What's it all about?

It's been over two years and 500+ posts (I know!) since I launched this blog. I do believe it's time to spread it all out on the floor and take a good look at what I've got here.

I like to blog. Qualifier: I like to blog... when I have something to write. Otherwise, it's like the homework assignment from hell: the report was assigned three months ago, it's due next week, and I haven't started yet. Not that I have decades of experience with procrastination or anything, mind you.

I know this assignment is self-imposed and no one really cares if I post, but that doesn't seem to matter. I actually have four blogs, but this is the only one that gives me the guilts. Why don't my other blogs cause me as much grief?

My theory: The other blogs are about 'something'; a cooking/eating blog, a family blog, and a meta-blog/directory kind of thing. There's a topic and a focus that usually makes it pretty easy to figure out what I need to say next, even though I don't do it nearly often enough.

But this blog? Well, I wanted it to be a humor blog, where my heretofore-undiscovered gift for turning the wackiness of my life into compelling, quirky stories would be magically revealed. People would fall in love with my tales and tell their friends. Word would spread and I would become one of Those Bloggers, the ones that everyone knows. I would be asked to write for other blogs, and maybe even find myself cranking out a magazine article or two....

OK, so the whole Gift thing didn't quite work out, but I did find some stuff to write about and even learned a little about my limits and abilities in the process. No big. I could just keep doing what I'm doing. It's fun. S'all good. No big. Yadda yadda yadda.

But somewhere along the way, something happened. Life settled down. And what happens when the well of dysfunction runs dry? It sounds pretty much like this: Pheeeewwwwwwww.... < -- (insert stereotypical loss-of-turgidity sound here.)

Rest assured, it's not that I'm no longer dysfunctional, it's just that my life seems to have finally fallen somewhat into place. There's no longer a ginormous angst-fueled engine of turmoil and discontent fueling my fuck-it-all-to-hell attitude.

Apparently that doesn't leave me a lot to write about. As you've probably noticed.

Lack of inspiration aside, the biggest eye-opener is the stats. Out of my dozen or two daily visits, do you want to know what my most-read post is, the one that brings the most traffic to my site through Google searches? Check it out.

Is that really the best I've got to offer? More than anyone wanted to know about fucking plarn? Really? It's a lot like putting on your new dark-wash stretch bootcut jeans and cute new top and thinking yeah, the jeans may be plus-size, but you still look pretty hip for an old broad... only to catch sight of your reflection somewhere and realize that in fact, you look like every other nondescript, graying, fifty-something mom out there with too much junk in the trunk. And even worse, you used the word 'hip' to describe yourself. And do the kids even say 'junk in the trunk' anymore? Not that that's ever happened to me... I'm just guessing what that oddly specific scenario might feel like, is all.

Anyhooze, my attempts at brilliant wacky weirdness apparently pale in comparison to the mysteries of crocheting things out of cut up grocery bags. Although this week someone did find me by searching for the phrase 'cooter game' -- that's encouraging, isn't it?

Long story not short enough, I'm fumbling around for a focus here. It may take awhile, but you're welcome to hang and see what happens.

In the words of an inordinately large number of ER visitors, "Hold my beer and watch this!"
 

Blinding me with science

Hey niblets, I know I've been lax in the posting department, but it's better that I'm writing nothing that trying to come up with something when there's nothing there, ya know? But that's a topic for another day.

While I reach deep into the barrel of my imagination and feel around the sludge in the bottom to see if there's anything of value left, please enjoy proof that Bounty is the baddest p.t. in the county.

Word.



Hoot hoot!

Note: I received no compensation for posting this. I wish I did -- I heart me some Select-a-size Bounty.
 

Today's Daily Photo of the Day

"Well, it's a little small, but it's clean and the price is right. I'll take it!"
 

You want me to WHAT?

Meet Sweetie, a 3.5 year old retired racing greyhound. You can't see in this pic, but she's a lovely brindle with white on her chest and her back feet.

She lived in a foster home for about two weeks and her foster mom said she did fine on the stairs, no problem! Welll... methinks someone was pumping serious sunshine up my skirt. That's 60 pounds of drooling, quivering dogmeat up there.

She's trying, though. Mr. B has only had to carry her down once so far.

BTW, she adores Mr. B. I totally get that.
:)
 

I said it's alright, dammit!

If y'all are anything like me -- and I'm guessing you are -- then I'm suspecting you could use a little attitude adjustment about now. I'm predicting this will do the trick.

Be sure to turn your speakers up REALLY LOUD, 'k?



Mmmm... that's good stuff, ain't it?

