Monday, September 26, 2011

Once Upon A Time

Greetings fellow cheesybloggers! This is Angela@BeggingTheAnswer with this weeks theme: Once Upon A Time. What are your views on fairy-tales? Do you have a favorite? Do you detest them? Or do you have a real-life fairy-tale story of your own? Take a look at MY version of "Rumpelstiltskin":

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There is no Disney version of Rumpelstiltskin. Probably it’s because most of the characters are jerks, and the plot is driven mainly by the quandary of who can out-jerk the other jerks.

It’s also one of Preschooler’s favorite stories as of late.

Now, I’m not one to shield my kiddos from the harsh realities of life. For example, one of our favorite board books meant for the three-and-under crowd explains to the reader, “Zebras eat grass....” [cue picture of cartoon zebra munching on grass], “.... But lions eat zebras!” [cue picture of cartoon zebra running away from the word ‘ROAR’ in a speech bubble.]

I’m ok with this. At least it’s true. And it’s not like they actually SHOW a lion eating a zebra.

But Rumpelstiltskin ... that’s kind of messed up.

It starts with a poor miller, who boasts to the king that his daughter can spin straw into gold. Even my three-year-old knows this is a flat-out lie. Miller = jerk.

The king calls his bluff, and demands the miller’s daughter spin straw into gold. He locks her into a room filled with straw, and says if she cannot spin it into gold by morning, she will die. King = jerk.

After doing absolutely nothing to help herself out of her predicament, the miller’s daughter is all out of ideas, and begins to cry. Just then, a little man shows up and offers to spin the straw into gold. But not for free. Little man = jerk, sorta.

The miller’s daughter gives the little man her necklace, and he spins all the straw into gold, and then disappears. The king is amazed, but he is also greedy. He brings the miller’s daughter to another room filled with more straw, and orders her to spin it into gold, or she’ll die. Again, king = greedy jerk.

Once more the miller’s daughter sits on her ass and does absolutely nothing. But she’s a pretty good crier, and the little man shows up again. Once more, he’ll spin the straw into gold, but only for a price. So the miller’s daughter gives the man her ring. Again, little man = entrepreneurial jerk.

The king is so pleased to see all the straw spun into gold, that he sets the daughter to a third task. This time, if she spins all the straw into gold, he will make her his wife. Right. Because every girl dreams of the day some man will kidnap her, set her to impossible tasks on pain of death, and then marry her.

Because the miller’s daughter is nothing if not resourceful, she just gets right on down to crying, and the little man shows up a third time. But she has nothing left to give, so our favorite extortionist demands her first born child. The miller’s daughter agrees, reasoning that, “who knows if that will ever happen.” The straw is spun into gold, and the king marries the miller’s daughter. Honestly, I kind of think this is a jerk move by the miller’s daughter, but she was in a tight squeeze, despite all her crying. Miller’s daughter = understandable jerk with little foresight.

A year has passed and the miller’s daughter, who is now the queen, gives birth to a daughter. She had forgotten all about her promise she made under duress to the little man, when one day he appeared in her chamber, demanding the child she contracted out to him long ago. Queen = possible jerk who wants to renege on her contract, but hey, she only made the promise after her life was threatened and I’m a mom too, so that little man can go fuck himself.

So, the Queen brings out the big guns, and starts crying. The little man takes pity, and tells her she has three days to guess his name, if she guesses correctly she can keep her child. She guesses all the names she can think of, to no avail.

So she sends out a messenger to travel the kingdom to find out all the names of the land. And on his travels the messenger overhears the little man dancing around a fire, singing “Rumpelstiltskin is my name.” You’d think the little man would just wait another day to close the deal before prattling around like that, but there you have it. The Queen guesses “Rumplestiltskin” and here’s where things get bizarre.

Upon hearing his name, the little man shouts “The Devil told you that! The Devil told you that!” (oh yes he does, it’s in the book) and becomes so enraged that (in our version) he stamps his feet so hard into the ground that he sinks through and is essentially buried alive. I’m not sure whether this is better or worse than other versions of the story that hold the little man becomes so irate that he literally tears himself in two.

So, what’s the lesson? If you cry enough aid (albeit evil aid) will always come to your rescue? That it’s ok to withhold aid to those in need unless they can pay your named price? That it’s ok to make extravagant promises about your child’s abilities to those who set out only to use her?

Gah. Give me lions eating zebras any day.

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Now it's your turn!!  Share your posts about fairy-tales. Do you have a favorite? Do you detest them? Care to share your own take on a beloved fable? Or do you have a real-life fairy-tale story of your own? Link up below, OR EMAIL cheesybloggers@gmail.com to become a featured poster!  

