Someone Threw Tiny Panties at Me. And I Wasn't Even on Stage!

I believe it was just outside the ballroom at the Sheraton Hotel in Chicago, the location of this year's BlogHer conference, where I felt a tugging at the bottom of my mink stole - you know, the ones that came in the swag bags for the Elitist All-Stars I'm So Way Awesomer Than You Party on Friday night? Oh, you weren't invited to that one? Huh.

"Ms. Panties! Ms. Panties!", a mousy voice tittered from below. A woman was on her knees, leaning down to kiss my feet when I stopped her.

"What is it, child?" I asked.

"Please, Ms. Panties. I read your blog all the time. I've taken to bleating 10 hours a day. Baa-Baa - See? I love you! Please accept this humble gift I made for you."

And in her shaky hands was this:

  A credit card-sized banner replica of Nanny Goats in Panties.

OK, so maybe that's not exactly how it went down. In fact, now that I think about it, that's not at all how it went down. I think I was picking my nose in some corner when a very nice lady, whom I'd never seen before, after introductions said, "I have something for you" and then gave it to me.

I was kind of floored. And touched. And flattered. And so I'd like to very publicly thank Mary of Unmitigated who took the time to make this gift and carry it all the way to Chicago to give it to me. Thank you, Mary. This was the best swag I brought home from the conference. (Of course, I didn't show up fast enough to the We're Handing Out Free Vibrators Party, so who knows, it might have otherwise been that - is it true that they looked like chocolate Easter bunnies?)

Still taking entries for the Rachel Ray 10-piece Cookware set Giveaway until Sunday, August 2 at 6pm. To enter, just click HERE or on the button to the right.

Goat Thing of The Day

Why, this of course....

Chivalrouslessness in Thieves. And that Rachel Ray Giveaway.

If you found an inanimate object, say for example, oh I don’t know, a little black notebook in one of the conference areas at the Sheraton Hotel in Chicago, a notebook that did not belong to you, as evidenced by the contact information on the inside cover that is NOT YOUR NAME and NOT YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS, would you turn it in to Lost and Found or maybe even contact the owner yourself to return it? You would? Really?

Then where the hell were YOU when I lost it this weekend? Because I needed YOU to find my frickin’ notebook that had all kinds of random notes I’d been collecting at the Blogger’s Conference That Shall Not Be Named (because so many people are sick of hearing about it).

I realize Moleskine notebooks are coveted by some, but even when they are already used? Who keeps those to themselves?

You’re probably about to ask, “Well, what did you have in it?” and you’d be a fairly reasonable person to ask such a thing. Except if I knew the answer to that question, then I wouldn’t need to find it now, would I?  In fact, the whole reason I write stuff down is because I immediately forget it and need it for reference later.

I cried to my fellow indifferent bloggers who gave me the obligatory “Oh, I’m sure it will turn up. Lost and Found will eventually have it.” When what they really meant was, “Quit your belly-aching you big baby. Why were you, a blogger, a person who spends all her time on a computer writing all the time, why were you writing long hand in a notebook? Idiot.”

And they would have a good point, actually, because I recently lost ANOTHER Moleskine notebook on a plane a few months ago and THAT ONE (which ALSO had my contact information in it) was never returned to me either. What is the matter with people that they can’t be bothered to turn things in to the Lost and Found, or send one lousy email? If I had found someone’s notebook, I would jump at the chance to help get it back to them, paying shipping and everything, but that's because I have this little White Knight gene, that seems to be missing from everyone who stumbles on MY quilling genius.


Right about now, you're probably asking, "Well, where was the last place you saw it?" and let me tell you, dear reader, I'm so glad you asked me that because not only do I know the last place I saw it, I have pictoral proof:

While everyone else was gunning for Tim Gunn over in Booth 316, 

I pushed a woman to the ground to get to this guy.

Let the record show, that in my right hand at exactly 12pm on Saturday, is the missing notebook in question, which can only mean one thing: that's right, the Michelin Man stole my notebook.

