Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

Another Lesson.

So we had three showings last week. The first one came while I was writing that last post and that is why it's untitled. Not for some mysterious and insightful reason, 'It is untitled...because my feelings can not have labels'.

No it's untitled because the real estate company called and said, "An agent and her client are in front of your house, can they come in?"

Thankfully I've gotten into the habit of making all the beds and showering first thing in the morning instead of writing all morning in my pajamas showering just to take Max to school. Though about half the time I throw on workout clothes so that I look like I'm always ".....on the go....." I'm on the go if 'on the go' means sitting in my basement painting all the fucking time.

We got out of the house with all our breakfast dishes and also a cocktail shaker from the night before. And a chef's knife I hadn't washed yet. I wish we'd been in an accident because all these items would have been of great concern to rescue workers.

The agent let my agent know that the house is beautiful and her client was excited until he got to the basement. You recall the Bend Over Bar? I've done a lot of work in the basement since that time and it is actually much nicer with organized storage and even a gift wrapping cabinet....yes. But it's still a space with less than average head room, and this client was 6'5". I started to tell the realtor about the Bend Over Bar, maybe her client is gay? But then let it go.

****

Speaking of school. I've said over and over to always write as if the person you don't want to read it will read it. When I wrote this post, I'm not sure why I wanted the people I was referring to to know they'd hurt my feelings when it was so clearly a tiny blip in the universe and also so clearly a direct result of the fear in my head that the world knew I was from a whole lot of crazy.

It's true, sometimes I use my blog to explain things to people I am not entirely fond of. Sometimes I use it to express my true disdain for them. It's true this behavior makes me far from 'nice' but it's also based on some very real and intense hurts from the past and so I don't feel all that badly about that type of thing. Most of the time when I write about someone in unflattering terms I try to leave out identifying details so that I'm not spreading gossip, just sharing my part of the story. Except for the Creepy Long Haired Swinger and I want him to read this site because then maybe he'll leave me alone (actually, in fairness he has been leaving me alone).

I didn't think through the fact that when writing from the viewpoint I had as a 20 year old girl and revealing the identities of the people I was talking about, I was spreading gossip (something I hate more than painting my kitchen cabinets) and also leaving people with an unfair view of these two girls.

Which would have been fine if no one they know were reading my site but it turns out there are a few mothers from the school who read this site. And someone put together my bitchily rhymed names for these girls I had trouble with 13 years ago with a mom from our kid's class and let her know she should read my blog.

And she did and on Thursday night she emailed me to let me know and I explained and apologized and told her how stupid I was. That I could have easily told that exact story without being a bitch and leaving in identifying details. She said she did not remember that incident and also had no idea what had happened to my father and how I'd flailed about in high school. We talked further and she felt kicked in the gut and also a little silly having the mothers from the class corner her to tell her about this. And I'll bet she also felt a little ridiculous having all these women reading a story so clearly about her when she had no idea.

We've talked and she's been incredibly gracious and more kind than she needs to be. She said, "Let's just move on. Don't apologize anymore. You don't need to apologize."

Which I'm trying to do because that's the most gracious anyone's ever been to me in the face of my bitchiness. Well except my friend Andrea and also Logan. And maybe my sister.

But all weekend I worked in the basement painting cabinet doors. It's funny how your kitchen can have so little storage but SO MANY FUCKING DOORS. As I painted I kept churning the whole situation around in my head. I often do this while I scrub the kitchen floor but the house is already so clean I didn't bother.

The fact that these girls had no idea what I'd been through during high school and yet I felt it was so obvious to everyone. I believed everyone knew and had labeled me 'weird'. I thought about how I make myself feel like the star of my own show and believe everyone is constantly watching and judging me. Like when I almost hurled myself off a sailboat and was then so incredibly embarassed and my friend Jean said, "No one thought a thing about it."

The truth is, when you peel back all the layers of popularity and wealth and all of that stuff that is always a part of high school. The truth is I had no friends not because my father killed himself and I was actually happy about that. I had no friends because I was shy and more awkward than I am now. (I know! Not possible! But it is.) I had no friends because I was afraid people would see I wasn't like them.

I had no friends because I was really deeply sad.

The way I felt about that argument that summer at day camp was so much less about what anyone said or did. It was all about how I was seeing it because I believed everyone knew I wasn't like them.

Something else made my stomach churn all weekend. Why would I be such a bitch? Why did I even want these two girls to see what I wrote. I even said it in my original post, "I'm rhyming their names so they won't find it Googling their names. But if they come across it they'll know it was them."

I read it again after hearing from the mom from school and was stunned. Why did I do that?

As I painted yesterday all day and into the night I practiced saying this to myself.

"Sometimes you are a bitch."

That is a really hard thing for me to say because I don't want to be a bitch. I want to be honest with myself. I want to be up front with the people I dislike or who are offensive to me. I want to learn from my past mistakes and remove myself from relationships or situations which make me bitchy.

And still, sometimes I am still just a bitch.

I did it for Asha*.

Max finally went back to school today. Midwinter Break started Feb. 16 and I have been with my kids almost all the time since that point. This has been good because whenever friends have a baby, or whenever Logan talks to Juniper, I start to think, "Gee, maybe I shouldn't have given up after two?"

Then Blam-O! I'm with the kids 24/7, Max's toenail is surgically removed (you can see the Super Silver Toenail here....but only look if you have a strong stomach. I'm warning you.), then he gets a nasty cold and all my money flies out of my pocket and I have to say to myself, "Wow, you really are tapped out at two."

I am better at mothering when we all have a little time on our own.

A couple of weeks ago there was a snow day and I left a playdate (where I did not drink....not even ONE....but I could have if I wanted to let the children perish with my neglect) and had a nice chat with Howard Lovy from the Oakland Business Review.

He recorded what I had to say with a small tape recorder and at one point I blurted out, I don't even remember what, something I really shouldn't have said 'on the record' and we made an agreement....I wouldn't give him The Mirror Treatment if he didn't use that thing I said. So, I'll be gentle.

Now, before we get all, "Stop beating the dead horse! Your horse! It's dead! There are vultures all around it! STOP BEATING IT! You're bitter!"

I was going to say no to this interview because putting my name with anything related to business is a little silly. I once spent a business-ish conference call totally distracted by simultaneous emails daring other call participants to work the word 'balls' into the conversation. (IE: "Well Jane, it certainly sounds like you're juggling a lot of balls!" Or, my favorite, "You've really got a lot of balls in the air there Bob.")

But then I thought, 'I have the Federation to think of'. I'm a team player and if my babbling can draw in Michigan advertisers to the Federation, why not. (PS: Asha is part of the Federation.) Of course I have a feeling Chrysler's not going to be spending a lot of money on blog advertising any time soon (ahem). Or, GM for that matter. But you know, there's other business in Michigan not tied to the auto industry....I know there's some somewhere....and I know they want to reach this amazing audience. I'm sure of it. Mostly.

You can read the article here and see a dazzling picture of me and the kids in the background pretending to be dogs or begging me to stop drinking or worshipping me from afar. I'm not exactly sure what they're doing.

The photographer was here for a while and was absolutely dazzled by my ability to anticipate the shutter on her camera and shut my eyes in preparation. She was very nice about it but my God. Maybe I have narcolepsy?

Two other things about the picture: I swear my hair is not that short. I think it's the angle? Or the fact that I'd just had my hair cut the day before? Also....I used a new eyebrow person and my goodness she likes them thin. Dramatically thin. I'm not so sure, I'm going to poke someone's eye out with that arch I think.

I only need to clarify one point in the article, which is misleading but not because of the author's writing but because I didn't clarify this when speaking to him. When discussing what I make from blogging, I included the income I earn by writing the Buzz Off for AlphaMom.com.

Which is a great tie-in to this late Thursday entry over there. Enjoy!

*I can't link in a title. Asha=ParentHacks.com

It's not you, it's everyone else.

To call me 'incredibly irritable' would be like calling Logan a mere mortal.

There are a lot of things which happen on a daily basis which annoy the living hell out of me. These things annoy me because I expect my fellow human beings to be conscientious and mostly they are not.

My neighbor across the street with the boat stored between his house and garage where the boat looms over the house. The boat isn't the problem, it's not rude...it's just ugly as hell. The problem is this neighbor comes home everyday around 4 o'clock and plays his music. He plays the music so loudly in his very small house that even with his windows and door closed, and with my windows and doors closed I can still hear the throbbing bass through my entire house, even in the basement.

But that's not my only problem, because as I outlined last week no one in this God forsaken neighborhood has a grasp of the idea that sound travels. So at 10pm, if you want to play your piano, maybe you want to shut your windows? Or at 8am if you feel like drumming in the morning, keep it to yourself? Or if you're warming your car up while you're in your house...maybe you don't need to leave your radio blaring? Or at 11pm, if you want to blare xylophone music (what the ever loving hell?)...you should shut your doors and windows?

Other Things Which Happen All The Time and Signify Rudeness To Me But What's the Point of Getting Upset About It Since It Happens All The Time?

I don't know. But I here they are:

I hate when someone waits, just standing there watching their groceries be rung up, and then and only then, once the total is announced they start to dig through their purse to find the checkbook.

I hate people who fly past on the left when they can clearly see the left lane is closing and by doing that, rather than merging, they're making everyone else wait even longer.

Talking in the movie theatre sends me into a rage I can't even describe without considering committing myself to a mental institution.

In essence, you could say I don't like dealing with the general population. I don't like large crowds of people because people annoy me in so very many ways.

Flogging Baby has a lot of readers. Between the google search hits and the AOL links, it's like being trapped in the supermarket with people stalled in the aisles, roaming aimlessly, talking on their phones as loudly as possible and asking 50 times how much the total was again?

