Life – Page 2 – galloblog

Again and again and again

The *very* few times I have made mistakes, people have told me “Well, at least you learned something,” as a sort of consolation. A few of those few times, that sentiment has been comforting. My mistake (e.g. being too open with a friend who used my vulnerabilities to manipulate me) resulted in sparkly fresh knowledge (just because someone shares their deep personal stuff with me doesn’t mean they should be trusted with my own deep personal stuff). GREAT! The wisdom doth overfloweth!

: I think more kids would stay in school if we could see the beauty of our knowledge!

Most of those few times, that sentiment isn’t comforting at all. Because many times my mistake is to simply not act on what I have already learned. Somehow, the knowledge that I just did something when I already “knew better” isn’t quite as sparkly the second, third, 4,890th time around. The wisdom doth continue to overfloweth until Gallo choketh in a pool of her own stupidity and rebellion.

: Help plz

Sometimes I get pissed that despite my sincere prayers for freedom from my loopity-loop of failures, loopity-loop to failure I go. I think “I want to be free of this, and God YOU should want me to be free of this, I’m asking you to let me be free of this – yet WHAT IS THIS I SEE BEFORE ME?!” [wave wildly at my past and current mistakes as they pal around brazenly]

But what if the repeated mistakes are evidence of God’s mercy?

For the Lord disciplines the one he loves,
and chastises every son whom he receives. -Hebrews 12:6

Imagine if you’re suddenly recruited to play basketball with the Hawks, even though you are entirely unqualified. You get on the court for your first practice. Someone throws you the ball, and you heave it towards the net. The ball flies straight over the backboard.

Then imagine if your coach came up and ripped the basketball out of your hands and said, “You suck at this, go sit down.” He then passes it to the star player, who dunks the ball effortlessly. Basketball has defeated you – your only way of making it through the season is to avoid all contact with basketballs and coddle your feelings of inferiority by yelling obscenities at the other teams from the bench. You’re still on the team no matter what, but you’re not in the game.

: Lameeeeeeeeee

But what if! Your coach watched you struggle during practice and, every time you took an awful shot, picked up the ball and threw it back to you and said, “You suck at this, but I’m going to keep throwing this ball to you until you learn how to aim. I want you to be in the game.” After missing the net for the next 142 shots, you are frustrated and beg him to transfer his expertise and talent directly to you. But he says, “Nope, doesn’t work that way. Try it again. Again. Again!”

Is the coach being mean in the second scenario? He’s certainly not coddling you… And I guess one perspective would be “I can’t believe he keeps letting me fail over and over.” But is he really?

: Maybe this is what we want God to be. Just ignore the bears not sure what that is all about lolzzzz

I think sanctification may be something like this. We want a magic coach wizard who will come and wave a wand and automatically make us amazing players. When he doesn’t, we assume he is torturing us, doesn’t actually want us in the game, or may start to doubt if we were really recruited in the first place. But what if our endless failures are the consequence of him giving us endless opportunities to get it right?

Maybe this sports analogy is a little too much cheese for you all, but this analogy has been a real source of encouragement for me. Especially when I find myself in these deja-vus-des-insufficances. Maybe God isn’t being a jerk – maybe he’s offering me the opportunity for mastery. Maybe he knows something about my abilities that I don’t. So he gives me the opportunity to.. vanquish! Again. And again. And Again.

I hope so.. I want to play 😉

Baby Boomers: Get off your arse and harass a millennial

Something happened to me this week that blew my mind, and then it blew my mind that it blew my mind– totes meta.

The background: I met this hilarious, encouraging, Spirit-filled lady at my church who’s probably 30ish years my senior. We had similar life passions so we decided to get coffee and chat a few times before church. The last time we met, it was ambiguous if we would meet up again, and I thought “well, she’s probably busy. Maybe we’ll see each other around.”

barney — Actual picture of us chatting. Jk. FROM THE BEST MOVIE EVER MADE

This week, I get an email from her titled “WHERE ARE YOU.” Apparently I had missed an email from her inviting me to hang last Sunday.

Here’s the outrageous part- she followed up! THEN when I explained that I had missed her email, she invited me to something else!