Is this some cosmic lesson that I shouldn’t be spending so much money on paper, that I should stick with the Dollar Store elementary school notepads? Or is it that I can’t be trusted with paper and pen?

Did I mention that I have a history of stolen writings? Oh yeah, some literary god or the ghost of Mark Twain or whoever has been continuously throwing up obstacles to keep me from writing. When I was traveling all over Europe doing that post-collegiate backpacking/Eurail living-on-$25-a-day thing over the summer of 1990, I kept a journal of my traveling adventures. Then, on the last day of my 3-month trip, my backpack was stolen. From the trunk of a car at a London tube station. I can understand a guy wanting my stale underwear and unused toothpaste, but my travel diary? Did he take it and become some best-selling author somewhere in Romania on my literary brilliance?

You would think that I'd be used to people making off with my writing by now, become desensitized to it, detached even. But instead, each subsequent occurance increases my disbelief in the next, like the contestant in a game show who keeps getting the answer right and approaching that million dollar prize, or that Home Run Derby guy who kept hitting it into the stands a couple of weeks ago, one after the other, breaking records. What was that guy's name again? Marshall? Johnson?

Don’t get me wrong, I had a good time and all at this Conference That Shall Not Be Named. And Ann from Ann’s Rants gave me a walking tour of the neighborhood. It was a fine day and we strolled in our Saturday hats to Millenium Park:

So while the weekend wasn't a total bust, I think I've learned that when it comes to notebooks, I can’t have anything nice.

But YOU can…



Nanny Goats in Panties is hosting its first giveaway for a Rachel Ray 10-piece cookware set, as noted in the upper left sidebar. To enter, just click HERE or on the pots and pans below... (if you click on the panties, you've gone too far)

Goat Thing of The Day

No trip to Chicago is complete for all things goat without a pop-in to the world famous Billy Goat Tavern, which is famous for two things, really. It is the place about which the SNL Cheezeborger Cheezeborger! sketch parodies. It is also famous for some baseball curse that I don't really know about, but you can read about it here. See? That's two baseball refereneces I've flubbed up today.

Watch Out Boy, She'll Chew You Up

Is it me, or is a Rupert Grint just adorable? Don't you just want to eat him? OK, I've never understood that phrase because when I think someone is attractive, the last thing I want to do is gobble him up, chew him forty times as recommended by health advisors, and send him down the path of digestion. I would think that's what you do to your enemy, because masticating on someone would kind of kill them.

Anyway, I don't know if it's his floppy hair, or enviable youthful glow, but Hubba-Hubba, know what I'm sayin'? Or maybe it isn't Rupert, but his Harry Potter movie character, Ron Weasley. Oh, I hope he's not an anti-Mugglite. We could have our very own half-blood princes. I wouldn't change my name though because, Weasley? Really?

Anyway, here's a question for you (those of you not attracted to men, use your imagination): If you could be a cougar, what significantly younger male celebrity would you want to DemiMoore-ify? Or would it be Ashton Kutcherize? Whatever. You know what I mean.

I'd like to thank my good buddy Vinny (aka Waterbeast) for sending in this photo, which has been "lifted" so often, I can't even track down its source:

Putting My eCards on the Table

I used to get a lot of Happy Birthday wishes in the mail. This year, I got one. But, on Facebook...

Sixty-one! (So far. The day's not over yet.)

On my 21st birthday (this was back during the previous century) my stepmother gave me a rectangle: a crisp fresh-from-the-bank one-hundred dollar bill. Then we went to the Boomtown Casino, because she believed the first thing you should do when you come of age is gamble away all your birthday cash. This is the same woman who had me buying pot for her son for Christmas every year because apparently since I went to Humboldt State (a college David Letterman once called Marijuana State), every other friend of mine should have been dealing, right? My stepmom - she was a giving person.

Times change, but traditions remain and today, on my 4(*cough*)4th birthday, I have received more rectangles.

First my husband gave me this card:

He also gave me this rectangular....thing...:

I wasn't sure what this thing was for, so I had lunch on it. You know, like it's a TV tray with a built-in universal remote - how convenient is THAT?