The other day as I did some grocery shopping, I looked at all the people in that store and I wondered to myself, 'Would I want to have a conversation with that person? What about that one?'

And, really, I saw six people in the entire market I would want to engage in any type of conversation at all, much less a parenting one.

I presume, if I were to start a conversation with the woman in the U-Scan line with the word "Sexy" written across her ass (hopefully meant in an ironic way)(and don't get me started on the God Damn U-Scan)(Too Late: The sign says, "15 item limit" not "15 point IQ limit"). Where was I?

If I started a conversation with the U-Scan woman about, say, medicating a child on a flight, it's entirely likely she would end up screaming at me about how ludicrous the whole idea is and how anyone who does this should END UP IN JAIL AND HAVE THEIR CHILD TAKEN AWAY.

Because a large portion of the general population is incapable of seeing the plural ways of doing things and that very little we all do in parenting and life is entirely wrong but a whole lot of things are not the way we would choose to do them.

And like I expect people to start to write their check while their groceries are rung up and how I expect there not to even be xylophone music in the world, I also expect people to be kind and respectful in their disagreements. I like to think the world is full of mostly smart people.

Perhaps I've learned to think that because my own website is full of smart people who, even when they disagree are able to either represent their way of thinking in a kind way or mostly not say anything.

Also it seems the people who read this website understand who I am a little more. They may not like who I am (and uh...they keep reading anyway...which would be like me following around the lady in the U-Scan lane being increasingly annoyed at her check writing skills and xylophone rudeness...but okay....) but mostly if you're here you get that I'm sarcastic and I joke a lot and often overstate reality for comedic effect.

But if you ran into me at the supermarket and I was blabbering on and on, you might think: "What the fuck? This woman is so aggravating/stupid/retarded!" and you might start to tell me those things because why am I going on and on about my opinion in the middle of the grocery store.

Do you see? The Flog is the supermarket of my nightmares. I'm just not cut out for it.

And yet it's helped my life so much I can't just shun it. But God, even the most benign things set the people in the Nightmare Supermarket off and the nastiness and the sheer volume I'm trying to keep up with is just. Really not going well. A few weeks ago something I'd hoped would release the pressure on me fell through and has only brought into more glaring focus how I'm unable to do all of this.

I haven't wanted to talk about it because as we all know the surest way to get yourself fired is to blog about your work. But you'll see why then, even the most kindly stated criticisms (though what's with the threats?) of my website's current condition really rile me up. I'm running as fast as I can here.

And, as my friends have learned this week, if you try to help me understand that these criticisms aren't really all that bad, so why are you so upset? I will lash out at you as well because I am upset about it and I just want to be upset about it and I don't know about you but sometimes when you're upset you just really don't want someone to explain to you why you shouldn't be upset.

Not doing it. No.

Today, as I paid for my small basket of groceries, the check out girl said, "You need milk, diet coke and Life cereal? I thought you needed to lose weight?"

Yesterday, at the dentist, he looked at my molars and said, "Your incisors are lovely. Just not overweight like you."

The other day, at the Flog, on an entirely unrelated (to my fucking weight) post about housekeepers and instilling into children a sense of entitlement, "Doesn't cleaning a house burn calories? Don't you need to lose some weight."

So no, since you asked, no I'm not ready to write anything here.

The fortunate thing is I have nothing to say. It's funny though how over half of my 'anonymous' email and 'anonymous' comments come from an SBC/Ameritech ISP. It's starting to make me think all SBC/Ameritech users are unpleasant and unhappy people.

Request:

Thank you all for signing up for a typekey account. I've turned off comment moderation because Logan was a little overwhelmed with the task of approval. I'm leaving Typekey enabled because I think it's a  worthwhile tool.

The only downside I've seen is that sometimes people don't fill out their profile and when you don't I can't tell anything about you from your profile page like, for example, your website address.

This is one of the best ways to get traffic to your site if you're a newish blogger: you leave a comment at someone's site, someone reads your comment and likes it and so they click through to your site. I found at least four of my favorite reads this way.

Plus, I like to read new sites and with Flogging Baby it's kind of my job to read all the parenting blogs my eyes can handle and then a few more. If you can just put at least your website address on your profile I think we'll all benefit greatly.

(Annoying aside: why doesn't my website show up on my own Typekey account? I have a Typepad account but the only options are adding some of my Typelists. What I'd do, what I did actually, is add my web site to the 'one line bio' area of the page.)

We'd also benefit if I could, I don't know, write something here. I'm on it.

Look! I can accept advice!

I couldn't decide if I should turn off comments or leave them up.

I like the interactive nature of the comments and without comments we never would have learned about Moist Pork Panties and I just don't think anyone could live without that.

But on the other hand I just can't accept the nasty comments with grace or aplomb, and you're all right discussing it is kind of a waste of time and just makes the trolls masturbate a little bit harder.

So, I've decided to follow the advice of some nice person and I'm changing my settings (which I wanted to do for a while but couldn't figure out. I'm very smart.) so that you have to have a Typekey account to comment (it takes literally two seconds to set up) and I'm having Logan confirm or delete comments.

So don't send along nasty comments because I won't be reading them. Perhaps someday I'll be able to read the ugly things without having a massive come apart but for now, I'm just not mature enough I suppose.

If this doesn't work out well for us, then I'll just turn off comments all together and you'll just have to email me when you have something to say. I know that's not much fun but one has to protect one's sense of well being you know.

Yes, you can still send me bile via email but most trolls are lazy.

Also, guys? I don't leave for Amsterdam for 13 days and I'm not going to talk about it until I'm there so please stop telling me you're here to read about Amsterdam!

The universe: reacting to trolls with philosophy.

Sometimes I'm just stunned by the universe when things like this happen. This is the fortune Logan got in his fortune cookie last night at his weekly pool league.

Yes, I realize there are women at the pool league. Not to worry I strapped my Man Saving Panties around his head to protect him. He's mine ladies....all. mine. And I am grateful he even came home after wards.

Hey! I thought I was over it but I'm not.

The ironic thing is, Logan is never uncertain about his beauty, he never stops beholding it. But then there's me drowning in self-loathing and doubt and I can't get a fortune cookie like that to save my f-ing life. Life is funny.

I've decided the Internet is having it's period and that is why it's being so bitchy. I was actually sort of surprised at how long the Internet has been kind to me. But then again, the first comment Bethany left about not leaving my husband while I go on vacation because he'd cheat on me, I didn't take as a slam but then it was! Duh!

Look how numb I am to your hatred PMS Internet. I don't even notice anymore when you're slamming me. The part where you said, "Your kids will be happy you're gone." Nice touch I didn't even register until you called me ugly. Woooo! Try some Midol and maybe Yasmin birth control because I hear that's good for PMS.

But I was wondering when the hatred would flare up because a lot of nice things are happening to me. But then when bad things are happening I get shitty comments about gratitude and etc. So hey! I guess I just have to not care anymore.

In California Heather revealed her biggest trick for dealing with the hatred which inevitably comes with writing on the internet. "Ignore and then? Ignore some more."

When she said that I was thinking, "You know, I've really started to get the hang of that." Which was a lie. I don't have the hang of it at all.

But you see the crappiness is not just happening to me. It's also happening to Very Mom. And Amalah's gotten an earful about a particular dress (but don't talk about it....she's over it and you should be too) and her decision to work outside the home.

So my theory holds up. The Internet is having it's period and soon all the raging hormones will stabilize and we'll all get along. Until I go to Amsterdam (the 23rd...we're not all going at the same time...though that would be really funny. A bus tour of nerds!) and then some of the Internet will be jealous, and when some people get jealous they don't understand that feeling and are uncomfortable with it. So they make that emotion about something else and they lash out in hateful ways to make other people feel badly.

On a related note: I've realized how I can't write about celebrities anymore at Flogging Baby. Last week I wrote about Britney's rumored next pregnancy and then yesterday I had to write about the car seat debacle. I've been making an effort not to be judgmental about the celebrities, to not say much because we don't know them. We know them even less than people know bloggers and I know how much it hurts when people say shitty things to me. Even still, the vitriol, hatred and judgements hurled at Britney, Katie and Angelina by the commenters on those posts...it's stomach turning.

Whenever I write about a hot celebrity my email fills with these words and also, I think, bad karma.

The problem is, let's be straight here, Blogging Baby is a blog which is based on good writing and interesting links and news but also as much based on traffic.  But Suburban Bliss is just mine. Traffic is of course something a personal blogger loves...but I loved writing this site when I had 8 people reading it.

You'll note the celebrity and gossip blogs have insane traffic and amazing ad revenue, because people love it. They eat it up like a big fat buttery biscuit. So, it just is a necessary evil at Blogging Baby.

But I think my karma is paying the price for writing pieces which put celebrities up for ridicule and hatred. Perhaps the universe is trying to teach me a lesson for letting people leave comments like this:

"I feel for little Sean. I can't imagine what his life will be like."

Because people have said something to that effect to me on this website.

"Um, wow if she actually is pregnant... her hubby acting the way he does, and she's stupid enough to have another one of his offspring?"

Ouch. I wince.

I won't even go into the Angelina/Brad debacles. Oh the rage the general public unleashes on celebrites who cheat (because you know, regular people never have affairs and start over with new lovers)...I've got a lot of shitty comments coming my way if that comment thread is any indication.

When you look at it that way, that I'm putting out even more opportunities for people to spew hatred and judgements at people in the world, perhaps I don't deserve to expect to be treated any differently in my own public forum.

So no more celebrity news other than birth and pregnancy announcments. And I will defer to the rest of the writers to report Katie Holme's delivery or Angelina's because even just a birth announcement sends people into a judgemental and nasty froth.

