," and 10 being, "OMG I HAVE A LADY BONER FOR WEDDINGZ."), I suppose I am slightly more enthusiastic about taking care of myself. 

And when I say "myself" I totally mean my cooch.

Boom. Always Be Grooming, folks. Always Be Grooming. 

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Big Love, Affairs, and other Ramblings

My hair is gigundous today. This is what happens when I forget a comb, and am forced to use hair products with the word "volumizing" in the description.

Don't mind my man hands...which also apparently got the volumizing treatment this morning.

***

How come no one ever told me I should watch Big Love? OK, fine, a bunch of you recommended it. But yeah, wow. What a cool show.

I'm really intrigued by people who make poly-type relationships work. And while I think the Mormon brand of traditional polygamy is bad for women ("I'm a dude and can marry anyone, but you're a lady and can't...also, bear me all these children, you fertile little receptacle, you!"), and you know, WEIRD AS FUCK with the whole planet thing, it is interesting to me how families who practice polygamy function. 

I had a reader ask me recently about my views on polyamory. I explain all my views on who you bone/love/or otherwise partner up with in this post, but here's a little summary:

If you all are consenting adults, and everyone understands and communicates the bounds of the relationship(s) clearly, I'm cool with it. Not that my opinion on your boning life matters necessarily but yeah, I don't care how you get it done, as long as everyone is informed, happy, and aware. 

***

Everyone is talking about General Petraeus' affair these days (as if it's anyone's business).

If there's anything Americans love, it's shitty food by TV personalities, reality TV, and someone who's been "caught in the act."  

"Success, after all, loves a witness, but failure can't exist without one."-The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

***

I've decided that I'm going to gauge how excited I am about meeting someone (a dude someone) by my relative excitement (and subsequent follow-through) in grooming my nether regions. Right now my excitement level is hovering around a 1, with a strong leaning toward 0.

***

What random thoughts do you have to share today? 

How Vanessa Williams Ruined and Saved My Life

This is a post from the "Queen of Broken Hearts." Enjoy!

The year was 1992. I was barely out of braces that had taken custody of my face for the previous four years. My skin looked like a proverbial pizza – deep dish, of course. Because, let’s face it: I was also a little fat.

I had enough friends to ensure I wouldn’t descend into adolescent hell, but the only boyfriend I could claim was one who went to another school and who, as luck would have it, wasn’t actually my boyfriend at all.

In fact, the only interaction we had had was when my brother and his sister – who, by this point, were living together in wedded bliss – left us alone for a few hours while we were being jointly babysat. We played Sorry, and said nothing more than, “Your turn,” or “Hold on, I have to pee.” 

John was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. Star of his football team, his skin was perennially bronzed, his crystal blue eyes shining with a glow made possible only by the innate sense that life would be easy on him. His crooked smile gave you the sense that he had a secret, one you would never be lucky enough to know.

That night, he was bored and asked me if I wanted to play a board game. And I loved him.

Flash forward two weeks. In that time, my daydreams of our one night together gave way to stronger feelings of what I could only assume at the time was true love. Though we hadn’t spoken after that night, I knew that our connection was capable of overcoming time, space and even basic rules of courtship – oh, you know, just little things like seeing each other or talking on the phone. Or rather, talking at all. But that wasn’t necessary – our love needed no ordinary fuel to survive.

Sitting alone in my room on a Friday night – the T.G.I.F. TV shows blaring from my parents’ bedroom – I turned on the radio to drown out my thoughts. By this point, my love for John had grown into something forebodingly catastrophic  – I knew, in my heart, it would end horribly. And yet, when the DJ invited listeners to call in and dedicate a song to someone they loved, I picked up the phone.

“Hey, hey, hey! What’s your name and what song would you like to dedicate?”

 “Um” I stuttered. “I would like to dedicate…” – QUICK! Your entire romantic future hinges on this one song – “Can I, um, dedicate Vanessa Williams ‘Save the Best for Last?’”

 “Sure! Who is the lucky guy?” the DJ responded.

“His Well his name’s John Spearing,” I croaked. “I…I…I want to ask if he’ll go out with me.”

The DJ agreed, and my fate was sealed.