💥💥💥

^my brains

If you are underwhelmed right now, let me ‘splain.

It is incredibly easy to ghost people. I don’t like to brag, but I’ve done some hardcore ghosting through the years. Even MORE easy is to ghost Christian community. There’s nothing brag-worthy about this- most churches are so concerned with attracting new people they forget to care about keeping them there. Many a time your little Gallo has slinked her way out of Christian community like a spiritually dry ninja. 🙅🏻 So when this lady was like “Yo yo! where you at, boo?”* it meant a lot to me that she 1) noticed 2) cared an 3) wasn’t putting up with any passive-rebellious nonsense.**

Even more fundamental though, is just that this lady has taken the time to Make Concrete Plans! Stick to Them! Meet Me Face to Face! Follow up!

Even MORE fundamental- at risk of sounding pathetic – it actually warms the cockles of my lil heart that she simply … took an interest in me.

But wait, there’s more!

When we meet, somehow without condescending or dismissing my struggle bus rides, she encourages me. I always feel optimistic and positive about life when we’re done meeting. For realzzzz, how many people can you say that about??

I say all this not *only* because she’s my #WomanCrushWednesday, but because I want you old fogies ( 😉) to know how little you have to do to be a huge source of light and encouragement to a millennial.

Instead of sharing articles with each other bemoaning how the Youths are always staring at their phones, you could rock their world by busting out those social skills you grieve that we don’t have and 1) initiate a conversation 2) make a concrete plan 3) be a consistent, stable force of good in their lives.***

What an opportunity! Show us how it’s done, baby boomers!

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*that was the gist 😉

**even though this time was a mistake, she didn’t know that!

***sorry for all the enumerations. I just 1) have a lot of points and 2) I don’t really care so 3) I’m really not sorry

Christian folk: You ain’t broke so stay woke

Some Christians seem to thrill themselves with repeatedly announcing that they are “broken,” and praise other Christians who are open about their own brokenness. Maybe Christians take on these disparaging adjectives to distance themselves from self-righteous bluster, or to stay humble (e.g. “I’m no better than you, homeless prostitute! #humble #blessed). I get that, I do. But ultimately, it’s complete nonsense. Here is why —

Uno – it’s not humility that’s spurring this “brokenness” talk, it’s usually a declaration of absolved responsibility. People know they’re screwing up and weak, but instead of making steps towards repentance, they want to make sure everyone knows they are so completely helpless there is no way they could have *not* made that terrible decision.

Duo – Christians are not supposed to take on our weaknesses as our identity. Even the field of psychology is ahead of the curve with this —

If a person recovers from or is recovering from cancer, do we refer to him or her as “being the cancer?” No, we do not, because we know that cancer is something that one can recover from and isn’t necessarily permanent. Many are hopeful that, as with the majority of cancer prognoses, the individual will eventually be cancer-free. What is more, the cancer does not define the individual’s existence while battling with the disease or after recovery.

When someone with mental illness is labeled as “OCD” or “bipolar,” there is that perception that being “bipolar” sums up his or her whole existence. We do not take into consideration the person’s actions (good or bad) because in our minds, our perception on the label he or she has been given is our basis. Even worse, the individual who is labeled often internalizes the tag to the point that they feel that their entire entity is summarized with it.

– from an article edited and reviewed by psychologist R. Y. Langham, M.M.F.T., Ph.D Full length article here

This is not to say that we ignore our weaknesses. But we confess them to each other so that other people can exhort (what a great word!) us, and we can repent! I almost hesitate to use the word repent because it conjures up an image of a hypocritical, salivating evangelical preacher, but I love the word because it doesn’t just mean “feel bad about what you did” it means “to turn.” Repentance isn’t about feeling self-deprecating guilt, it’s about doing a 180. If we do emphasize our past and present weaknesses, let’s do it to emphasize the joy and hope that God has/will triumph(ed) through them (e.g. 2 Corinthians 12:9).

Trio – let me give you a list of verses in the biblio that talk about how broken– as in dysfunctional — Christians are.

There you go. Good stuff.

But wait..

But he was pierced for our transgressions;
he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
and with his wounds we are healed

– Isaiah 53:5

And [Jesus] took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you.

