Hi there! Are you still here? According to my feed stats, you are a bunch of seriously loyal peeps.

Which is awesome.

I am unworthy.

And while this blog will stay here to remind us of days of old, I’m over here now.

BYOB.

Anybody still out here?

I miss writing.

I miss you.

Let me know… ‘Cause I sure have a tale or two for you.

I don’t normally have time for these even though I always want to play along…

And, truth be told, I totally didn’t have time to do this one today…

But I wanted to…

So I did…

‘Cause I’m the boss of me…

At least when there’s no one else here, that is.

Plus I have nothing of note to blog about with the exception of an anecdote or two about the trumpet playing of a certain eleven-year-old. But since my ears hurt at the thought, you’re getting photos. With strangers in ’em. Yay.

This one is edited using Totally Rad Actions (Botwell MG 100%, Warm It Up Kris 100%, Warm It Up Kris 39%, OhSnap 41%, TDW No Glow 51%, Green w/Envy on Trees, and a bit of Contrast)

This one is because I totally love the pastels. I took the previous edit and played Mad Scientist with color filters, contrast, and only god knows what else.

I move.

A lot.

Not like out of my chair and active kind of move (that would just be insane)… more along the lines of I can’t take this town/house/state another another miserable day, where the hell did I put my packing tape kind of move.

Sometimes, I look around at all of the boxes and bubble wrap and various knick knacks that are lucky to have survived this long and think that life would be so much easier on everyone if I’d just brush up on my dancing skills and buy a traveling show wagon already.

(Yes, dear reader, I just threw in a Cher reference. If this is your first time here, I feel obligated to warn you that such an occurrence happens quite often around these parts… and if Cher references don’t equal downright awesomeness in your book, well… then… I’m afraid that there’s just no hope for you. Which is sad. ‘Cause I totally thought you looked like my kind of people when you walked in.)

Some moves are big.

Some moves are small.

Some moves are planned.

Some are holyshitdidIreallyjustmovethreestatesawayon24hournotice.

And some moves, those of the worst kind, land me smack-dab in the middle of rural Arkansas, off the beaten path of two obnoxiously long dirt roads, 40 minutes away from the nearest superstore, and 120 miles away from the nearest Starbucks. (I’d like to assure you that I didn’t land there barefoot and pregnant… but I totally did and was and good lord, what was I thinking?)

Granted, there were no banjos playing in the background (those came when I moved to Alabama a few years later), but the cable reception was terrible and there was no alcohol (being a southern Louisiana girl and bred for lush-hood right out of the gate, I had no idea that things like ‘dry counties’ even existed… boy, was I ever in for a surprise). Needless to say, I got myself knocked up again shortly thereafter… well.. because…

Quite frankly, there was nothing else to do.

It was there, in that pissant of an Arkansas town, down two dirt roads, past no bars or drive-thru daiquiri shacks,  120 miles from the nearest Starbucks, with no contemporaries or hopes for some, no friends or family, six steps away from a total mental breakdown that I discovered that the internet was for more than just buying petty things and research… It was also for…

The MySpace.

And once I realized that while The MySpace allowed me to reconnect with not only the handful of awesome people that I’d accidentally lost somewhere along the way (Lisa, Angie, Philbert, et al) but the handfuls of not-so-awesome people that I’d totally lost on purpose, I discovered…

The Mama Drama boards, where I found a couple of forever friends and a whole lot of crazy.

And once I realized that sometimes you can’t lose crazy people no matter how hard you try, I discovered…

Shannon and Mishi and Piper and BD and Tara and Maria and Jenni and many others who made me realize that living down two dirt roads with cabinets full of smuggled booze and rooms full of screaming babies isn’t so awful when you have like-minded friends (who totally love your Cher references and are infinitely more attractive than your redneck neighbor who believes that shirts are optional- in and out of church) but a click away.

It was friendship inside of a box… Friendship when I was completely alone (with the exception of the pretty piece of meat that I married and the spawn, of course) and out of touch with everyone that I loved and anyone that could appreciate anecdotes about broken vibrators and inappropriate midget jokes. Friendship that could I could stuff in my favorite bag and move right along with me, no matter how far I roamed.

And even though it’s now years later… And some of us hardly blog at all anymore… And some of us have never met in person… Or have now branched out to other things that take up all of our time…

We’re still missing one another when it’s been a while.