ZACH MORRIS TIME OUT TO REMIND YOU OF SAID DEDICATION SONG.

Of course, John never went out with me. In fact, he never actually heard the dedication.

But his friends did, and so did my entire grade school class. And when my sister-in-law called the next day to say he knew I loved him, I was devastated when her sentence ended there. (John is now happily married with a beautiful baby boy.) 

‘Forebodingly catastrophic’ can describe nearly every encounter I’ve had with love since that fateful missed connection.

For the 20 years since then, I’ve fallen in love, and out of love; had my heart broken and left some broken in my wake. I’ve had relationships that I thought would be the last, and those I knew were transitional until the next. 

You would think that at some point, I would learn to pull back, to not let myself be so vulnerable to attacks on my forever-beaten heart.

And yet, with every misadventure in love, I’ve strengthened my resolve. I know when my heart is on the line, and yet, I continue putting it out there. Sometimes, even further than the time before. And I’m better for it.

Just this past month, I got out of another (what was to me) significant relationship. Though it wasn’t long, it was important – and through it, I learned more about who I am and what I want than any relationship prior.

Though it will be awhile until I’m ready to date again, I’m comforted by the memory of the 10-year-old girl who, knowing her heart would be irretrievably broken, picked up the phone to share her vulnerability with the world.  That little girl is still in search of her boy – the one she saved for last. 

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Introducing: the Queen of Broken Hearts

Ladies and gentlemen and pervs! I have wonderful news. 

I'M PREGNANT.

Hahaha, just kidding. You have to have sex to get pregnant. 

Oh wait, please read that last line again while playing this:

ANYWAY.

I'm actually quite excited to let you know that someone I adore and who shall remain anonymous has graciously been sending me some of the funniest, heartbreaking and most insightful bits of prose and has agreed to let me publish them here on TNR for you all. 

We bandied about the idea of calling her "The Queen of Broken Hearts" as a joke...and then it stuck. 

And, well, why not? It's kind of on par with "The Naked Redhead." Though my guess is that she'll get less p0rn searches for her name. 

So! Starting tomorrow, TQBH will have some regular installments for us on some of the lessons she's learned over the years from falling in and out of love.

It's good stuff, y'all. You'll like it.

In the meantime, she's has written a letter to you all as a means of introduction. Without further ado:

*** 

Dear People of the Interwebs,

Hello! I’m The Queen of Broken Hearts, and I’m a writer. Or, rather, I like words a lot and I like ordering them on pages in ways that make me think, laugh or cry.

Or any combination of the three. Especially laugh/cry. I mean, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen my laugh/cry face. It may or may not look something like this:

I started writing when… oh, nevermind. There are too many starts and stops to mention. I typically start right after a significant life moment, and stop when things are smooth sailing.

But! Writing is the only form of therapy I can afford, and so by reading this, I’m sure you’re assuming that you are all surrogate therapists.  If I start getting any bills, please know that I will only pay you in hugs. And even more stories.  

I write about anything from my beloved city to tips for landing a job on the first interview. But what really fascinates me is relationships – why some work and others don’t. How some people deal with heartache, how others never open themselves up to the possibility of it in the first place. I’ve seen many a relationship falter because of rash decisions made by either party, and I’ve seen some flourish inexplicably. I’ve been in and out of love. Many times. 

But never, ever, have I given up hope.

I hope that through my own misadventures in love, I inspire others to never close their heart to anything. Even if it’s not love you’re after – it could be something you’re simply just scared of doing.

I mean, I go ape shit bananas at the thought of jumping out of a plane.  I actually want to throw up right now just thinking about it. So I’m gonna do it. You can hold me to that.

(Well, don’t hold me to that TOO tightly. I mean, you can never predict the weather. And, I think I have something going on that day.) 

Life is about taking risks. It’s about seeing every opportunity in front of you, and conveniently missing the obstacles standing in the way. It’s about training your brain to think, “What’s the BEST that could happen?” Not the worst.

I take that approach in everything I do. I jump every day – I may not land on solid ground, but it’s the movement that counts. And dammit, I have fun. 

So join me in my misadventures of love and other things that are super scary and make me want to throw up just thinking about them.

Happy reading, happy loving.