– Luke 22:19

Wait, what’s that?! Jesus was broken… so that we could be broken, too?

Nah.

“For by one offering He has perfected for all time those who are sanctified.”

– Hebrews 10:14

Jesus was broken so that we even have the possibility of sanctification – aka holiness, aka NOT BROKEN. Not only did Jesus break so we don’t have to, but he didn’t stay broke either. So the “Omigersh I’m so broken” talk does not belong anywhere in the gospel narrative.

Broken is what we were. Let’s embrace who we are now, and start dead-sprinting toward the wholeness and function we were made for– through grace alone!*

⚡️⚡️⚡️

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

General notes

There’s a place for broken-heartedness, or being contrite — but I’m talking about broken as in dysfunctional.
I understand to a non-Christian absolutely all of this is nonsense. That’s okay with me. I think it’s beautiful, and it’s super encouraging.

*1 Cor. 6:11; Hebrews 12:1; 2 Tim 3:17; Galations 3:3

C. Gallo accused of textual misconduct

Several of C. Gallo’s former friends and estranged relatives have accused the famous blogger of multiple counts of inappropriate texting behavior. Some of the allegations span back to 2005, when she received her first Nokia cellphone.

“I would text Claire to invite her on a date for Friday night, and she wouldn’t text me back until Saturday and pretend she had just seen it,” disclosed one man, who asked to be given the pseudonym “Gallolover4L.”

Even members of C. Gallo’s own family came forward, claiming that she rarely responds to group texts. “C. Gallo mutes group texts with family- I checked her phone once when she left the room without it,” said her sister, adding, “She also takes way too many pictures of herself in the car.”

Other complaints centered around C. Gallo’s liberal use of millennial slang in her texts. “…’I don’t feel like talking rn’? She doesn’t feel like talking to a registered nurse? … ‘Totes McGoats’? Is that a new type of handbag? … ‘Your vacation pics are giving me fomo’? Is this a disease?” her Dad asked, scrolling through his text history.

Recently leaked footage from traffic cams show C. Gallo engrossed with her texting and missing entire green lights at some of the busiest intersections in Atlanta, prompting a Tweetstorm against C. Gallo. The critics are organizing around the hashtag #TrueTextsWait

The accusations came as a shock to the elite blogging community. C. Gallo has long-been touted as an advocate for Android users with restricted emoji access, and is admired by many for her lightning-fast text replies.

At the time this article was written, C. Gallo was not available for comment.

The disturbing truth about Galloblog’s readers

MOST OF THEM ARE MALE CHAUVINIST WEIRDOS!

.. This excludes my fb fam, of course … !

So I wrote this post a while back that was fairly straight-forward – I simply took a classic example of an article written for women that teemed with sickening fawning over the female sex and derision toward the male sex. Then, I changed the pronouns so that my lady readers would “woke” and realize that the way we talk about ourselves – especially in relation to men – is often very offensive.

Anyway – it’s one of my only posts that could be considered an “evergreen.” That is – I actually still consistently get daily hits from rando interwebbers on this blog post, even though it died a quick death in fb world.

Today I was looking over the search terms that people use to find my blog, and the overwhelming majority of them are “unknown search terms.”

galloblog_searchterms_pie — I usually make up my own data and facts for this blog, but this is for real. Hot of the press! Pie chart made in excel LIKE A BOSS!

But of that small minority of search terms that were actually registered, I was alarmed to find out that almost everyone coming to my page is a creepy male supremacist!

galloblog_table3 — Also real search terms, I promise. Also note these quantities represent 10,000 😉 Also note I praise-handed the terms that I actually want to lead people to my blog 😀

Y’all… I don’t know what to do. My only kinda-long-term-successful post is driving traffic to Galloblog from…. the Milo Yiannapoulos fan club?!?

If you are reading this because you want to woman-hate, move it along. Also, I’m not patheric, YOU ARE! Lolzzzz

Alarmedly yours,

Galloswag

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

I’m sorry if you were expecting an actual point or conclusion to this. This was about as “about nothing” as I’ve ever posted. But holy moly! What hath Galloswag wrought?

