Click on the button below for the quiz!
I made a quiz, yay! Is it a highly accurate quiz? Well... I don't know about that. But it's supposed to show you which Bible character you share some personality characteristics with.
Click on the button below for the quiz!
You've got your wine, your popcorn, your night cheese, and a few free hours to veg in front of your favorite television shows. Niiiiice, right? Yep, it is nice and you're having a ball doing absolutely nothing for the first time all week, until the awful moment when that one annoying character comes onscreen and you're suddenly going to need a lot more wine to ease the nails-on-chalkboard effect that this icky character's lame storyline has on your fav show.
That's exactly how I feel when one of the five fictional individuals listed below shows up on my screen. Do we share any of the same least favorite television characters?
Wow, I am such a hater. But I'm being honest! These characters annoy me beyond belief. So, what television characters get on your nerves? I don't want to be the only Crabby McCrabster complaining here...
And I'm not talking about one of those shallow, someone-you-call-when-you're-desperate-for-human-interaction stand-ins who's the human equivalent of watching old episodes of The Bachelorette on Hulu while feasting on a box of stale dry cereal. No sir! I'm talking about a real kindred spirit with whom you feel an instant connection. You understand each others humor, opinions, moods, and you even finish each others sentences! Coming across a friend like this makes the trudging through inedible fish-based goo more bearable- maybe even enjoyable as you begin to realize that the "clam chowder" is actually snow and the rancid smell is you because you've been so depressed that you've stopped showering.
So what makes a good friend? Well, everyone's different but most real friends have four key factors in common and if your friendship includes these then you've found a very beautiful thing:
If a "best friend" lacks two or more of the above qualities then they're simply not a BFF. At best, they're the human equivalent of watching a made-for-television movie starring Heather Dubrow while downing a box of wine and a bag of microwavable popcorn.
*A wise old man with no teeth did not say this.
Did you watch a lot of TV last year? What were some of your favorite shows? Here are my top six, let me know if you agree or if you think my list is missing a show or two, or six...
So today is my last day at the trendy splendy ad agency in Los Angeles. Sadness : (
At the other end of the spectrum, these three months have also shown me what I don't want; and the truth is that I don't want to work in a place like this. Ha! I can't believe I'm saying this but it's the truth! While I appreciate the perks that come with being a part of a successful agency like this, I SOOOO DO NOT fit in! My coworkers are all gorgeous and shiny and here I come, looking like some dirty little penguin that waddled in from a random ditch in the arctic. What I mean is, these people are groomed to look the part of successful money-making machines -if you want a client to believe you have the ability to turn them or their product into an idol, then YOU need to look like an idol. That ain't me. I belong in a place where I can daydream, write, and work with people who are as prone to accidentally walk into a glass door while talking to themselves as I am. That's a million times more up my alley, Also, I want to be in control of the content I produce and not have to report creative decisions to some haircut who checks out every blonde that walks by.
But also, yay cuz now I know what it's like here and maybe I'll stop crying and mumbling, "I want to go to there," every time I watch the Oscars.
Nah. I'll still cry a little. : )
So I've been writing a Young Adult book series for the past TEN BILLION AND A HALF YEARS and today I finally saw the cover for the first book in the series! *gasp*
It's very much beautimous : ) and I'm not being braggy because God knows I didn't design it, Rebecca Berto did (she's awesome and here is her website btw)!
I have to say, though, that a moment of pure terror fell all over me where I was just staring at the cover and realizing that it's probably better than the actual words in the book.
Sure, I love IDENTITY's (that's the title) characters. Like, every last one of them -even the evil ones who'd use their superpowers to murder me in my sleep- are people I'd want to have hot chocolate and watch old episodes of Alias with, but I have this feeling that no one else is going to understand or care about them!
That being said, I have to publish this book! When you work so hard on something, you don't just give up because putting it out there to be criticized is scary, right?