Love,
The Queen of Broken Hearts 

I've already bragged to her that TNR readers are LITERALLY the BEST readers on the Web. So! Do me a favor and say hi in the comments, wont'cha? :)

When Dreams Change (Literally, not Figuratively)

I've had one recurring dream for, oh, 15 years?

It's about a boy. One I had a girlhood crush on for, like, ever. 

The weird thing is, it was always the same dream until probably the last two years.

In the past, I was always chasing him, trying to get him to like me...and being rejected. These dreams are not all that different than the real time in my life that I thought he was super dreamy, and he never gave me the time of day. 

Well, except for whatever weird dream things happen in dreams, like my legs won't move, or my eyes feel filled with sand, or I've seemed to have forgotten all my clothes.

The last two years, however, I chase him, I catch him, it's good. I mean, bizarre, but good. I literally have not seen this person in AT LEAST ten years, probably longer.

So, obviously, the dream isn't about him (good god, he's one of those people that you find later on Facebook and you're like, "DEAR. GOD. WHY.")...but why the change? 

And while I'm not really looking for an answer, I do think it's fascinating that I can go months and months at a time and not have this dream and then BOOM. Baby makin' dreamz. HEY-O!

Basically I'm writing this to make sure I'm not alone (per usual). Ha! Any of you have weird recurring dreams that have changed? Or just weird recurring dreams in general? What do you think they mean?

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Quotes to Make You Think, Smile and Move

The sun is shining in the 'bus today, so I thought I'd share a little sunshine with you. Here are a few photos I've taken recently, and some words that have inspired me, made me think, made me move or made me laugh.

"There is no need to sharpen my pencils anymore. My pencils are sharp enough. Even the dull ones will make a mark."--A Show with Zefrank (listen to the whole thing...it's amazing) 

"Sometimes with the wrong keys the doors unlock."--The David Wax Museum, "The Rumours are True"

"You’re scared shitless for an upcoming change
that will send shock waves through the rest of your life
but you move ahead anyway.  Not easy. Well worth it.
Claim your space." Danielle Dowling, "Damn, You're Hot"

"If you got cheese, lookin' for a cracker...honey, I might be the one." Two Man Gentlemen Band, "Cheese and Crackers

I had to be patient enough and kind enough to myself to get through it. I had to stop being a disciplinarian to myself and gather myself up and say, "It's okay, You. You're a bit of a mess, but I love you."

Which sounds so cheesy when I read it, and yet I'm still in tears as I type it, because it was such a profound moment to me to realize it was okay to stop punishing myself and to relax into myself instead. To accept the moments when, for instance, during a yoga session at home I scream at the dogs that they're motherfuckers for playing around me and stepping on my mat...instead of being mad at myself that I am completely missing the point of yoga in the first place. 

Old Sarah would have stewed about that all morning...New(ish) Sarah is like, "Well, that was a pretty bad moment, and you sounded like an idiot for a minute, but you're okay. Let's move on."--Letter to a friend, October, 2012

"I might not be the same, but that's not important. No freedom 'til we're all equal...damn right, that's important." | "No law can change us. We have to change us." 

Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, "Same Love"

I do not want to wage war against what is ugly. I do not want to accuse; I do not even want to accuse those who accuse. Looking away shall be my only negation. And all in all and on the whole: some day I wish to be only a Yes-sayer." -Friedrich Nietzsche

"Anxiety is nothing but repeatedly re-experiencing failure in advance. What a waste." - Seth Godin

"The best things tend to be at the intersection of simple and hard: the problems themselves are hard, but the solutions are elegantly simple." Blog of Impossible Things

"So, instead of worrying about The One, forget about that and be The One You Would Want To Be With. Push yourself to get out and be better; you can’t control who you meet, but you can control the person you are when you meet them." Nico Lang, Thought Catalog, "If You Want to Date Someone Great, Be Someone Great"

"Nothing is withheld from you what you have conceived to do. Do things that have never been done."--Russell Kirch

"Busy-ness constricts my creativity. Space spins my heart open."--Alexandra Franzen, "I'm Not That Busy, Really: Dispelling the Myth of Success + Busyness."

What quotes, articles or words of wisdom have inspired you lately? Spill!