Happy Blogiversary!

One year ago today, I started this little blog. Thanks to I-don't-even-know-what, my little blog has had almost 11,000 views in that time! In honor of this auspicious occasion, I thought I'd do something very special.  But, I'm not quite sure what that special something is yet...


It will be special-er than this
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I want to say a big "thank you" to anyone and everyone who reads my ramblings with any regularity, or anyone and everyone who stumbles upon this blog randomly and decides to return. I wanted to write some epic post about an amazing adventure, but I haven't had any adventures worthy of a momentous day such as today. I also wanted to do some sort of freebie fan giveaway as a way to show my appreciation, but I'm poor and I don't have any sponsors (yet.)  But due to awesomeness, I have a 4-day weekend coming up and I'm pretty sure that will give me enough time to concoct something super sweet in honor of my blog's first of what I hope are many anniversaries.
Stay tuned, and thanks so much for reading!

And Then Anne Wheaton Tweeted Me, and I Geeked Out Way Lots

If Wil Wheaton is the "Prince of PAX" then that would make his wife, Anne, the Duchess of PAX. Then that means that when I had a mini Twitter convo with her on Friday, that I chatted with Geek Royalty. Friday was a good day.



Chirpstory.com


P.S Funny coincidence: Anne Wheaton's surname (according to Wiki) before she married Wil was Prince.  And it's not at all creepy and stalker-y that I know that. It's not.

P.P.S Seriously, it's not creepy.

P.P.P.S Stop judging me.

New to Who: a Nerdist Call to Action

Any Doctor Who fans out there? Oh, hi! There you are! If you have yet to see this, here is an important message from our artistically nerd-tastic leader Chris Hardwick:



I am so glad he made this video! I'm not exactly "new" to Doctor Who, but I certainly don't claim to be what a hard-core WHOvian would consider an expert on the Doctor. Nevertheless, a fan is a fan, and I agree that we should be embracing newbies and not shunning them for being "a little late to the party" (as Susan Arendt told me once.)
We were all new to something that we are currently passionate about at one time in our lives, and my own first experience with Doctor Who was not quite welcoming. 

One evening in the summer of 2006 after I had moved home with my parents after graduation, I was bored and didn't want to go to bed, so I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels. I didn't get very far before I stumbled upon one nerdily dreamy David Tennant in The Girl in the Fireplace episode of Doctor Who. My interest in British TV and movies had made a resurgence with the re-releasing of Monty Python's Flying Circus on DVD (I already owned the VHS box set) and after becoming obsessed with Shaun of the Dead and Harry Potter in college.  So, I thought, "This is handsome British fellow with a fancy magic wand that fixes everything! I will watch this." And watch I did.  I missed the first part of the episode and had never watched Doctor Who before, so I was a little lost on some things, and had no clue what I was watching, but I loved it anyway. It was funny and goofy and heartfelt, and starred a cutie British chap in a stripey brown suit.

*le fawn*

When the credits rolled on my TV screen and I discovered the name of the show was Doctor Who, I instantly recognized the name, but I didn't know why. I racked my brain to try to remember why I knew the name of the show.  Eventually, I recalled that it was generally considered a "nerdy" show like Star Trek (at this point I still had mixed feelings about "outing" myself as a nerd.) I casually asked around to see if any of my (so-called)friends had watched it or knew more about it. My (now-ex)boyfriend sort of pshaw-ed me 1)for not knowing what Doctor Who was and 2)for wanting to watch more of it because it was "a lame sci-fi from the 70s that [his] dad tried to get him into." (This ex was referring to the 4th doctor, Tom Baker, whom, I later learned was in fact, not lame.) Well, I decided to try to ignore this ex, whom I'd been testing the waters of my nerd-dom with, and tried to find other episodes of Doctor Who to watch. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember what channel I found it on, so I would subsequently stumble upon bits of episodes featuring the 10th Doctor, the 4th Doctor, and the 8th Doctor for the next few years until Boyfriend and I made friends who were in love with Doctor Who and not only encouraged our interest in the show, but got Boyfriend hooked starting with the 9th Doctor.  I watched a handful of episodes with him on Netflix, but I couldn't fall in love with it again.  As great an actor as Christopher Eccleston is, he wasn't my Doctor.


ThinkGeek

 Sadly, I didn't even know who my Doctor was. I didn't know enough about the show to tell people which Doctor I liked best, (in fact, for a long time, I didn't know there was more than one Doctor) but all that has changed thanks to better/informative friends, better access to British television, and the internet's vast reach. So, in honor of Chris Hardwick's #newtoWHO challenge (and also because we wanna) Boyfriend and I started a Doctor Who marathon this week to get me all caught up. So far, we've watched the first 7 episodes of the 9th Doctor and plan to watch until we are current with the Matt Smith episodes (which I have seen far too few of.) Then, we plan to watch as many of the classic Who episodes as possible, or we may just pick from my buddy Kanderson's list of favorite classic episodes.

