Things have been rough lately, with the last several weeks involving everything from steroid shots in the ass to calling the police regarding a missing person.
Yup. You read that right. Shots in my ass.
Oh, and a missing person. That was weird, too.
Unfortunately -- spoiler alert -- not everyone survived the aforementioned shenanery. And by not everyone, I'm referring to numerous nascent blog posts that sprouted in my mind, only to be stomped down by everyday burdens.
While these fallen soldiers are no more, they are not forgotten. So, in tribute to those witty musings dropped by the wayside, I offer y'all a highlight reel of the real-life events that inspired the posts I did not write:
1) That time this Thanksgiving when my mother-in-law didn't show (or answer her phone for about 24 hours prior), so my husband and his sister had to leave the feast to search for her, which meant --- as they were in charge of the turkey --- that the bird didn't get done, which meant we only had bad ham that day, and when my man and his sister couldn't find my mother-in-law anywhere, we called the police to do a welfare check, and they found her chilling at a nursing home, and it turned out that she drove to the state park lodge we had rented for the holiday but thought the facility looked like a biker bar, and don't you know, she's not the type to frequent taverns, so she turned around and left without confirming her suspicions that the building was an establishment of ill repute, and she didn't call us to tell us that she didn't like bars, because she had dropped her phone in the sink sometime the day before, so it wasn't working.
2) That time this Christmas when my husband's father's third wife's sister got tipsy at the family gathering we attended in the pursuit of a very Brady Christmas, and this sloshed sister (who was visibly ill) invaded my husband's and my personal space (even though we'd only met her one other time) and proceeded to gift us with one hell of a bacterial infection that sent us to Urgent Care where we got shots in our ass.
3) That time my 35-year-old sister informed me that she is considering co-habitating with a bartender two years older than our father, even though he's not as sexy as her ex-convict second ex-husband.
4) That time my house cleaner told me that she is now homeless because her mother's lesbian lover kicked her out of the house she (the cleaner) shared with her mother. Fun aside: The mother's lesbian lover met the mother at the funeral of her boyfriend, who happened to be -- you guessed it -- the mother's ex-husband, who was -- you guessed it again -- my cleaner's father. I really should have diagrammed this one, eh?
5) And the big one. That time my fellow citizens -- many of them well-intentioned, big-hearted folks -- elected a man who said it was okay to grab my gender by the genitals.
So, yeah, it's been a rough few months, y'all, and as I considered my options of facing a future that included all this nonsense, I figured that as long as I was forcefully foregoing Democracy, I might as well give up blogging, too.
But here's the thing: I genuinely love my little corner of the Internet, and I hope you at least have marginally warm fuzzies in its direction. I love sitting down to my computer -- cat in lap, incense lit, The Cranberries crooning "Dreams" in the background -- and pouring out my heart about suicide and adulterous grannies and fat vaginas. I love having a place to share, and I love having people who at least pretend to care.
You're my everything.
True story: Life would be super swell if we all embraced our OMG side instead of living a Facebook-friendly existence. So, let it out. How were your holidays? Which of your life's moments these past few months would warrant a blog post? How are you handling Trump's America? Did any of the rest of y'all have to call the police on Thanksgiving? Do you struggle with motivation? How do you keep your creative juices flowing? Do you think blogs are dead? Did you feel how hard I was missing you? Do you celebrate Valentine's Day? Do you think February is more amorous than other months? Fun fact: I was a Valentine's Day baby. In that, I was born nine months later. True story. I've never been able to look at the day the same since I did THAT math. Feel free to disclose details. You're safe here.