And my karma inbox is full.

Oh...things are going to get heavy

I would like it if I were different in a lot of ways.

There are some specific things I'm realizing, over the last two weeks, I need to do for myself.

Being in California last week I realized how far I am from the person I want to be. People had such nice things to say to me and about me. People approached me with such open hearts and yet, I responded to them with my double-chinned awkwardness.

This is not who I want to be.

When I go out with my friends for the night, I always freak out before I go. Because have you seen my friends? They're beautiful people with great taste in clothes. But once I'm actually with them I just feel comfortable, comfortable enough to make my upper lip disappear all night long.

I came home from California crying about all the nice things people said about me. Seriously, I cried in front of Andrew Shue but then I also cried in front of that odd eurasian lady who kept picking at her scalp all through our flight. And the parking lot lady who took my ticket. Then I cried in front of Logan. A lot.

It really disturbed me how much the nice things made me feel sad but happy but kind of really sad because the things people said to me made me want to hurl insults at myself.

I realized then that maybe I have more therapy in my bones.

The comment I got yesterday was so jarring because it's the kind of thing my own internal troll says to me. I have an internal troll who tries to 'keep me grounded' but really the internal troll just hurts my soul.

This is not working out well for me.

I was so jarred because this commenter seemed to have a direct line into my soft spot. I suppose that's because I write so personally, it's not hard to see where my insecurities lie. Also, as a friend pointed out, it's a matter of chance. If 20 people take aim at your heart, your heart will eventually get a direct hit. Unless you keep everyone drunk and then only your eye ball will get nailed.

I should clarify that the comment yesterday didn't change anything about my feelings on faithfulness and marriage. You can't keep anyone was my point. Either you're working at it together or you're not. If one half of the couplehood is ugly, both parties arrived here with that knowledge.

Missteps can happen of course, I've seen enough marriages to know that. But underwear and distrust will never 'keep' a man. People aren't for keeping.

What hurt about that comment was the fact that I'm in a dark self loathing place right now. It's not the bad comments that make me travel to this place and it's not the nice things. Troubling enough, it's both things that make me evaluate this part of myself. The bad things people have to say make me feel shaky and indignant. The good things make me feel like I don't deserve good things.

Nice comments make me question how I'm presenting myself. Mean comments make me question myself.

I've been to therapy a lot of times and I think the thing about therapy is that you can only take what you can take at a specific time in your own personal time line. The last time I left therapy I knew I'd go back eventually but I knew it was silly to keep forcing the issue.

As I process my life and realize how badly certain coping skills are working, I get tired of them and want to rid myself of those hassles.

I'm at a point right now where the self esteem issues are preventing me from doing what I'm meant to do. It's time to fix or heal or patch those things up. There was a time when therapy involved convincing myself to eat actual food to give my body energy. That took up a lot of therapeutic energy so there wasn't a lot left for patching together my overall sense of self esteem.

When your therapy involves learning to eat when you are hungry, self esteem gets lost in the shuffle.

I think it's time to figure out some of what I can do to make myself better. I don't like how I'm feeling right now and it's not because I've gained weight. It's not because I'm going off my medication.

It's also not because my husband loves me in a deep and passionate way I feel grateful for everyday. Not grateful because I'm not as pretty as my him. Not grateful because I don't 'deserve' him.

I'm grateful because people like Bethifer will never know what it's like to be loved like I am loved by my pretty husband.

Suburban Bliss: Serving Soap Opera Fanatics!

While searching Google for something on this site which subtly explains the situation with my in laws, for something I'm writing for Flogging Baby, I came across this quote from a message board.

Someone had asked what exactly blogs were and this woman replied:

Don't have one but avidly read 2. Dooce.com and suburbanbliss.net

The second one is a friend of mine's sister in law who they are estranged from. She used to write mean things about her inlaws (including my friend) but stopped when she was outed by my friend. So it is like my online soap opera. I have since started to secretly like this woman and find her blog enjoyable. Just don't tell my friend.

The first one I found as a link on the second one. She is like the most famous blog out there I think. Last month she was on ABC nightly news, The New York Times and Day to Day on NPR. She is cool.

Other reports from the weekend coming soon. Including how I nearly died from urine poison on the ride back from Ann Arbor. Logan laughed. A man with the world's tiniest bladder, should never laugh as one suffers from a painfully full bladder. We met an astronaut! We were overwhelmed by the incredible mass of people in UofM's stadium. We went to a tailgate unlike any I'd ever been to before. I went to bed at 8pm!

Pictures and story coming soon.

Updated: I guess I'm not even allowed to share what other people say about my in law situation. The rules are so difficult to keep up with!

My Clause Has Arrived.

Well here it is. I had to miss this year's preschool orientation because I was at Madison's curriculum night listening to a nice teacher say, "Blah blah blah..." about school and learning and schedules. After that we listened to the principal spout out useless (to me) data about the MEAP and the RSI and the ACT and on an on until even the teacher had drool coming out of the corner of her mouth.

Thankfully Andrea and Leslie and Chrissy and Stephanie were at the preschool orientation and picked up my packet of information. After orientation Logan and I had a date night planned to celebrate my birthday early since he'll be in New York City on my actual birthday. We ate dinner and then Hey! There's Andrea and Mark. I think to myself, "Wow, what a coincidence! Andrea and Mark are here on a date night too! What are the chances we'd both get a sitter on a week night and end up at the same place."

Sometimes I'm a little slow. It was a surprise. And my goodness we had fun and I have the best husband and the best friends and also the best friends' spouses.

Leslie brought my orientation paperwork to the restaurant and they all proudly told me there was in fact, a Suburban Bliss Clause. I found it and cheered and drank to that!

This morning I started to read the actual agreement, and I think it's kind of over kill. But then maybe I'm sensitive to rules being placed on my use of my OWN photographs of my OWN child and my child's friends who's parents have given me permission to publish their photographs on this website. But no! I can't just have my own permission or the permission of my friends, I have to have written permission from the school to publish any picture taken on school property.

According to this Technology Agreement I can't publish this photo of my own child at a school event without first asking the school if it's okay. Same with this one and this one, even though I have permission from the other Max's mother, I don't have permission from the school.

Under this 'technology manifesto' taking a picture of my daughter in front of her coat hook on the first day of school and not asking the school for written permission to share it would be grounds for a "review" of my "affiliation" with the school.

Look, I understood the problem the minute Marnie emailed me. I took steps to insure no other child would be shown (with a funny caption or not) without permission on my website.

Now I'm required to ask for permission to publish photos of my friends' children and my own child if they happen to be at a preschool event? Is this even legal?

I'm now the Mindy Cohn of the blogging world!

I don't want to write about every piece of hate mail I get because that's all I'd be writing about: who doesn't like me this week. They don't like my foul language or use of the word 'retard' or they think I'm stupid and for the life of them they don't know why people are reading my drivel. I mainly delete those or send back a form letter Logan helped me write:

"Dear Suburban Bliss Reader,
Thank you so much for your note. Readers like you make my day!
Keep reading!
Melissa"

This infuriates some of the people who send me 'input', because they were trying to tell me they DON'T LIKE what I'm writing. Why did I ignore their input? I ignored it because I disagree or because I didn't ask for it or because I don't like it.

So I can't really write about every piece of annoying mail I get. But then this week I got a piece I really disliked, heartily and I was going to ignore it but then I got another piece of annoying mail and decided, "Well what the hell! I won't talk about that one but the one before it, I can talk about now."

The amusing thing about this email was that it was not at all intended to be offensive or annoying. The woman who sent it only meant to give me advice and maybe tell me a few things. The problem is the subject was: "Hi Michelle!" (My name is Melissa)

But I thought, well okay. The note started with this: "I've been looking at the pictures from Blogher and I think I like you the best because you're not skinny like the others. I can relate to you."

Which, okay. Now you've called me Michelle, the fat, relateable one. I was sort of offended (because my fatness has been on my mind a lot lately) but I decided to keep reading because the note was 5 robust paragraphs long. It turns out this person wanted to call me Michelle the fat, relateable one but she also wanted to read my archives and give me all kinds of unsolicited advice about 'Michelle's' spending, 'Michelle's job hunt and job training'. She also wanted 'Michelle' to give up her finances to Jesus.

Never mind that the advice was for someone named Michelle. Never mind that the advice was unasked for. Never mind that the advice was totally useless since it was based on information from 5 to 18 months ago and my situation has changed since that time.

I tried to take a deep breath and respond rationally. I came up with this.

"Hi Mau****:

My name is Melissa, not Michelle. The fact that you've called me fat was bad enough but that you just wrote 5 paragraphs of advice for a person named Michelle and not Melissa shows exactly why people should not give advice to virtual strangers on the internet.

But uh, thanks? I guess?

Melissa"

She wrote back and told me, among other things, that I am a "wanker", that bloggers put themselves "out there" so they (I guess) deserve whatever they get.

Yes, yes, I guess because we write on a website we "deserve" to be treated however some ass on the internet chooses to treat us. Somehow we aren't allowed to draw boundaries. We must smile and nod politely when someone gives us five paragraphs of totally outdated and unhelpful advice, doesn't know what our name is and calls us the fat, relateable one.

It's incredibly frustrating and it's not the first time this week I've heard that argument. That because we write on these websites we are asking for nastiness to be returned to us. It's fine to disagree with my opinion or something I write but when you call me by the wrong name and give me a metric assload of unsolicited advice I am somehow forbidden from having my feelings hurt? Or responding unkindly?

Personal website or not: I am allowed to draw boundaries and expect that they will respected.