So many Doctors, so little time!
BBC America

So, if you are #newtoWHO, welcome! Even if you don't remember what T.A.R.D.I.S means yet, or why Daleks are bad, or why Donna and/or K9 might be the most despised companions of the show's history, you are one of us (one of usss) and we will help you navigate the WHOniverse.  Also, if you're interested in learning a more in-depth history of Who, I will pimp out my friend Kanderson again and tell you to check out his series of articles on Nerdist, Doctor Who For Newbies. Allons-y!!!

My Best Friend is a Wookiee (A Book Review)



Adams Media

Packed to the gills with Star Wars references, metaphors, and the battle of the internal love/hate relationship nerds everywhere have with George Lucas, My Best friend is a Wookiee: One Boy's Journey to Find His Place in the Galaxy was quick and an entertaining read. While not my favorite memoir I've ever read, the message of finding and being true to oneself is an important one and coming from the perspective of a fellow geek helps drive the point home.

I originally bought this book for Boyfriend. He read it and seemed to enjoy it well enough, and I was on a bit of a memoir kick after reading Let's Pretend this Never Happened, so I picked it up too. While  'Wookiee' was a nice way to pass the time on my commute to work or on my lunch break, I wasn't in love with this book. Tony Pacitti has a youthful goofy quality to his writing and his humor which can be delightful, but even at the moments where he had the opportunity to be very poignant and semi-serious, he seemed to go for the easy joke or pun, or cheesy Star Wars metaphor. Now, I realize that Star Wars is part of the theme of the book, but there were many times while reading that I felt Tony tried to shoe-horn Star Wars in where it didn't quite fit. It was almost like he or his editor were thinking, "You know what this part needs? More Star Wars."  (Tony Pacitti's memoir is to Star Wars what Christopher Walken is to cowbell.)  I used to be a firm believer that you could never have too much Star Wars, but sadly there were times when reading this that I was thinking, "Enough already! Please get on with your story, and stop reminding me of why Episodes 1, 2, and 3 sucked, you are beating a dead horse."

All that said, there was still a lot of Tony's story that was relatable for anyone growing up with the stigma of geekdom-bullies, feeling awkward in school, the euphoria after first watching the original Star Wars, etc. Most of the time the phrase "Never judge a book by its cover" is thrown out to remind us to give something a chance before you dismiss it, but I found with this book, it goes the other way too. Just because a book has endearing cover art and an intriguing title, doesn't mean you're going to love it. As a whole, it was a pleasant and occasionally emotional read, and something I would recommend to an avid Star Wars fan, but probably not to the casual reader.

On my patented* rating scale of five nerdy things, I gave My Best friend is a Wookiee: One Boy's Journey to Find His Place in the Galaxy 3 out of 5 Wookiee the Chews

Art by James Hance

*Not actually patented

Are You Ready to Rumble in the Jungle?!

I am so ready for Tokyo Jungle!
Get your $14.99 ready on your PSN account!  September 25th baby!

And Now, An Important Message From Boyfriend...

Boyfriend wants you to know how important green living is even in an urban environment like NYC. Please watch and enjoy.

Even More Embarassing Moments and Why Kayaks Are Evil

As I went through Olympics withdrawal last week, I tried to figure out exactly when I started to give up on being an athlete and slowly start to embrace my nerd-dom. Growing up, I was very much a tomboy. Family legend states that on the day my parents brought me home from the hospital, my dad sat with me in front of the TV to watch the Stanley Cup Playoffs while my mom took a shower and a nap. This was their explanation for why I was so interested in sports growing up.  I really think I was just a daddy's girl and since he liked sports, I wanted to be like him, so I liked sports too. As a got older, I played basketball and softball, then that evolved into horse-back riding and gymnastics when my mom put the kibosh on my desire to play hockey. But no matter how hard I tried or how much I wanted it (or thought I wanted it) I really wasn't an athlete. I liked to climb trees and ride bikes and run around doing "active kid" stuff, but when it came down to organized sports, I could never keep my head in the game. Sure, I tried hard and put effort into playing when it came down to crunch time, but during practice or especially when put in the outfield in softball, my mind would wander. Call it ADHD the way my mind would think about anything other than the task at hand, but whatever it was, I slowly began to realize that organized team sports were probably not for me.

