Bohemian Blogger

My good friend, Pepe, once said. . .  I am the disillusioned.

Pepe's prophetic words, my friends, describe perfectly how I am feeling tonight:   Disillusioned.  Displaced.  Disaffected.  And just a wee-bit . . . Dis-tempered.

So distempered, in fact, that I have declared myself landed in Blogger's Bohemia.  

That's right, I am  the quintessential Bohemian Blogger.
  
And let me just state for the record that I have recently googled the term Bohemian Blogger, and - before publication of this post - the term itself doesn't exactly exist.  So that, my friends, means that I get to be the first to define its meaning.   And  if you Wiki the term Bohemian you will find that the term refers to  a literary gypsy - an artist who, consciously or unconsciously, secedes from conventionality in life and in art.  So a Bohemian Blogger may be one, like me, who has lost her way.


 Let's face it.   Do you know another artiste who would happily spend an entire weekend immersing herself in the persona and malapropisms of a smelly, delusional, and lecherous skunk while trying (unsuccessfully) to climb the search engine of Pepe le Pew? 

No, but a Bohemian Blogger would.


Because a Bohemian Blogger, my friends, is a blogger looking for her identity.   A mommy blogger who never really bragged about her kids.  A humor blogger who lost her ready-made material when her three teenage daughters grew up and flew the coop.  A snarky blogger whose second act vanished  when her computer-illiterate boss retired and the mere thought of her new boss reading her blog left her itching to enter the confessional.  A Bohemian Blogger has been stranded in no-man's-land. . . looking for a new home. . . .a new target. . . a new raison d'etre if you will. . .

Let's face it.

I am the Hardy without the Laurel . . . the comic without the relief. .  the Looney without the Tunes. .  ..the Rhapsody without the Merrie Melody.

Because I'm easy come, easy go.

Little high, little low

Anyway the wind blows,

doesn't really matter to me. .  .

to me. . .

And let me just state for the record that I never killed a man. 

How It Was Aunt Becky Caused Pepe le Pew to Overstoke ze Furnace of Love!

 A Love Letter to My Little Sugar of Plums, Aunt Becky

Permit me to introduce myself.   I am Pepe le Pew, your lover.

A Mom on Spin has whispered sweet nothings in my ear about your attempt to you-know-what the search engine page of you-know-who on the internet . .  .and how you told your six million Pranksters to go forth and do the same to other celebrities.  Now, while you were waiting on the world to change, our little Spinster quickly decided to set her sights on yours truly to see if she could play the same prank on Ze Engine of Pepe.

Now I ask you.. . . is there but one of your Pranksters who could resist . . . how do you say it . . .  Revving ze Engine of Pepe?

No.  Of course not.

But then . . . merde!

Now let me just tell you that A Mom on Spin does not always deal with a full dock (if you catch the fish of my drift) and did not realize that Warner Brothers already owned the stripe on my back.  Nor did that silly girl realize that ze letter "le" did not count as a middle initial.   And so, Tante Becky, it was nearly impossible for our little Spinning Machine to climb aboard the Pepe search engine ladder.

But even worse, our Spin Mom was appalled to discover zat I - your little bucket of love - had jumped ahead of Aunt Becky on the you-know-who search page.   Let me reassure you - my little ack, ack, ack of love - ze Spin Mom did not intend to climb ze search engine page of you-know-who.  She only intended to climb ze page of Pepe.   Never, in a million of years, did she dream that she - like you - was also climbing on the search page of you-know-who.  She knew that engine belonged to you, Aunt Becky, solely to you.


And now zat little washer woman is running away from me faster than ze corned beef runs away from ze cabbage.  In fact, she told me she was about to run through the halls of her high school and scream at the top of her lungs . . .

Sacre Maroon! (five)

I fear I may have overstoked ze furnace of love once again!

But I am a creamy puff, no?

It eees like zis you see, my melon baby collie . . .

When Pepe le Pew sets his mind to somezing, his heart follows with a little pitter-pat.  And when Pepe's  heart eees on fire, zere eees no telling what may happen.  For ees there anyone else who can rev engines quite like Pepe le Pew?

No, zere eees not.

And when you play with ze engine of love, Aunt Becky, you must be prepared to pay ze fiddler.


And now, speaking of  fiddlers, I must go and find out what zis "Pew" means every time I appear.

So my little peanut of brittles, I hope you will accept my apology sincerest for being so. . . so. . . well so Pepe-ish yesterday.   I am stupid sometimes, no?

 If you ever visit Gay Parie please meet me for a boat ride in the lover of tunnels. I will be ze captain and you, Aunt Becky, will be ze first mate.  Promotions will follow quickly.  For ze arms of Pepe le Pew are upon you now, Aunt Becky, and when ze arms of Pepe are upon you, zere eees no escaping. Especially if your body eees a wonderland.

