I'm here. Really I am. It just appears as though I have fallen off the face of the earth. Or maybe it doesn't cause there is no one out there to notice.
These days I feel really proud of myself when I spend 10 minutes reading and commenting on other people's blogs. It brings back fond memories. Of when I spent 2-3 eager HOURS a day reading and commenting on other people's blogs. And another joyous hour writing a few of my own. (Remember that? When we would write MORE THAN ONE BLOG POST A DAY?) How did we do it?? Why did we stop?
We stopped because there was life. Oh that. Life. Kids. Kids who need attention. Kids who don't want me to shout "Just a minute...I'm almost done with my post!" from the other room while I upload and edit the pictures that will go on the blog post I haven't even begun composing yet. And a husband. A husband who wants a meal when he gets home from a hard day's work. And a kiss. And a hello. A hello not wedge in between the third and fifth edit of my blog post. And then there's the laundry and the sweeping and the dishes to put away and the bathroom to scrub and the and the and the.
And then there was the baby...and, well, she trumped everything. 'Cause she just doesn't wait for me to sort through my reader, looking for the most neglected blogs to catch up on before I hug her and change her and make her a bottle.
And so, it appears, I am missing. But not lost. I'm out there somewhere, mentally composing clever, witty, interesting posts. With pictures. Perfectly framed pictures.
Anyway, I love and appreciate so much those real-friends and stranger-friends and virtual-friends who have continued to read my blog despite my becoming a super dooper LAME blogger.
I dream of the day when I will have the time (and will?) to get back to the good old blogging days. I'll have to go out and search for new bloggers to read me. Bloggers who don't have LIFE pulling at them from all directions. So let me know, you guys, when that's you--when your laundry and kids and husband are all done and loved and satisfied and paid-attention-to and everyone around you is begging you, please, to just sit down for a few hours and blog. OK?
I'll see you then.
(p.s. I'm not quitting blogging. I just realized it sounds like I am. No, I'm just making excuses for how much I suck. I will still be here, in a few days, continuing to write to a make-believe audience who hangs on my every word, don't worry.)
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Monday, October 17, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Back In the Saddle?
Today I read 12 different blogs. Not posts, blogs. Probably 25 or so posts, with comments. And that's after going literally 3 weeks without opening my google reader at all. And it's been more weeks or even months since I read my favorite blogs regularly. So getting back into it felt GOOD.
I don't know what happened. Burn out? Morning sickness followed by nesting followed by rib pain followed by the onset of gigantism? At any rate, my usual list of 190~ unread posts climbed to over 500. And I didn't even think about reading blogs that whole time. Can you say self-absorbed?? Well, maybe partially self, partially baby-absorbed. It's hard not to be when she stomps your bladder and punches your lungs on a minute-to-minute basis. It kind of puts her on your mind, you know?
I also don't know what has suddenly changed to make me start blogging and reading blogs again. I'd like to think it's that it's springtime and I'm feeling an inner awakening. Or that I magically got my blogging mojo back. But when I think about it and allow reality to filter into my thought process (something I generally try to avoid), I think it has been an exchange of time--I used to clean the house and make dinner and play with the kids instead of blogging. Now I am too big and fat and uncomfortable to do any of those things, so the house stays messy, we eat pizza a lot, and the kids have been playing an awful lot of Poisson Rouge.
The upside? You might actually get a comment from me in the next couple of weeks. But after that, once Miss Mustbefedconstantly arrives, all bets are off. I might actually have to trade blogging for Beef Stroganoff again.
I don't know what happened. Burn out? Morning sickness followed by nesting followed by rib pain followed by the onset of gigantism? At any rate, my usual list of 190~ unread posts climbed to over 500. And I didn't even think about reading blogs that whole time. Can you say self-absorbed?? Well, maybe partially self, partially baby-absorbed. It's hard not to be when she stomps your bladder and punches your lungs on a minute-to-minute basis. It kind of puts her on your mind, you know?
I also don't know what has suddenly changed to make me start blogging and reading blogs again. I'd like to think it's that it's springtime and I'm feeling an inner awakening. Or that I magically got my blogging mojo back. But when I think about it and allow reality to filter into my thought process (something I generally try to avoid), I think it has been an exchange of time--I used to clean the house and make dinner and play with the kids instead of blogging. Now I am too big and fat and uncomfortable to do any of those things, so the house stays messy, we eat pizza a lot, and the kids have been playing an awful lot of Poisson Rouge.
The upside? You might actually get a comment from me in the next couple of weeks. But after that, once Miss Mustbefedconstantly arrives, all bets are off. I might actually have to trade blogging for Beef Stroganoff again.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Blame It All On the Fetus
I think it's safe to say I've nearly lost the will to live. I certainly have lost the will to get up. And my will to cook meals that take longer than 45 seconds in the microwave left a long time ago. That's why my kids had cereal for breakfast, cheesy roll-ups from Taco Bell for lunch, and are about to be served Papa Johns pizza for dinner (I WILL put some lettuce and Ranch on the table because, you know, I want it to be a balanced meal.)