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Speaking of things not for me, remember running the mile in school?  Why did they put us through that? What sadistic asshole in the Collective-They-That-Plan-School-Curriculum decided that forcing children to run in front of their peers 4 times a year was healthy?   I hate running.  HATE. IT. Unless it's an emergency or I'm super excited to get to the destination ahead of me, I do not run. I always had long legs and a high metabolism as a kid, so everyone just assumed I was in shape and athletic.  But my wee body was built for sprints, not distance. Running the mile in elementary school gym class once every quarter was torture. It was my own personal hell. Eight laps around the fenced-in rarely-mowed field behind our school with our tall cranky gym teacher standing at the entrance with his stop watch, whistle, and clipboard. I was literally the last person to finish every time. Even the asthmatics and the "fat" kids ran faster than me. True story. 

This kids runs faster than I do.
He is also awesome.

The fastest girl in my class was also often the fastest person in the class as well.  Her name was Kim.  She was a bitch. She was very sporty and athletic.  She played soccer and was on the track teams.  The boys all liked to hang out with her and talk about sporty things.  Whenever I would try to join in their conversations, she would lead the charge in berating me about having "the slowest mile ever" and teasing me that I was out of shape. Whenever she wasn't around, or the boys started talking about video games, that's when I had the upper hand on her.  She would usually just roll her eyes and make fun of me even more, probably out of jealousy. Even during our yearly fitness evaluations when I would do the most pull-ups of anyone in the class, Kim would find a way to minimize my achievement by saying it was because I was so skinny that I weighed less than everyone else so I cheated. (This is of course, ridiculous logic in hindsight, even if I never weighed more than 90 pounds until high school.)

These are my kind of pull ups
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The pinnacle of my realization of my nonathletic-tivity came in ninth grade. It had been about 3 years since my diagnosis with Scoliosis, and I'd been wearing a back brace for about 2 of those years. (Middle/high school + bad perm + braces + back brace = recipe for awesome years of therapy.) Doing any physical activity other than a steady walk while having to wear a back brace for 20+ hours a day was nigh impossible, so I was excited to sign up for swim class in high school as part of my gym credit, because it meant no running, and I got to be free from my back brace for an extra hour a day. But, swimming class was a double-edged sword. I loved swimming as a kid, and I had been told that I was a good swimmer and since I was so skinny, I was very aerodynamic in the water. But, swim class was less "fun swimming" time and more "the-crazy-bitter-swim-coach-preps-and-judges-your-fitness-levels-or-worthiness-for-her-swim-team" time. Freedom from my back brace also meant judgement and yelling from the swim coach and self-consciousness of being a scrawny 14-year-old girl in her bathing suit in front of 17 and 18 year-olds. Because of the limitations of my back brace, a lot of my core muscles had atrophied, so sit-ups, push-ups and the like were embarrassingly difficult for me.

This all the heavy lifting I currently do.

I managed to survive this daily beating to my self confidence until the final week of class before we left for winter break. The lifeguard and swim coach had a surprise for us, we were going to learn kayaking! It sounded cool, until I realized that our first lesson required us to flip ourselves over and release ourselves from the kayak while upside down under water. Blame my claustrophobia, blame watching Jaws too many times as a kid, but the idea of being strapped into a plastic shell while upside down under water and being expected to free myself sounded unnerving at the very least. The lifeguard gave us a demonstration, then he strapped us all into our respective kayaks and pushed us into the pool. I watched almost everyone else flip themselves upside down and swim to the surface after releasing the elastic bungee "skirt" that held them in.  It looked simple enough.  I took a deep breath and flipped upside down with ease. In fact, it was kind of fun at first. But, the fun ended sharply. I started to feel uncomfortable and disoriented.  I tugged on the bungee cover.  It didn't move.  I tugged again.  And again.  And again.  I was running out of air and I was stuck upside down inside a kayak in a god damned swimming pool. I was not going to die like this. I panicked. I thought I could flip myself over again so I tried to do so in vain. Water filled my nose feeling like a thousand burning stinging bees inside my respiratory system. The next thing I realized, our lifeguard was holding me above the water telling me to relax and breathe. With a flick of his wrist, he unsnapped me from my bungee prison and set me on my feet in the shallow end of the pool. As soon as I got my bearings, I was extremely aware that everyone in the class was staring at me with a mixture of concern, disbelief, and confusion. My body was hot with the panic and terror of being stuck underwater, then that was immediately replaced with the panic and terror from everyone looking at me. Class continued as though nothing happened.  One of the older guys in the class was decent enough to paddle up to me and ask if I was alright and ask me how I got "stuck" in my kayak.  I tried to sound cool by saying something to the effect of, "Yeah I got stuck, it was weird ..." The older guy pointed out that I was struggling for only about 10 seconds before the lifeguard jumped in the pool and fished me out. At that point I wanted the kayak to just swallow me up. To this day, kayaks still freak me out.
Thanks, high school for all the years of therapy!




