Hi, Hello, and Welcome to the first post and technical launch of the long-overdue and tepidly anticipated ChroniCuriosity! (cue trumpets kazoos).

There’s really no great way that I’ve seen to do that first HEY! and HERE’S WHAT I’M ALL ABOUT, Y’ALL! post without just regurgitating the About page or otherwise veritably ensuring this is your one and only visit here; but I’m also not huge into the whole, “Hey, so I’m just going to start blogging like normal here and hope you keep coming back enough to just deduce what I’m all about!” thing. So, I’m just going to dive right in and do that gross middle-school-English bit where you “tell ‘em what you’re gonna tell ‘em, TELL THEM, then tell ‘em what you told ‘em.”

And I’ll make you a deal – slog through to the end and you’ll get a) A GIANT GOLD STAR and b) in the spirit of Fake Late Christmas (more on that later)…or maybe just early Valentine’s Day at this point? - details on how to win a little somethin’ somethin’ – homemade with my own two overgrown man-hands. I hear giveaways are a thing on all the cool kids’ blogs. Let’s start this thing off right, shall we?

Ok. Now where was I? Ah yes. WELCOME, as I tell you what I’m going to tell you!

There are very few things at which I am consistently, objectively *good*. Even fewer of those things are things I actually enjoy. Fewer *still* are things that can actually, potentially, provide me with at least a sense of purpose and legacy, if not actual monetary sustenance (I’m good, but I’m not “launch a blog and live off of it in 14 days” good). 

One such thing is, and always has been, writing – or as I prefer, “word manipulation”, as “writing” tends to have a certain air of mystery and pretense that I don’t want bestowed upon my work here (bad karma) or me (too much pressure). I like the freedom to be just as invested in or proud of a facebook post or tweet as a letter to the editor as a formal academic paper as a short story; and calling oneself a “writer”, or one’s craft “writing”, just doesn’t have room for that, in the spaghetti pile that is my brain.

It also sounds big, and arduous, and slogging and masochistic – as if to be a writer one must be conflicted, and poor, and drink too much caffeine, and have a flat ass and back problems from sitting too much.

Um. On second thought…

In all seriousness, the fives upon fives of people who’ve been insisting for years that I “please write a book!” have finally given me the  guilt trip courage to split the difference, and I’ve spent the last little while researching, planning, building, and nursing-agita-related-to this blog.

What I intend is that this becomes a place where I can make you laugh and make you think in equal measure; where I can pontificate to my wonkish heart’s content about the events currently blowing my mind, and get your take on the matter too; where I can record for posterity the inanities of human behavior I regularly seem to observe and remember against my conscious will, sacrificing my sanity for your amusement; where you might come alongside as I shoehorn myself into the brains of people and places and ways of being I don’t understand, in a dogged attempt at cultivating empathy; where you might join me in a tornado of inspiration, twirling and swirling about, honing my attempts from the sidelines or jumping right in with me as I embark on mini-transformations and one-woman revolutions in everything from patient care policies to shopping and dining habits.

That said, nobody can, or at least really should subsist on a diet completely free of indulgence and fluff; that whole “all things in moderation” bit applies as much to brain-food as food-food, as far as I’m concerned. So this will also be a place to celebrate and publicly, occasionally revel in the superficial things – the “pretty things” – that I have always loved, and celebrated, and reveled in; but somewhere along the way, decided I needed to temper (or hide altogether) if I were to be taken seriously.

This may or may not have been reinforced by such juxtaposed experiences as being called “academic Barbie” by a graduate student co-panelist at an academic conference, and letting that little spark of snark undermine the fact that I was the only undergraduate presenting, as first writer, on a panel at the second-largest conference in America for my field. I say that not to sound like Sheldon Cooper, but to highlight that my paranoia about being taken seriously while remaining, I dunno, kempt, took a pretty disturbingly deep root there for a while, such that I allowed my unique and otherwise-pretty-honorable situation of which I should have been really proud and excited, and little else, was pretty tempered with self-doubt because my decision to dress professionally made some random person on my panel second-guess her decision to skip the iron.