All requests for advice will be clearly labled. Please remember my name is Melissa (my email address is actually MelissaSummers_at_wowwaydotcom, so uh? What the fuck?) and I am sensitive about my weight so starting any emails to me with a comment about my weight, will not be met with openhearted kindness.

I'm glad we had this talk.

*Mindy Cohn
**I call Alice gets to be Tutti, but only if she has roller skates.

New Policy!

Before I go into my weekend, I'd like to point out my Photo Disclaimer.

Read it. Live it. Love it.

I can't wait until the people we played, 'Pretend You're With' come along and ask me to remove their pictures.

If she asks me to remove her picture, oh I'm going to struggle with complying.

But I will! I promise I will.

Dear God I promise I will.

So much to tell you about my weekend. I can't right now because I'm hosting a birthday celebration for my sister tonight. My sister who requires a gluten and meat free diet. You would not believe how many things have gluten in them and also meat. Like pasta! And chicken breast! And Bread! And beef wellington! And BIRTHDAY CAKE!

And you will not believe this, BEER! My sister lives a life entirely free of beer. My father is weeping from heaven (or where ever).

Wish my sister a happy birthday. We both hate people right now so we're really fun to be around.

You should also know that even though my weekend was great, Logan is still in the proverbial and literal doghouse but I'm trying very very hard to move past it. Or laugh at it. Either thing.

**I closed comments for the weekend because sometimes I just don't want to hear it. Good or bad. While I was on a roll I started closing down all the old comments and trackbacks so I can avoid the spam-fest which always occurs on the weekends. Sorry.

Do It For Logan.

Often on this website someone comments or emails me saying something which is only meant to be helpful. This something is usually along the lines of, "well, there is a very emotionally healthy and stable way to deal with this. If you did, a, b or c, you would be fine. You're wasting a lot of emotion on this." You realize I'm paraphrasing for comedic effect, but sometimes the emails say things like that or even better. "Get a grip you stupid insecure lunatic."

I know these emails and comments come in the spirit of helping but somehow these comments leave me feeling like I haven't done a very good job expressing myself. I am many things and emotionally healthy is not one of those things. I'm touched you think I am emotionally healthy or stable, but really?

If I didn't "waste" emotion obsessing about things, I'd like to think this blog would be much different than it is now. Thinking things through by writing about them, venting about things that anger or upset me, stewing in my own juices until I am ready to move on is what I do. Often I'll be doing that for much longer than you are willing or able to listen. That's fine, you do know that don't you?

If I didn't obsess, stew or vent the most traumatic events of I've covered on this blog would have been written much differently. Some might say 'less entertaining'. But I don't know. Maybe you find mental stability entertaining.

Instead of this you might have this:

"4.21.05 Today, I offended my in laws by mentioning to a reporter the simple fact that we do not speak. They've contacted the reporter to 'tell the real story'. I stuck to my boundary, they have humiliated me and given my husband more undue grief. But I believe my boundaries with them are reasonable and I haven't crossed them unfairly so I'm not going to think about it anymore. The End."

Instead of this you may have read this:

"4.27.05 Today, I offended a fellow preschool mother today by posting a picture of her child supposedly saying the 'F-word'. She is really really upset. I feel horrible. I took the picture off the website and apologized profusely and am doing so again here. She called the preschool also, but I guess I did everything I can so I'm just going to accept her waltz of displeasure as she avoids me in the halls of the school. Oh well! The End."

Remember Lice Fest? I kind of freaked out while dealing with that.

Just imagine if this were the website of someone with emotional stability and survival skills?

"12.17.2004 It's been a week of dealing with the head lice. When you think about it slathering your child's head in mayonaisse and chemicals and olive oil, is really nothing when you think of the plight of the tse tse fly. So I'm actually really lucky. The End!"

My job hunt? Remember?

What if I had a healthy dose of bounce back-ability?

"Today I failed miserably at my 10th job interview in three months. I failed really badly and I think this might be as low as it gets. But at least I don't have syphilis. But if I did, I'll tell you what, I'd just be happy it wasn't a flesh eating disease."

Mentally healthy? Yes. Entertaining? Not really.

When you think I'm talking about something for too long I want you to do something Logan wishes he could do each night when he lays his angelic head down on the pillow and hears a voice from the other side of the bed saying, "You know what really bugs me about this?"

He can't click that little button in the upper left hand corner of your computer screen and turn me off.

He has to listen, you don't. Do it for Logan.

Do it for LOGAN!

A few unrelated things for the weekend.

I've been in my basement all weekend pricing things for my yard sale next weekend. There's nothing like my basement to make you feel like MOVING IMMEDIATELY. Also, while in the basement pricing things I start to think....let's just SELL IT ALL! We'll buy new! Do you think anyone will buy a furnace from 1973 for $10? How about kids? A 6.5 year old (with an above grade level reading ability!) and a 4 year old with a mouth like a trucker for, oh I don't know $10 a piece. Because I'm thinking I'll be a much better parent to two college age kids and they're cheap because they're poor and also hungry.

I won't pay for their college education of course because it's a rule in our house, if you're not born of my body I don't pay for your education. It's on our family crest.

Today we went into downtown Royal Oak for a bagel and a bit of shopping. We didn't have any change for the parking meters, so we drove through the city parking lot until we saw a meter with some minutes left on it. But it gets worse. The first meter we stopped at had no minutes, so we moved to the one next to it which had 23 minutes. But then a couple was leaving so we moved into their spot which had 58 minutes left on the meter!

And that is the cheapest of cheapness. I was laughing about our cheapness but then I felt a little uncomfortable with it all. So I blogged about it.

Something which has been laying heavily on my mind.

Bloggers really like themselves. Bloggers tend to think they're writers. Some of them are actually writers, but most of them (like me) are not. When I met with the mentor like person she told me a few things. One of the things she told me is that people who write books are absolutely certain they have a riveting story to tell. She said people who write books believe they are intrinsically interesting.

I do not believe that about myself. I think I write a fairly decent blog, but BLOGS ARE NOT BOOKS. You have to have a story to tell in order to write a book. If you have some fragmented things to say, you're writing a blog and again, BLOGS ARE NOT BOOKS.

Even if you have a lot of traffic on your website. I've seen bloggers patting themselves on the back recently for the traffic they get. They think, "I must be a good writer if I get this much traffic..." but the truth is, all of our traffic has increased as more people have started writing and/or reading blogs.

Because your blog has traffic does not mean you can write a book, it means you can write an entertaining blog. Writing an entertaining book means you have an interesting story to tell. Again, blogs are not books.

If all it took to be a published author was a) a blog b) web traffic c) published family or friends: I would have had a book years ago.

You can't make a book out of a blog. A blog is a blog is a blog is a blog.

Prove me wrong. Please.

I hope I don't get sent to the principal's office.

I just got a call from the preschool Max attends. I guess the Presbyterians are serious about pictures of their kids and captions on the internet.

Apparently, removing the offending picture and offering up a sincere apology isn't enough to put out the flames of agitated frenzy.

Instead I found myself on the phone speaking to a teacher about their school's rules regarding photographs of children. Since I am not employed by or a representative of the school I thought the picture was mine. However, I removed it from my website because I didn't intend to hurt anyone with my funny (to me) captions and planned on not using pictures of children from school again to avoid similar hurt feelings.

But apparently in the world of 'Mommy' we can't just ask each other to respect our wishes, get what we want and move along without hyperventilating. We rage and seethe and call school officials and refuse to have a discussion about things. What an odd place I am living in right now.

Today I'm on the kitchen floor scrubbing and telling myself, "You can't please everyone. You can't please everyone. You can't please everyone. Sometimes you can't even please people by giving them what they want."

I can't stop offending people.

So I've obviously been thinking a lot throughout the last week.

I appreciated all the comments and opinions but I think it's important for everyone to realize the 'smoothing over' of things or the 'making up for the sake of the kids' is completely impossible and not even up as an option anymore. It hasn't been an option for a couple of years now.

What is at issue is the breaking of compromises between Logan and I. Our compromise involved me not speaking about the details surrounding the fact that we stopped speaking to each other. I was allowed to say I don't speak to my in laws and refer to the reason we don't speak in only vague terms ("We fought for many years and in the end something happened which was too horrible for me to get over." Or something like that.) This was agreeable to my husband and I until last week when a reporter told the Metro Detroit Area that we dont speak anymore.

At the time the fire of rage came barreling down the phone lines and suddenly our original compromise was unacceptable. I'm not willing to change the compromise my husband and I make simply because my in laws don't like it. It's as simple as that, I don't respond to them. I made my boundary 18 months ago when Logan and I first faced this issue, and I intend, as my indignant rage dies out, to continue on with the compromise we felt was fair and also as far as I was willing to be censored by those people.

At the same time I'm feeling a little bad they don't have an audience to talk about their anger with me in vague terms. So I came up with a couple great ideas. My new cafe press store: My Daughter In Law Sucks. It's just for them. Now they can wear shirts which advertise the same sentiments I do on this website!

Or they could publish their thoughts on the new blog I created just for them. Melissa Summers Is So Mean.

It's like we all win.

Someone this week sent me a wonderful letter she uses (Hello Washlady) to speak about her website with family members. I've used that note and have included it here:

Dear Summers Family,

I take responsibility for what I feel and how I communicate those feelings on my website.  Nothing I've said here comes as a surprise to you, I've said it all to you before. If you are not capable of handling the consequences of visiting my blog and reading what I have to say, then perhaps you need not visit.

I have made two very important and limiting compromises in the past and intend to move back to that model once my current heartburn passes.

I do not speak of specific incidents which have happened in the past between us, however I am allowed to convey the simple fact that we don't speak and we don't speak because of something that happened which was particularly hurtful to me.