Until then. . .

Sweeting is such part sorrow

 p.s.   And one more zing. .  . . why do you  Want Vodka all the time?   Do you not know that cold champagne will warm your heart much faster?   Or drink ze wine from ze box!   Zen . . . when you are finished, you get to squeeze ze udder!

And remember, my Aunt of Beckys, it eees like I always say. . .  All eees love, in fair and war!

Pepe le Pew, A Mom on Spin has John C. Mayer-d You . . . for scent-imental reasons, no?

It's official!  Pepe le Pew has been John C. Mayer-d!

Today, my friends, was a bit of a tough day . . . what with the funeral and all.

Until I decided to Pull a John C. Mayer on Pepe le Pew.

Now the reason I'm Pulling a John C. Mayer on  Pepe le Pew is because Aunt Becky Pulled a John C. Mayer on John C Mayer just the other day.  And let me reassure you that I wouldn't have dreamed of Pulling a John C. Mayer on my good friend, Pepe Le Pew without reading that post on Mommy Wants Vodka and realizing that Pulling a John C. Mayer had made it into the Urban Dictionary right before my very eyes. 

A witness to history, you might call me.

But now I - too - am curious to see if I can scale Google's search engine ladder by mentioning Pepe le Pew like a gazillion times in one blog post.

And, although I don't think Pepe le Pew is on ze Twitter (who do you think he is, Tweety Bird???)  I also want to know if I can get ze publiciste of Pepe le Pew mad at me.

Sacre maroon!

Now if you are one of the few folks who don't quite know who Pepe le Pew is, you can wiki your eyes ici, but be warned that Pepe le Pew's publicist will be mad at you, too, because everyone is expected to know who ze locksmith of Love is, no?  But let me just state for the record that you would far prefer having Pepe le Pew's publicist mad at you to the big skunk-man himself, 'cause we all know what happens when you annoy a skunk.  It eeeees bad.   Tres, tres, bad, no?

So come my little peanut of  brittle.  I will help you.

Theeeeeese are the things I know about Pepe le Pew. . .

• Pepe le Pew may be bi-lingual, but Pepe le Pew is most certainly not ze bi-sexuale.

• Pepe le Pew is ze only chain smoker I know who can blow smoke rings in the form of l'coeurs.

• Pepe le Pew's voice may be that of Mel Blanc's, but his smell is Pepe le Pew's own making.

• Pepe le Pew has his own facebook page where Penelope Pussycat is notable for her absence as Pepe le Pew's "ami".

• To the best of my knowledge, Pepe le Pew is the only skunk who has been John C. Mayer-d.

• Pepe le Pew may also not have a publicist. A pitiful case is he not?  Is Pepe le Pew even worth pulling a John C. Mayer on?

• Pepe le Pew didn't have teenage daughters. . .  unless they were le bastardes of Pepe le Pew.

• Being the French snob that he is, Pepe le Pew most definitely would not consume wine from ze box, but never-the-less, I image that Pepe just might enjoy milking ze udder.

• As French as Pepe Le Pew appears to be, Pepe le Pew must have had a wee-bit of Irish in his blood because he said:  You are ze corned beef to me, and I am ze cabbage to you!

•  But I am convinced that Pepe le Pew must have been talking about A Mom on Spin when he quipped:  Quelle est? Une king-sized femme skunk. Acres and acres of her, and she is mine, all mine! 

 So spinsters, you  - too - can be a witness to history by leaving your comment.  Just make sure to reference  John C. Mayer and Pepe le Pew or Ze Tante Becky may kill us, no???

Yes.

Turns out Pepe le Pew's publicist must be better than John C. Mayer's after all.   I briefly made it to #2 on the John C Mayer page.   Pepe's has proved a tough one to climb.   Must be Looney Tunes after all. . .or Warner Brothers. . .   or the Pepe le Pew favorite, Merry Melodies. .  .or the fact that Pepe le Pew doesn't have a middle initial.  Does "le" not count????

Wait!  Has Pepe le Pew been John C. Mayer-d?  Or has John C. Mayer been Pepe le Pew-d??

Zis stinks!

Why Should the Cleaning Lady Have All the Fun?

So I want you all to know that I spent most of this past weekend doing some housecleaning of my own. . . right here on my blog.

First, I layered some depth to the hilarity that is me by adding pages (I'll take a moment while you note the little tabs at the top) after which I began the process of sporting my past posts by category.  And, while perusing over some of A Mom on Spin's old posts, I discovered - much to my chagrin - that there were just a few things that I needed to sweep under the rug (so to speak. . .)