Reflections on one of (the?) best date(s) ever

I wrote this post a while ago and chickened out before I posted it. Now that I have some distance from it, I realized it is still pure gold. Also, I needed to re-read it *laughs nervously*

***********************************************************************************

I went on a date last night. I realize it’s a terrible idea to tell the entire interwebs about it, but I have so many thoughts and feels about it, I truly don’t care.

To begin – the date activities were downright classy. In the current “ambiguous hangout” culture, it’s refreshing to be treated like an adult woman with value. Actually, the whole experience made me realize how long it’s been since I’ve felt truly valued and – excuse me for getting vuln here – almost made me want to cry. He picked me up. He used the D word beforehand – but also made it clear he wasn’t necessarily expecting this to be the start of a long relationship – so I wasn’t confused about what he was thinking. He told me how fancy-pants he was going to be, so I didn’t have to worry about embarrassing myself by dressing too down or too up. It may seem small, but it’s really considerate to eliminate so much random stress and angst with clear communication.

Then the date itself – I don’t think I’m off base to say he was excited to be out with me and thought I looked attractive. I felt attractive. He was flirty and affectionate without assuming a false romanticism (one of my pet peeves). He asked me about myself and seemed genuinely interested in my answers. He wasn’t intimidated by my PhD and research, but he didn’t fetishize it, either (if anyone ever says “talk nerdy to me,” that’s my cue to split and Uber myself back to the hizzle). He was obviously very smart and had a good career going, but he wasn’t arrogant about it.

Beyond that – we just had a connection. I know that’s cliché, but it’s true. He’s one of the very few people I could imagine having a deep convo with but still be able to laugh uproariously about something ridiculous. So many men I meet 1) immediately launch into convincing me we’re perfect for each other and should formalize our relationship as soon as possible, 2) seem like they’re trying to figure out how well I fit into their life, worldview, social scene, etc. but aren’t interested in my life, worldview, social scene, or 3) they treat me like their bro who they’re kinda sorta attracted to. But he didn’t try to point out everything we had in common, or ask probing questions to determine if I would put up with his video game all nighters, and we didn’t meet up at Chipotle. He treated me like.. a(n attractive) person … who he was getting to know. Cray!

You may be thinking, “Congrats! What’s the prob?” Well, to my great chagrin, we have deeply incompatible worldviews. One part of me wants to push that to the side and take it day by day. But y’all, this is where I need to put my money where my mouth is, so to speak. I either have faith or I don’t. As much as my poor little heart is a little ache-y right now, my brain and my heart both remember how miserable it is to date someone who (directly or indirectly) discourages my faith. So I can’t. Or more accurately, I won’t. As the sassy Jane Eyre said –

“I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and not mad—as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate they shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth—so I have always believed; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane—quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot.”

woman-2842670 — I doubt Jane Eyre would approve of this shoe choice, but PLANT THOU FOOTSIES! (pixabay image, not an actual gallofoot)

This is probably frustrating to read. If this was a movie I’d be super pissed that this was the ending. “Why even tell us this?!” Because, with all my snarky criticisms and womansplaining related to dating and men, I wanted to spend at least one post not being glib or sarcastic or bossy, but just real.

I also want the world to know that the type of date I described above is **not** out of fashion.

Single Brochachos I strongly encourage you: if you don’t get excited about being out with a woman, or if you don’t find yourself wanting to create a date that makes her feel valued, then do yourself both a favor and release her to find someone who does.

Single Sischachas I strongly encourage you: if your man doesn’t consistently make you feel valued, honored, and special… move it along.

Final point- it’s okay to appreciate something for what it was, even if it didn’t have the perfect rom-com ending. I loved that date, and I’m so thankful for it.

