Well, ladies, you overwhelmed me with the generosity of your response to my last post. I'm more grateful than I can say. With the incredible spirit of women bloggers reaching out to other women bloggers in need, you brought me your age spots, sagging skin, wrinkles, flabby bits, and porn star eyebrows.
There are no words. You made my day. Week, even.
Of course, I didn't feel qualified to fix problems of that level of severity--after all, I'm not a plastic surgeon. The tasks you set for me were not what I could accomplish in the time I allotted (30 minutes to research, 45 minutes to write, 120 minutes to upload the frakking images, correct the links, and fix the inevitable formatting mistakes.)
(Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to wonder why the hell BlogHer's software doesn't include a spell-checker, for frak's sake.)
But this is what I managed to accomplish. I answered blackbird's question about tinted moisturizers.
Yes, it was the easiest question to tackle. But now I have a backlog of great ideas for next time! And at my publishing rate, I'll have time to finish medical school and a residency in cosmetic surgery before I have to write another BeautyHacks post. So there's that.
P. S. In other news, Badger has started posting to Lipstick is My Crack again. Check it out!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Questions, I need questions
OK, first of all, here's a news update, since it's been so long since I actually sat and typed an actual blog post: I'm in New Hampshire for spring break. And before I left Chicago I was up to my earlobes in volunteer work--attending bored meetings, making phone calls, trying to find a sucker to be next year's hospitality chair--the usual crap.
Although I have to admit that my overseeing of eighth grade musical rehearsals has been substantially cut back, possibly as a result of my calling one of the kids a douche bag.
Which leaves me wondering whether that's a one-size-fits-all solution to MY ENTIRE LIFE. I mean, I'm sure the possibility that I might call their white-haired old ladies "douche bags" would sharply decrease the number of jobs The National Society of the Colonial Dames in the State of Illinois might ask me to do.
It's a thought.
Anyway, on Tuesday I've got to put up a BlogHer Beauty Hacks post, and so far, the only idea I've had is that of visiting the Cosmetic Center store in the outlets in Kittery, Maine, and checking out what's available. But the store might have closed, or they might not have anything except a bunch of those sparkly little compacts Estee Lauder produces every year at Christmas time. Full of solid perfume in signature Estee Lauder scents. You know, Youth-Dew, or Beautiful. And reminding me of a cross between a Jay Strongwater bibelot and a Walgreen's perfume counter. Which would only be of interest to crazed collectors.
Not what I want to write about.
So I would be really thrilled if you'd ask me a few questions, particularly about makeup and skin care. It would help prime the pump. I am not nearly as sure-handed with fashion questions--take those to blackbird--but I know my way around a makeup counter like you wouldn't believe.
N. B. I did fulfill my contractual obligation to put up my usual Friday Mamarazzi post, and I would be so grateful if you'd check it out and let me know whether I'm off-base in claiming that Kelly Osbourne is deserving of our heart-felt devotion. I mean, is she really awesome, or is she mostly notable for having survived thus far, given her parentage?
Although I have to admit that my overseeing of eighth grade musical rehearsals has been substantially cut back, possibly as a result of my calling one of the kids a douche bag.
Which leaves me wondering whether that's a one-size-fits-all solution to MY ENTIRE LIFE. I mean, I'm sure the possibility that I might call their white-haired old ladies "douche bags" would sharply decrease the number of jobs The National Society of the Colonial Dames in the State of Illinois might ask me to do.
It's a thought.
Anyway, on Tuesday I've got to put up a BlogHer Beauty Hacks post, and so far, the only idea I've had is that of visiting the Cosmetic Center store in the outlets in Kittery, Maine, and checking out what's available. But the store might have closed, or they might not have anything except a bunch of those sparkly little compacts Estee Lauder produces every year at Christmas time. Full of solid perfume in signature Estee Lauder scents. You know, Youth-Dew, or Beautiful. And reminding me of a cross between a Jay Strongwater bibelot and a Walgreen's perfume counter. Which would only be of interest to crazed collectors.
Not what I want to write about.So I would be really thrilled if you'd ask me a few questions, particularly about makeup and skin care. It would help prime the pump. I am not nearly as sure-handed with fashion questions--take those to blackbird--but I know my way around a makeup counter like you wouldn't believe.
N. B. I did fulfill my contractual obligation to put up my usual Friday Mamarazzi post, and I would be so grateful if you'd check it out and let me know whether I'm off-base in claiming that Kelly Osbourne is deserving of our heart-felt devotion. I mean, is she really awesome, or is she mostly notable for having survived thus far, given her parentage?
