I DID, in fact, eat all 12 of those donut holes.
And I did it with élan, and perhaps even a touch of verve. And yes, I chewed slowly, with a smug, even condescending smirk, blatantly ingesting empty, meaningless calories in full view of everyone.
Well, when I started this blog, I actually thought I would blog. On it. Frequently. That I would join the ranks of the witty, scathing satirists and snarkophiles, my URL getting ladeled over blogrolls across the interwebs with great abandon. Yes, people would come to my blog, and they would comment, and give me one of those virtual noogies or a punch in the shoulder about just how great that last post was, and really, why haven’t you written a book yet because you’re just that damn good/funny/charming/obnoxious? I’d get a bunch of trackbacks and tweets with those wierd tiny urls. Fawning posts on other blogs about how they were gonna blog about this or that, but Cheeze already did it, and really, just go read his post instead of mine. Yes, you can almost see the little sparkles in my eyes as I gaze off, slightly up and to the left at that classic angle, fingers curved and set lightly under my chin, with a vague, distant smile as I let it all play out in my head.
Well, when I started this blog, I didn’t plan on having all my internal organs ripped out and replaced with radioactive sand. But I digress.
I’m still trying to come to grips with this whole separation thing. Some days I’m all self-righteous and angry about what SHE is doing TO me, and then next I’m all melancholy and angsty, wondering what it was I did to make this happen. And then I’m back with the, “I’ve done so much, tried so hard, how come it’s never enough?!?” Only to cycle over into picking over every mistake, holding it up, looking at it in great, morose detail, then smashing myself in the forehead with it over and over again.
It’s hard not to write about something when it’s consuming your life, but I really don’t want this to turn into a whinging ooh-I’m-getting-divorced blog. Because, yeah, THAT’S the way to keep your customers coming back for more! Now with even MORE 13-year-old emo drama in every bite! Ga’ak.
Is there an apostrophe in “Ga’ak?” Gaak? Probably not, eh?
So, how about those debates, eh? Romney really brung it, right? I didn’t actually see either one, but I’ve read a lot of blog posts about them, so that’s pretty much the same thing. I honestly don’t understand how Obama is still in the running for anything other than the guy who wipes down the chrome on your car after you take it through the car wash. Considering what a hash he’s made of our economy, our national prestige, and just about everything else he’s touched, I’da thought even the Democrats could have run somebody against him and won. But no, it looks like the cult of Obama is a strong as ever.
Now if only my marriage had that kind of staying power. Damn. Did it again. Sorry.
I fear that my chosen means of dealing with the stress will be food, and I will balloon myself up to 200 pounds. Because THAT’S what a woman want in her man. Uncontrolled obsessive eating. Not that it matters at this point, DOES IT?! NO! A LITTLE LATE NOW, ISN’T IT?!
Crap. Gotta quit that.
So, yeah, elections coming up. Got my absentee ballot. No, you don’t get to know where I live. I plan to be an informed voter and actually research all the candidates in my local election, even though I haven’t actually lived in my “home” states for eight years. No, you don’t get to know that either. Okay, it’s Washington state. But that’s it. That’s all you get.
I have a sort of cynical attitude towards absentee ballots. I figure their like some sort of consolation prize, or the trophy that everyone gets these days at the end of the soccer season, so that you can feel like you actually participated, even though everybody knows they don’t actually count for shit. Kind of like everything I’ve tried to do in my MARRIAGE for the last 17 YEARS!
Heavy sigh. My sincerest apologies. I guess I really do need to go have a quiet time somewhere. Maybe have a few drinks. Mellow out a bit. Because, I mean, after all it doesn’t matter if I drink NOW, DOES IT, HONEY?! DOES IT?!
I don’t really consider myself much of a fanboy. I don’t get all wrapped up in sports stats, who gets traded to whom. Musicians as a whole leave me pretty, “Meh.” I love to listen to their music, but the thought of meeting one of them doesn’t really fill me with stars-in-the-eyes superstar giggles.
Bloggers, now? Yeah. THAT gets me moist.
I don’t know why it is, but I have “followed” or read some of the more prolific bloggers for about as long as we’ve had blogs. Yes, you obstreperous young pups, there was a time before blogs when all we had were newsgroups and BBS’s. Shut up.
I’ve had a lot of my favorite writers/bloggers move on to other things, perhaps something as simple as realizing that blogging conflicted with things like job and family, and so they rather irrationally opted to pursue the latter at the expense of their little slice of bloggery fame. Go figure.
Anyway, so when I go over to Rachel Lucas’ blog, and leave a comment, and then she actually responds to me, specifically, in person, THEN, oh yes, I get all stupid giggly like a tweener at a Bieber concert, and OHMAGOSHOHMAGOSHOHMAGOSH did you see?! He looked right at ME! And He smiled! OMG I think I just DIED!1!!1!!!111!
Yeah. It’s kinda like that.
Don’t know why. Rachel seems like just a generally awesome chic, real, down-to-earth, and her simple, honest, engaging style is what makes me love to read her stuff. I’ve read her site since way back, back when she was the “old” Rachel, who then took some crazy haitus, and came back as the new-n-improved Rachel, only to sort of bail again after the whole leaving-the-dogs-and-moving-to-Europe, but then she was BACK, and, ah, life was just a little sweeter again.
Yeah, no, really, nothing creepy here folks, at ALL. Move along, move along.
But, she HAS rather sort of carved out a little niche of her own bloggery fame, and so I guess the thought of someone so well established and well respected in Blogdom to take notice of little ol’ me, well, I guess it does make me a little fanboyish.
Strange as it may seem, my favorite bloggers are my “superstars.” Some people get all bent and slippery about someday meeting their favorite athletes, rock stars, politicians or nuclear physicists, but I guess my heroes are bloggers.
Well, okay, I would probably stand in line, in the rain, for three days to meet Amanda Tapping (LtCol Samantha Carter) from Stargate, but other than that, really, nothing. Okay, maybe I lied a little there. Richard Castle. I’d gleefully knife a guy in the kidney to get behind the rope and shake hands with Nathan Fillion, on whom I’ve had a bit of a completely hetro man-crush since first mainlining Firefly directly into my carotid artery several years ago.
But, as bloggers go, I’d probably stutter and stammer like a school girl meeting Brad Pitt if I ever got to meet Ms. Lucas.
I’m thinking Jeff Goldstein of Protein Wisdom would be cool to meet as well. And LeAnn is slowly moving up my list of stalker favorites. I guess after you spend so much time reading and “spending time” with these people, you start to feel like you actually know them. It’s a wierd sort of vicarious relationship. I remember very clearly two different times when one of my favorite, long-term bloggers died. I’d go to their site, and someone from their family or a friend had logged on and posted the news that they’d passed on. Both times it was like a punch in the gut, because it really felt like I’d lost a friend. Sure, they didn’t know me from Adam, but I knew THEM, and that’s why it hurt.
So I guess maybe that’s why sometimes I feel like the nerdy kid at school whose biggest achievement is to be noticed by one of the “popular” kids, who, much to your surprise, turns out to be just a normal joe instead of jerky jock, and shazam, you actually get to know them as a person, and wow, it’s kinda cool to hang out with him (or her) and sort of soak up a little bit of their social status for a while.
And yes, maybe, despite your best efforts at self control, you let out a little, high-pitched “SQUUEEEE” of delight.
Not that I, of course, would ever do anything like that. Much. Very often.
AND…AND…AND….Frothing Mouse linked me! In the Blogroll!
“THE PHONE BOOKS ARE HERE! THE PHONE BOOKS ARE HERE!”