This is why I stick to playing video games.
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NBC *Spit* Makes Pron Now?

So...I stumbled upon this little gem the other day. Not only has NBC *spit* taken it upon themselves to omit parts of the 2012 Olympic Opening Ceremony, the Closing Ceremony as well as parts of actual events, now they have decided to pay tribute to the women of the Olympic Games with this atrocity:

Wow. Thanks NBC *spit* for continuing to remind us women that no matter how far we come in the pursuit of true equality that we are still just pieces of meat to be ogled for your enjoyment.  Thanks.

Seriously, who greenlit that video?!  At least someone was paying attention at some point and removed it from the official NBC *spit* site.  It doesn't matter though, this is the Internet and it still lives on.

I want to make a joke about how I hope that video was made by some film student intern and accidentally got uploaded as an official NBC *spit* special presentation, or how I've heard better soundtracks in actual porno movies, but I can't because it makes me too fuggin angry.
Also, I just found out I have Strep and I blame it for eating my sense of humor, but mostly I blame NBC *spit* because I can. 


P.S Whose taking bets?! My money is on Animal Practice getting the ax after 2 episodes.

So this smug a-hole is to blame for ruining my enjoyment of Olympics Sunday night.  The white guy with the stethoscope looks like a prick too...

My Shit-hole Apartment (Part 5)

If you stuck with me on this journey so far, congratulations! You're my favorite (don't tell the others.) 

Living Away From Home Year 4.6

Moving Back Home

(Dear God, What Have I done)

I was very fortunate that my parents had set aside money for me to go to college and so I was not stuck with having to battle the fustercluck nightmare that is student loans. For this, I am forever grateful to my father and his money-managing know-how. My dad managed my college fund for me, and he said as long as I graduated within four years with acceptable grades he would continue to give me money from the college fund to pay for tuition, living expenses, books, etc. If there was any money left over after graduation, I could have it as a graduation gift. I think this was a very generous deal, and I kept my half of the bargain, and graduated in four years with a decent GPA and little debt. 

Statistically in the last two decades or so, it has been more and more common for college graduates to move back home with their parents for a brief time while they get on their feet. Seeing as how more and more grads are moving home after graduation, there's no real shame in it, and it's not always as horrible as it sounds.

Seriously, it's totally fine.
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All that aside, to say that the transition home was difficult would be the understatement of the century. I have a tough time dealing with life changes as it is, but going from having the most freedom with the least responsibility I will ever have in my life, to living under my parents' roof and having to find the balance of freedom/responsibility/respect for one another only added to the stress I already felt. After the weirded-out feeling of moving back into my childhood room subsided, I got into a routine and started to plan my future. I took the "leftovers" from my college fund and put it into a savings account to start saving to move to New York. I worked two part-time jobs and spent most of my free time either sleeping or playing video games/watching movies in my room. I rarely went out, and the only major expenditures I made were for caring for my beloved ferrets (whom my step-dad hated and had banished to our basement.) I spent less than 9 months living with my mom and step-dad, but it felt so much longer. This was mostly because I was still suffering from untreated anxiety and depression and the guilt and low self-esteem that tend to accompany mental illness. Because of the lying bastard that is depression, I felt even more worthless and like a failure because I no longer felt independent while living at home. I felt very stuck and yet like I didn't belong anywhere at the same time, it was a lonely rocky stretch in my adult life.

Eventually the light at the end of the tunnel appeared, and I could actually solidify plans to move to the east coast. With the emotional long-distance support of my cheerleaders -my friend Tommy, and Not-Yet-Boyfriend-At-The-Time, I managed to get and keep my ass in gear and set a goal date to move out east.  Even with that support, things were still a little tumultuous on the home front. The day before Thanksgiving, I had to make the heart-breaking decision put my beloved ferret, Boomer to sleep.  He was the first pet I'd ever lost (not counting fish.) I can't say he was my "favorite" pet because that's like saying you have a favorite child, but I did feel like I had a special connection with him. He was the alpha male in my business* of ferrets, but he had the sweetest temperament and was very well-behaved.  He was very special and I loved him like he was my own child.  To lose him after only having him in my life for 3 short years was soul-crushing.