I know I posted it before, back in the days of Friday's Rock!, but I just had to share it again. After not hearing it for months, I've heard it three times this week already. It's a sign! I still think it's my favorite Zeppelin song.

BTW, why isn't it Friday yet??
 

Cooter rooter to the rescue

So anyhooze, I finally found a new doctor and went to see her and learned that I have to have a proCEEdure. I don't want to have a proCEEdure, especially one that involves general anesthesia and my lady parts and stirrups. Not the fun kind of stirrups, either.

I'm very, very lucky it's nothing scary -- more preventative than anything else -- but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Even the prescription the doc gave me today for post-op happy pills and the prospect of three days off work isn't enough to completely quench my urge to jump up and down and flap my hands and whine like a three year old, 'cause it's going to be gross and I don't want to doooo it!

But do it I will. If everything goes as advertised, my understanding is that the cramping and bleeding and -- gulp! -- seepage will be well worth it.

Mmmmm, seepage. Now there's an evocative and underused word. Hey, anyone up for egg drop soup?
 

Attitude of gratitude

In honor of Mr. B's upcoming birthday, here's a top ten list of why he's the best.

• His birthday is not on my ex-anniversary. It's the day before, which eliminates all sorts of emotional awkwardness for me.


• Our taste in reading material is eerily similar -- a huge cost-saving measure.


• He can change the lightbulbs in most of the ceiling fixtures without a ladder.


• His family of origin is about as close as mine. Let's just say we enjoy minimal in-law follies.


• His follow-through percentage is just a tad lower than mine, allowing me to act all high and mighty like I'm the conscientious one.


• He doesn't mind loading and unloading the dishwasher.


• He'll eat my mostly-vegetarian cooking without complaining.


• He can handle a drain snake like nobody's business.


• He's a lot handier than he thinks he is.


• He always knows the answer.

OK, the last one is a cheat, an inside joke from decades past. But I have anecdotal evidence that it's true. More on that later.

In other news, I know my posting has been less than... regular lately. I've decided I must embrace my seasonal shortcomings and have declared February to be Let Myself Off The Hook Month. I hereby vow I will shower, dress, make sure the family is fed, pay the bills, and show up at work during February, but everything else is iffy. I expect to rejoin society in about a month.

Anyone else struggle in February, or is it just me?
 

Marketing fail

From my Facebook page this morning.



It's not like they don't know my age. WTF, FB?

Excuse me, my bowels just moved.
 

Parenting fail

I got brave and exercised my stealth cell phone photography skills this weekend. I could not pass this up.



What a touching scenario... a family gathered around a patient at the hospital... no, wait a minute, this was the piercer's station at the tattoo shop*.

When they left, it looked like a dad, two young (barely teen?) girls -- one on the table, one holding her hand -- and the little boy. I have no idea what she was having pierced, but it was below the chest. I only hope to hell it was her navel.

What in the hell was that little boy doing in there???

* No, I have no new body mods to report. Just stopped by to get my nose piercing checked.
 

In the mirror

I unsubscribed from one of my (formerly) favorite blogs recently. I fought it as long as I could, but you see, there was this one day and this one post and I just couldn't take it any more.

The decision didn't come lightly -- I tend to be pretty loyal to my blog list. I'd been reading that blog for probably two years. When I first signed on, this blogger wrote about his/her kids and his/her spouse (yes, I'm being intentionally vague) and the perils of parenting, and other personal issues. It was funny and crass and irreverent, with lots of swearing, just they way I like it. It was a real homespun kind of blog; no pretensions, just sayin' it like it was, balls and all.

Then, last year the book was published and a new book begun. Posts dropped way off, but I can totally understand that; shit happens, you know? I certainly have no right to tell anyone they're not posting enough. (snort!)

The problem was when the posts did come. Every word was agonized over to provide maximum impact, every drop of spontaneity squeezed out. I don't know enough about writing to be able to explain it in real words, but I'm guessing you can see what I'm saying. The language became so contrived that it was too embarrassing for me to read, and that's saying a lot.

Worst part is, I totally get that contrived thing. After my first Nano I spent way too much time reading about the craft of writing and learning all the horrid newbie mistakes you should NEVER EVER MAKE, and in the process I pretty much paralyzed myself into a Grade A Writer's Block. Even now, I am pretty confident that I edit the life right out of just about everything I write.

And that's probably why I couldn't handle reading the blog any more -- couldn't stand the awkwardness from seeing myself in that mirror.

The day came when I realized the suckage outweighed the amusement and I clicked the 'unsubscribe' button.

And I've been afraid to post ever since.