I'm so glad I ended up deciding to publish the series under a pen-name that's more ...um, "secure" than "Paula Harvey". (As you probably already know,"Harvey" isn't my actual last name, but it's still a family name.) A few weeks ago, a family friend who, like, moved to Africa and who I can't imagine EVER wanting to read my books called and shouted "Hey Paula Harvey!" into the phone and that scared me to death. So I'm all like, "Well, time for another pen name ..."
Anyhow, I think this is the part of writing that's even more difficult than editing (which nearly killed me)- the part where you give other people access to your imagination. Doing this is tantamount to sharing one of your most valued possessions and then sitting back and waiting for the public to either ignore it, tear it to shreds, or find something they like about your inner world. I hope at least one person (other than my sweet friend Bonnie who always finds something nice to say about my work) finds something to enjoy in this case.
So, have YOU ever had some form of stage fright? If you have, how on earth did you get over it??
You must be joking.
You're probably wondering what it is, exactly, that I think you're joking about.
Well, let me enumerate.
First of all, the "healthy" juice bars at which I've been buying smoothies everyday.
These smoothies are advertised as organic and nutritious and yet, I now weigh eight million pounds.
All I EVER ingest are smoothies...well, and the occasional (a.k.a. "every day occurrence of a") large order of fries- and then there are those packets of cheese I've been scarfing down in ten minutes flat despite my lactose intolerance. So, come to think of it, maybe I can't completely blame the smoothies.
But still, should I have gained a gillion pounds in two weeks just from eating a few extra fries and a couple (dozen) packets of sharp cheddar cheese??
I think not!!
I am aghast! And quite full of gas, I might add.
Secondly, why are the lizards in this godforsaken desert so huge? Shouldn't these lizards have been destroyed by some huge asteroid or flood or whatever with the rest of the dinosaurs? They don't even look like lizards, they look like tiny aliens. I love animals, but your freakish desert lizards are weird and they're stressing me out.
Once again, thank you California. Here's to you for rocking my world.
Thirdly, I know you're kidding me about the prejudice.
Because, as the biggest melting pot in the U.S. (other than New York City), surely it's improbable that the residents of metropolitan areas within southern California would struggle with deep-rooted feelings of prejudice. Right?
Well, apparently this is quite probable.
I can't tell you how many times a fellow Californian pedestrian has seen me and, despite the fact that I'm wearing a decent dress, heels, and tasteful make-up, grabbed their purse in terror before freezing as if their heart has momentarily stopped at the sight of me in all of my hideousness. And then, once they got past the color of my skin and realized that I was wearing a normal looking dress etc...they visibly sighed in relief and gave me a huge smile. Most even say, "Hi there," with over-the-top politeness and a head tilt. It's the same, "Hi there!" that's offered to someone's beloved dog who is clad a pink tutu and, somehow, managing to wear it proudly. At the sight of such a dog, one can't help but think, "Aww. It's so cute because it thinks it's people."
That's the way I was looked at while walking to the library in Beverly Hills.
At first, it was funny and I kind of laughed to myself about it. Then, it became depressing so I got in my car and left. But later, when I talked to a friend about it, it got funny again.
So, California, I know you've got to be kidding me. You can't possibly be MORE prejudice than my hometown in freaking LOUISIANA, right?? Cuz, I mean, that's one reason why I left Louisiana...
Well, I do adore you for some other reasons though. I like the landscape here. The mountains are beyond gorgeous. I also love, love, LOVE the amount of creative people within your borders. It's refreshing to be around people who have an interest in art and culture and who want to learn more and be open to new experiences. That's just beautiful.
I suppose that's all for now, California.
And just in case you're not into reading letters, there's a Youtube video below containing basically the same rant.
I moved to California about 2 months ago and it's been crrraaaaazzzzy.
Between working for a really weird Veterinarian, getting robbed, being sort of homeless for a while, and feeling like a dementia patient who also happens to have gotten lost in a Klingon jungle I'm only just now getting back to the blog.