Monday, March 16, 2009
R-rated movies, kids, and common sense: advice from Poppy Buxom
Have you been following the press reports about people walking out on Watchmen? Apparently they're leaving in droves.
That's a pretty extreme response. I think I've only walked out on one movie--some arty piece of douchebaggery that I saw when I was an undergraduate. It opened with an animal--I think it was a badger--getting run over by a car. And it went downhill from there. I stuck it out for another ten minutes, then told my friends I'd meet them at the bar.
The thing is, unless it's truly repellent, most people are too curious, intellectual, or cheap to walk out of a movie. Or, like my friends, they want to find out whether there was any point to the badger-flattening.
Even when you hate it, staying for the whole movie is a shared experience. Maybe especially if you hate it. Because then you're united against a common enemy, and your group has survived a test of character and endurance. You've bonded. You're a band of brothers, and now you can go to a bar and rip apart the people responsible for that pile of cinematic sludge. The mockery, scorn, and vituperation my group of amateur film critics heaped on the badger-squashing movie would have impressed Jonathan Swift himself. At the very least, it would have landed us all a spot on the Mystery Science Theater 3000 team. So there's that.
At any rate, I know my movie-going limits. I know I'm going to be uncomfortable at an R-rated movie. It's going to have embarrassing sex scenes or creepy drug use or dead bodies getting stuffed into a wood chipper or John Travolta getting shot on the toilet. So I don't go. And I certainly don't bring my kids.
What kills me is the reports of people walking out of Watchmen because they made the mistake of bringing their five-year-olds. Idiots.
How do I know they're idiots? It's because once--just once--I subjected my innocent child to an R-rated movie.
OK, it was The Blues Brothers. And it was on DVD.
And I don't know if you've noticed, but the print on DVDs and CDs is getting really small and hard to read. So since parents aren't getting any younger, I suggest that the R ratings and Parental Advisory stickers need to be a LOT MORE OBVIOUS.
Anyway, back to The Blues Brothers. I saw it when it was originally released, and I knew there wasn't any sex, creepy drug use, or violence. I was sure my son would enjoy it. For one thing, it's filmed in Chicago. And it has a lot of classic musical performances. And come on--John Belushi!
But I forgot about the FUCKING language.
Belushi dropped about five thousand f-bombs in the first five minutes of the movie--so many that my son--not me, my son--checked the DVD cover and discovered it was rated R.
Well, I let him finish watching it. And not just because I'm lame, but because he'd already heard the worst of it. Also, I didn't think it would be responsible parenting to let him miss the scenes where they drive their car around a mall and crash into Daley plaza.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rc4vAqCWLiY
Well, this morning one thing led to another and I spent a few minutes watching Blues Brothers clips on Youtube.
And the weird thing is how normal all that crazy driving starts to look. Crash through a window and drive around a mall? Why not--as Belushi notes, there sure is a lot of space. As for driving through the window into the Daley center? Hey, it beats waiting in line at the Cook County Assessor's office. Drive up one side of a drawbridge while it's opening and fly over a dizzying space to the other side? OMFG! How fucking cool is that???? Wow! I really, really want to go out right now and drive around.
So I've come to a couple of important conclusions about R-rated movies--even as seemingly innocuous sex-and-violence free ones like The Blues Brothers.
Obviously, children shouldn't be allowed to watch movies like this.
And neither should their mothers.
That's a pretty extreme response. I think I've only walked out on one movie--some arty piece of douchebaggery that I saw when I was an undergraduate. It opened with an animal--I think it was a badger--getting run over by a car. And it went downhill from there. I stuck it out for another ten minutes, then told my friends I'd meet them at the bar.
The thing is, unless it's truly repellent, most people are too curious, intellectual, or cheap to walk out of a movie. Or, like my friends, they want to find out whether there was any point to the badger-flattening.
Even when you hate it, staying for the whole movie is a shared experience. Maybe especially if you hate it. Because then you're united against a common enemy, and your group has survived a test of character and endurance. You've bonded. You're a band of brothers, and now you can go to a bar and rip apart the people responsible for that pile of cinematic sludge. The mockery, scorn, and vituperation my group of amateur film critics heaped on the badger-squashing movie would have impressed Jonathan Swift himself. At the very least, it would have landed us all a spot on the Mystery Science Theater 3000 team. So there's that.