I’m also thankful to all of you for enduring this embarrassing amount of over-sharing. Promise I’ll go back to being glib and sarcastic very soon. ❤

************************************************************************************

PLEASE NOTE: I wrote a post a while back with some similar elements, and it really ruffled some feathers. Not trying to stir the pot, just sharing my thoughts/feels.. that’s what blogging is for, yo. If you are seriously offended plz message me about it. *smooch*

I’ll be pretty when I’m dead

When I was a wee sprout, I read this story about two princes who were both given fancy-shmancy jackets by the King (their Pops). Their one charge was to take care of the jackets. The two princes then encounter various catastrophes throughout their day. They both see a man with his wagon stuck in the mud. One prince says, “sorry Charlie, getting you out of that mud would mess up my fly jacket.” But the other prince rolls up his sleeves and helps the stranded guy, and his jacket is flecked with mud. Later, there is a fire in the village. One prince says, “Not my prob,” but the other runs in a burning house and rescues people, and his jacket is burnt with holes. And more things like this happen, and one prince keeps his jacket clean while the other one almost completely destroys his. At the end of the day, the King is outraged that the one prince has really effed up his jacket, but then the townspeople come forward and explain all that he did to help them. The king learns that the jacket was destroyed not through carelessness or disrespect, but through care and respect for others. Then the king publicly honors the ruin’t jacket prince and shames the immaculate-jacket prince for his selfishness.*

prince-2974392_1280 — I always imagined that the princes were a tad older than this, but one must work with free stock images available to us 😀

The moral of the story, I think, was about value. Yes, the jackets were snazzy and deserved to be cared for. But one prince (rightly) saw that living a life worth living necessitated messing up his jacket.

This is a very long intro to something I’ve been thinking about lately, especially in my grisly old age.

TRYING TO BE BEAUTIFUL WHEN YOU’RE AN AGING WOMAN IS THE WORST.

Think about it – what’s valued in women, beauty wise? Wrinkle free and soft skin is sexy. Having no extra body fat anywhere (EXCEPT in the “right” places, of course) is sexy. Pretty nails are at least.. appreciated, even if they aren’t sexy per se. Grey hair is not really acceptable, much less valued, until you are at least 65. Etc. etc .etc.

What’s valued in men? Wrinkles are fine. Rough hands are sexy. Muscles are sexy. Pretty nails are *not* sexy, imo. Grey foxes are sexy. Etc. etc etc.

I’m not just trying to say “beauty standards for women are unfair!” Plenty o’ people have already said that. My point is that the more men live their lives and DO STUFF, the more sexy they become. But for women, the more we live active lives, the less sexy we become.

To achieve the perfect beauty regimen, women should do nothing but lounge around in a spa. They shouldn’t do anything with their hands so they’ll stay soft and our nails won’t get janky. We shouldn’t go outside in any weather that’s too cold, or our skin will dry out. Too windy, we’ll get wind-chapped. Too sunny, and we’ll get wrinkles. And to maintain our 900 calories/day to keep up our prepubescent figures, we should be practically comatose. Oh, and we probably shouldn’t do any real work so we don’t accidentally get real functional muscles.

Pffftttttt.

I would like to propose to women everywhere that we think about our looks like the prince did his jacket. Should we abuse it just to abuse it? No. There’s no honor in binge drinking or refusing to exercise. But… am I going to refuse to go hiking on a sunny day or do science lab work (it’s very rough on the hands, tbh) or do anything remotely stressful so that I can make sure my skin doesn’t wrinkle, my hands don’t get rough and calloused, and my hair doesn’t gray?

“Fooie patooie” – C Galloswag

Naw. Let’s live our lives, ladies, and let the hands roughen, the wrinkles deepen, and the hairs grey. So what if the sleeping beauties are more beautiful than us? The Prince Charmings can have ’em. I’ll be fighting communism with Prince Janky-Jacket 😉

Sleeping-Beauty-Diet — How to be beautiful: lay around and do nothing, ever.

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*I read this story over 20 years ago, so I’m basically making up all the details. But this was essentially what happened 😀

In search of chill

It has come to my attention that I have no chill. Especially when it comes to social media. I want to post every hilarious* thought I have. I want to document every good hair day with a tasteful selfie. I want to share every inspirational quote that bolsters my spirits. I want to declare my eternal love to my family members on the reg. I want to share all the beauty I come across in my otherwise very ugly day**. I refer to myself as Galloswag. Galloswag!! No. chill.

If you’ve read any of my other posts.. or you’re my fb friend or follow me on ig… you’re probably thinking, “Tell me something I don’t know, sister.” yeah yeah yeah. But what you may *not* know is that almost every time I post something, I’m filled with self-loathing.