But I thanked him like it was something I'd been talking about for ages, as if I've been stopping strangers on the street lately and asking them about theirs and if they liked it.

He also gave me something to wear at the upcoming BlogHer09 conference in Chicago:

So right about now, you might be saying, "Hey that's not a rectangle", but you'll notice there's one on the back.

OK, well I gotta go take my Dad out to dinner for his birthday. Oh, did I mention his birthday is today too? We will hit Mimi's Cafe together with the rest of the family and dine on French Rectangle soup.







Some of you guys surprise me, flabbergast me, and humble me with your gifts of generosity and well wishes. Check out these other cool rectangles I got for my birthday!


Mojo of Why? What Have you Heard wrote a WHOLE DANG POST about me and my birthday and gives me entirely too much credit for introducing him to Maggie Dammit, which led him to a whole thing with Violence Unsilenced. Thanks Mojo! I love this Goat poster/card/cake thingie!

Babs of Beetle's Memories and Ramblings  sent me this goaty card on my Facebook Page. Thanks Babs!

And Heather at Nobody But Yourself  gave me this!  Thank you, Heather!

My review of The Mighty Queens of Freeville by Amy Dickinson has been published on Curled Up With a Good Book. Amazon says it's available on their Kindle, whatever THAT is.

To Bleat, Or Not To Bleat

I was commenting on this blog the other day when a highly auspicious word came up for my verification. Coincidence?

I can't verify the accuracy of the comment itself, but I can definitely vouch for the verification word.









Dude! Nanny Goats in Panties is having its very first Giveaway in a couple of weeks. The good people at CSN Futons is sponsoring this event. I can't tell you what the prize is yet, but I can give you a super really big hint: It begins with "Rachel Ray" and ends with "10 piece Cookware set". You might be wondering why a place called CSN Futons is in fact, not giving away a futon. Well, don't ask me, I just work here.

Also, even though I can't tell you what the prize will be, I can show you the Pre-Giveaway poster:



In the meantime, check out some Futons.







Meet Chivo...



Suebob from the Red Stapler blog sent in this picture of her sister's goat who apparently eats everything. I'm not sure why he's dragging his lunch box around, unless he's looking for someone to fill it!

Insecure? Me? I Laugh (a little too loudly) at Your Accusations.

On the fourth weekend of this month hundreds of women will descend upon the Sheraton in Chicago for a weekend of debauchery and mayhem. Either that, or it's a blogger convention, I forget which.

It's called BlogHer09 and I've heard many things about it, mostly based on the anticipation of other women who have never attended. According to these fear-mongerers, it will be incredibly intimidating and fetal position-inducing. Everyone will be prettier than me, skinnier than me, and better than me.

I will walk into a huge room with women chattering away and not know anyone. I will steel myself, fix a forced smile and walk up to a couple of them and introduce myself and it will go something like this:

Me: Hi, I'm Margaret.
Skinny Blogger #1: Oh, hello. Which blog are you?
Me (smiling and thrilled that they are interested): Nanny Goats in Panties?

[crickets and blank looks]

Me: It's a humor blog?
Skinny Blogger #1: Okay, but what is your niche?

[mind you, while this conversation is going on, they are simultaneously Twittering everybody else in the room from their mobile application devices.]

Me: Neesh? Uhhh, what's yours?
Skinny Blogger #1: I have a very important political blog that speaks to the oppression of women.
Skinny Blogger #2: I have a very popular social networking forum for parents and education.
Me: I have pictures of goats.

The Twittering ceases as they look up from their phones at me. Then at my horribly unfashionable and ill-fitting clothes. Up and down. Up and down, they will look.
 
Their painfully manicured nails and large diamond rings will clink against their champagne glasses as they press down the clutch and downshift in order to leave me in the dust. They'll ask me about my monetizing strategies and RSS feeds and analytics and who my sponsors are and which platform I'm using. Platform! I know what that is! I'll manage to sputter that I use Blogger.