At any rate, I know my movie-going limits. I know I'm going to be uncomfortable at an R-rated movie. It's going to have embarrassing sex scenes or creepy drug use or dead bodies getting stuffed into a wood chipper or John Travolta getting shot on the toilet. So I don't go. And I certainly don't bring my kids.
What kills me is the reports of people walking out of Watchmen because they made the mistake of bringing their five-year-olds. Idiots.
How do I know they're idiots? It's because once--just once--I subjected my innocent child to an R-rated movie.
OK, it was The Blues Brothers. And it was on DVD.
And I don't know if you've noticed, but the print on DVDs and CDs is getting really small and hard to read. So since parents aren't getting any younger, I suggest that the R ratings and Parental Advisory stickers need to be a LOT MORE OBVIOUS.
Anyway, back to The Blues Brothers. I saw it when it was originally released, and I knew there wasn't any sex, creepy drug use, or violence. I was sure my son would enjoy it. For one thing, it's filmed in Chicago. And it has a lot of classic musical performances. And come on--John Belushi!
But I forgot about the FUCKING language.
Belushi dropped about five thousand f-bombs in the first five minutes of the movie--so many that my son--not me, my son--checked the DVD cover and discovered it was rated R.
Well, I let him finish watching it. And not just because I'm lame, but because he'd already heard the worst of it. Also, I didn't think it would be responsible parenting to let him miss the scenes where they drive their car around a mall and crash into Daley plaza.
http://www.youtube.com/wat
Well, this morning one thing led to another and I spent a few minutes watching Blues Brothers clips on Youtube.
And the weird thing is how normal all that crazy driving starts to look. Crash through a window and drive around a mall? Why not--as Belushi notes, there sure is a lot of space. As for driving through the window into the Daley center? Hey, it beats waiting in line at the Cook County Assessor's office. Drive up one side of a drawbridge while it's opening and fly over a dizzying space to the other side? OMFG! How fucking cool is that???? Wow! I really, really want to go out right now and drive around.
So I've come to a couple of important conclusions about R-rated movies--even as seemingly innocuous sex-and-violence free ones like The Blues Brothers.
Obviously, children shouldn't be allowed to watch movies like this.
And neither should their mothers.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Random Saturday = Randerday? Ranterday? Ratterday?
First, thanks to everyone who commented on Wednesday's post about social networking. Not only did you provide helpful insights, I could demonstrate to my group that on the internet, there is no such thing as a stupid question. Ask away, and people will answer. FOR FREE.
---
Last night, my husband, my son, and I watched the last five episodes of 24, Season 2. I realized, now that three of us were watching it, how I curl up on the sofa, barricade myself with pillows, and tuck my toes against my husband because I'm too old for stuffed animals, but that show is SUSPENSEFUL. Any of you who remember how Season Two ended will get this--I felt that if I watched one more episode, I'd have a heart attack.
---
I've had an insanely busy day. Especially considering what a slug I am. I was up and dressed at 8:00 to get my daughter to the Girl Scout pancake breakfast. Then errands, then taking Christmas lights off the shrubs (I'm lame, I know) then inside for a well-deserved look at the newspaper. But a girl in her class showed up for a study date (that no one had told me was happening) so I sort-of-subtly watched over that to make sure work got done. Then a friend wanted to drop by. Then I made last minute arrangements for a kids' sleepover, and now I have to get ready to go out to dinner and the opera.
---
I have 781 Twitter followers. No, I don't know why, either.
---
Last night, my husband, my son, and I watched the last five episodes of 24, Season 2. I realized, now that three of us were watching it, how I curl up on the sofa, barricade myself with pillows, and tuck my toes against my husband because I'm too old for stuffed animals, but that show is SUSPENSEFUL. Any of you who remember how Season Two ended will get this--I felt that if I watched one more episode, I'd have a heart attack.
---
I've had an insanely busy day. Especially considering what a slug I am. I was up and dressed at 8:00 to get my daughter to the Girl Scout pancake breakfast. Then errands, then taking Christmas lights off the shrubs (I'm lame, I know) then inside for a well-deserved look at the newspaper. But a girl in her class showed up for a study date (that no one had told me was happening) so I sort-of-subtly watched over that to make sure work got done. Then a friend wanted to drop by. Then I made last minute arrangements for a kids' sleepover, and now I have to get ready to go out to dinner and the opera.