You see, I oh-so-prudently decided that I should never post anything that I wouldn't want my current boss or parish priest to see.  Now being that, in my particular case, those two persons would be one and the same. . . well,  it just made my life all that much easier.  And so I quickly dismissed some of my more irreverent posts.   (But I decided that I would still keep my last post about thinking in obsceniteese.  Not even the Pope could hold my private thoughts against me.  Could he??? )

I also decided that perhaps Veggie may have been correct when she accused me of divulging a wee-bit too much information about my daughters' personal lives, so I then proceeded to deep-six any posts which mentioned escapades with old boyfriends as well as all those which might scare off new ones.

Which left Drip Dry.

Now I thought long and hard about whether he would ever-again find the time, energy or interest to open my blog and read it.  But, as many of you may have guessed by now, Drip Dry gets treated to a personally-tailored laundry list of complaints on a daily basis.  And we all know that - despite what I may say about him - Drip Dry's a smart guy.  So we must then ask ourselves:  Why in heaven's name would the man prolong his own agony by opening my blog and reading a rumination of the same drivel all over again?  Indeed . . . I'm thinking that when ten o'clock rolls around old Drippy's thinking. .  .Thank God that woman finally went to bed!  If I had to listen to one more of her friggin' stories (you see, he thinks in obscenitees too!) I'd grab that head of hers and spin it off of her body myself!

And so it was that I decided to keep the Drip Dry stories in.


So here I stand . . .the proud author of a blog which is no longer offensive to anyone other than the man I promised to honor, obey and cherish, and the one lady whose every-other-Wednesday visits to my house are the only thing that make my life worth living.

 Now that makes sense. . .doesn't it????

p.s.  And could you do me a small favor?  You know I've never been the most thorough of housecleaners, so if you're reading an old post and see a label that reads Hidden Veggie  or perhaps Our Little Secret, could you just avert your eyes and pretend you haven't seen it????

Why Should You Care that A Mom on Spin's Cleaning Lady Drives A Land Rover?

I'll tell you why you should care what my Cleaning Lady drives.

Because A Mom on Spin still drives White Ice - her trusty 1999 minivan with 118,000 miles on her

 . . . while the Cleaning Lady drives a $50,000 Land Rover.

Now some may say it's funny.


Some may say it's ironic.


Some may even go as far as to say that it's just what I deserve.


But I'm here to tell you that it's plain-old not fair.  That - and about a million other things in my life that have me spinning my wheels time and time again to no avail.


Oh, and don't you think I don't know what you're thinking. . . So clean your own house and put the money you save into a car payment!


And I would reply that I already work a million-or-so-hours a week and the measly sum that I pay said Cleaning Lady to come to my house every-other Wednesday wouldn't even pay for a lease on a Hyundai and haven't you watched the Real Housewives of New Jersey or the Jersey Shore show (even if I haven't) 'cause everyone knows that Jersey and cleaning ladies go hand-in-hand and plus she doubles as a Feng Shui expert moving things in my house around and arranging them "just so" in order for us to garner the right Chi 'cause God knows where I would be if my Chi were any more messed up than it already is (not the expensive hair straightener, silly. . . thanks to my daughters I already own two of the $130 Chi's. . . no, I'm talking about energy. . . karma kind of stuff here. . . ) and at any rate you should mind your own business and not give a fiddler's fart why I choose to employ a cleaning lady 'cause I despise cleaning and if I had to do it all by myself (for we already know that Drip Dry and those girls never lift a finger to help me around this house) then when-oh-when would I find time for blogging???


And if you then proceed to tell me that there's no need for me to get so huffy and talk in run-on sentences, I'd inform you once and for all that you can hop out of my car and walk home all by yourself.

Plus. . . I really don't want to fix the problems in my life. 

I just want to complain about them.


So, for all who choose to come along with me. . . I say,  Sit back and enjoy the ride!


'Cause this is A Mom on Spin's new place.  A place where I complain and you listen. . . where I misuse punctuation as I see fit . . . throw words like "akimbo" and "fiddler's fart" about to my heart's content. . . and where, when I use the word "thong", hopefully I'm referring to a flip-flop. 


In short, it's a place where I cry and you laugh.


 At me.


Yup.  It's a place where you get to laugh at me. . . .

Looking to post a comment?  Read my sidebar to see why I don't want anyone talking back anymore.


And if you've gotten this post via an email, come on over to check out the new look for yourself . . . .http://www.amomonspin.com/

A Word of Explanation Here

As some of you may have noticed I have not been sharing the hilarity I call my life with you recently.
Why not?  I'll let you choose from the list below:

a.  Sheer boredom.
b.  My daughters finally complained. 
c.  The treachery and intrigue in the
     household sent me into
     a tailspin from which I have not yet recovered.
d.  I became obsessed with a hand-me-down iPod
e.  I got caught up in Medieval England. 
f.  I finally had a funeral for myself.

Like I said, it's your choice.  Any - or all - of the above could be true.