I had found a lump in his stomach one day while playing with him and so I made an appointment with the vet to check him out. After a thorough hands-on examination, the vet determined that Boomer had a tumor on his spleen (a very common and treatable ailment in ferrets) and so we scheduled Boomer for emergency surgery to remove the tumor and/or his spleen. Unfortunately, no one was prepared for what they found in surgery. Boomer had a very rapid moving form of Lymphoma that had grown so large so quickly, it was wrapping tumors around his organs and his bowels. The vet sadly informed me that Boomer maybe had 3 weeks to live. But, Boomer was a fighter. Miraculously instead of 3 weeks, we got almost 3 more months together. I had time to make my peace with the situation, and time to say good-bye.

Post-surgery snuggles
Copyright Jessica Ayers

Not only was Boomer's passing an emotional setback, but it was a major financial setback too. Thankfully, I still had my human cheerleaders, and I had my other 2 ferrets to take care of, so I could not afford to have the depression and despair overtake me. I was determined to keep pushing through, to keep moving forward. On top of my distress at losing my pet, I wasn't always getting along so well with my parents. I think my mom was really hurt and sad and scared that I wanted to move to NY so badly. I was born in NY, and I grew up hearing stories about my parents' life there before and with me.  I felt drawn there my whole life. Plus, now I had a dream to be a performer and the perfect place to follow that dream was straight to the Big Apple. I couldn't seem to make my mom understand that it was my dream and it was calling me and I had to do it as soon as possible, or else I might never do it. Any time I tried to explain it to her, I would say it wrong and she would take offense as though I were telling her I was trying to get away from her. Or I would get so emotional about it that I would break down and cry and my message would be lost amid tears and frustration.

Despite the emotional and financial setbacks, I eventually made the 1800-mile move from Colorado to the east coast in March of 2007 with the support of my parents. There were tears and sleepless nights and loooooong hours on the road, but I did it. Since I was a baby when we originally moved out of Manhattan, I have no memories of living anywhere other than Colorado. Let's just say I was in for some culture shock.

To Be Continued...

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*A group of ferrets is referred to as a "Business" of ferrets. I bet you never knew that. Now you do! You're welcome.

More Olympic Fever (Spoilers)

The gymnastics team! Michael Phelps! Ryan Lochte! Gold medals!!! *hyperventilates*

Olympics! Nom. Nom. Nom.
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Ok, sorry about that. I already mentioned the other day how obsessed I am with the Olympics and that my favorite events were gymnastics. I knew the women's team finals were being held yesterday morning and that NBC *spit* would not end up airing them until "prime time" and I wanted to enjoy the whole event without spoilers.  It was so difficult yesterday afternoon to avoid any and all Olympic news so that I could be surprised when I actually watched it. I never realized quite how dependent on the Internet I was/am until I had to limit my access. I had to avoid Facebook, Twitter and all of my news feeds to prevent spoiling the results for myself, which is incredibly difficult considering NBC *spit* is doing a bang-up job of that already. In fact, I have loved NBC's *spit* tape-delayed Olympics coverage so much so far that I'm now following them on Twitter so I won't miss a thing.  But, all my discipline yesterday paid off, because I enjoyed the shit out the Olympics last night!  Now I have to make sure to be just as diligent moving forward.  Stupid delay. But how fraking awesome was that shit last night?! It boggles my mind that the last time USA women's gymnastics team won gold was before the girls on the current team were able to walk.  In fact, in their post-event interview last night, they all told Bob Costas that their earliest memory of the Olympics was the 2004 Athens games. *sigh* I feel old.

I will never be this aaesome.
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Nevertheless, last night was awesome. McKayla Maroney blew that vault out of the water like a  boss!!! I do have to say that McKayla, has a seemingly sweet and bubbly personality in her interviews, but have you seen the scary fierce game face on that girl?! More than once Boyfriend and I both commented that she looked super pissed or even "bitchy" as though she were glaring around deciding who she would kill with her mind, even though I know she was just very focused. But then she opens her mouth to laugh or speak and a sweet little teen-aged voice slips out and it's disconcerting. She transforms from giddy smiling girl...

Yippee Olympics! USA!
CBS

...into fierce competitor in the blink of an eye.



Suck it Russia. I will end you.
 Source

 As I said: Like. A. Boss.

Speaking of bosses, Michael Phelps is now the most decorated Olympian in history! How cool is that? My parents weren't even in high school when that record was established. By a now-all-but-forgotten woman, no less. I know it hasn't quite been the Olympics Phelps wanted when he arrived in London, but it's hard to argue against his awesomeness...unless you're a complete jackass or something.

Pictured: Not a jackass
Reuters

Ok.  I'm done geeking out about the Olympics...for today.