However, the assumption that levity and beauty cannot coexist with substance and gravitas is a sad, bleak way to meander through the world – (said from experience and with empathy, not judgement) – and I’ve since decided that if you can’t take my ideas seriously because I also happen to like clothes, or makeup, or care about my hair, or that I’m not “feminist enough” because I sincerely, independently enjoy traditionally ”domiciliary” activities and hobbies, then with all due respect? My paradigm is probably not the one most in need of expansion. But more on that later.

In the meantime, I also have every intention of sharing the spoils of my (perfectionism) meets (maximizer-obsession-with-efficiency) meets not-so closeted domesticity) in the form of recipes, organization ideas, frivolous decorative excitement and oh-dear-god-yes-also DIY projects.

Also, vocabulary words. For you, for me. Words, words, words. I kind of collect them, and I’ve been taking Mrs. Johnson’s fifth-grade directive to “use flowery words whenever you can!” to its more literal extreme since slap bracelets were a “thing” the first time. I am to words as Paula Deen is to butter; as Snooki is to spray tan – too, too much, way too often, with absolutely no apology and loving every minute of it. In fact, I love words so much that sometimes, I make them up. Sometimes-enough, in fact, that I kind of forget they’re not real words (says who?) Anyway, in anticipation of a few too many “huh?”s, until we get to know each other better and all, I’ve created a Glossary page for your reference and perusal. I’m not yet sure whether to be proud or ashamed of its necessity.

As for the 97.3% of words you’ll find here that are “real”, I hope you find a few new gems and test them out in your real-time, talky life, like the nail polish tutorials on Pinterest demonstrating how to spend several hours (“SO EASY!!!”) creating 10 different mini-masterpieces on the end of each of your fingers and render you nervous to the point of minor convulsion about using them for well, anything, for the…three? days said digit Monets actually last. Unless you wear gloves, but then, doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose of the Thursday afternoon and evening you spent decorating your hands?  Uh, um, I digress. But seriously, what’s the worst that could happen, trying out a new word or three? You might look a little stupid. But with words, it’s just a few minutes. The nails…I mean…

But I digress, again. The point of this whole little corner of the interwebs? Basically, it’s me in print. As I grow, this grows. As I change, this will change. As I get dark and twisty, this will probably – no definitely – get a little dark and twisty, too. As I explode with glitter and adopt a unicorn, so will this place (though I promise to keep it comic-sans-free, even at my sparkliest). Here’s how I see it – if the hamster wheel situated at the front of my skull in place of a manageable, calm and efficient “brain” will continue spinning anyway, I may as well harness the energy, right? The only guaranteed constant here will be a relentless, maniacal, chronic pursuit of the curiosity that has shaped me, defines me, infuriates, emboldens and inspires me.

Lastly, I’ll be taking requests. Random news story about which you’d like my take? Personal story you’d like me to dredge up and serve on a platter for your voyeuristic inspiration/amusement/judging pleasure? Restaurant or recipe I mentioned for which you’d like more details? More pictures of Cooper Stone, wondermutt? Leave me a comment or drop me a line via electronic mail; I’ll see what I can do. Barring potential HIPPA violations or other legal ramifications, or a disproportionately high likelihood of otherwise creating the most egregious of personal shitstorms for myself, I’ll probably give it a shot.

Along those lines, if you’d like to help me help you (help me), AND potentially find yourself the proud winner of your choice of a few highly coveted confections, fo’ free, shipped to your front door just as your resolution to avoid all sugar, fat, dairy, curse words, hairspray and happiness begins to unravel? Here’s your chance.

Alas, I cannot ship said coveted confections to your front door based on creepy IP address tracking. There’s nothing to purchase here, yet, so “No Purchase Necessary” goes without saying; but leave a quick comment telling me:

who you are (if you’ve got a blog or website, tell me!);
a frank bit about what you’d like to see here;
and I dunno, channeling Buddy the Elf for a moment, your favorite color? Mine is brown.

You’re in. That’s all, y’all.

Again, welcome, and thanks.