Monday, September 19, 2011

Dear Past Me

I was so inspired by last week's theme on Open Letters. Great topic Marianna!

The open letter idea got me thinking about how A. letter writing is becoming a thing of the past as emails and texts take over for written communication and B. I wish I could write an open letter to me as a teenaged girl. Hence, this week's topic. Keep up with the letter theme, but this time, let's communicate with our past selves.

Here's what I would write to myself if I could mail my past self a letter and have her read it. Which may very well cause some sort of fracture in the space/time continuum and according to Marty McFly and Doc, that would be very, very bad.

Dear past self,

Hey, it's me. Well,... you. It's US, at 33 years old. I KNOW.  Thirty three. How OLD are we?  I swear, it'll be here in the blink of an eye so enjoy each moment. Things are overall really great. I won't give you details about our life because I don't want to cause some sort of seismic rift in the universe causing us to spiral into a massive black hole, but I will tell you a few things I'd like you to remember.  So please listen carefully.

First, it will get better. I promise. Not the pimples though, don't listen to adults when they say you'll outgrow them. Sorry, you won't. Those assholes are persistent. But the rest of the shit you're feeling right now? IT WILL GET BETTER. So when you eye that bottle of pills and have those dark thoughts? Don't you fucking dare. Life is SO FREAKING GOOD missy. I swear to you. You're gonna be amazed at this ride we're on and what's in store for you. It's just SO GOOD. Hint, hint... your/our children are AMAZING.

Second, if you decide to take that job waitressing, you're going to be working with people who smoke. You'll have easy access to cigarettes. Don't fucking smoke them. If you do, it takes us about seven years to quit and you'll smell bad and waste money and damage your precious body. Just don't take the job. It's not worth the $2.15 an hour plus shitty tips.

Third, there's a boy you need to look out for. His initials are W. D. He'll appear almost magically, a cute boy from another school with chocolate brown eyes and super full lips. He's gorgeous and he knows it. He will like you, there's no doubt. He'll make you feel amazing and you'll want to kiss him for hours because he is DAMN good at it and he'll nibble your ear and neck at slow dances and tell you you smell good and you're pretty and he likes you so much.... you'll fall for it and you'll fall for him and you'll even consider doing more with him even though you're so not ready but sister? That motherfucker cheats on you in less than 2 months of dating. Walk away girl. Don't take his calls. OR, better yet, go out with him and experience the amazingness of the making out with your awesome youthful raging hormones (those go away with age, just saying.  Take full advantage.) and then DUMP HIS ASS when he least expects it. Get yours girl.

Fourth, you're not fat.  YOU'RE NOT FAT.  A size 5 and 117 lbs in not fat.  Plus?  The booty?  Those become super popular and attractive so be happy you have one on your little body.  I'll repeat, you are NOT fat.  You will get fat though if you don't decide now to get and stay active and not let food become addictive.  Trust me.  We like food.  And naps.  Decide for us both right now to get active and not fall in love with eating.  Say no to going out to eat so much.  Grab a salad.  Drop the Mountain Dew.  Go for a run while we're young and things don't jiggle.

Lastly, here's a rapid fire list of sound advice and helpful hints for you to keep in mind over the next 20 years:
Those are not cute little freckles appearing on your cheeks when you get your summer tan.  They are the beginnings of age/sun spots... wear some goddamn sunblock.  Start nightly moisturizing NOW.  Crow's feet defense must begin early.  Drink more water.  Cherish your friends.  You do NOT have a brain tumor so freaking relax.  When someone yells out, "it's the cops, play it cool," playing it cool does not involve screaming and giggling at the same time while trying to hide the beer can down your shirt. The New Kids on the Block will make a comeback as grown ups and Jordan is still one fine looking man. I'm not going to tell you to go ahead and smoke the pot, but I will say that I never have and I'm still curious, so, you know.... whatever you think is best....  Also, save some money and put it into a thing called Microsoft.  Finally, immediately after reading this letter, start writing a fictional story about an awkward teenage girl named Bella who falls in love with a perfectly gorgeous and romantic immortal vampire named Edward. Plus, give her a super hot werewolf best friend.  Trust me.  Do IT.

Love,
Me.  You.  Well, us.  Fuck, this is confusing.

Also, we still swear too much, as you can see.


Have a letter to your past self you'd like to share??  Email us at cheesybloggers@gmail.com to be a featured poster!  Or, you can always link up below!



Sunday, September 18, 2011

A Brave Response

Sometimes a particular douchebag says something particularly douchey and we just cannot help ourselves but express our complete outrage through a very honest and very sincere open letter. 

