Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Let's Get Cautiously Optimistic About my Return!

This is ridiculous. I haven't posted since February. That's not just lazy, why, that's unconscionable. Somewhere, a sad, Russian teen is pulling out her (his?) cutting tools and self-harming because my Word Art has been lacking. (God, I really hope not, because clearly. Damn.)

I've been using up all my words and synonyms writing for work, at a job, in a place. I can't possibly write words all day and then come home and write more words. I'm not Stephen King for the love. I have no plot, and you know this. I did write a bit of a promising stanza the other day, and that was a thing.

I'm still annoyed that Teenager Angsty Pants is popping up in green jello searches before Yours Truly. I have recourse. I know a guy who knows about SEO, so watch your back, Betty Pinterest! Just sayin'. You know that whole thing about old age and treachery overcoming youth and whatever...? Well. That's real. Only for me it's more like...glorious not-yet-middle-age and vendetta-y.

I had honestly planned to keep up my brilliant writing here, but then I was moved to start a new blog about running because running has become My Thing, and then because, life, I pulled a dirty motherlovin' ligament in mah knee and no one is running in the House of Eternal Suffering. Now I'm wearing a Robocop Brace (without ANY cool weapons and/or James Bond/Batman devices) and doing physical therapy that is doing nothing. Apparently, I have to "be patient" which is sort of like telling the sun to "be not so hot and burny." Ain't happenin' ladies. Patient is a virtue that, honestly, I'm not likely to learn, earn, or accept.

So I'm mad about my dirty, dirty torn ligament (how did I tear it? We know not, except to say probably from being older and ridiculous). I'm going to try and write as much as I can, as often as I can. I love my blog and I love my back-end stats and I love, love, love all the (I'm assuming) folks who wander over here after Google misreads whatever info you wanted involving the term "tranny."

I want my running blog up and...um, running. Soon. That will be some of the same: my biting, hilarious humor but mainly on the subject of running, or NOT running, as the case may be. Read me here, read me there, read me everywhere (just like Dr. Seuss but with more rum and less colorful illustrations).

Other than me not writing my World Famous Blog and crushing hearts and souls with the dearth of my Word Art, things are pretty much business-as-usual at Casa de Chaos. The kids are doing school, which, damn. Shouldn't it just be the KIDS doing school? Didn't I already do school? I feel like I did. But now I have approximately 55 websites I have to log in, and not lock myself out of, and check on the kids' progress and goals and all the monitored testing and suddenly my ridiculously Caucasian/European descent ass is supposed to go all Infamous Tiger Mom on these kids if the percentages are wrong, or if the goals and tests aren't high enough and honestly... didn't I do school already? I can tell you what I remember from college did NOT involve me doing any elementary ed classes. Suddenly I have to be Mrs. Teacher Pants and do reading log sign-offs and reviews and...I mean, luckily Princess is approximately 21 and handles all her own logs and schedules and has probably submitted her ivy league school application by now and we're just waiting on the acceptance letter.

Then there's my other child. I mean, when there are mines to mine in Minecraft (I assume) he hath no timeth for the reading logs and reviews and charts and cards. I try but let's be honest, it's wearying and annoying to chase a 7 year old around the house with a book when you have to get your Donna Reed ass back in the kitchen and get that meatloaf a crackin'.

So picture my long, long absence as full of business writing and not personal writing, and reticent children, and random cross-country drives, and road rage/parking incidents involving threats of me using my pepper spray. Yes, that's real. I had to almost spray a lady who tried to get up in my grill after a parking dispute. I'll spare you the entire fabulous story, but I was right, she was wrong, and she started yelling at Princess. THAT didn't work for me. I was very cool and collected and when she came up to my car and got in the window, it almost went DOWN. I'm glad she backed off because WalMart doesn't carry pepper spray anymore and I would have to drive alllll the way into the City of Traffic Jams to the Giant Chain Store that Has Lines for all the Guns and buy it there, because they have the best selection and it would've been a whole thing.

I would love to make you promises that my writing will be regular and joyous, just like your daily commute to work, but I don't want to get you all thrilled and then have me wander off without comment like a deadbeat dad who has no intention of paying your child support.

I'll try, and that's really all we can ask, Readers in Botswana. But here's to trying!

Wednesday, February 5, 2014


I read years ago that the average life of a blog is 2 years. I would look up when I started this blog, but that would require...doing something, and frankly I don't wanna.

I looked up my page, and the first listing was a teenager's Pinterest. Wait. What??? Some teenager, evidently, has created a Pinterest profile called "Don't Eat the Green Jell-O." Long time readers (where ever you are, mazel tov) will recall that my initial incarnation was the very same. Eventually I changed it to EAT the Green Jell-O, as in Drink the Kool Aid, become one of the cool kids, etc.

Now, because I'm a classy lady, I'm above being annoyed by teenage shenanigans. God knows that between texting their friends, chemistry homework, bad skin, and probably listening to TERRIBLE music, they have enough problems. HOWEVER. Let's get some shit straight.

I am the OG. That's Original Gangster, for those of you too young to remember when Doctor Dre invented rap. Or who have never seen Goodfellas (making the sign of the cross). Basically, I invented titles involving green jell-o. I am sure that your Pinterest is very...jazzy and whatnot. I am sure that you're a lovely human. But I invented it when you were still mad at your mom for not washing your distressed jeans. I *am* a mom, and I wash my OWN distressed jeans. Boom. Shit just got real.

This makes me realize several things:

1. I have neglected my blog for too long.
2. I may need to alter my blog.
3. I need to chill out with my Keurig coffee. (That's unrelated.)
4. Teenagers should get jobs.

I've been busy as of late. I am writing, for a living, again. We've been working on home improvement. One word: wainscoting.

Now it looks like I need to get all up in my blog and see what is going on. I can't exactly sue Betty Teenage Pinterest for her copyright infringement (can I?), but I think we can all agree that I was here first. Green Jell-O is *my* street corner, and you just showed up wearing the wrong do-rag.

You're welcome, Internet. I'm here to save you.

Comments, questions, has the Internet sent you to the wrong jell-o destination?