Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Hot Diggity Damn, or, I'm Back - Let the Rejoicing Commence

I don't know WHAT is wrong with me. Well, I do, but it's a long and storied list, full of Latin terms, so let's ignore that and move onto Brilliant Word Art! I'll just picture your rapt and eager faces, glowing a dull reflected white in the glare of your monitors.

I logged on today, and discovered several things:

1. Blogger changed its back-end user thing
2. I have NO IDEA about world geography
3. Change still bothers me

Change bothers me because I don't know why, BLOGGER, we have to change things that work just fine. Like, say, your user post-y thing. Right now, I'm typing on something that reminds me suspiciously of Notepad. Also, if you're going to show me my audience, you should label countries. I HAVE NO IDEA where anything is in Europe. Blame the public school system, or the fact that I was probably writing grammatically correct notes to my friends during geography. Either or both.

I can only assume that all my page views in Europe are coming from my hard-core English speaking fans of the Russian Federation. I love you SO MUCH Russians, that once again, I will say "yob va!" but ONLY to people who DON'T love you as much as I do. Blame Robert Ludlum books for my lack of helpful Russian. And the public school system.

The thing is, beloved Russians, I haven't been writing much. You're out there, drinking some Stoli (I'm sure you get it cheaper than I could)(if I drank Vodka)(I drink rum) and shopping on Amazon and hoping that I have something new posted and you won't have to peruse my backlog of admittedly dazzling posts, and then I haven't posted anything new and you throw your empty Stoli bottle through your window in disgust and give up on finding that perfect fitted cocktail dress on Amazon because all the reviews are bad ANYway. I can't bear to think of you like that. So I'm here, ready to dazzle. Or bore. Or give you helpful life advice, like: don't buy fitted cocktail dresses on Amazon, even if the reviews are good. You know how your hips get in a dress, girl. 99 problems but a bitch ain't one, am I right? No? No.

I'd also rather write than do housewifely duties like the dishes. I flash back to a terrible 90s movie, where the kids shot the dishes with a shotgun and announced, "dishes are done, man." I'd like to do that too. Maybe have Casanova wing them up and over the pond, like fancy skeet shooting. Only I went skeet shooting once with my shotgun and didn't hit a damnable thing. The Man was irritatingly accurate. WHATEVER.

I tried to garden today, but I got all sweaty and then the weeds were scratching my legs and I became convinced that chiggers were burrowing into my ankle flesh and then I'd have to go to weddings and cocktail parties and have chigger lumps and look hideous in my three fancy cocktail dresses (not at one time) and it would be awful because calamine lotion does NOT look good with cocktail dresses (fitted or otherwise) and then realized that creepy lawn workers across the pond were staring over at my house and I lured the dog outside and talked to her as if she were a Violent House Protector, just in case they were thinking about home invading my house later. Then I came inside because it was all a bust ANYway and I really wanted some Diet Dr. Pepper.

Thus concluding my early afternoon, as well as the sentence that would never end.

Since I'm inside now and feverishly working on my Word Art for you Russians, I should probably go investigate ye olde stat counter and see what you're looking for, and what brings you HERE. Au Revoir, until demain! (That's French, but since your public school system probably offers it, you'll understand.)

Comments, questions, have you found your cocktail dress yet?

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