Our friend Jo from Rainbows in Puddles has done just that. 

When an asshat made a dreadful and hurtful comment, she had the bravery to respond.  And she wrote about it HERE

It's sensitive subject matter and could be difficult for some to read, but it's such an important message.  It departs from our normal Cheesy Blogger nonsense, but if this site is about nothing else, it's about supporting our fellow bloggers. 

Please go check out Jo's blog.  And be inspired by her, as we have been. 



Thursday, September 15, 2011

F-cked Up Letters: Walmart Edition

Hello cheesy people!

Before we get to today’s open letter guest post, I have a question for y'all:

So far, none of you have been brave enough to accept our challenge! What’s up with that? You have until Friday to accept. If you do, link up on our Play a Game! page and you could win our awesome original Cheesy Bloggers tote bag. Why would you NOT do this?

And now for a post from my lovely (and also CANADIAN) friend StephanieC from Seriously??...Reeeally?... Serisouly? Stephanie has written some indisputably badass open letters. You should read them ALL. To start, here is my favourite entry – the Walmart edition.

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F-cked Up Letters: Walmart Edition

(And If you'd like to, check out EDITION 2 HERE, and wayback to EDITION numero 1 HERE)

Dear Walmart Bananas,

Why do you tease me so? You never, ever, ever ripen. You appear to be on the cusp of maturity, with your green tips and banana bum, convincing me that this time will be different. THIS TIME, I promise, I will ripen to yellowness and prevent the gut pain and unpleasantness that come with eating still-partly-green bananas. I won't just pretend to ripen like last time.

And the time before that.

I won't somehow still turn brown without ripening like all of the other times before.

Oh Walmart bananas, you suck. You are consistently terrible. You know what else that indicates? That *I* suck, because I fall for you every time and end up with this:

Ever-green Walmart ninja bananas turn brown without ever ripening. Well played, ninja bananas. Well played.
Screw you, evergeen bananas.

Signed,
Me

Dear Walmart Employees on Smoke Break BESIDE THE EFFING PROPANE DISPENSER,

I understand winter sucks. I feel for you (sort of... I mean, I hate being cold). I understand you have a nicotine addiction that must be fed. I understand you are cold outside.

However, it has come to my attention that your preferred smoking corner at the local Walmart is beside the wind protection of the mother-effing propane fueling station.

Hey! Walmart smokers! This is not what Aerosmith meant when they were singing "Livin' on the edge"!!

Last time I checked, propane was flammable, people. FLAMMABLE. I've heard it's even been used in crazy scenarios where it IGNITES and cooks mother-effing FOOD. The key word here people is "ignites". You use open flames beside this machine FILLED WITH IGNITABLE GAS. The goddamn DOOR is even open, further tempting fate with escaping fumes.

Every time I walk by I feel terror in my gut that you are going to blow not only yourselves up, but the mother-effing store and all the mother-effing shoppers (and that poor mother-effing Greeter).

Please stop terrifying me.

Signed,
Me

Dear Walmart Greeter,

Are you happy with your job? And that one female Greeter with the really wide eyes - are you sane? Do you truly enjoy saying hello to people and dispensing shopping carts in the cold doorway during the day to (mostly) thankless shoppers? I want to think you enjoy the social part of the job, but I would have to guess most customers are assholes.

Or, if not assholes, they are like me. Feeling weird saying hello, feeling weird being offered a cart, feeling like I am not sure if you like your job or absolutely hate it and need the money because retirement didn't work out as planned.

Do enough people smile back? If they don't, I apologize. This letter isn't meant to be funny Walmart Greeter. But I hope you really do enjoy what you do. Otherwise I feel like and even BIGGER asshole than I already am for shopping at Walmart and exploiting workers in China who ultimately give us these "rollbacks" and low prices.

Signed,
Me

Dear Walmart Snowbank I Threw Up In Last Week,

Sorry about that. I couldn't resist the urge of half-priced danishes at the grocery store and ate two faster than a slimy dude can pick off a vulnerable single woman in a dance class.

Me + wheaty, fatty, sugary danishes ≠ Proper Digestion

Me + wheaty, fatty, sugary danishes ≠ Just a hop off the bandwagon, then back to regularly scheduled programming

Me + wheaty, fatty, sugary danishes = Quick, violent upheaval of danishes onto the nearest/closest surface outside of my car.

Sorry 'bout that.

Signed,
Me

p.s. Follow up apology to snowbank beside my garage door for the same reason.


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Now go forth and spread some blog love! And if you’ve written some open letters of your own, link ‘em up here.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

An Open Letter to the Children

One of our cheesy friends Miss Elle from Spill the Beans recently wrote this thoughtful court summons open letter to her darling children, cleverly named after Starbucks. She also writes all kinds of other awesome tidbits, and so you need to go check out her blog. 

