Okay, I don’t want you to freak out (all 13 of you) but I’m going out of town.
Seriously! Calm Down!
HEY! Could you at least pretend to give a shit?
I don’t know what side of the fence you are on, but please don’t unsubscribe or drop me because I’m not putting out every morning like I have for the last six months.
AND WordPress just informed me that this is my one-year anniversary of writing this blog. Has it been that long? Just for yucks I looked at my first post ever, my how things have changed.
For one, I went from having no followers to 13. I loves you! I think my first follower was Nina; I remember meeting her at a party and she said she read my blog, which was thrilling. I can’t believe anyone bothered to look at it back then, it read like a seed catalogue with long paragraphs and no fun pictures or links.
But seriously, I’ve been doing this for a solid year and I’m le tired. I need a vacation. Bad.
I won’t be gone forever and I promise to come home soon even though you won’t be seeing as much of me. Or maybe you will. Family reunions can be the inspiring blend of mind-crushing boredom and family dynamics that makes for excellent blogging.
Since Zeb’s family thinks I’m a trollop (the boob job and pole dancing did not help with that one I’m afraid), I can talk as much shit as I want because I doubt any of them read my blog. It’s called making marginalization work for me.
Then there’s that 29 hour road trip. With the kids. And the dog. And my annoying husband. And you know that my healthy living resolve will break down and I’ll end up at Taco John’s at nine in the morning ordering something with extra sour cream because Why the fuck not? I’m on vacation!
And nothing says vacation like a heaping dose of body dysmorphia and self-loathing.
Suffice to say that I won’t be getting rid of anything, unless my house-sitter decides to make some executive decisions in my absence. (Scott, you go right ahead.) But I may or may not be writing, and my posts may or may not arrive in your in-box at 6am sharp, but don’t freak out, Mommy loves you and will be back soon.
If any of you less than savory folks think this would be a good time to boost my shit, think again. It’s a full house, yo. There will be so many people at da crib that I’m kinda glad I won’t be there. Except for Cushie. I am devastated to miss her but at least I can rest easy knowing that her dog will escape from the house go to town on my compost pile, just like in the good old days.
Sorry I can’t cut the crap for you today, I’m too fucking busy getting ready for the trip. I’m also dealing with the inevitable emotional fragility and bickering that comes with the territory when the family gears up for a vacation. I’m too busy to keep the boys exhausted/entertained and they end up fighting non-stop and I end up yelling and it all goes downhill from there.
AND I dropped my car off at the mechanic to get a new strut and alignment but I forgot to fill out the stupid little envelope my key went in so they ended not doing the work and I got all mad like, “Could you have checked your appointment book and asked yourself if that mystery car might have belonged to me, who had an appointment but ‘never showed’ but LOOKIE HERE, SHE HAS THE EXACT SAME CAR AND HERE ARE THE KEYS SO LET’S CALL HER AND SEE!” but now it’s too late to service my car for the trip so I kind of threw a little fit at the very nice mechanic’s office (run by a woman) and then I felt really bad about being such a bitch because I’m mad at myself for fucking up and I had to call back and apologize for blowing all that heavy negative energy onto them and rescheduled for when I get back.
AND I visited the studio of the Dandy Social Club today. I saw a woman walking around Target with the most
amazincredible skirt ever and even though she was on the phone I demanded to know where she got it. It was made locally by a woman named Denise. I found her Etsy site, which is pretty much inactive and after visiting her studio I understood why. So I cyberstalked her until she invited me over.
She makes one-of-a-kind skirts out of repurposed rock t-shirts. Etsy’s too much of a pain because she’d have to list each skirt separately. I don’t know what the solution to her merchandizing is but I was thrilled to visit her studio, dig through scraps of fabric and 80’s rock t-shirts and piece together a custom skirt. She was inspiring and I hope to feature some of her work on this site (and on my body) soon.
Did I mention she has the bitchin’est cat ever? His name is Sunny and I made it to third base with him on the first date. In cat parlance that means face in the cat tummy. No teeth. Swoon.
Even Testiclese got to hold him, which he never does with our snarling bag of bones and fangs.
So while I can’t leave you with a pile of crap I’m kicking to the curb, I can leave you with this image of a shitty parking job on the curb outside my house. Zeb thinks it’s shitty but I do it all the time. Sue me.
Featured image courtesy of: blogs.democratandchronicle.com