---
I have 781 Twitter followers. No, I don't know why, either.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Speaking of internet time sucks, introducing Poppy Buxom's alter ego
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Questions about social networking--useful tool or pointless time suck?
I'm going to an old-skool networking event tonight--you know, where you meet people face to face.
Tonight's theme is social networking. And the woman in charge has asked me to attend because I'm the biggest geek she knows.
Now, I know what I use social networking for: I blog to share my high-quality blather with the world; I started the Mamarazzi Ning site because Mamarazzi devotees deserved more opportunities to bash celebrity parents; I tweet because I never shut up; I'm on Facebook to play with lil Green Patch; I'm on Good Reads because I supposedly care what my friends are reading, (except actually I don't because my friends read boring shit) and LibraryThing because I'm always on the look out for fellow Georgette Heyer and P. G. Wodehouse obsessed weirdos. I started a YouTube account to collect my favorites in one place, but now find it useful for spying on my children.
And I'm on LinkedIn because I write for BlogHer and felt a certain pressure to appear professional.
So this is where the questions (and over-the-top shameless comment whoring) come in.
Which social network sites do you belong to? Why did you join? What do you really find useful/fun? And is any of this practical, or is it mostly a big time suck?
Please leave comments--I'd love to be able to demonstrate the power of social networking to my real-life networking group!
Tonight's theme is social networking. And the woman in charge has asked me to attend because I'm the biggest geek she knows.
Now, I know what I use social networking for: I blog to share my high-quality blather with the world; I started the Mamarazzi Ning site because Mamarazzi devotees deserved more opportunities to bash celebrity parents; I tweet because I never shut up; I'm on Facebook to play with lil Green Patch; I'm on Good Reads because I supposedly care what my friends are reading, (except actually I don't because my friends read boring shit) and LibraryThing because I'm always on the look out for fellow Georgette Heyer and P. G. Wodehouse obsessed weirdos. I started a YouTube account to collect my favorites in one place, but now find it useful for spying on my children.
And I'm on LinkedIn because I write for BlogHer and felt a certain pressure to appear professional.
So this is where the questions (and over-the-top shameless comment whoring) come in.
Which social network sites do you belong to? Why did you join? What do you really find useful/fun? And is any of this practical, or is it mostly a big time suck?
Please leave comments--I'd love to be able to demonstrate the power of social networking to my real-life networking group!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Are you there, God? It's me, Noah.
The following are making me crazy:
1. The rain, which has been falling for what feels like a Biblical length of time.
Any second now migrating ducks and geese are going to glance downward and decide to go for a swim in the huge puddles in what used to be my lawn. Driving has that "wheeeee!" amusement park feel to it because no matter where you go, you can't help but splash through six inches of water. And I just had to muck out the drain in my garage to prevent gallons of water from heading into my basement.
Thank God for twitter. A few minutes ago @jasmined mentioned that the sun was out, which saved me the trouble of finding a dove to send out. Otherwise I'd be drowning my sorrows by lying face down in the protected wetlands area formerly known as "my yard."
2. Vast amounts of church-going added to an already overloaded schedule.
Yes, I sing in a choir and yes, my son does too, and yes, he's in eighth grade so yes, he has confirmation class, and yes, OK, the confirmation class does service projects so FINE he needs to be at church for an extra two hours to cook chili for a soup kitchen, but NO I will not be going to sing at this afternoon's Taizé service because hello? ENOUGH is ENOUGH. (Even though with all the rain, I should be trying to avert any additional heavenly wrath.)
3. Cyberbullying.
Remember when I said that the Girl Scouts were doing a special Thinking Day about cyberbullying, and I wondered whether they really understood the concept? I was also afraid that our presentations were just going to give them new ways to pick on each other. This was not the point, of course, but that's exactly what happened. So now I've gone all lioness-defending-her-cub.
Also, I'm probably going to stop writing about Magic Wands and swearing a blue streak, because the little cyberthugs discovered my YouTube profile and are over here reading my blog even as we speak.
Sheesh, as if all this damned laundry, cooking, cleaning, and non-cyber-child-rearing weren't enough to keep me busy. (Not to mention the drain in the garage floor. Or the wrath of Jehovah.)
1. The rain, which has been falling for what feels like a Biblical length of time.
Any second now migrating ducks and geese are going to glance downward and decide to go for a swim in the huge puddles in what used to be my lawn. Driving has that "wheeeee!" amusement park feel to it because no matter where you go, you can't help but splash through six inches of water. And I just had to muck out the drain in my garage to prevent gallons of water from heading into my basement.