Those are my feelings and also the facts of the situation and although those issues are not a huge part of what I write or even who I am anymore, it still rattles in my soul that I went through a troubled in law relationship. My own family is also in a sense shattered because of our broken relationship.

I had also agreed not to send you messages via my blog. I am doing that now, however, since you only talk to reporters and/or my husband but never me regarding this website, I feel it's appropriate to answer your concerns here. But in the future I will continue to refrain from doing so.

When you make the choice to visit this website and read whatever thoughts I have written and shared, which could or could not involve you (and which generally don't involve you), you are consciously choosing to accept the consequences of going somewhere that may not be appropriate for you.  In the end, it is your choice.  The consequences are yours and you can not say that you were not warned. You can not change me. You can not control what I write on this website anymore than you already have. I gave a little and am not willing to bend any further for you.

Please, do not verbally attack my husband with threats and tears because you don't like what you read at this website. I realize I can't stop you from doing that, but I won't do as you wish and you only serve to chip away at the relationship you are welcome to have with my husband and my children. Things have been strained through your actions and our inability to get along in the past, I would hate to see you push things past the point of comfort for all parties involved.

Good luck with whatever you decide,
Melissa Summers

This website has been so awesome this week.

I've managed to fire up my in laws while speaking to a newspaper reporter, and that has been so much fun for everyone involved.

But then last night I came home to an email from a fellow mother from Max's preschool. She was quite angry and upset her little boy was in a picture with Max from their mother goose presentation included in my flickr photos. She was upset because I used the photo without her permission.

I've been thinking about how I made such a poor choice. I found the pretend exchange between the two boys amusing and would have put it in my family photo album the same way.

What I didn't think through is that this website isn't my personal photo album and that was rude. I didn't take into consideration that people can be very funny about their child's photograph being on the internet. I also didn't take into consideration that a whole lot of people find the F word extremely offensive. Especially people who send their children to a religious preschool.

So, once again I apologize to you "So and So's" mom....publically as well as privately and hope that I haven't offended you irreparably because I'm known to do that. If I have I'll be happy to set up a Cafe Press Shop for you to express your feelings about me as well.

Logan left for sunny and warm Arizona this afternoon. He's facing 8 days of fun in the sun. This is what he left us with.

God must be giving him a break after the stress his parents, sister and I put him through this week. I'm glad he's getting a break from that stress (as long as they don't start calling him about this latest post....which they will...but see...I don't care....). However, at the end of day 1 of 8...I'm seriously afraid of how I'll do this week. I'm not good at the solo parenting thing.

Heartburn in my soul.

As predicted Logan and I have come to an agreement and I am pulling this post. If we've talked before, email me and we can discuss what you missed.

Logan is currently on the phone with his parents who feel I have dishonored the family with not only this post but with the technicality of my mother in law not speaking to me, as was printed in the paper. My in laws feel very strongly that that point dishonors my mother in law. She likes to be the victim, and because I chose not to speak to her ever again....she was the victim and I was the victimizer.

Let's clarify that point again just for you, In Laws and for all the Detroit News readers who come here:

I STOPPED SPEAKING TO MY MOTHER IN LAW! SHE DID NOT STOP TALKING TO ME! PLEASE KNOW THAT! BUT I'M NOT ALLOWED TO TALK ABOUT IT! I CAN'T TELL YOU WHY! I CAN TELL YOU I AM STILL ANGRY ABOUT IT! BUT I CAN'T TELL YOU WHY OR MY HUSBAND'S FAMILY WILL FREAK OUT!

Right now my husband is on the phone, telling his father he won't divorce me because of what I write on my website.

That's a novel idea Summers Family. Also Logan's reminding them that he's not in control of me. Huh. Seriously? He's not in control of me. I wonder what kind of marriage they have? They control each other? Weird.

Mr and Mrs Summers (and your freakish witch of a daughter),

I think it's important for you to remember that I love your son. I hate you with as much passion as you hate me. But I love your son and I thank God every day he is in my life. I don't know how you raised him but you did. You created a loving man and a wonderful father and like I've said several times on this website that you so busily police, I am so incredibly blessed to have him and the children we created. It's so sad you can't be happy for that. Be happy that you still see him and you still see our kids, your grandkids, in spite of your behavior.

Be annoyed I hate you and I have this forum to discuss in vague terms that fact. But be happy your son has found a woman who completes him even if she doesn't complete you. Be happy he has two children he created with that woman and that they all have each other.

I know that we can't get along and I know that I will always have rage at you for the way you have treated me and you will always have rage at me for the way you think I have treated you. But move on. Don't read this site. Focus on keeping a relationship with your son and your grandchildren. I know they love you and I have never called you bad grandparents. I have never told my children not to love you. The way you love my babies has always been the one thing I can say with happiness about you. 'They love my kids. At least they do that.'

I've told Maddie and Max I'm glad they get to see you and that I'm sorry we don't get along anymore so I can't spend time with all of you.

Be grown ups. Stop reading this site. Stop allowing my vague references to you and the relationship we had that cut me deeply control you and the relationship you have with your son.

Remember what God says about married people. Ask your pastor about it...you know the one you shared my deepest darkest secrets with. Yes, that one.

Good night. God Bless.

Excuses, excuses...

Last night I sat down to write and was struck with the worst kind of stomach pain. So horrific was it that I laid down in bed and prayed to throw up or die, because either option was acceptable at the time.

I have to write this sort of quick because Max's class is giving a mother goose presentation at 11:15 which means my T day is cut short. I am pleased to see him be Jack (the nimble one with the candle) but GAH! It's a T day!

However, I want to get something up before the day takes over.

Yesterday a very nice lady from the Detroit News came to my house and sat at my dining room table and chatted while Max went in an out of a tv coma in the other room. She seemed only slightly disturbed by the rather large plastic turtle hanging out on the dining room table.

She emailed me Sunday night about coming over and if Logan ever tells you I am not a very good housekeeper I want you to ask yourself how you'd feel about welcoming a reporter into your home with less than 12 hours notice (and almost 10 of those hours were spent sleeping).

Except for the Giant Turtle on the table, the house looked pretty nice if I do say so myself.

I met this reporter, let's call her 'Laura', since that's her name, last week and we talked about my blog and about writing a book and although our relationship is in the very early stages...I think I love her. I came home from our meeting with a huge weight lifted off my shoulders and a much clearer sense of where I want to go and how to get there.

She's funny and direct and when we parted last time she said she was going to try to get someone at the paper to do a profile on me. Instead she decided to do it herself....as long as I promised not to give her the Mirror Treatment. Which I did because, do you smell that?

That is an unpleasant mix of hurt feelings, psychosis and a smoldering bridge caused by the 'Mirror Treatment'. What you might call a 'mess' and I created it by poking fun of a reporter and his unfamiliarity with my blog which he wrote about. A point of view the reporter TOTALLY disagrees with. Very strongly. Vigorously even. In many, many emails.

I learned my lesson. Thankfully Laura did a lovely write up and I couldn't be more grateful and I'm not going to make fun of the piece in a clumsy and misguided attempt to seem less than proud of myself or too big for my britches.

[Side Note: I've been trying to work this into a blog, but can't. So I'll put it in here. Logan started saying "Stinky Britches" to the kids with an english accent when they need a bath. Max has taken up the phrase but the R in britches doesn't come out quite right. There's not a lot better than being called "Stinky Bitches" by your four year old!]

So please go read Laura's lovely piece here. Unfortunately for you (and fortunately for me) there's no picture of my big fat face and the inside of my nostrils.

Yesterday while talking with Laura and the big plastic turtle on the table she gently suggested I try to proofread my pieces before I hit publish. I should watch my grammar and such, because this blog is a vehicle for what I want to do and it needs to showcase my talent but also my mechancial abilities.

And look, I'm flagrantly ignoring her advice and hitting publish with barely a glance over it, because I'm running from this coffee house to go see Max jump over a candlestick!

I'm a rebel.

In so many words. Oh...God...so many words.

A few weeks ago I went to the coffee shop to be interviewed for a piece in my local paper about buh-logging. The nice gentleman who interviewed me was entirely unfamiliar with blogs (even mine, which we were there to discuss) and I sat for about thirty minutes giving him a probably horribly inaccurate picture of blogs and blogging.

As Max and I waited for my interviewer to arrive I thought I saw Davezilla walk in. Dave often posts odd conversations he hears around Royal Oak and I have been known to neurotically check his site to make sure he hasn't overheard me screaming at my children or saying something retarded to Logan in public. It's one of my irrational fears, finding myself a subject at Davezilla.

I wasn't certain it was Davezilla, so I did not say hello. I wasn't willing to walk up to a stranger and say, "Hi, are you Dave of Davezilla?" Only to have him stare back at me blankly. Instead I behaved as the nerd I am and emailed him after the fact.

He sat behind us and as I discussed blogging with my interviewer I was very worried Davezilla would hear me and reveal me to be the total blogging retard I am. But then, on the bright side guess who we're having dinner with on Friday? Dave and his lovely bride to be, Natalie.

This is all freaking Logan out. Meeting 'internet people' and he has already run through about 30 conversations we'll have on Friday night. The best ones start with Logan saying in a very good Napoleon Dynamite-esque voice, "Hello Davezilla....can I call you Dave? So my wife tells me you have a [fingers]blog[/fingers] and you write [fingers]funny[/fingers] things."

What I wanted to tell you about was the interview and the article which ran on the front page of our little local paper on Thursday.

The article was chock full of errors and inaccuracies, like Logan's new career as a Public Relations executive. You can imagine how shocked Logan was to find himself checking colors on print materials he designed in L.A. last week only to find out he's NOT A DESIGNER!

