I killed the jam

What I did: ran out of ideas. 

What I did beforehand: 13 days of blogging every day. 

Having toast and jam for lunch.

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) November 13, 2015

What I wore: pajamas, then Sweaty Betty yoga pants, then riding clothes, then jeans, because it was one of those days.

My friend S. and her horse R.

Who went with me: Schwartz, then my Pilates teacher, then my friend S., then the dogs

http://schwartzville.tumblr.com/post/153238682492/peanut-butter-peanut-butter-peanut-butter-peanut

 

How I stopped writing my feelings about the election: ^A then ^X

The last slice gets all that is left, and is responsible for tidying up any extra butter or jam on the plate. pic.twitter.com/RB8QBgp4l4

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) September 14, 2016

Why I ran out of ideas: 19 likes to talk about infinity, and I believe that our universe is fundamentally finite, even if it is comprised of two trillion galaxies. In a finite universe, I do not have infinitely many ideas.

Managing my anxiety about being able to leave on time with toast and jam

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) March 31, 2016

Where I sat: kitchen barstool, driver’s seat, pilates reformer, driver’s seat, saddle, driver’s seat, kitchen barstool

TODAY'S TOAST AND JAM BROUGHT TO YOU BY MONDAY, DREADED WORKDAY & HARBINGER OF TUESDAY pic.twitter.com/8TYDeKinRP

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) March 21, 2016

Things that were sad: after my post about bread a few days ago, several people who work or ride at the barn where I go pointed out that because they work out of the other side of the barn they never get any of the bread that I bring. In the interest of fairness I decided to bake some more this week and take half to one side and half to the other side. As a result, someone who especially enjoys the bread noticed that I had brought less to their side, and wondered why there wasn’t more. 

Things that were funny/not funny: I got nothing here. Zilch. Nada. Niente. Nenio. Rien. Zip. Zero. Zot.

"Oh. Hey. That's my jam." #overheard #hotel #breakfast

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) October 12, 2014

Oh, wait. S. reminds me there were loose dogs in the woods. The first charged us. Alone, and quite separate from its owner, it barked aggressively. Hado stood quietly, as did S.'s horse. The dog's owner called its name with irritation in her voice, offering cookies. We got no apology, and congratulated ourselves for not letting our horses kill the dog with a swift kick to the head. 

Something I ate: peanut butter and jelly on freshly made semolina bread. This was when I killed the jam. 

Hey! Ants in the sink:
Was it jelly on the knife
Or peanut butter?#haiku#why pic.twitter.com/XIdcZ7Jgzl

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) August 8, 2016

What it is: time to walk the dogs

Shadow Selfie with dogs

Who should see it: come back tomorrow. You never know.

Hot, buttery toast,
Will you be more delicious
Topped with cherry jam?#toast #love #haiku

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) October 30, 2013

What I saw on the way home: dead mouse

I have resting bitch face

What I saw: I was looking at the Bacon Provider’s Twitter mentions and noticed that someone quote-tweeted a selfie he took at a 10K, saying he had the “mightiest RBF in creation.”

mid-80s RBF Bacon Provider

What I did beforehand: I have known since I first heard the phrase in 2012 that I have it. Strange men have shouted at me to smile since I was 15. 

Me with RBF, on left

When I was a kid, photographs were taken by adults, with film cameras, on occasions that warranted documenting, not because it was “Tuesday when I walked my dog,” but more like “Thanksgiving at Grandma’s,” or “when Uncle Nardie was in town.” I viewed adults with suspicion, as they were always making me do things I didn’t want to do, like sit in chairs, be quiet, and eat unappetizing horrors like beets or brussels sprouts. Or they were stopping me from improving my situation, like forcing me to come out from under the table, or get out of that empty cupboard, or put down my stuffed monkey, or keep my shoes on. Adult relatives were these terrible people who knew things about me, like my name and my birthday and where I lived and what I liked to do, and would use this information against me to ask me probing questions, like about my imaginary friend, Cousin Eddy. I had to send Cousin Eddy to college to prevent their further investigations. Adult relatives did invasive things like look at how big I’d gotten, wanted to know what I was drawing, or who I was talking to inside the cupboard, or felt free to touch my face or hug me or pat my hair or sit me on their laps. These were the times when I was photographed as a child. 

Me, learning to smile with RBF

Who went with me: my mother had resting bitch face. And my grandmother. My father had it, too, but, like me, also smiled and laughed easily and looks animated in photos. My mother had an upside-down smile and disliked many or even most pictures of herself.

My RBF mother in high school

How I got tickets: you don’t need a ticket to have resting bitch face. Just stop smiling. Ok, also stop smiling with your eyes. Ok, now, unclench your teeth, without opening your mouth, and squint just a tiny bit, not like a spaghetti-western-squint, just enough that you suggest your secret suspicions. I think you’ve got it now.

My mother might have been smiling here

Why I have resting bitch face: you haven’t said anything funny enough yet.

This RBF baby is my mother

Where I sat: on a wall at the University of Utah, where I was getting an unfunny masters degree in pure mathematics.

mid-80s mathematician with RBF

What I wore: that same long-sleeve black t-shirt and jean skirt and black flats that I wore every day of grad school unless I wore the red skirt which was shorter so I wore tights and short little pointy-toed boots.

Sometimes, your RBF means
you're concentrating
This is a young RBF Bacon Provider

Things that were sad: my husband did not know until yesterday that he has resting bitch face. Today, a communications person told him he needs to smile more, as he is preparing a big speech. 

My mother, her sister & dog with RBF

Things that were funny: this video

Things that were not funny: a lot of good dressage riders get into a zone when they’re riding where they are so focused and relaxed their jaws hang open a little; some people call it “bass face” or “dressage face” but, let’s face it, we should call it “dressage bitch face.” My face will be ready when my riding skills catch up.

Anyway, I expect to be in perpetual RBF mode until the anti-Semites and woman-abusers are out of the White House. 

Something I ate: this isn’t about food, though I've always eaten a lot of breakfast cereal. 

Adults interfering with my happiness

What it is: women do not exist for making you happy, so stop telling them to smile, and stop complaining about someone looking pissed all the time. Maybe they are pissed for a really good reason.

I'm the RBF baby here

Who should see it: people in the public eye should regularly check their mentions, or have someone do it for them. 

Walking my dogs is my RBF happy place

What I saw was his reply: "I never do anything half-way."