Srsly. I genuinely admire people who barely use social media. There’s something just.. cool.. about someone who can get a promotion or go to a lit concert or win free tickets on the radio and *not* feel compelled to make sure everyone remotely connected to them knows about it.

I always assume people with social media chill aren’t posting much because their lives are so gangster they don’t have time to bother with us low-lifes who are posting a filtered picture of a misshapen green bean that came out of their can at lunch.

So anyway. I say all this because — in my typically non-chill fashion — I feel the need to declare to you all that I’m going to try to be more chill. Leave a little mystery to my life. If I’m overhwhelmed by the hilarity of my own thoughts, I will text it to someone specific. Or, just treasure in my own heart how funny I am. Same with my accomplishments.. good hair days etc…. all of that stuff just suddenly seems… like none of your bus-nass.

Alsooooo, begging a friend to be my designated “keeper of the fb pw” has greatly reduced my obsessive-compulsive fb checking / posting. So if you want to jump on the chill surf board, I suggest relinquishing control of your social media accounts for a while to give yerself a chance to “reset.”

Aren’t I cool rn??? You don’t even have to answer. I don’t need you, interweb world! HA!

Forever yours– even tho I’m cooler than you,

~Gallochill

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*Hilarious to me. I realize some of you may think my jokes are lame. I say to you then: UNFRIEND ME RN YOU SOULLESS HUMORLESS OGRE

**Srsly, y’all should see what I do for my day job. Nm, you really shouldn’t. Especially if you work for PETA. O_O

No one likes a petty-pooper

Before I get started, I must apologize for the title. I really struggled with this one, y’all. Sometimes the clever muse is not with me. 😥

I have had a *most* difficult time lately not being petty. The word petty is derived from the French word, “petit,”* which simply means “small.” And that’s really what pettiness is – letting yourself get upset over small, unimportant things. Things like..

…when that girl suggested that my romantical woes might be linked to my minimal make-up, or in other words “maybe you ugly?” **

…or when that fb friend kept on passive-aggressively liking the comments of someone I was arguing with on the interwebs…

… or when that family member shares a million memes per day but never shares my blog posts…

You get the point. As embarrassing as it is to admit, all of these are examples of things that have legitimately bothered me IRL in the past year. Frankly, I’m beginning to think my tendency to be preoccupied with these small offenses isn’t just lamé, it’s evil.

I said it! EVIL.

Mean-Girls — Pettiness probably peaks in high school, amiright? (stolen from a rando blog, who probably stole it from someone else — PLEASE DON’T BE PETTY AND SUE ME!)

If that seems a little extreme, hear me out. In his book The Good Samaritan Strikes Again, Patrick McManus proposes a theory that, although it’s almost been 20 years since I read the book, permanently lodged itself into my brainz because it was so brilliant.

I have this theory that people possess a certain capacity for worry, no more, no less. It’s as though a person has a little psychic box that he feels compelled to keep filled with worries. When one worry disappears from the box, he immediately replaces it with another worry, so the box is always full. He is never short of worries. If a new crop of worries comes in, the person sorts through the box for lesser worries and kicks them out, until he has enough room for the new worries. The lesser worries just lie around on the floor, until there’s room in the box for them again, and then they’re put back in. They’re welcomed by the worries that have been in the box all the time: “Hi, guys! Good to have you back. Boy, you should have seen the duds that just left. And they had the nerve to call themselves worries!” – Patrick McManus

We can only concern ourselves with so much. There’s an opportunity cost to pettiness – every time I choose to latch onto small things that nick my pride and hurt my feels, I sacrifice an opportunity to latch onto big things. Big things.. like the feels of others.

Seriously – that is the golden rule, is it not?

So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets. – Jesus, in Matthew 7:12

So there is a silver lining in all of this— I already have a breathtaking ability to latch onto small details, and an exquisite sensitivity to what might be offensive or rude! Imagine – just imagine! – if I channeled this for other people! What if I started noticing when other people were uncomfortable and did small things to help them relax? What if I realized when I was being a rude arse and apologized before it became a big deal?

But my worry box is only so big. So if I’m all wrapped up in myself – completely tuned into how I feel, and whether or not I’m offended, and all other things me me me, I have zero capacity to focus on anyone besides myself.