"Husband Logan is an auto industry public relations specialist."

Also, this while somewhat true isn't entirely accurate is it?

"That's one thing about my blog. Even the hardest things to write about have humor in them. Otherwise, I'd just be a whining crabby housewife."

I'm not just a whining crabby housewife. I'm a funny crabby whining housewife!

I'm sharing the article with you all in spite of it's inaccuracies because I wasn't going to mention the contact I've had with agents until I actually had a book sold. But writing a book is hard. Writing a book proposal is hard. Deciding if I even have a God Damn story to write is incredibly difficult.

I start in one direction and suddenly switch gears and start typing without even meaning to:

"BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH! You're not the first ambivalent mother out there you dumb ass. You write a blog you don't write books."

But then I feel myself letting a chance at something big and good and wonderful for me personally slipping right through my hands and it's a feeling that keeps me up in the night and makes my arms ache and I feel like I'm doing something wrong.

('And by the way, book proposals with run on sentences? DON'T SELL YOU IDIOT!!!!!' See? How did I get so fucking mean to me?)

Sometimes I'll be plugging away and I'll think, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I do have a story and a voice unique enough to tell it in a way someone else couldn't.

('My aren't we full of ourselves today!? Wow! Melissa certainly thinks Melissa is pretty awesome!' I'll then think. Also I'll think, 'You asshole, can you ease up on the exclamation points? AND THE CAPS SUCK so cut it out.')

Then I'll move into failure after I do all this work to write a book. Watching as Jay waits for his book proposal to find the right editor but in the meantime faces rejections. Seven or Eight so far. I don't know if I can handle it. Because all the things the rejecting editors say are all the things I say to myself. Maybe they're right I'll say to myself. Never mind. Screw it I can't do this!

(Internal dialogue: "Jesus Christ you are so God damned insecure. You're even annoying me now. SHUT UP!")

So this article is a wonderful thing but the bigger issue is the fact that the book proposal is a load on my head. And it's affecting my ability to write anything here because I keep telling myself, "This is nothing but a personal buh-log and you'll never be able to make more out of it."

The pressure has been maddening and I haven't wanted to talk about it here but maybe it's fair to tell you why I'm letting you all down. Why I can't seem to write anything worthwhile here. I'm struggling to figure out how to do this book thing. To figure out if I can do this.

So now I've gone on and on and I haven't even gotten to the funny part. The funniest part of my newspaper experience was when the photographer came to my house to get a photograph of me. I assumed it would be a picture of me blogging all over the place. Hot!

I came up with some ideas myself. Some set ups which would convey how I neglect my children for the computer all day. For example:

Me, scantily clad, vacuuming with one hand and typing on the laptop with the other. Cocktail?

Me, smoking a cigarette (must buy these), holding Max (who will be crying and gagging from the smoke) and checking my email. Hair in rollers?

Me typing on my computer as a half dressed, slightly blurred and very dirty Max cries in the background!

I think if we make 'Blogging' look dangerous it can only be a good thing. I mean we've seen how much air time the "FIRED FOR BLOGGING" stories have gotten. Blogging could get you fired! Do it at your own risk! But the photographer thought we should go a different route with the picture.

Instead the photographer had me lean over my laptop with my head in my hand, like a Glamour Shot (as Davezilla noted). It was also much like a very bad senior picture and I know bad senior pictures. No I'm serious, look.

But then I knew it was going to be a really bad picture when he knelt down below me seated at my dining room table. Shooting a subject from underneath inevitably makes them look fatter than usual and also adds to the appearance of any extra chins. All in all you end up with a very unflattering photograph and this was no exception. Unless you like looking up my nostrils, then you'll probably love the photograph.

When I told Logan how horribly the shoot went he asked if I'd 'Art directed' the shot. Why yes, honey! Of course I did! Photographers love it when 'Bug loggers' tell them how to do their job!

I was thinking a lot of things while the photographer was here taking my picture.

"Wow, I haven't had a hair cut in a long time."

"I wonder how many chins I'll have in this shot."

"What smells in here?" (I add that one because doesn't it look like that's what I'm thinking?)

But really, here's what I was thinking:

So there you have it. Jesus that was long sorry.

(Internal dialogue: 'What the fuck can't you tell a sucinct story?' oh and then: 'What the hell? Can't you spell succinct?')

I am wiped out. I mean it.

My sister came over last night with a car full of craft supplies and also beer. Sierra Nevada beer.

We spent the evening crafting and I know you see the link to our Cafe Press store on the right side of your screen, but we have more up our sleeves.

Look, I nearly hurt myself creating goods for sale:

Glue guns don't kill. Glue gun users kill.

Here is the mess we created.

Doesn't my sister look like Wednesday Addams* here?

Anyway, there are t shirts up on Cafe Press and we have plans for other items, like the bumper stickers but we're waiting until we find the place to order from which requires the least cash up front to order.

Logan created his own, more graphical version, of the MomTini. He also claims he'll create a new banner for this website, but I'll believe that when I see it. He's a busy busy man. I love him. But he's very very busy.

If you need a t shirt. You should get one at my cafe press shop because you need to show up at your play dates ready for a party.

We're exhausted here at the Bliss household. It's sad when it's Sunday night and you're happy because tomorrow is Monday and a return to weekdays will be less stressful than the weekend has been.

[Edit: Lisa let me know that the character I was looking for was Wednesday Addams, not Tuesday. I'm retarded.]

Reindeer Games.

Wow, my head was spinning last night when I first tried to write this and I don't think it was just the two bloody marys I had yesterday with Chrissy.

Chrissy would like it noted that we do not 'Galavant', rather we like to call what we do 'Reindeer Games'. Also, Chrissy may or may not want this noted but you should always go to the potty before you partake in the Reindeer Games because childbirth can often weaken you bladder muscles. You know, since the whole gig isn't a big enough mind fuck we also need to piss our pants!

I love reading all these comments, except the ones from people who enjoy being judgemental and ugly and post anonymously. Who said this? I don't remember I've been reading so many things today and yesterday this may not have even been in my own comments but someone else's. Someone pointed out that apparently 'Judgement' is a family value. Hooray!

I have new books to read and more things to think about and I think all of this thinking can only lead us to better places. Hopefully places where I'm not stealing quarters from Madison's piggy bank to fill up my gas tank!

A few things have been on my mind lately besides mayonnaise and the parenthood/self/work/balance dilemna. One is the fact that this website's look is now terribly outdated and once again I'm stuck unsure what to put up. I guess I could go with the irish theme since St Patrick's day is right around the corner and as we all know I'm a raging irish lass. So until I decide, pardon the pinky theme.

Another thing is I really have to update my about page, Max is going to be four on March 20th for christ sakes. I've tried to update it but I guess at first I had a lot to say about myself and now I don't have very much to say about myself. I'll keep working on it I guess.

The final thing is, you should know that I read all my email and I love it (except if you call me a bitch or reatarded [sic]) but sometimes I don't respond to it right away. Sometimes I leave it in my inbox as I try to come up with a witty or clever response and this usually takes quite a while because I can often be slow with the witty emails and then a few months goes by and there it is, your email sitting lonely and dejected in my inbox. By then it's been so long I'm embarrassed so I don't even respond. I'm sorry.

For example, this gem from my nicer, funnier sister in law, has been in my inbox for two months now. I laughed when I read it and then, when I tried to respond....all I could say was 'Uh. Funny!' And that's not witty or clever is it?

The Setting: Our kitchen as we're getting ready for work. Your brother walks in with something in the pocket of his shirt [remember, he's a fireman.]

Me: 'Is that a ziploc of bacon in your pocket?'
Him: 'Yep.'
Me: 'Okay, have a nice day.'
Him: 'You too.'

Finally Logan and I have made a pact to work on some cafe press stuff this weekend. My friend Jerry gave us the go ahead to use the artwork he created for me so we're going for it. I've also been looking for a place to get a car decal made. You know those white ones the soccer moms put on their rear window? I want one that's the martini glass and binky. I'm not having a ton of luck but I'll keep you posted in case you want one too. I think it will be perfect for my minivan.

Oh and also, Logan is the nicest guy in the world, I think too nice for his own good. I mean he married me and now he's trapped! But a kind reader emailed me about the clever note pad Logan crafted for me as a Valentine's Day gift. She wanted one for her upcoming anniversary and wondered how he made it.

I forwarded it to him at the office and instead of just giving her the directions, he offered to make one up for her. I love him and so does the Internet! Hooray!

People came and used my laptop. It likes it.

Last night we had friends over and it was nerd nirvana for me with the laptop being fondled by many people, all at once.

We were checking out Modern Seed because in June our friends John and Asa are expecting a little girl who I am certain will be cute enough to plop in your pocket. She'll also have one very stylish room if her parents outfit the nursery with Modern Seed merchandise.

I'm sorry to keep harping on this New York Times article, but I just can't help it. I of course bought the paper version today (can you believe how cute Miss Leta is? Don't even get me started on the beautiful white goodness of the iBook in Heather's lap), and as Logan and I read the paper version together we yelled out at least one time per paragraph something like, "What?" "Are you kidding me?" or "Who the hell is Alice Brady?"

I want to explain for any new readers who come here because they read how I'm anxious and uncertain because my son 'might be gay'. Perhaps you read that article with your own family and rolled your eyes up into your skull and thought, "What kind of a narcissistic and self absorbed parent actually worries her two year old might be gay?"

There are two things I say to that: I have often speculated about my son's future sexuality. He might be gay and he might be straight and really he could dress up like Liza Minelli every single day and sing a rousing version of 'New York, New York' and still grow up to be as straight as his totally hot but also metrosexual father. I really don't care about it either way. I simply find it amusing to speculate about it because it strikes me as funny. I obviously don't care about scarring my son, because I'm 'self absorbed'.