But whatever the cause of my latest absence, the truth is that I suddenly feel this strong urge to start blogging again.  To share my innermost thoughts. .  . the most intimate details of my life. . . .the ups and downs and ultimate whirlwinds of my life. . .  with you, a total stranger.

The only problem is that I don't quite trust that I have the creative energy to maintain my return to blogging.  Nor do I like myself anymore.  Don't get me wrong here. . . I still like the person, a Mom on Spin, but I don't like the blog itself.  Would you want to be surrounded by underwear all the time?  Would you want lingerie to be the defining factor in your life?  When people see you in the grocery store would you want them to think, Oh there's that thong lady again!????

Let's face it. . . Wouldn't you want to break out from under that panty-ridden clothesline???

Yes indeed.  I thought so.

So I've been searching for a new identity.   And this past Wednesday morning that elusive identity hit me over the head like a two-ton truck. (Well to be truthful, it hit me over the head like a $50,000 Land Rover, but all that is to be revealed in the not-so-distant-future.)

So, Voila!  Here I am!  All ready to start my life under a new mantra!  Check back in a couple of days and see what's become of me.

I'll still be the same old witty person that I've always been.  And all your favorite characters will still be with me, because - for better or for worse - Drip Dry, Veggie, Trigger and Ponzi are all still here under my roof.  I just may be a little more selfish. . . more me-centric. . . more thong-less, if you will. . .

But, rest assured, I'll always be. . . .

The Curse of the Good Girl

An oxi-moronic title, I know.

If I actually owned a "good girl"  (beyond the dog, that is. . . ) would it really be a "curse"????

Perhaps not, but I read the book by Rachel Simmons none-the-less.  You know. . .  just to see what I was missing out on. Besides, I was curious about the subtitle:  Raising Authentic Girls with Courage and Confidence.

And it turns out that I should have read this book years ago, for I quickly discovered that many of the situations the author documents have been played out in my household time and time again.

Simmons, founding director of the Girls Leadership Institute and author of Odd Girl Out, gave me some powerful insight into the underlying factors that may motivate my daughters' seemingly irrational, wacky and erratic behavior.  Her basic premise?  That society in general (and mothers like me in particular) unwittingly condition their daughters to act and think like socially acceptable "good girls" instead of encouraging them to develop a more independent and authentic attitude in their relationships with each other.  In fact, the second half of the book is dedicated to giving parents specific tools to model this behavior for, and with,  their daughters. 

Could I have raised my daughters to think. . . do. . . respond. . .  for themselves instead of trying to be people pleasers like their mother?  Could I have taught them to stand up for themselves more often?  Should I have insisted that my daughters think for themselves, regardless of what the "crowd" is doing or thinking? Could their relationships with their BFF's gone smoother with the knowledge I have only so recently gained?

I suppose so. . .

But consider - for starters - Ponzi's knee-jerk reaction when she saw me reading the book in the first place. . .  What are you reading, you Psycho?  You're not reading that for me!  Are you????

Did I get paid to do this book review?  Of course not!  But I would have PAID someone to write these affirming words that I found on page 118: "The problem is that mothers appear to be the prime targets of children's anger. . .  If girls are experimenting with conflict largely on their mothers, it may be that women bear a special responsibility to reflect carefully on their behavior in conflict with their daughters.. . . It is mothers who teach their daughters the ABCs of conflict." 

So hit the deck, folks. Trigger is threatening to come home from college this weekend. . . .

If You Give a Blogger a Cookie. . .

Announcing a day off again for non-blogging readers. . . it's like a snow day on top of a sick day. .. Woo Hoo!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

As for the rest of you. . .

Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions yesterday.  The only other time I received such a wealth of comments was when I was stranded in my room after a fight with Drip Dry and begged for suggestions for revenge tactics. It's nice to know that you all aren't a bunch of voyeurs just waiting for me to douse my husband's toothbrush in the eau d'toilette after all .  . .

I promised to share my blogging philosophy with you today, and I shall.

I started this blog because I wrote a book that I never really tried to get published.

I wrote the book because I truly felt my life was spinning (yes, spinning) out of control.

And so I naturally turned to the thing I do best and let my silly sense of humor lead to a very-real sense of catharsis that comes from letting my fingers do the talking.  (Oh Sweet Jesus!  I just realized that I told you I didn't want to know why you blog, I wanted to know how you blog!  But wait, it will become relevant momentarily . . . ) Because the afore-mentioned relief is so powerful, I feel the need to write something almost each and every day.

My blogging time has become an established part of my daily life.  I get home from work, start "dinner", pour myself a glass of wine, and begin to write.  (And, yes, my posts are an unfettered stream of consciousness spilling forth in hopes they find the publish button before I begin my second glass. . .)  Most of my post ideas spring from incidents that occur during the day.   Sadly, other ideas are tortured out of my twisted psyche at 3:00 in the morning.  Regardless of how or why they occur, the first hour of my blogging evening is usually spent crafting the day's post.

