I now know why I haven't been blogging much, and you can blame her. Yes, that's right. XUP is the cause of all my blogging woes. See, I added her to my feed a little while back and I started to read her. And read her. And read her. She's really quite good, you see.
And that's the problem.
XUP can always find interesting things to talk about. I cannot. I do not comprehend how the brilliant woman comes up with a new and exciting topic most every day. She makes you laugh. She makes you think. And, in this particular case, she makes you wonder how you can ever blog again when you have that to compare it to. I believe she might be alien. She's even one of those creepy vegetarians. Those people are so aware of the bigger picture that they can't possibly be human.
Several times in the last couple of weeks I've started to write. It looks good at first and I think I'm actually getting somewhere. Then I hit the literary wall, get discouraged, and throw it all to the wayside while I pour myself another fair-trade coffee and sulk.
(One must remember the bigger picture even when one is sulking.)
Today, I woke up with a fresh perspective. You know what? Forget all those extremely talented bloggers. I may not be among them, but I'm also not swimming in the crappy blogger pool, either. You know those crappy bloggers. They write stuff like this:
Ever stumbled on a blog like that? It can make your eyes bleed. I made that one up but I have no doubt someone will come along eventually and claim intellectual property rights:
Nope. I'm not quite that bad, thankfully. So I'm going to stop trying to up my game and instead get back to my writing roots. I'm not going to try and come up with neat topics anymore. I'm just going to let the words flow, like an improvising rapper. I'm going Eight Mile, yo. I'm spinning phrases like a spider spins webs.
I'm dipping my toes in the crappy blogger pool with that last sentence, aren't I?
Whatever. I can more than make up for that with some amusing anectodes. Why do I stress myself out trying to find fresh topics when the gremlins provide me with more material than I ever thought possible? And what they don't provide, my crazy friends and family do. I, of course, am nearly perfect and rarely do anything that could be considered short of amazing. Not much to write about, there. I'd basically sound like I'm bragging all the time.
It's a curse being this great, I tell you.
Speaking of gremlin stories, the middle one decided to let his horns show this morning. Not only did he crawl into our bed in the middle of the night - followed closely by Spawnling, and let me tell you that four people in a queen size bed does not give me the beauty rest I require at my advanced age - but he woke up a good 45 minutes before the alarm and wanted to get himself cereal.
No problem so far. Gutsy is a capable six-year-old who often wakes up with the birds to watch cartoons before school. The problem today was that he wasn't feeling very independent.
Poke. Poke. "Dad?"
Shake. Shake. "Daaaad?"
Geekster mumbles "Yes, Gutsy? What is it?"
Spawnling stirs. I stir. It's like a memory foam mixing bowl.
"I want some cereal. Can you get me a bowl?"
All gremlin-friendly diningware is in the pantry on the bottom shelf for easy acquisition. I streamlined the early morning food gathering process in the last quarter so that we can increase dream production. It's supposed to be a full-proof system that Gutsy and his brothers have had a training seminar on. He's to read the manual before calling in management. I was rather disappointed by this morning's events.
"Gutsy," replied his very tired father, "the bowls are in the pantry and the cereal is in the cupboard next to the dishwasher. You know that. Go get it yourself, honey. It's too early to be talking. I'm going back to sleep, ok?"
Did you notice where the cereal is? Streamlined, see? I'm such a freaking genius.
Poke. Poke. "Dad?"
Geekster's mumbling turns into grumbling: "What?"
Spawnling kicks me in the ribs. Ouch. Damn it.
"I don't want a plastic bowl. I want a glass one."
The "glass" - or ceramic - bowls are sitting in a less convenient cupboard above the sink for a very specific reason: they are breakable.
"It's not time to get up yet so I'm not moving if I don't have to. What's wrong with plastic bowls? You always use those." At this point, Geekster sounds like he's whining more than discussing. I can't blame him. Being forced to make conversation before any coffee is a form of torture in some countries. So, instead of subjecting myself to torture as well, I winced at the pain in my ribs and went back to pretending I was fast asleep.
Gutsy, never quick to back down, explained his situation earnestly. "Yes, but they're plastic bowls. Plastic bowls are for babies. I want a glass bowl."
Knowing this could go on until the alarm sounded, I figured I would quickly rectify the situation. I didn't have a Food Acquisition Manual for Casa Maven in hand to throw at Gutsy, so instead I used 6:15AM logic. "Gutsy, when you're tall enough to reach the glass bowls you'll be old enough to use them. That's why they're up high. I have a system. Please respect the system. Now go get a plastic bowl and let us sleep, ok?"
There. Problem solved. When The Maven puts her foot down that is final. End of story. Everyone listens because I am god-like in my power.
For the next half hour we listened to Gutsy whine at the foot of the bed in such a way that he sounded like a sickly cow. A very sickly cow. A cow so sick it couldn't go get a damn plastic bowl in the damn pantry so its poor elderly cow parents could get a few more minutes sleep.
And then the alarm went off.
I got him a plastic bowl. He frowned and begrudgingly accepted it, his throat too hoarse from deep throated bovine-like whining to argue.
See? That's quality material right there. Moo-velous material.
And that's the problem.