But what really bothers me the most is how Mr Hochman didn't mention even once that Max is not gay because he loves trucks and tutus. He's gay because he loves petite quiche.

A near miss.

I guess David Hochman doesn't have the magic touch Meredith O'Brien does when it comes to deciphering my odd human like noises.

I'm mentioned with my actual real name, in a New York Times article about Buh-Logging. Unlike my friend Alice Brady (also known as Alice Bradley) and my sometimes editor (when I get off my ass and give my submission) Julia Moos (also known as Julie Moos) who were mentioned by made up names.

I'm absolutely flattered and Max will one day be totally horrified to be mentioned in this article as being GAY, but I was kidding....sort of. I'm also a little stunned by the tone of the piece. But then I shouldn't be surprised. This thing called 'Bah-Logging' doesn't make sense to a lot of people.

I guess I find it vaguely insulting to have this site called an "online shrine to parental self-absorption." Because all blogs are not lessons in self absorption. We, as parents should be condemned for indulging in writing about our experiences as parents since SURPRISE! Parenting takes up 200% of our lives.

This line from the article has me laughing, "How will the bloggee feel, say, 16 years from now, when her prom date Googles her entire existence?"

How will Max feel when his prom date finds out HE'S GAY!!!!! This is brilliant.

In the end what this article shows me, once again, is that we can't win no matter what we do. If we aren't worried about our kids we're neglectful. If we think (and write) about the things our kids do we're called hand wringing obsessives.

Hooray New York Times for capturing the essence of mothering!

Like Alice Brady said, the article is vaguely damning.

I don't want to sound ungrateful. I'm happy to have the mention and people heading to my site to see what Buh Logging is actually about. At the same time I think traditional media is somehow insulted by the blogger and therefore insults this form of communication when reporting on it.

Update: Here is a well written and thoughtful response to the Times piece.

I am interviewed, someone makes sense of it.

Remember in December when the Lice Fest began?

On that day a few things happened. I had a mild hangover from the 1.5 too many vodka gimlets I drank the night before by the light of the Christmas tree. On that day I stayed in my pajamas all day long and cried. A lot.

Also on that day a nice lady who writes things for a living called me and asked me questions. I pulled myself out of my lice induced stupor to answer her questions and amazingly, given my phone phobia, she was able to decipher my odd human-like grunts into something which makes sense to most other human like beings.

I'm impressed.

You can read it here and be dazzled by Meredith O'Brien's ability to understand me, even though I speak as if suffering from a rare form of Phone Palsy. She's amazing...like Anne Sullivan understanding Helen Keller....only I actually can see and hear. But otherwise it's exactly the same.

Even worms can reproduce...but can they write about it?

When I wrote about being nominated for this award I thought, 'Is this really a Mommy blog?' and I felt kind of uncomfortable with that name but then I'm never nominated for anything and this nomination came right after I lost the job that would have fit my needs perfectly for now and it made me feel like a pathetic drunken loser and the hosting thing sounded really nice, so whatever, Call me mommy! I needed a boost and a blog award seemed as good a boost as any.

Mommy Blog conjures up images of happy motherhood. Tales of the wonderment in the journey of Mommy-Hood. I think of 'Mommy Blog' and I think of stories of when the baby ate and how the baby slept and I definitely don't think of all this Fucking Swearing I Do ALL THE FUCKING TIME. But again, whatever.

The first time I mentioned the nomination I felt mostly like I needed to be appreciative for the nomination and I felt like I hadn't been nominated for anything in quite a while (ever), not even a job filing some stupid fucking papers at a social services agency.

Then I was winning the category and I felt like an asshole for even mentioning it at all. Like I was trying to win and was that really fair to play the 'Vote For Me!/Popularity' game and I felt ashamed of myself for caring and even a little embarassed.

Because Angela makes me laugh all the time. If she had permalinks on her site I could show you individually all the places I've laughed at her site. Recently the revelation that the Fluid Pudding family will welcome a "labia", has had me laughing ever since and the thought of a birth announcement. Well it's funny.

Then there's Very Mom and she has all these lovely graphics and her son waves his penis at delivery men and what's not to love there?

So it's all a little confusing to me how this BOB thing is working. Are we voting for the funniest person who happens to be a mother? Are we voting for the person who has something profound to say about motherhood? Are we voting for the person who needs free web hosting so they can buy formula for a baby?

I don't know.

So I've decided to share the things I've written in the past which relate most to the 'Mommy' thing so that maybe instead of me begging for votes you can just vote for the writing about motherhood I've done on this website because I have a feeling that's what this award in this category is supposed to be about. Unless you don't like the writing I've done on motherhood on this website then you should vote for someone who's writing you do like and don't vote 400 times a day using several different email addresses because my God is that ugly ugliness.

These are the things I've written over the last year which I think make me a solid vote for Best Mommy Blog. I don't know what the criteria is exactly but all of these things relate to my version of motherhood and I think that's what we're voting for in this particular category.

Vote as you see fit, just...let's all play nicely, hmm? And I promise someday my banner won't be holiday themed.

A Pickle Is Touching My Sandwich

Best Friends Forever

My God I Love This Potty!

Streamlining Suburbia

Puppy Love

The Last Diaper

First Day of School

You Can't Fight Biology

Big Boy Bed Ruining My Life

Never Ending Summer

Our Vacation Home In The South Of France

The Best Time I Didn't Know I Was Having.

Preschool Prozac

Noisy Toy Tutorial

Tabula Pasta

Day At The Pool

Maddie Turns Six

It's Like Motherhood Without The Kids

The Starbucks Suggestion

What Baby?

Sleep Centered Parenting

Photo Disclaimer.

I like to take pictures of my children and my friends.

I don't typically carry around a stack of model release forms with me, and generally it seems a little conceited to ask, "Do you mind if I spotlight you on my personal website?" So I just don't take the time to ask for permission.

Also, sometimes when I'm taking pictures of my children or my friends, other people inadvertantly walk into the frame and although I could white out everyone's face, that just seems so silly.

There are a few things to remember about me and this website. I have a crass sense of humor, it is not intended to offend you but sometimes people do not share the same sense of humor. It's really nothing to get so angry about you can't even speak.

It's something to politely ask me to remove if it involves you or yours. I am more than happy to comply with your wishes.

At the same time it seems fair for you to start at a place of cooperation, a place which gives me the chance to right the situation you feel has wronged you. A place which allows me to remedy your feelings without involving all the people I KNOW in our silly issue. If we have no negative history between us, why would you assume I intended to so gravely injure you?

So why don't you not. If you're here and you've seen a picture of your child or yourself and you'd like me to remove it. Please email me at melissasummers [at] wowway.com and I will promptly remove or white out your face and also offer up my most sincere apologies and assurance that it was never my intent to make you uncomfortable or unhappy.

Random Things.

On Friday a piece of mail arrived in our home which made me drop to my knees thanking God above for saving our Christmas.

A lovely freelance check arrived on Friday and to celebrate we took the kids to our favorite restaurant, Royal Oak Brewery. At the restaurant our waitress fumbled our order and it took an hour and a half to arrive at our table. At first this had us fuming as our children cried out, "We're starrrrrrrr-viiiiiiing" But then when they paid for our meals and our beers, we felt much better and we're hoping this happens every single time we visit the Brewery.

(I must share my restaurant with child tips someday very very soon.)

While at the restaurant Logan took Max to the restroom, where Max yelled out from the stall:

"I see your hairy peeeeee-nisssss!"

Max humiliates and embarrasses me all the time, so I don't know, this made me happy.

We are going to be in a better place financially in the new year. This year was all about 'Debt No More' and that is happening. Not with out a painful severing of my former (irresponsible) self but I want you to know that all this talk about money and the struggle to come to terms with who I am and how I've created this mess is going to end this year. 2004 was about facing the reality of this situation and that has been harder than I ever imagined. 2005 is about picking up all the pieces and living within our means without credit.

I say this because I won't always be whining about money and no shoes and all of this. It's just hitting home right now as I transition to a new lifestyle which involves me being out of the house each and every day. Thanks for reading through all my whining.

Someone asked who designs my banners for my website. And I am very proud of myself that anyone thinks Logan designed my banner. He didn't! I did!

Using my primative Illustrator skills I've made each of my banners, minus the lovely Momtini. My friend Jerry, who recently had a birthday and I missed it because I am a horrible woman who can't look up from her own fucking life for two minutes to acknowledge anyone else's birthday. God, I hate me. No wonder I've gotten THREE pieces of hate mail this week!

But, did anyone notice the star of David on the Christmas tree? This is a nod toward my dreams of a particular part time position which is tantalizing me with it's inability to be mine. Logan made the star of David and put the gradient on it because that goes well beyond my Illustrator abilities.

Finally, this is really ludicrous to even have to type...however. Having someone leave a comment stating they can't wait until I "loose" that wonderful husband of mine....makes me feel weird.

You should know, Internet, that I don't use this website to air the dirty laundry of those I love. I've on occasion revealed a particular argument or stupid act of jack assery my husband has performed. But, really, I don't make it a point to use this website to reveal the faults of my husband to the world. Because I love him and he loves me and I don't want to hurt him. I try to portray him on this website the way I feel about him.

I love him and he is one of the most amazing men I've ever known. He's handsome and fun to be around and he makes women feel good about themselves because he truly loves hearing everything you have to say. He makes people laugh and he makes people feel a part of the joke and he is what one might call a dynamo in bed.

However there are a lot of really great things he might say about me if he had a website and there are as many not-as-nice things about me that he'd be leaving out because he loves me and he wouldn't start a website to tear me down.

