As I Was Saying…

I’ll just let the narrative of where I’ve been for almost a year unfold on its own. In its own time and way. I’ll briefly say that I stopped reading pretty much anything online except anything about hilarious autocorrect incidents. I don’t care how dumb they are, I love that stuff. I made a pledge not to read anything that baited me with CLICK HERE TO SEE WHAT SHE DID or LEARN THIS ONE WEIRD TRICK. That cut down on about 80% of my internet time. I didn’t totally quit Facebook, but I walked out on Twitter. I wish I could say I went out and got a life, but if you’ve read this blog at all you know that requires pants. And you’ll know how I feel about pants.

Let me also tell you this up front. I will not be talking about vaccinations. I’m not going down that rabbit hole. I’m not going to talk about how completely selfish, ignorant, fatuous, narcissistic, narrow-minded, and totally asshatted it is not to vaccinate/immunize your children. Nope. Go somewhere else for that. Like here, for example.

What I WILL discuss with impunity is 50 Shades. Because that shit is hysterical. I will also discuss house cleaning, periods, marriages, abortion, gays, straights, blacks, whites, other regional person shades, my parents, my husband (THE SAINT, but no longer The Ham King), the birds in my backyard, my crazy friends, I’d talk about my sane friends if I had any, underwear and lack thereof, my discovery of Outlander, text messages from my mother, the crickets in our storage closet, what I learned from not watching news regularly, and my need of suggestions for a really good concealer and a conditioner that doesn’t smell like an overworked stripper dipped in coconut car freshener.

I’m also taking suggestions about what animal, vegetable, or mineral I should replace the YAAT bird with. Or if I should replace it at all. If I shouldn’t then blerghe or she needs a name, so I’m open to that as well. Standard Life Coach will be making an appearance, so email your questions using the contact form on this page.

Several of you have been kind enough to ask after my imaginary twins Sizzlene and Formicadinette. Sadly, their birth mother who lives in one of those square states has regained custody of them after realizing their earning potential in the child beauty pageant business and Formicadinette’s ability to make a casserole from little more than and can of creamed corn and Velveeta. Since the are imaginary, they will never grow older and can make quite a killing off the Babee Lil’ Miss Shiny Eyelash Glamour Tot pageant circuit. I’m happy for them, obviously. And, quite frankly, Sizzlene’s inability to master the twirl-n-curtsy was really getting on my nerves. For those of you concerned about The Ham King’s sanity, I’m happy to report that he still would like a life-size Cylon Centurion and enjoys a good hat. And he’s still practiced in the art of diplomacy, but he is no longer The Ham King. I suppose he is now The Nonmetallic Thermal And Acoustical Insulation Production King, but that just doesn’t have the same ring to it. I am extremely happy in his change of kingdoms, as is he.

I was going to finish this post up and go eat delicious homemade chocolate chip and pecan cookies, but I can’t make the damn things. I can’t make chocolate chip cookies. I can make a brown sugar cookie that looks like it should be on the cover of a baking magazine and tastes like eight kinds of heaven, but my chocolate chip cookies ALWAYS come out too cake-like. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. But that does mean I have an entire mixing bowl of cookie dough. So there’s that. Any ideas on why EVERY cookie recipe and technique I use comes out wrong would be greatly appreciated. Could it be I’m getting the sugars and butter too fluffy? Maybe it’s my ass’s way of telling me to slow down with the cookies? Whatever, there are no good cookies and no Cheetos in the house, so I haz a sad.

If you are a new reader, welcome. If you are a returning reader, thank you. I shall endeavor to deserve your time. Just kidding. Ima totally waste it and make you have to read Chekhov to get your IQ back up.

My SuperStrate Marriage™©

Forget gay marriageAre you as bored with my saying I don’t understand what it means to be conservative as I am with not understanding what it means to be conservative? Today SCOTUS tossed out DOMA, a federal law. ONE LESS FEDERAL LAW, PEOPLE! Why are so few of my right wing buddies dancing in the streets? OH! Wait! I remember. With DOMA gone, now I can marry my car, right? And my gay dog can marry my gay goldfish and then adopt a little human Asian baby they can dress in the most fabulous clothes from Baby Boden.

Now that DOMA is gone and California’s Prop 8 is pretty much dunzo, I think I’ll start a log of all the ways teh gay marriage is going to threaten My SuperStrate Marriage™©. So. For the next few days I’ll be chronicling like such. I can tell you this, already I feel a little less feminine. Granted, it might have something to do with the fact I sat out in Standard Shed this morning and forgot to turn on the AC and a raging case of swamp ass began to creep up on me, BUT I JUST KNOW IT’S THE LESBIANS!

I think tomorrow it’s really going to sink in. The gayness. The deterioration of the morality, sanctity, and missionary-style sexiness of My SuperStrate Marriage™©. As it is, I just saw a picture of Ellen Degeneres and thought WOW! Her skin is lovely! I must have this Gay Olay she uses. Will I want to leave the love of my life and move to an all-womyn commune and spend my days rewriting children’s classic books to be gender neutral? Will I become overly fond of the Canadian Tuxedo? Will I listen to nothing but Ani DiFranco? Will Chuck still find me attractive when I wear nothing but flannel? Okay, that’s kind of moot. I’m really fond of seasonally-appropriate flann….OH GAWD! It’s already started!!

Stay tuned, friend(s). I’ll be charting the demise of My SuperStrate Marriage™© right before your very eyes!