Skinny Blogger #1: Oh, Honey, you have to at least be using Wordpress.
Skinny Blogger #2: I hire mine out.
Skinny Blogger #1: NOBODY uses Blogger anymore.

They tell me that I have to be using a real platform because of all the plug-ins (whatever THAT means).

And that will be it. They will have sized me up as an amateur and I will have pizzza sauce on my horribly unfashionable shirt and they will talk about what the famous bloggers at the conference are doing and what parties they are going to.

I will be the commoner at the Hamptons, the lame friend who another blogger HAD to bring to the party because our parents know each other. You know, my Dad is their butler or something.

Skinny Blogger #1: What are those, Candies? Aren't they like, from the 80's?

Then they will laugh uproariously at me. Their two heads will kaleidascope around like a surreal laughing nightmare scene from a Fellini film. They will toss their heads back with their perfectly coiffed hair swaying behind them, and then turn to look at me, their perfectly made-up eyes piercing my soul.

In a last spastic effort at professionalism, I will hand them each my card at which they will glance and dangle from their fingers as if it's been smeared with fried chicken grease. Which it probably will have.

They will reluctantly hand me their blog swag, one of which will be a Coach Bag festooned with her logo, the other will be her best-selling novel attached to a Mink Coat, the lining emblazoned with her very important blog banner.

[Don't ask me how they Twiiter on their phones and hold their champagne glasses and all their swag. It is probably because they are fabulous and they can do everything.] 

And then I will walk, not run, over to the refreshments table and shove all the macaroons down my gullet, after which I will run into the bathroom and cry myself to sleep in one of the stalls. I will wake up around 3am alone on the cold tile floor and stumble out to the conference ballroom, completely dark save for a triangle of light shining from an open door. As I walk toward the light, I will catch a glimpse of something on the floor:

So, if you are attending BlogHer09, let me know, so I can hunt you down and pretend to know you and cling to you all weekend and suck the ever-living life out of you.

I am Insecurity. Hear me squeak.






Occasionally I will be at the macaroon table. But I will have cards.

Goat Thing of The Day

Did you hear about the Sudanese man who was ordered by the court to marry a goat? Something about making an honest girl out of her.

 

Thanks to Mikki of Here's What Let's Do for passing this one on. The picture came from The Median Sib which mentions the article found on the BBC News website.

Universal Subscription Agency, Inc: Scam Artists? Or Just Poorly Misunderstood?

Remember this guy? The American Idol Wannabe? The nice young man (named Desmond, or Nesbit, or something) who was selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door?

Remember how he sang for me and I video taped him and showed it to you guys? Remember how I gave him $75 for a subscription to Discover Magazine? I wrote all about it in a blog post entitled "I Can't Afford to Answer the Door".

I was thinking about him the other day and wondered whatever happened to him. Did he make it onto American Idol? Has he been staying off the streets? I hope he's continuing to avoid his brother's fate of getting shot down by gang members. Did he win that subscrition selling contest based on points? Did my contribution of SEVENTY FIVE DOLLARS (oh, did I mention that already) help him win?

I also began to wonder: Did he ever turn in my subscription order? Because oddly, I haven't seen a single issue of Discover Magazine yet. And, you know, it's been five months, so I'm beginning to get a little concerned.

So I dug out my receipt and called the company (Universal Subscription Agency, Inc.) at (757) 818-9497 in Chesapeake, Virginia, and would you believe no one answered the phone? I got two different recorded messages both times that I called asking me to leave a message.

So I Googled "Universal Subscription Agency, Inc."

Unfortunately, they didn't have a website, but they are mentioned a lot by others on the internet. In fact, they're famous! See?

Rip-Off? Complaints? Scam? I'm sure there must be some misunderstanding, so I clicked on a few of these links, including one where a Former Employee Tells All. He talks about how Universal Subscription Agency, Inc. is a virtual cult and that they lure in, brainwash, and bully them into selling magazine subscriptions. How the sales people are just as much a victim as the customer and how Universal Subscription Agency, Inc. are just a bunch of highway robbers. It's quite a story, really. You should read it. [dramatic pause] Seriously.