Also, don’t you DARE forget to send your open letter(s) to CheesyBloggers@gmail.com . We will be pleased as punch to feature your ingenuity for all other cheesy readers to enjoy.

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Dear Venti, Grande and Tall,

Your goal is to make us completely crazy, isn’t it? No, seriously. Did someone take you all aside and tell you this is your mission? I’m inclined to believe that is the case, based on the evidence provided to us daily. Oh yes, I have evidence. Allow me to show it to you:

Exhibit A- Bickering with each other as enemies all day, only to become best friends when sent to your rooms for time apart.

Exhibit B- Complaining when its time to complete the same 2 chores you are given every single day. And yet? The moaning, the groaning.

Exhibit C- Dissolving into frustrated tears when told to work on your summer reading assignments.

Exhibit D- Whining about being booooooooorrrrrrrreeeeeeeedddddddd(!) almost every single day and yet, shooting down every suggestion to play basketball, go on the trampoline, ride bikes, go on a scavenger hunt!

In conclusion, we can’t wait for you all to go back to school. We’ll think of you the whole time we’re at our celebratory breakfast. xoxoxo

Love,
Your Parental Units

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Thank you Elle! It seems like maybe you should call a lawyer. You have a pretty solid case, as far as I can tell. Maybe Ang can help you out!

Monday, September 12, 2011

An open letter

Hello Cheesy friends!

We've all been known to write a letter to someone (or something or some place) when we're feeling happy, or inspired, or down right pissed off.

We may not always send these letters, but I think it helps to post them, hoping that one day the object of our happiness/inspiration/utter frustration will read our words and heed our message.

This is my open letter for today.   To my friend the Hungry Hobo.

Send us yours! Email your text or link to CheesyBloggers@gmail.com . We want to feature your post. We want to hear what you have to say to the people out there in the world.  So send it on over.  Don't be shy.

-Marianna Annadanna

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An open letter to the Hungry Hobo:

Dear Hobo:

I’m sorry you’re having a hard time. I’m sorry you can’t get back on your feet. You seem like a nice guy.

When Hubby and I emerged from our fancy anniversary steak dinner last night and you approached us, we weren’t afraid or offended. You seemed polite and we sympathized with you.

When you asked us for our doggie bag, we weren’t sure. We had SO been looking forward to enjoying our steak, mushrooms, and rice a second time. It was a real perk for us. We were particularly pleased that we would get a second meal for the absurd $130 we paid.

But there we were, standing outside a steak restaurant, dressed up in fancy clothes, and on our way to get a delicious Beaver Tail for desert.

And there you were. You weren’t even asking for money. Just food.

So of course you could have it. Enjoy the steak and have a good night.

Hubby and I felt pretty good about it. We felt guilty that we are so privileged. We were happy to help in some small way.

We met another hobo on the street. He made a speech about how he was having a hard time and thanks for not pretending he was invisible. But we got a totally different vibe. A swindling vibe. A vibe that said “I may look rough, but the cell phone and pack of cigarettes in my hand tells a different story.” We had to pass on this one. We can’t help everyone, and we just gave our dinner away. That was all we could do for today.

And then we were walking back to our car and you, our friend the hungry hobo, approached us again. With your hat out. Asking for spare change.

“Dude. We JUST gave you our dinner.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Was it good?”

“Uh, yeah.”

I really am sorry. I do feel shitty about the fact that I have so much and you have so little.

But, Man. This is why people resist helping. How did you even eat that meal in under 5 minutes? And you ate all that rice without a fork? This is very curious. Now we wonder if you were some kind of swindler too. Did you not really care about our dinner? Do you get a free steak dinner every night outside that restaurant?

I guess we’ll never know.

Best of luck, enjoy your steak,
Marianna Annadanna

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Don't forget to check out this week's new Spreadable Cheese.  C'mon, you have a few minutes, don't you?

Friday, September 9, 2011

Go To School, Momma!

Good day, cheesy bloggers!! Theresa from A Mountain Momma sent us a beautiful guest post called, "Go To School, Momma."  Take a look:

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Today was Day 2 of Grad School.

O.M.G. Grad School!

Lala went for her orientation for Kindergarten.

O.M.G. Kindergarten!

Little Em is on Day 4 of Daycare.

O.M.G. Daycare!

I am very tired after 2 days of waking the girls up early and shuffling everyone off to here and there. I have cried thinking about Lala navigating the halls of kindergarten and Little Em holding her own in daycare.

Cried more than once.