Oh, and I should tell you that I'm impatient.   Every once in a great while I schedule a post to air early in the a.m. (when it seems most folks in the US post) but I'm usually too curious to see what it looks like when it hits the big screen to wait until morning.

Truth be told, when I first starting blogging, I thought it would end there.   You know, the old If you write it, they will read mentality.  But then I learned the dirty little secret of blogging - namely, that it's a two way street.

And so here you all come.  Into the picture.   You enter into the picture.

So now the next hour or so of my blogging evening is unselfishly devoted to you - my fellow bloggers.  'Cause - quite honestly - I learned that if I don't bring a cake to the neighbors, they'll never bring chocolate chip cookies to you.  And I really like chocolate chip cookies.

And - yes - I have been pleasantly surprised by the depth and breadth of the blogs and bloggers I have found myself in company with.  I have been heartened by your humor. . . compelled by your stories. . . touched by your challenges. . . uplifted by your spirituality - you name it, I have found myself in awe of you!.

I am currently following 83 blogs, but the blogs listed on my sidebar are what I use to pay my visits.  And since those blogs are arranged in recent post order, I  visit those who have recently posted first.  As many of you have already discovered, I'm a commenter.   I visit and comment and visit and comment until - frankly - I'm out of time. . .or dinner is burning. . .or House is on. . . or my bed is calling to me like the sexy little vixen that she is . . . And yes, sometimes I'm a bit goofy with the comments, but once I land on a blog, I feel compelled to leave my mark . . . you know, kind of like a calling card. (The goofy comments may also have something to do with that second glass of wine, but don't tell anyone. . .)

Do I have peeves?  Sure.  For the most part I read every blog post through to its natural end, but I have to confess that my ADD tendencies have sometimes cause the occasional  looooooong blog post to die an untimely death at my fingertips.

You know, I could go on, but 

And in case you didn't get it?  That was my attempt at being funny.  You know. . . causing my own post to die an untimely death.

And remember, I like chocolate chip cookies. . . .

Inquiring Minds and All That . . .

