One of my sweet, concerned ego-strokers friends asked me today “Why haven’t you posted since Sunday?”
It made me pause for a minute, but I answered truthfully, “Because I don’t have anything to say.”
I mean, that’s not technically true. I could say a lot of things.
I could say “I got a haircut.”
I could say “I have bloody shinsplits because I’m not happy with the “relationship fluff” I’ve accumulated around the middle since dating Army Boy and am resuming my exercise routine.”
I could say “Also, I bought the 30-Day Shred. Because I needed $6 to get free shipping on ‘Avatar’. And I’m fucking terrified of this work out and that Jillian Michaels is going to kick my dimpled ass. Which is the point, really.”
I could say “I think I have an online shopping addiction.”
“No Really. I bought French Perfume last week. For no other reason than that I wanted to try it and I am a Bratty Brat Brat.”
“I don’t want to go to both the doctor AND Singers rehearsal early tomorrow morning. I feel like half my day is going to be eaten up when I have so much to get done in the house like laundry and cleaning and—“
Cell … Tango
That’s what I would have written five years ago, on my Livejournal blog in College where I was so full of the self-love that I thought everyone really cared exactly what I’d done that weekend. Everyone was truly interested to hear just how in looooove and happy I was with the latest boyfriend, be he a good guy like Drummer Guy or a doped-up douche like Surfer Dude.
I don’t want to be the type of blogger that resorts to writing a litany of complaints just because there is nothing else rattling around in my skull. I’d rather stay silent. Not because I think there’s anything wrong with using your blog as a platform to vent about what’s bothering you in life- I’ve done it. Religion, Politics, Family.
But I want to hold myself to being better than to write about day to day minutae.
Unless it’s really really FUNNY day-to-day minutae.
Which I usually forget unless I stop and take the time to write it down, dammit.
New Kids on the ….
Just finished up book 4 of the Percy Jackson series, and started Dean Koontz’s “Breathless” My god, I LOVE that man. I’m only 100 pages in, so have no clue what the book is remotely about, but I’m enjoying racing through the pieces to put them together.
His writing just takes my breath away at times, too. That’s what kills me about his books. They can be exciting, horrifying, and humorous, and then he’ll through in a sentence that slams me to the floor and makes me re-read it just to savor how he paints with words.
“Henry Rouvroy picked up shotgun-shattered fragments of his face from the bathroom floor and dropped the pieces of broken mirror into a heavy-duty plastic trash bag.”- (p90)
I’m going to stop raving now because it’s turning into a Review, and I need to save that.
Jenny From The….
Don’t worry, I’m working on a food blog post. It will be epic. And ridiculously silly. And may contain a cake mix box.
I’m no Martha Stewart.