I use this website to make fun of myself, to laugh at my failings, to take meaning from all the ways I'm imperfect. I don't use this website to do those same things about my loved ones. I know he looks perfect, but he's as imperfect as me and the lovely thing is: Our imperfections fit together perfectly.

I don't think of it as giving you half truths, I think of it as sharing what I'm willing to and expecting you, as a reader, to realize that I write about 1500 words a week and my entire life and soul can't be smooshed into that space.

Do you think we can have a 'nice' week this week? No hate mail, please.

***Also, Google Ads? "Alcoholism Treatment"? Just....don't. Do not start with me.

Please, just don't.

Isn't it funny how you can be sitting down on a Sunday night, your husband has a really retarded movie ordered up on Netflix and you're thinking, 'Maybe this is the chance I have to write a real post on my website. An essay of substance perhaps.' and then ***BOOM***

The president of your local 'MOMS Club' emails a polite request to remove a post which offended "A Few People" who have read my website. I guess they were offended by the fact that I mentioned MOMS Club specifically. I am sure the complainant wasn't the Diet Coke Breastfeeding Nazi I mentioned in the post.

In fairness, Hey! Look! Diet Coke Breastfeeding Nazi MOMS Club.

This email just made me so incredibly angry that Logan sat next to me watching The Princess and The Warrior and shaking his head. Because it's a horrible idea to ask me to remove something simply because it expresses an opinion you don't like. If you were reading last year my In Laws were pretty pissed off about the opinions I expressed on this website and they threatened to sue me because of the opinions I expressed on this website.

The thing is, I love my husband and I don't want to hurt him by hurting his family so I agreed not to discuss my in laws any further on my website. I wouldn't have agreed to it, except....have you seen him? He's so incredibly adorable I had to ease up on the In Laws.

But Stupid MOMS Club? Please, please let them sue me for expressing my dissatisfaction with a member, an Executive Member, of their organization.

Let's talk about my weekend for a bit before I go to bed though.

Last night we went to our sixth wedding since June. Everyone we know is now, just now, getting married. Logan and I have been married for 7 years. We've had kids for 6 years. Suddenly everyone decided it was a great idea to get married.

I'm happy about it, I really am. Everyone we know is getting married and some of them are having babies. And now they'll be in the same boat we are.

Except, babies and six year olds are really different.

Six year olds talk and three year olds talk on your vibrator...as if it's a phone. Newborns though, newborns make you think you'll always be at the top of your game.

There are those months at first where you think, "I suck at this!" or "I can't do this!"

But then pretty quickly you'll start to realize babies are easy to fool. You'll realize, I can easily distract this baby and they don't remember anything before that big rattle came in front of their face. But a three year old will remember that phone they were talking on that one time many years ago, forever.

So even though everyone we know is getting married now, we're still not fitting in very well.

Speaking of not fitting in. I wore a skirt from Ann Taylor last night. The skirt was a size 4. I tried it on and thought it would never fit. But it did fit, except that in the past when it 'fit' it fit just above my hips. Last night it fit as I eased it over my hips and then it fit around my waist, about six inches above my belly button.

I was nearly severed in half on Saturday night. Look at me struggling to look happy while my waist band tried to kill me. But, it was worth it because that skirt looked very nice and also two people I'm very fond of got married.

The wedding was a lovely affair and I promise, someday soon, I will write a real essay for your enjoyment.

Emasculation

I've discussed mini vans in the past. I have never said anything grand like, "I will NEVER drive a mini van!" because I know and have always known that mini vans have their place in this world. This world meaning the world I am now inhabiting.

We got our SUV before Max was born as a compromise to my desire for a van to cart the children in. Logan wasn't ready for the castration which would come from driving a mini van. He still has the Sexcort you know and that's bad enough. At least on occasion he gets to take the truck and refuel his pride.

You're thinking, big deal! It's just a car.

This is Detroit. There's no such thing as just a car. There is a tiny apartment down the street someone rents for $500 a month but he has a brand new Range Rover parked out front. It's that important to have a nice car in this area. Logan works for an ad agency which supplies the advertising for Chrysler. Cars are a big deal even if you don't want them to be, which I don't.

As I type Logan is being castrated at the car dealership. He's negotiating the purchase of our first minivan and it's like a rusty knife is slowly severing his testicles.

After our test drive, where Logan drove slumped over as if half dead, the salesperson asked brightly, "How was the ride?!"

Logan answered, "Emasculating."

I feel for the guy. God I do.

I wish I could buy a shiny new Rubicon for him. My sister and I used to walk through stores together before Christmas and we'd hand each other things that we would have bought if we had the money. It was a nice game because it's the thought that counts really. I tell Logan all the time that I'd buy him that...if I could. Though he appreciates the thought, he's kind of over the thought and just wants me to back it up with cold hearted materialism.

As such, I'm donating all of my plasma tomorrow. Wish me luck!

We're getting a used minivan because it's practical and it's cheap. Way cheaper than the truck we have now and I want to ease our finances now because I'm getting a little tired of being poor.

Speaking of being poor, we have to talk.

I love this blog more than anything I've ever done on a regular basis. I love my children more obviously and my husband and all of that. But as an activity I do on a near daily basis. I love this website more than anything else I've ever done. (Except Sex.)

But there's a problem.

Things are so tight and I know I've been saying that since last year. But it's not getting any better and even though I think to myself, "God, what's xx amount of dollars a month! I mean that's practically nothing!"

I realized this year, for maybe the first time in my life, how all of those 'practically nothings' are adding up.

Also there's the issue of the Incredible Bandwidth Eating Website. My website is like a bandwidth eating whore and it can't help itself...it just can't stop EATING the bandwidth.

The problem is that Typepad only allows me some bandwidth and so far this month my website has used up 303% of that bandwidth and we haven't even hit the middle of the month yet.

Typepad hasn't started charging for it yet but it's a matter of time and I can't pay for it. I can't even pay for the hosting and the Typepad fee. It's not a lot but what I'm saying is all the little things add up and six years of living in denial is finally catching up.

But like I said I love this website and I can't give it up. So I'm not asking you for anything I'm just warning you that the dreaded Google ads are going to be showing up....so that I can keep my website and still send Max to his gym class at the Y....because believe me the boy needs his gym class.

I know it seems like I'm making a big deal out of something stupid but I don't know if you recall why I left Blogspot...the banner ads...so this is extremely ironic.

Plus this way I can save all my plasma for the Rubicon.

I used to be funny.

A few papers have run an article which links to my site. And WOOO HOOOO! The articles mention how I tell FUNNY stories about my kids!

Isn't this funny? That part below where I compare mothering to punching myself in the face? I'm a laugh riot lately!

Anyway, if you're here from the article I'm going to supply you with some links. Because even though I'm losing my mind and falling off the deep end lately, sometimes I can tell funny stories.

There's this one where I talk about mercilessly torturing my mother. I'm Pretty Sure Making Fun Of Your Mother Puts You In The Carpool Lane To Hell.

A Pickle Is Touching My Sandwich.

Puppy Love

The Last Diaper

See, sometimes I'm less of a complaining, whiny spoiled brat who takes the Lord's name in vain and goes crazy instead of counting her blessings. Sometimes I'm funny!

I feel a little like I've been caught with my pants down.

There's an article in a Twin Cities paper today (Hello, Minnesota) and they happened to share my site within this article. And really, if I'd known you were all coming, I wouldn't have posted all these explicit (and kind of drunken) photographs right there at the top of my blog for God and Minnesota to see.

Anyway, the things you're looking for are here and here.

But really you should know, I'm all about "Drunken Gallivanting".

"Drunken Galavanting"

I suppose what I write on this little website puts me in a position to be attacked for whatever reason someone attacks another person with a personal website which she chooses to read.

It doesn't make sense to me to expel hateful bile at another human being you really don't know. It makes no sense to me spew all sorts of horrid spelling mistakes and sweeping statements about my mothering abilities and my ability to care for my small children without exposing them to a "...totally fucked up...." mother.

But then there are a lot of crazy people in this world and I can't even begin to understand those people so, for the most part, I let these vicious attacks roll off my back. I must tell you I've been shocked to find the internet so full of angry and unhappy people who have to tear at another person to feel better.

Better about what? Themselves? Their choices? Their own shortcomings? It's really unclear to me at this time.

I mean, I knew the internet was full of perverts and quite honestly, at this point, I'd really like a pervert to take a shine to me and send me erotic stories starring me rather than all this mean spirited hatred I've been reading this last week.

This seems like a nice place to give you a reminder about how this 'Weblog' thing works, because it seems some of us have recently had a little communication breakdown.

Happy Birthday You Big Waste Of Time!

My Blog Birthday or Blog-iversary passed without any fanfare at all.

Well except that drunken night I spent at home with Logan recalling all 'those really funny things I said' over the last year. Then he bought me a pinata and we beat the hell out of it.

I would point you back to my old site with the original posting from the actual birth of my blog at some point toward the end of April...but my God I thought I was entertaining and I wasn't. So let's not relive it.

In honor of my Blog-iversary I thought I'd talk about things I decided long ago I wouldn't talk about:

Wow.

This little story has my mouth hanging open incredulously, the way it does whenever something shocks and outrages me. Like when the cable bill arrives, my Airport turns off and on for no apparent reason or my daughter insists on wearing tights with sandals...no matter what the weather.

I can't speak about it in any intelligent way, but she and so can he.

First I worried my in laws would sue me for defamation and now I have to worry that some psychotic moron is going to plagiarize me? Granted, there's not a whole lot for him to copy...but perhaps he also wore a pair of Red Shoes to school one day...just like I did.

Suggestion Mr Lamb, stop.