This can't be true though, can it? I think I'll just try calling them again later. By the way, did I mention that the name of this company is Universal Subscription Agency, Inc.? And that their phone number is (757) 818-9497? I'm sure there's just a mix-up in the subscription department or something. I mean, my receipt even has an address and a FAX number, so it must be legit, right? RIGHT???

Because if this turns out to have been a rip-off (perish the thought), I might have to bad mouth them (Universal Subscription Agency, Inc) on my blog or something. I would have to keep saying their name (Universal Subscription Agency, Inc) over and over so that anybody else encountering these people (Universal Subscription Agency, Inc) will know what they're in for and not fall for it the way I did. I might have to start up a website about them (Universal Subscription Agency, Inc) and all the other scams out there to help educate people so that they wouldn't be able to do to you what they did to me.

But until then, I'll just go on about my business and blog about puppies and rainbows.

And goats.

Goat Thing of The Day

Faithful NGIP reader, Wayne (aka Architectcritic), sent in this photo from his trip to Kenya...

(from Wayne's Flickr page)

Cantankerous Landlords and Crotchety Old Men (Who Yell at Cars)

For the last ten years or so, I've been waking up in the morning, not sure at first which bed I'm in. If you don't know who you're going to wake up next to each morning, it's time to simplify your life.

And I thought I was. Of course, when you live in two cities, four hundred miles apart, owning two of everything doesn't exactly have a minimizing effect. In fact, anything you do to simplify your ridiculously overstuffed existence is a joke as long as your TWO HOUSES and WEEKLY PLANE TRIPS are beating you about the face and neck. What is that you're doing? Donating a bag of books to the library? HA! I laugh at your silly gesture of reduction. Why not try laying off the Southwest Airlines commute? Or hey, I know! What about moving in with your husband after 9 years of marriage and getting rid of half your stuff in one fell swoop, huh? Is THAT simple enough for ya?

What I can't (or shouldn't) do right now is sell my house in Los Angeles. And so I must rent. Blech.

"Landlord" is a four letter word. It conjures up images of Eddie Murphy wanting to kill one. Where did that word come from, anyway: Landlord? It sounds like some medieval concept from England where one is Lord of the Land. Yes, I am Lord of my Land and I command thee to hand over thy hard-earned farthings for the privelege of living on this land of mine of which I am Lord lest I throw ye in the dungeon!

I just want the people to pay the rent on time and not break my stuff. Is that too much to ask? Will I have to put signs all over the property like this one that I saw on the Passive Aggressive Notes blog?




And don't you think I should be worrying about finding a tenant first, before worrying about how they are going to destroy my brand new kitchen? And how they are going to let their over-the-size-limit dog pee all over my brand new floors and let pee puddles sit there for days, staining in the shapes of various US Presidential profiles?

Oh, and please do tell me all your landlord/tenant horror stories so that I can lose as much sleep as possible.

I'm going to be one cantankerous SOB when I grow up.

And speaking of Cantankerous people...

I ask you: Who stops to blog while waiting for the ambulance to arrive? Talking about "If I don't make it, it's been nice and all." Who opens their next blog post from their hospital bed with "I'm in renal failure"? And then writes another post that unfolds the drama of what happened after the ambulance arrived?

Joe from Crotchety Old Man Yells at Cars. That's who! And for such dedication and blogger bravery in the face of renal failure, I am giving him the Purple Kidney Blogger Award.

Joe, you've got a whole internet fan base (plus the HBDC community) behind you right now wishing you and Mrs. C the best. Get well soon, buddy!

If you don't know the Crotchety Old Man, go over and say hello and wish him a speedy recovery. And I'll let him tell you the ambulance waiting story HERE.  (Tell him Nanny Goats sent ya!)

Goat Thing of The Day

Okay, kids. Brace yourself for this next picture. It was shown to me by Mike from Mike's Mixed Memories.