So yas. It’s not a small thing to be petty. I have to choose, I s’pose. It’s me or all of you.

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*I just made this up, but it’s probably true. Ask the google machine, if you DARE!

**I wish I made that up, but it’s true. Don’t.. be… petty…

AUTOINTERVIEW: Renowned blogger shares her most intimate secrets with herself, and then you

This isn’t me (or is it…????) but…. close enough (pixabay free image)

Believe it or not, Fall 2017 marked the passing of wee lil’ Galloblog from infancy into toddlerhood. In a belated celebration of 1 delightful year* of Galloblog’s astounding profundity and comedic brilliance, I wanted to check in with the mastermind of it all- Dr. Galloswag herself. After much coaxing and bribery, I convinced the shy, modest she-genius to open up about her hopes and dreams, blogging philosophy, recent felony conviction**, and more!

Q. You often begin your blogs with stories that lead into your main point. Are these all real stories?

A. Ha, well- usually. Sometimes my stories are mash-ups of my own experiences and the experiences of my friends. Or sometimes if something happened to me, I’ll write about it as if it’s a general phenomenon, or it happened to one of my friends — you know, just to give me a false sense of privacy. 😀 😀 😀

Q. Why do you write about being single so much? Are you desperate?

A. Wellll the answer to this question is two-fold. One, I write about singleness, dating, and relationships in probably less than half of my posts – but no one reads those. So the posts that actually register on your news feed are more likely to be the romantically-themed posts, because you nosy bastards are more likely to react, comment, share etc. those. I’m not obsessed, YOU ALL ARE OBSESSED. Two, I do like to write about being single – especially as a Christian, conservative (in a Rand Paul way), smarty-pants, late-twenties female in the south. I think it’s one of the few topic areas that I may actually have something unique and original to contribute. I care about many, many other things – politics, fitness, travel, black bean brownie recipes – but all of those topics have been covered ad nauseam in bloggo world. I also like to think young females ~10-15 years younger than me may read my stuff and be inspired to avoid the absurd, idiotic situations I’ve gotten myself into. I suppose I see myself as a potential interweb big sister. Looks out into the distance heroically

Q. If you could have dinner with three people, who would it be?

A. Easy! Brandon Sanderson (the best sci-fi/fantasy author in the worrrrllllldddd!!), Jimmy Fallon, and Tim Keller (duh).

Q. Why do you blog about your faith so much? Do you fancy yourself a priestess or something?

A. Ahh, no. BUT, one of the many reasons I like to write about my faith is because although there are so so so many blogs about Christianity – especially written by women for women – they all take themselves so golly-derned seriously. I think it may be good for the world to know that there are Christian women out there who love Jesus and have struggles and sometimes feel inadequate and blah blah blah, but can also snort-laugh at themselves and aren’t constantly indulging in spiritual navel-gazing.

Q. Which posts are you most and least proud of?

A. All my blogs are my little thought-babies, so it’s hard to pick. Hmm although it was not the most popular by any means, one of my favorite posts is Chronic smoker grateful for support of Alternative Health Community. No one really got it besides my mom, but I think it’s one of those posts that “those with ears to hear” will hear. As for my least favorite, the one and only post I have removed was about “The Honest PhDs Resume.” It was too pouty and negs, and I didn’t want potential employers finding it.

Q. How long will Galloblog blaze on?

A. For as long as I get kicks and giggles from it. My only rule for this blog is that the content has to flow from my brainz to my fingerz to the interwebz to your brainz like an easy, smooth, riviere des mots. As soon as I start stressing about it or feel stilted when I try to write stuff, this sucker is going down to Chinatown.

Q. What’s your biggest hope for Galloblog?

A. That John Crist will read it and fall in love with my mind, and then stalk me on social media and fall in love with my strong selfie-game, and then fly me out to LA to be his life comedy partner. ❤

With that, Galloswag jumped out of her chair, sprinted across the room and out the window to fight fascism, unrealistic beauty standards for women, and gluten.

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*.. and a few months.. I wrote this post out with pen and paper a loooong time ago at a coffee shop and forgot all about it.. whoops

**Content removed at Gallolawyers request.