And posting, poor posting, sigh...I remember when I actually used to post. When I had things to say that didn't consist of whining and whinging. And I remember a very distant time when I was clever and witty in saying them. But alas, most of my brain is now taken up with forming complaints about my body and fighting the urge to punch my baby back when she places a left hook firmly on my liver. So for now I'm going to re-post a super hilarious post my sister sent me that hits home in a way only those of you who have had children come out of your hoo-ha can relate to. From the blog Scary Mommy I give you: The Six Week Post-Partum Check Up:
The six week post partum check up
I’m not great with dates. I can never remember minutiae like Thanksgiving is the fourth Thursday of November or that New Years Day is exactly one week after Christmas. The individuals who know when Harvest Moons and Daylight Saving Time occur must be calendar makers or descendants of Nostradamus. If it weren’t for computerized alerts, I’d never be aware of birthdays, anniversaries, or the days Oprah is giving away gold-coated Maytags and half-sisters. The one date I can always remember – after three pregnancies in as many years – is the one that falls six weeks after delivery: The six week postpartum checkup. It’s the appointment in which the OB will stare at your nethers under the glare of a strobe light mounted to a hardhat as she asks leading questions to discern how many times you’ve fallen down the stairs in a fit of delirium and how closely you identify with the movie The Omen. As you gently hint at the likelihood of getting a script for Tylenol PM for Infants, your doctor will smile at you, offer congratulations for your bundle of colic, and will utter the one sentence you are – no matter what her speculum says – entirely unprepared to hear:
"You can resume sexual activity now."
Your Gone Fishin’ sign was just yanked right off your vagina. Mayan Year 2010 hit your private parts. If this visit follows the birth of your first baby, your husband is likely standing beside the table as this news is delivered. The grin to spread across his face will outstretch the one you saw when he was first handed his newborn child. The smile fades as he witnesses your descent through The Five Stages of Grief, all of which occur in dramatic flair with your knees still touching opposite coastlines.
Denial. “I think you have the wrong file. I just delivered a baby. A human. See, that’s her right there. That was inside of my body until she tore her way through it, like a goddamn Trojan Horse. Are you certain you went to medical school?”
Anger. “Why did you ask me here? I was told by a woman I work with that you were going to give me happy pills at this appointment, not tell me I need to be having sex with… (unsubtle head tilt in partner’s direction). And I would like my underwear back now.”
Bargaining. “Listen, I may have overreacted. Let’s find some middle ground. You pop a couple of those episiotomy stitches down there and I’ll tell all of my friends with yeast infections to come see you. Deal?”
Depression. The utterance of words during the passage through this phase ceases altogether as you consider that the only moments your day permits for a shower and a status update on Facebook have been stolen.
Acceptance. You nod slowly, shifting your eyes from the doctor, to the baby, to your husband, understanding that all are working in chorus to destroy your personal anatomy and your DVR queue.
You exit the physician’s office, quite possibly still wearing the oversized Maxi pads you absconded with from the hospital, with a slow and wearied gate. Dead Vagina Walking. Your husband, on the other hand, has a buoyancy to his step and is already suggestively whistling something by Marvin Gaye.
This is when the calendar floats into your consciousness again. Whatever day this 6 week postpartum check falls on – a Tuesday, a Friday, May, December – is the day that will be listed on your tombstone. This is the day you’re going to die. Your friends and family will eulogize your life with somber nods, “She endured too much. Sleeplessness, poor oral hygiene, elasticized waistbands, a diet of fistfuls of cereal. Despite this, her doctor told her she was ready for exercise and sex. It was too much to bear.”
Too much is exactly what it is. A nurse once whispered in my ear, upon walking out the door with my firstborn child, to be wary of the six week post-delivery time as this is the period babies present colic, when postpartum depression rears its vicious head, and – tragically – when the help and casseroles from those around you disappear. The weight of these stressors only compounds when your husband starts in with the bedroom eyes. It’s not that you don’t appreciate those eyes. May God grant Sainthood to the man who can see beyond the facade of sagging skin and stretch marks to the woman he was attracted to once before. It’s not that you don’t love your husband. It has very little to do with him actually. Your body has been hijacked by hormones, your erogenous zones assassinated by nursing, and your ability to lay prone in the dark without falling comatose has been lost. And you’re a bit terrified because your lady innards still feel a lot like Hiroshima must have looked after the A-bomb.
However, he will start dry humping your leg like an un-neutered Jack Russell Terrier if you continue to cite ‘funky stuff you don’t want to even know about down there’ as your reason for celibacy. He will start to suspect you’re stretching the truth when you say you’re considering a Divine calling to join a Roman convent. Even you understand, with the small portion of brain matter you’ve got left, that reuniting may make you begin to feel more like your old self. You’ve weathered pregnancy and delivery together without any casualties, thus there must be hope for the same outcome in the bedroom. After all, isn’t marriage about compromise and leaps of faith?
But it’s completely fair to say you’re not taking your sweatpants off.
Oh man, the joys that still await me. In the meantime I'll try to put together at least two original posts. They might even include some humor. But don't quote me.