Okay, lots.

However, I had a pretty big frickin smile on my face yesterday. I met some of my new classmates, went to class, had lunch with a friend, went to the bookstore, tramped all over campus. I was hot and tired and busy. And it was awesome.

For all the crying and adjusting to this new era of our lives, I know we will all be the better for it.

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Thanks, Theresa! Remember, every one, fame and fortune, and maybe some fine aged cheddar, can all be yours, if you send us a guest post.  We still want to read your awesome "Back To School" stories!  Link up below or email cheesybloggers@gmail.com to join in the fun.

Monday, September 5, 2011

School Daze



Greetings, fellow cheese-enthusiasts!! It's a new week, so we're heralding in a new theme:  Back To School!!!


We want to hear your hilarious back-to-school hijinks!  For some inspiration, check out the following post by yours truly, Angela@BeggingTheAnswer.


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I entered elementary school in the 1980’s and "new math" was all the rage. Times tables and memorization were tossed out the window, and arithmetic was taught solely by using little yellow blocks.

See? Math.

I didn’t get the point of those little yellow blocks. Were we  to construct buildings? A small fort, perhaps? Certainly they had nothing to do with numbers. Consequently, after two years worth of math, I didn’t understand basic arithmetic operations.

Mom was dismayed to find we no longer learned times-tables. Her theory was that kids need to know the times-tables - even if they didn’t understand what they meant - so they could quickly recall the facts in “real life” situations. She drilled me with flash cards all summer until I completely mastered the times-tables forwards and backwards.

It worked. From thereon out I was placed in the advanced math track, all because of those flashcards. However, I figured if Mom made me do flash cards all summer to supplement what I should’ve learned in school, I must be really bad at math.
Math was thankfully benign over the next 6 years or so. But then came geometry... trigonometry... precalculus... calculus and things went downhill.


Calculus especially became the bane of my existence. I was too proud to ask for help, but too stupid to know the answers. I was clearly bad at math. Would there be more flashcards?

Later, when I took my college entrance exams, I was somehow deemed qualified to skip pre-calculus and head straight to calculus. Calculus went well for a day and a half, but then they started using pictures.



It's a rainbow tent! Wait, that's math? Oops.

And then they started using big words.

This message was clearly forged by Lucifer himself.


I was in over my head. Once again, I proved to be too stupid to learn math. I studied every single day with the help of a teaching assistant with a thick Bulgarian accent. I ended up with a D.

I was very proud of that D. It meant I didn’t fail. And I never took math again.

Huzzah!

It wasn’t until I was 21 that I realized, despite the need for flashcards, I wasn’t bad at math - I was good at math. Or at least competent.

Lesson learned: flashcards are good for math. But bad for self-esteem.



We will destroy your soul.

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Now it's your turn!!! We want to hear your best back-to-school stories.  So link up below, or if you want us to feature your post on our main page, EMAIL cheesybloggers@gmail.com.  You know you want to!

Friday, September 2, 2011

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED

Hello Cheesy friends!

In the spirit of our popularity theme, we're doing something fun.  SO READ THIS!  WE DARE YOU. 

I'm sure everyone can remember a time in school, or at work, or with your kids, in which popularity was an issue.  In our day, there was no singing and dancing tv show that taught kids to embrace their differences. It wasn't even a little bit cool to be different.  It was a death wish.   

That's essentially what being a Cheesy Blogger is about.  Not about death wishes.  About having a space that is free of judgement to link up with other bloggers, and SPREAD CHEESE. 

In our case, "cheese" represents laughs, or insights, or good vibes, or just comfort in numbers.  Or curds.  We like curds. 

But to spread cheese you have to really work at it.  It ain't easy.  And maybe not everyone is cut out for it.  But we think you are.  We have faith in you.

So here is our CHALLENGE to you.  It has 5 steps.  Think you can handle 5 steps?  Don't be chicken.

1) Find TWO blogs you've never read before.  (Blogrolls are good for that.)
2) Make a meaningful comment!
3) Tell the author that you CHALLENGE them to do the same.
4) And then tell them, should they choose to accept, that they can come to the Cheesy Bloggers Play A Game! page ( http://cheesybloggers.blogspot.com/p/play-game.html) and link up one of their own awesome blog posts.
5) Wait patiently for us to randomly choose a winner from the list of links to win our amazing original Cheesy Blogger tote bag.

Just copy and paste this list of steps and you're good to go!

This Challenge will self-destruct in two weeks, so you have until Friday, September 16, 2011 to fulfill your obligations and LINK UP on our Play a Game! page. 

C'mon.  You can do it! ( I always think of Rob Schneider when I say that.)