We’re still listening to each other in some way, shape, form, feed or tweet.

We still know each other well enough to say, “where are you now?”

So much more than a community…

It was and still is and will continue to be a bucket full o’awesome.

Community Prompt: Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011? #reverb10

“I need a gun,” said the six-year-old.

“Not a real gun, right?”

“No, not a real gun… Unless there are real zombies.”

“Oh, okay. Good.”

Running out of toilet paper sucks…

Running out of toilet paper sucks more than running out of diapers.

It sucks more than running out of milk or bread or coffee or (dare I say it?) vodka.

You know what sucks more than running out of toilet paper though? Running out of toilet paper AND paper towels AND tissue paper AND coffee filters AND anything remotely soft enough to handle my business without leaving behind a nasty paper cut or twelve.

Death, despair, pestilence, chaos and destruction… Pshaw.

This, dear reader, is what we call a true tragedy.

And to make it all more Shakespearean-like, my healthy supply of  drive-thru supplied napkins are in the console of my truck – MY TRUCK which is with HIM because HE likes it more than HIS truck, which I incidentally cannot use due to my ability to properly drive a stick (much like my great ass and calculus skills) going out the window at the onset of ‘mommy brain’. His truck, of course, has no supply of drive-thru napkins because he has no ‘mommy brain’.

He has ‘daddy brain’.

Which means that I’d probably only find lots of empty Redbull cans and old porn. *

And wiping my hoohoo with either just seems uncomfortable and highly dirty.

So I guess it’s just me and this pack of anti-bacterial wipes that smell awfully like formaldehyde-flavored lemons.. Which I’m fairly certain will take that not-so-fresh-feeling to a whole new level of  goddamnmylifesucks.

Wish me luck…

*Yes, the statement about the daddy brain leading to Redbull and porn was totally sexist… but you totally deserved it after snickering about me and my inability to drive a stick, and you know it.

** Oh! And did ‘ya miss me?

1. Bug Dude

There’s a huge green grasshopper stalking me.

And I’m a little flattered that someone cares enough to do so.

2. Unfriendly Chick

I mean, seriously, I get that it’s retail– coffee-flavored retail, grant you- but retail nevertheless… And working retail sucks all sorts of hairy monkey balls on the best of days…

But you work at Starbucks, dude… You’re s’pose to make me feel like the grouchy bitch that I am and demand that I be more chipper… you’re not s’pose to be so bloody sullen and depressed.

Now, instead of walking out all caffeinated and refreshed, I just feel dirty.

3. Bitch in the Box

Believe it or not, there’s actually a  small part of me that is constantly demanding that we skip on the foreplay and get right down to the thick of  things as quickly as possible…

Of course, most of the time, I totally ignore that part.

Thankfully, iTunes totally doesn’t.

A quick click of a button, and I’m good.

Of course, when gratification is so close at hand… I often tend to get super greedy and super click-y. Which is all fine and dandy since I totally get the pay to play aspect of this relationship…

Matter of fact, I embrace it.

What I don’t embrace, however, is the silly system that lets me click and click (and click and click and click) and doesn’t bother to charge me until a week or two down the road…

In one freaking giant lump sum.

That I have to hide like a bad gambling debt.

And consider selling either a liver or a really good time to make up for it.

4.  Chick Checking Herself Out in Rearview Mirror

Yeah, honey, that Bump-it is still on your head… and it doesn’t look any better than you thought it did when you left the house this morning…

And your friend there? The one telling you how cute it is and that you’ve never looked better and recommended that you wear it with the spandex-esque skirt?

She’s what we southern ladies call an ‘bold-faced lying uber-cunt’.

5.  … And Goddemmit, could it be any freaking hotter?

A conversation between my dad and my sister.

“Hey Dad, what’cha doing?”

“Watching that new Spartacus show on Starz… Have you been watching it?”

“Nah… I haven’t had a chance yet. How is it?”

“It’s pretty good. Lots of fighting, lots of blood. Good stuff.”

“Yeah, I heard that Lucy Lawless is really good in it too…”

“Lucy Lawless? Which one is she? The tall red head?”

“Lucy Lawless, Dad. You know… Xena: Warrior Princess.”

“Xena… hell, that is her! You mean to tell me that I’ve been waiting to see that woman’s titties for over ten years and I’ve been looking at them all month and didn’t even know it?”

“Yep.”

“Well shit.”