Thank God for twitter. A few minutes ago @jasmined mentioned that the sun was out, which saved me the trouble of finding a dove to send out. Otherwise I'd be drowning my sorrows by lying face down in the protected wetlands area formerly known as "my yard."
2. Vast amounts of church-going added to an already overloaded schedule.
Yes, I sing in a choir and yes, my son does too, and yes, he's in eighth grade so yes, he has confirmation class, and yes, OK, the confirmation class does service projects so FINE he needs to be at church for an extra two hours to cook chili for a soup kitchen, but NO I will not be going to sing at this afternoon's Taizé service because hello? ENOUGH is ENOUGH. (Even though with all the rain, I should be trying to avert any additional heavenly wrath.)
3. Cyberbullying.
Remember when I said that the Girl Scouts were doing a special Thinking Day about cyberbullying, and I wondered whether they really understood the concept? I was also afraid that our presentations were just going to give them new ways to pick on each other. This was not the point, of course, but that's exactly what happened. So now I've gone all lioness-defending-her-cub.
Also, I'm probably going to stop writing about Magic Wands and swearing a blue streak, because the little cyberthugs discovered my YouTube profile and are over here reading my blog even as we speak.
Sheesh, as if all this damned laundry, cooking, cleaning, and non-cyber-child-rearing weren't enough to keep me busy. (Not to mention the drain in the garage floor. Or the wrath of Jehovah.)
Friday, March 6, 2009
That was the week that sucked
I know I'm supposed to be moving along with my usual assortment of sweetness, light, wit, puns, knock-knock jokes, and whoopee cushions, but my brain is pretty much fried, and anyway, I'm just so damned glad it's Friday night.
I'm upstairs in my bedroom with my legs under the covers playing with my laptop and My New iPhone™. Apple just released a version of Kindle for the iPhone, and even though I have more than enough books, I can't resist the opportunity to geek out and play with this new software, even if it leaves me with a couple of ridiculous additions to my "to-read" list.
So anyway, how geeky am I? I got Lady of Quality by Georgette Heyer, which I already own, and Clarissa by Samuel Richardson, which is the longest novel in the English language, and which I don't own, mostly because I lack the space necessary to shelve a book the size of the Oxford English Dictionary.
Well, now I have them both crammed into My New iPhone™, and this pleases me to no end, purr purr, and helps me forget the following horrors of the past week:
1. On Monday I survived Girl Scout Thinking Day, in which my patrol enacted a skit against cyberbullying. Except I'm not sure they understood the concept. But it didn't matter if they got it wrong, because no one could hear them in the auditorium, anyway. Oh, and my daughter practically demanded a large role, and then when I gave her one, freaked out five minutes before we started, so that while I was trying to get the rest of the patrol together and get my little welcoming speech drafted, I also had to dry Poppette's tears and assure her that everything would be fine. This explains why I literally threw myself at the school psychologist (who was just trying to go home after a long day) and forced her to talk my daughter off the ledge.
And that was just part of my Monday horrors. I also had to help rehearsals of the eighth grade play. Have I mentioned that they're doing Disney's Beauty and the Beast? (No? I haven't talked about anything lately except Hitachi Magic Wands? How remiss of me.) Well, they are. And guess who's Beast? Young Master Buxom. So. Guess who feels that she has to do whatever is asked of her? Me, that's who.
2. Now, Tuesday--I have no idea what horrors I had to survive on Tuesday, although I dimly remember something about volunteering in the school lunchroom. Also more Beauty and the Beast rehearsals.
3. On Wednesday I was working on a post for BlogHer, made a TINY change, refreshed the screen and LOST IT ALL, meaning I had to start from scratch, which I did, and that nearly killed me. I barely survived only to have to help with Beauty and the Beast rehearsals AGAIN.
4. On Thursday Young Master Buxom played a cello sonata for a recital that we hadn't even known about until late last week. This necessitated a lot of frantic rehearsing, the borrowing of the teacher's $5,000 bow, the donning of our fancy clothes, and the attending of the concert. (Where he did very well.)
5. Today I did a Mamarazzi post, did MORE volunteer lunch room duty, and retrieved My New iPhone™ from the gym, where I left it the other day.
Oh, and did I mention that my husband has been working late every night this week? And isn't home yet because he has a brief or a reply or some lawyer-y thing that needs to be filed by tonight at 11:00?