 My apologies to all my non-blogger readers who come here to get their daily dose of feel-good by knowing that at least A Mom on Spin's life is worse off than their own.   You've all earned a well-deserved break from the hilarity that is me.  So skip on off now and do something productive with your time for a change.  But don't forget to come back tomorrow. Do you all remember the short-lived "no funerals" post the other day?   Three hours later, the body was cold  . .  .

  ~~~~~~~~~~

And so the following is addressed to my fellow bloggers. . . 

Okay folks! The time has come to 'fess up about how you blog. I don't want to know why you blog. . . or where you blog. . . or when you blog. . . but  HOW you blog. . .

You know the kind of stuff  I'm looking for.  What's the method to you madness?  The process that you follow?

Do you blog every day?  Every other?    Is each blog post carefully crafted, edited and reviewed?  Or does it spill forward like a stream of unfettered consciousness that just happens to land on the Publish button?

How many blogs do you follow?  How many blogs do you visit? How do you decide who will get the honor of your visit? Do you employ the Evelyn Woods method of speed reading when visiting?

And what about comments?  Do you comment with every visit? Do you play tit-for-tat?  Do you judge every post by the number of comments it brings?  Do you respond to comments by emailing?  When you receive an email from a fellow blogger, can you even remember what the holy heck you said on their blog in the first place? 

Has there ever been a blogger who has annoyed you?  Ignored you? Inspired you? Adored you?

Have you ever regretting posting something?  Retracted a post?  Over-imbibed your box of wine and forgotten you published something?

Do you have a list of  blogging peeves?  Blogging perks?   Blogging no-no's?

Do tell, because I want to know.

I'd tell you about my own style, but it would violate the first item on my list of peeves. . . The long blog post!

If you tell me today, folks,  I promise I'll share my secrets with you tomorrow. . .

And just in case you're thinking of skipping out of here without a comment. . . I'll repeat what I said earlier. . . Do you all remember the short-lived "no funerals" post the other day?   (Perhaps not, 'cause only ten of you  commented. .  .)   Well, three hours later, the body was cold  . .  .


Oh, and if ellipses are on your list of pet peeves. . . go ahead and say it. . . I'm a big girl.

Same goes for p.s.'s and post-signature drivel. . .

No More Missing Bodily Parts or Functions. . . Please!

Dear Readers,

It's not even a confession or Hello God? day, but I want to TTGL (thank the Good Lord ) for something. . . .because, in conjunction with my anniversary post yesterday, Kathy B. has allowed me to see the light.

That's right folks.   At long last I have discovered what LMAO means.

Seriously!

I had been looking at those four letters of the alphabet for a full year now, and not been able to decipher their code. Laugh My Ass Off.        

WTF???  Why didn't I think of that myself????


But this long-overdue revelation leads me to ask. . .What exactly are we people????   Some sort of crass-body-reducing-cannibalistic bloggers????  (Although, if I had  thought there was a possibility of actually laughing my big derriere off, I would have been right there LMAOing alongside the rest of you. . . )

And as for some other bodily functions . . . such as snorting coffee through one's nose or peeing in one's pants at the unending hilarity of my blog posts. . .I need to ask. . .  did no one ever PGWAG?  (Pass gas with a giggle????)  CCWAC?  (Cut cheese with a chortle???)  LLWAL  (lose lunch with a laugh???)

Of course you have!

But you know better.  Judging from the tone and tenor I set on the refined journalistic memoir that constitutes this weblog (now keep in mind that your favorite mom is almost a direct-report to God and steals His Holy Oils for her perfume. . .WTF again???? ) you - my faithful readers - are too polite to mention these things (which, frankly, are just TMI) in public.

Much safer to stick with A Mom on Spin's new non-oozing acronyms.  . . ICIRIL  (I came.  I read.  I laughed.)   ICIRIC  ( I came. I read.  I cried. . . Oh fiddlesticks!  I guess there's some oozing there, but it's good oozing. . . is it not????)  and my personal favorite,  ICIRIG  (I came.  I read.  I'm gone!)

Sweet.  Simple.  To the point.

No worries about the depth of funniness. No more missing parts or unwanted bodily fluids escaping when you least expect them to.

Oh yes - and no more windbags!

For more funny correspondence, go check out Kat while she still has her 3-Bedroom Bungalow across the pond. . .

The Ten Commandments of Blogging (Brought down the mountain one at a time by A Mom on Spin . . . )

Why, whadda know???? It's my Anni-bloga-versary!

That's right! Exactly one year ago today A Mom on Spin (the blog - mind you) was born. 

So now that I have now officially become a Blogging Diva, I thought I would take this opportunity to impart to you my vision of how blogging should be. . . a few little rules and suggestions that I like to call. . .

The Ten Commandments of Blogging

(Brought down the mountain one at a time by A Mom on Spin. . .)

1. I am A Mom on Spin, and you shall read no other blogs before mine.
2. Thou shalt not use A Mom on Spin's name in vain. But you shall, instead, link to my name and blog at every opportunity.
3. Keep short your blog posts. A line or two for the rest of you should do. . . all the more time we can spend at my blog. . .
4. Honor the blogging Diva - always in the form of a comment.
   
5. Thou shalt not speed read A Mom on Spin. Every word is carefully chosen to enlighten and improve the quality of your life. Don't miss a single one!
   
6. Thou shalt not use certain acronyms when commenting on this blog. . . Okay, I get what LOL means, but no one has enlightened me as to what the LMAO thing is. And no more snorting coffee out your nose 'cause I'm so funny. . . that's just plain old TMI.
7. Thou shalt not lurk. I understand that's it's often hard to come up with witty, pithy, and original comments to my blog posts - and so, as of today, the following new acromyns will be accepted and expected: ICIRIL (I came, I read, I laughed. . .) ICIRIC (I came, I read, I cried. . . cause sometimes I can be really touching like that. . . ) and finally. . . ICIRIG (I came, I read, I'm gone. . .)