XUP can always find interesting things to talk about. I cannot. I do not comprehend how the brilliant woman comes up with a new and exciting topic most every day. She makes you laugh. She makes you think. And, in this particular case, she makes you wonder how you can ever blog again when you have that to compare it to. I believe she might be alien. She's even one of those creepy vegetarians. Those people are so aware of the bigger picture that they can't possibly be human.
Several times in the last couple of weeks I've started to write. It looks good at first and I think I'm actually getting somewhere. Then I hit the literary wall, get discouraged, and throw it all to the wayside while I pour myself another fair-trade coffee and sulk.
(One must remember the bigger picture even when one is sulking.)
Today, I woke up with a fresh perspective. You know what? Forget all those extremely talented bloggers. I may not be among them, but I'm also not swimming in the crappy blogger pool, either. You know those crappy bloggers. They write stuff like this:
omg so like tara is such a biaaatcchhhh!! WTF?!?!?!? shes all up in my face like were in high skool still but we not were workin peepz now u no? so when im geting the maneger to sine my vacasion form she doesnt need to come up and be all like 'what were u doing txting my man last night????'
fuuuukkkk! i hate this place and i cant wait to leave it 4 ever! as soon as her boyfriend and i get marryed i can quit stupid berger king and move in with him and she can serve me my fukkin frys. yesssss!!!!!
Ever stumbled on a blog like that? It can make your eyes bleed. I made that one up but I have no doubt someone will come along eventually and claim intellectual property rights:
hi u stole my life biaaatch! dont copy me and dont hate. ur jus jellous of my talentz!
Nope. I'm not quite that bad, thankfully. So I'm going to stop trying to up my game and instead get back to my writing roots. I'm not going to try and come up with neat topics anymore. I'm just going to let the words flow, like an improvising rapper. I'm going Eight Mile, yo. I'm spinning phrases like a spider spins webs.
I'm dipping my toes in the crappy blogger pool with that last sentence, aren't I?
Whatever. I can more than make up for that with some amusing anectodes. Why do I stress myself out trying to find fresh topics when the gremlins provide me with more material than I ever thought possible? And what they don't provide, my crazy friends and family do. I, of course, am nearly perfect and rarely do anything that could be considered short of amazing. Not much to write about, there. I'd basically sound like I'm bragging all the time.
It's a curse being this great, I tell you.
Speaking of gremlin stories, the middle one decided to let his horns show this morning. Not only did he crawl into our bed in the middle of the night - followed closely by Spawnling, and let me tell you that four people in a queen size bed does not give me the beauty rest I require at my advanced age - but he woke up a good 45 minutes before the alarm and wanted to get himself cereal.
No problem so far. Gutsy is a capable six-year-old who often wakes up with the birds to watch cartoons before school. The problem today was that he wasn't feeling very independent.
Poke. Poke. "Dad?"
Shake. Shake. "Daaaad?"
Geekster mumbles "Yes, Gutsy? What is it?"
Spawnling stirs. I stir. It's like a memory foam mixing bowl.
"I want some cereal. Can you get me a bowl?"
All gremlin-friendly diningware is in the pantry on the bottom shelf for easy acquisition. I streamlined the early morning food gathering process in the last quarter so that we can increase dream production. It's supposed to be a full-proof system that Gutsy and his brothers have had a training seminar on. He's to read the manual before calling in management. I was rather disappointed by this morning's events.
"Gutsy," replied his very tired father, "the bowls are in the pantry and the cereal is in the cupboard next to the dishwasher. You know that. Go get it yourself, honey. It's too early to be talking. I'm going back to sleep, ok?"
Did you notice where the cereal is? Streamlined, see? I'm such a freaking genius.
Poke. Poke. "Dad?"
Geekster's mumbling turns into grumbling: "What?"
Spawnling kicks me in the ribs. Ouch. Damn it.
"I don't want a plastic bowl. I want a glass one."
The "glass" - or ceramic - bowls are sitting in a less convenient cupboard above the sink for a very specific reason: they are breakable.
"It's not time to get up yet so I'm not moving if I don't have to. What's wrong with plastic bowls? You always use those." At this point, Geekster sounds like he's whining more than discussing. I can't blame him. Being forced to make conversation before any coffee is a form of torture in some countries. So, instead of subjecting myself to torture as well, I winced at the pain in my ribs and went back to pretending I was fast asleep.
Gutsy, never quick to back down, explained his situation earnestly. "Yes, but they're plastic bowls. Plastic bowls are for babies. I want a glass bowl."
Knowing this could go on until the alarm sounded, I figured I would quickly rectify the situation. I didn't have a Food Acquisition Manual for Casa Maven in hand to throw at Gutsy, so instead I used 6:15AM logic. "Gutsy, when you're tall enough to reach the glass bowls you'll be old enough to use them. That's why they're up high. I have a system. Please respect the system. Now go get a plastic bowl and let us sleep, ok?"
There. Problem solved. When The Maven puts her foot down that is final. End of story. Everyone listens because I am god-like in my power.
For the next half hour we listened to Gutsy whine at the foot of the bed in such a way that he sounded like a sickly cow. A very sickly cow. A cow so sick it couldn't go get a damn plastic bowl in the damn pantry so its poor elderly cow parents could get a few more minutes sleep.
And then the alarm went off.
I got him a plastic bowl. He frowned and begrudgingly accepted it, his throat too hoarse from deep throated bovine-like whining to argue.
See? That's quality material right there. Moo-velous material.