Have you ever lived in California?
If so, HOW ON EARTH DID YOU MAKE IT HERE????
Ha ha. Just kidding. Well...actually, I'm not.
Seriously, how does anyone manage to survive here without being some sort of street smart genius? Cuz I have the street smarts of a banana and the genius of a bowl of pudding.
But enough begging for advice...in the video below I talk about three things that I HAVE learned since moving here! Hope these tips come in handy for someone!
Aight, that's all for now! Have a great week : )
“Be still Nat.”
The words and the voice…are mine.
Surprised, I freeze.
This is an odd feeling.
For the first time in…gosh, in I don’t know how long… I feel as though I’ve said something.
I’m almost proud of this unscripted moment.
But my pride has no effect on one year old Natalie.
Ignoring my request, our daughter continues to squirm in my arms, her tiny blonde head bumping into my tie.
The photographer, stooped just below the four of us, camera in hand, pauses and glances at us with something of a nervous plea in his expression.
I vaguely wonder why he’s shooting from such a low angle.
Tilly’s going to hate that.
During the campaign, every close-up taken at a low angle meant one more skipped meal for Tilly.
She’s always been strict on herself when it comes to dieting.
I don’t think all of the skipped meals and calorie counting are necessary, or even healthy, but I’ll readily admit that whatever she’s doing works, because she looks fantastic.
I tell her all the time…well, I used to tell her all the time.
In the early stages of the campaign, when Tilly found an unflattering picture of herself in some magazine or news article, she’d show me the photo, make a face, say something disparaging about herself, and we both knew I’d set her straight with a brief remark about her blue eyes, her perfect body…or any one of the many things I loved about her.
But towards the end of the campaign, Donald Lightwater was by my side more often than Tilly.
Rewriting my speeches, reviewing tapes of my speeches, speaking to me in front of the writers who wrote my speeches, even picking out the perfect tie for me to wear as a compliment to the perfect speech he’d written…
I used to need Tilly to pick out my ties.
She used to need me to remind her of her beauty.
But, somewhere along the way, a man named Donald Lightwater, slightly overbearing and the unsuccessful fighter of a sweating problem, nominated himself to be the one to pick out my ties.
That’s when Tilly stopped needing me.
“Um…Mr. President? How about a smile Sir?”
My attention darts away from the fuzzy mental image of Tilly, grinning as she straightens my tie, and I focus on the nervous photographer stooped below our family of four.
I look at him and his left eye twitches.
Now I can’t help but smile.
“Of course, sorry about that.” I say, once again relishing the unscripted words.
“Daddy!” Our four-year old’s voice, from his spot on Tilly’s lap, catches my attention and I automatically glance down into his blue eyes, “Daddy, Natalie’s foot touched my arm.”
“That’s alright…” The widening smile on my lips feels natural.
“Sweetheart, Natalie’s just trying to love you.” Tilly’s voice is soft as she pats our son on his curly head.
His dark curls come from me, but those blue eyes of his come from Tilly.
She looks up and for just a moment, our eyes meet.
The camera flashes, it makes a snapping sound as our moment is caught, snatched up to be preserved, analyzed by millions of strange eyes.
“That was great, perfect.” I hear the photographer say.
But his voice is out of focus because I’m concentrating on watching Tilly break our moment.
She gulps, turning to acknowledge the photographer.
The smile is still on my lips, hiding the unscripted words that reverberate in my head.
I found this hanging out in a random folder on the desktop at work. It was a short story I'd submitted for a writing contest on NPR. Just thought I'd post it since I haven't been blogging much these days : )
Paula L. Harvey
...named her blog "Yes Please!" for no apparent reason. She is also a human person (supposedly) from Louisiana who enjoys writing nonsense stories and loudly over-analyzing movies to the point of being annoying to anyone within earshot.
Paula's Fav Books