8. You shalt not be funnier than A Mom on Spin. (A sort of an oxi-moronic phrase, I know. . .)
   
9. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's (that would mean me, folks. . .) blog.

and last, but not least. . .

10. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's (me again!) followers. . . or elipses. . . you shouldn't covet them either. . . or my sharp wit. . . or my daughters. . . my job. . . or Mr. Drip Dry if you think he's covetable. . . don't you dare covet him . . . or my dog, 'cause she really is the best dog in the world. . . sorry, folks. . . but she has that title wrapped up. . . no coveting. . . you hear me. . . coveting is NOT allowed. . . . no coveting. period.

And if anyone wants to read A Mom on Spin's first-ever blog post . . . well, you really should. . . .because - Diva or not - it's somehow comforting to know that life hasn't changed much for her in the last year. . .

I Miss My Craptop

Yes. I said it.


I miss my craptop.


I'm a creature of habit. . . . and my habit is to sit in my little corner oasis of my bedroom on my ficker chair while blogging on my trusty craptop.


And ever since that craptop has been downstairs in my husband's "workshop" awaiting repairs, life just hasn't been the same.


The 1999 rent-a-wreck which I have been attempting to use in its place makes dial-up service seem like the Concorde. . . . I dare not touch the other three laptops in our home which belong to my husband and two of my daughters. . . .and the two family p.c.'s are located. . . well. . . in the family room. . . and somehow it just doesn't seem right to complain about my family while they're in plain sight!


And, as a result, I haven't been religiously posting on my own blog . . . and I haven't been visiting yours!


Let us all wish my craptop a quick and speedy recovery!


For Proma (times 2 I'll have you kmow) has descended upon our household, and I'm going to need your help by Thursday!!!

At last. . . Someone understands me!!!!

I have received an award of great significance!

For finally someone has noticed that I'm a Trainwreck.



Yes, my friend Adlibby has bestowed this award on me which I will cherish (or is it covet???) forever. And here are the vitals on the award as laid out by the foundress, Bitchin' Amy:

"This award is for the blogs that we like to stop and gawk at every day, time permitting. We just can't get enough of these bloggers' wit, honesty, good humor, and obvious love for spinning a great yarn around the events of their lives, even if they were weeping while it happened a week ago. Life is too short to not laugh at the trials and curiosities that are put before you and these writers get that. In spades. And they aren't afraid to share."

Did you catch that, fellow spinners? Someone has recognized. . . obvious love for spinning a great yarn around the events of their lives, even if they were weeping while it happened a week ago. . .


Come to think of it. . . I was weeping a week ago!!! Oh my God!!! How did she know????



But that was all hashed out in family therapy last evening . . . well not really family therapy . . . I guess it was more like parent therapy. . . not that any of my daughters would visit a therapist or anything . . . no, actually let's just say it was pet therapy. . . yeah! that's it. . . the family dog took this opportunity to visit the local doggie therapist and so she could tell us all the things she doesn't like. . . cause she barks at us sometimes. . . and my husband and I don't speak dog-speak. . . and how would we know what all that barking is about??? . . it's like we're from different planets or something. . . and so the pet therapist (or interpreter, if you will) facilitated the conversation about improving communication with the dog. . . you know. . . things like . . . the doggie really needs a sense of independence. . . she's really working on her people skills. . . does punishing the doggie really help . . . should we really care if the canine has a messy room . . . what should we do if the dog stays out past her curfew. . . or drives too fast. . . or wants us to pay for those fancy pet-a-cures. . . perhaps we should pick our battles with the doggie . . . and if the pooch snaps back . . . well that's just what doggies do. . .

Believe me, we all agreed that we love the dog. We just don't love the barking.

All of which is proof, my friends, that I am a TrainWreck!!!! And I thank Adlibby for noticing. And now I get to bestow this award on three of my disaster-prone, awkward-situation-inclined bloggy friends. . . and so the nomination goes to:

Fhina at A Woman of No Importance - because I love her flowy, flitty, posts and the fact that she gave the ideal moniker to the Perfect-Coated One.

Sassy Britches - because she has taught me many valuable life lessons. . . most of which are too delicate to mention here. But trust me. . . she knows everything!!!!

and Smart A$$ Mom - because . . .well, just because I like her!!!!



And here's a little toast to you, my blogging chums. . . Here's hoping your Trainwrecks will always be happy ones. . . and if they aren't. . . may you blame it on the family dog!!!

I'm cute!

Did I thank Laura from My Thoughts Uninterrupted for my "Cute" award???

I dare say I didn't.

And the best part about this award is that it doesn't require me to divulge any personal information in return. No emptying my handbag. . . no scrolling through my camera. . . no peeking under my bed to count dustbunnies. It's just there - being "cute."

These are a few of my fabulous things. . .

So Adlibby thinks I'm fabulous! And if you need proof, It's right over to the left!

And, because no mere human being could be filled with such fabulosity without a few minor addictions, I am offering my top five to you. . .

(parentheses). . . exclamation marks!. . . bullets. . . italics. . . and the ever-present ellipses . . .

But even better than that, Adlibby let me know about a giveaway that Auds at Barking Mad is running for a $250 gift card to Target. And all I have to do is put this little button on my blog

and list some of my favorite posts for you. . .

• Four and Twenty Vegans Baked in a Pie
• My Trip to the Health Food Store
• A Letter to My Better Half
• Heaven Nundred and Nifty Blue Scholars
• A Pox on Your Bank
• Take from Me, My Lace
• And So the Plot Thickens
• Those Aren't Little Tanning Goggles

So there you have it. . . Eight of my all-time fab-favorite things! You can enter the contest if you want, but I'm winning.