Internet, while you're up, could you bring me another glass of wine?
I'm upstairs in my bedroom with my legs under the covers playing with my laptop and My New iPhone™. Apple just released a version of Kindle for the iPhone, and even though I have more than enough books, I can't resist the opportunity to geek out and play with this new software, even if it leaves me with a couple of ridiculous additions to my "to-read" list.
So anyway, how geeky am I? I got Lady of Quality by Georgette Heyer, which I already own, and Clarissa by Samuel Richardson, which is the longest novel in the English language, and which I don't own, mostly because I lack the space necessary to shelve a book the size of the Oxford English Dictionary.
Well, now I have them both crammed into My New iPhone™, and this pleases me to no end, purr purr, and helps me forget the following horrors of the past week:
1. On Monday I survived Girl Scout Thinking Day, in which my patrol enacted a skit against cyberbullying. Except I'm not sure they understood the concept. But it didn't matter if they got it wrong, because no one could hear them in the auditorium, anyway. Oh, and my daughter practically demanded a large role, and then when I gave her one, freaked out five minutes before we started, so that while I was trying to get the rest of the patrol together and get my little welcoming speech drafted, I also had to dry Poppette's tears and assure her that everything would be fine. This explains why I literally threw myself at the school psychologist (who was just trying to go home after a long day) and forced her to talk my daughter off the ledge.
And that was just part of my Monday horrors. I also had to help rehearsals of the eighth grade play. Have I mentioned that they're doing Disney's Beauty and the Beast? (No? I haven't talked about anything lately except Hitachi Magic Wands? How remiss of me.) Well, they are. And guess who's Beast? Young Master Buxom. So. Guess who feels that she has to do whatever is asked of her? Me, that's who.
2. Now, Tuesday--I have no idea what horrors I had to survive on Tuesday, although I dimly remember something about volunteering in the school lunchroom. Also more Beauty and the Beast rehearsals.
3. On Wednesday I was working on a post for BlogHer, made a TINY change, refreshed the screen and LOST IT ALL, meaning I had to start from scratch, which I did, and that nearly killed me. I barely survived only to have to help with Beauty and the Beast rehearsals AGAIN.
4. On Thursday Young Master Buxom played a cello sonata for a recital that we hadn't even known about until late last week. This necessitated a lot of frantic rehearsing, the borrowing of the teacher's $5,000 bow, the donning of our fancy clothes, and the attending of the concert. (Where he did very well.)
5. Today I did a Mamarazzi post, did MORE volunteer lunch room duty, and retrieved My New iPhone™ from the gym, where I left it the other day.
Oh, and did I mention that my husband has been working late every night this week? And isn't home yet because he has a brief or a reply or some lawyer-y thing that needs to be filed by tonight at 11:00?
Internet, while you're up, could you bring me another glass of wine?
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Whoredom
Oh, internet. You'd better sit down.
We need to talk.
You know how I've started posting about the Hitachi Magic Wand? And you thought we really had something going? Well ... I've been cheating on you. Instead of posting here, I've been posting everywhere else.
First, the temptation to make fun of Marc Anthony was irresistible.
Then I had to copy Kristen of Motherhood Uncensored and go on a month-long shred. Which of course meant I needed to start Yet Another Blog.
And then today? I was over at BlogHer giving the color green a tongue bath.
Internet, I know you're always here--warm, loving, and loyal--and yet I can't seem to help myself. I just keep throwing myself at these other blogs.
On top of that, I've been twittering my fingers to the bone.
Oh, internet. Is Twitter the Hitachi Magic Wand of blogging? And am I the Paris Hilton?
Don't answer that.
We need to talk.
You know how I've started posting about the Hitachi Magic Wand? And you thought we really had something going? Well ... I've been cheating on you. Instead of posting here, I've been posting everywhere else.
First, the temptation to make fun of Marc Anthony was irresistible.
Then I had to copy Kristen of Motherhood Uncensored and go on a month-long shred. Which of course meant I needed to start Yet Another Blog.
And then today? I was over at BlogHer giving the color green a tongue bath.
Internet, I know you're always here--warm, loving, and loyal--and yet I can't seem to help myself. I just keep throwing myself at these other blogs.
On top of that, I've been twittering my fingers to the bone.
Oh, internet. Is Twitter the Hitachi Magic Wand of blogging? And am I the Paris Hilton?
Don't answer that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)