People who live in glass houses shouldn't enable comment verification

So have you all heard of Secret Spineless Whine - a new blog where you can whine away without getting in trouble???

I tried to email a post to them.

Twice.

Unsuccessfully.

Don't get me wrong. . . I'm not whining about the site itself.

I'm whining, instead, about my own lack of skills wherein I don't even notice that the link to the site has opened outlook express instead of my Gmail account and then - when my laptop doesn't connect to Gmail fast enough, the link doesn't get established and, as far as I can tell, my whine gets sent into a much bigger abyss of whines, never to be received by the stated recipient. . .

Thank God!

For following is the spineless and whiney post which I tried unsuccessfully to send early Saturday morning, but - thankfully - just rescued from my outbox . . .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~

Could someone explain to me why bloggers need that little word verification thing in their comments section? Let's face it guys, do we really need to worry about comment spam???? And where does that leave someone like me who is a tad bit dyslexic? I have to re-enter that nonsensical "word" time and time again until I get it right or else - horror of horrors - hit the "handi-crapped" sign!

Has anyone ever had the pleasure of hitting that sign? It sounds like some Al Queda operative is giving you top-secret directives - the implementation of which will succeed in blowing up the world!

It scares me!

So to all of my bloggy friends. . . I beg you. . . just let me put my two cents in without reminding me of my faults and failings.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And the reason I'm glad that post was never received?

Well just today one of the commentors on my blog said " . . . and did you know that the word verification on this post is ______________????"

What?

Yes, I had word verification enabled.

Just think about it. . . if that post had actually made its way to Secret Spineless Whine. . . and if anyone had been so entertained that they followed the link to my blog. . . and if they had been moved to comment. . . guess what they would have encountered?

You guessed it. A word verification screen!

And how that little "enable" circle ever got filled. . .I just don't know. . . And just how I never knew it was enabled is an even greater mystery.

And so I apologize to all of my kindred dyslexic readers who would have taken offense at my Spineless post had it been posted . . . and all of those who would have simply thought I was a freaking nutcase. . . and those of you who would have spinelessly whined about bloggers who don't understand their own sites. . .

With head down and sincerely humbled, I leave you as. . .

p.s. Look for my new blog coming soon: Secret Clueless Whine!

Two major awards!!!!!

An afternoon off in a snowstorm is a good time to catch up on some housekeeping items (not the real house, silly - that was what you call theoretically speaking . . . )

I have recently received two awards from two friends in the blog-o-sphere: Jennifer at http://whatisshakin.blogspot.com/ gave me this award:




Thank you Jennifer!


and Blossom at http://lili-aimhigh.blogspot.com/ passed along this award:

Thank you Blossom!


Both of these awards come with some rules which I am going to promptly throw by the wayside. In the spirit of the season, I want, instead, to start a new award which I will call the Fra-gil-e Award! This award is based on my favorite Christmas movie, A Christmas Story, and will serve to remind us that we should always remember which end is up!

Now, all of my readers and bloggy friends should consider themselves "gifted" with this award.
However, there is one requirement - all recipients need to post an answer to the question in the comment section below:

If you were to receive a "Major Award" this Christmas, what would you want it to be?

Don't be shy. . . and remember kids, Don't shoot your eye out!

Desperately seeking blogging mentor

I've discovered something about this blogging thing. . .


It's not all about me!!!


Believe it or not, there are other blogs out there. (And some of them pretty good!)



And so I have committed myself to becoming part of the greater blogging community. But honestly, I think every new mommy blogger should be assigned a mentor to teach her the rules of blogging etiquette.


For instance. . . a couple of weeks ago I was "tagged" by Dorsey

If I understand the rules correctly, I need to link back to her blog http://searchingformyinnerskinny.blogspot.com/ Done!


Then I need to list 7 random or weird facts about myself.


Then, horror of horrors, I have to "tag" 7 random folks.


Herein lies the problem people! I don't know 7 random bloggers! (I know what you're thinking here. . . "random" doesn't necessarily mean a best friend.) But still, are there HIPAA laws for bloggers? Is it proper etiquette to "tag" people you don't know?? Would it be akin to approaching a fellow Walmart shopper and saying, Excuse me, I've never laid eyes on you before, but can you tell me 7 things about yourself??? Just because we happen to be in the same place at the same time doesn't mean we need to establish a relationship - does it?


Perhaps I'm overthinking things again, so here goes. . .

1. I live next-door to my parents, my sister, and her family.
2. I have authored over 200 religious poems for children - some of them silly and slightly irreverent - but have stopped counting my "rejections" from publishing houses.
3. I haven't stepped foot in a movie theater in over two years - the day my life-long fear of small rodents in movie theaters was proven to be well-founded.
4. I consider myself a proud Suess-a-phile and Austen-addict.
5. I usually blog while sitting on a ficker (fake-wicker) chair in my bedroom so that when I finally stand up I have a nice herringbone pattern embedded on the back of my legs.
6. I consider myself a friend of both the local funeral director and cemetery manager. (Just imagine that blog. . . "Life" in the Cemetery. . . oh, if they would only let me share their stories!)
and finally. . .
7. I really do love my husband and children! (But let's let that be our little secret. . .Shhh! )
And to all you people I don't know. . . Consider yourself "tagged" because I'm afraid to tap you on the shoulder!








p.s. If you want to mentor me, please let me know. . . . I'm hopelessly lost in this blog-o-sphere!!!!