And posting, poor posting, sigh...I remember when I actually used to post. When I had things to say that didn't consist of whining and whinging. And I remember a very distant time when I was clever and witty in saying them. But alas, most of my brain is now taken up with forming complaints about my body and fighting the urge to punch my baby back when she places a left hook firmly on my liver. So for now I'm going to re-post a super hilarious post my sister sent me that hits home in a way only those of you who have had children come out of your hoo-ha can relate to. From the blog Scary Mommy I give you: The Six Week Post-Partum Check Up:
The six week post partum check up
I’m not great with dates. I can never remember minutiae like Thanksgiving is the fourth Thursday of November or that New Years Day is exactly one week after Christmas. The individuals who know when Harvest Moons and Daylight Saving Time occur must be calendar makers or descendants of Nostradamus. If it weren’t for computerized alerts, I’d never be aware of birthdays, anniversaries, or the days Oprah is giving away gold-coated Maytags and half-sisters. The one date I can always remember – after three pregnancies in as many years – is the one that falls six weeks after delivery: The six week postpartum checkup. It’s the appointment in which the OB will stare at your nethers under the glare of a strobe light mounted to a hardhat as she asks leading questions to discern how many times you’ve fallen down the stairs in a fit of delirium and how closely you identify with the movie The Omen. As you gently hint at the likelihood of getting a script for Tylenol PM for Infants, your doctor will smile at you, offer congratulations for your bundle of colic, and will utter the one sentence you are – no matter what her speculum says – entirely unprepared to hear:
"You can resume sexual activity now."
Your Gone Fishin’ sign was just yanked right off your vagina. Mayan Year 2010 hit your private parts. If this visit follows the birth of your first baby, your husband is likely standing beside the table as this news is delivered. The grin to spread across his face will outstretch the one you saw when he was first handed his newborn child. The smile fades as he witnesses your descent through The Five Stages of Grief, all of which occur in dramatic flair with your knees still touching opposite coastlines.
Denial. “I think you have the wrong file. I just delivered a baby. A human. See, that’s her right there. That was inside of my body until she tore her way through it, like a goddamn Trojan Horse. Are you certain you went to medical school?”
Anger. “Why did you ask me here? I was told by a woman I work with that you were going to give me happy pills at this appointment, not tell me I need to be having sex with… (unsubtle head tilt in partner’s direction). And I would like my underwear back now.”
Bargaining. “Listen, I may have overreacted. Let’s find some middle ground. You pop a couple of those episiotomy stitches down there and I’ll tell all of my friends with yeast infections to come see you. Deal?”
Depression. The utterance of words during the passage through this phase ceases altogether as you consider that the only moments your day permits for a shower and a status update on Facebook have been stolen.
Acceptance. You nod slowly, shifting your eyes from the doctor, to the baby, to your husband, understanding that all are working in chorus to destroy your personal anatomy and your DVR queue.
You exit the physician’s office, quite possibly still wearing the oversized Maxi pads you absconded with from the hospital, with a slow and wearied gate. Dead Vagina Walking. Your husband, on the other hand, has a buoyancy to his step and is already suggestively whistling something by Marvin Gaye.
This is when the calendar floats into your consciousness again. Whatever day this 6 week postpartum check falls on – a Tuesday, a Friday, May, December – is the day that will be listed on your tombstone. This is the day you’re going to die. Your friends and family will eulogize your life with somber nods, “She endured too much. Sleeplessness, poor oral hygiene, elasticized waistbands, a diet of fistfuls of cereal. Despite this, her doctor told her she was ready for exercise and sex. It was too much to bear.”
Too much is exactly what it is. A nurse once whispered in my ear, upon walking out the door with my firstborn child, to be wary of the six week post-delivery time as this is the period babies present colic, when postpartum depression rears its vicious head, and – tragically – when the help and casseroles from those around you disappear. The weight of these stressors only compounds when your husband starts in with the bedroom eyes. It’s not that you don’t appreciate those eyes. May God grant Sainthood to the man who can see beyond the facade of sagging skin and stretch marks to the woman he was attracted to once before. It’s not that you don’t love your husband. It has very little to do with him actually. Your body has been hijacked by hormones, your erogenous zones assassinated by nursing, and your ability to lay prone in the dark without falling comatose has been lost. And you’re a bit terrified because your lady innards still feel a lot like Hiroshima must have looked after the A-bomb.
However, he will start dry humping your leg like an un-neutered Jack Russell Terrier if you continue to cite ‘funky stuff you don’t want to even know about down there’ as your reason for celibacy. He will start to suspect you’re stretching the truth when you say you’re considering a Divine calling to join a Roman convent. Even you understand, with the small portion of brain matter you’ve got left, that reuniting may make you begin to feel more like your old self. You’ve weathered pregnancy and delivery together without any casualties, thus there must be hope for the same outcome in the bedroom. After all, isn’t marriage about compromise and leaps of faith?
But it’s completely fair to say you’re not taking your sweatpants off.
Oh man, the joys that still await me. In the meantime I'll try to put together at least two original posts. They might even include some humor. But don't quote me.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Practically Shakespeare
Yesterday, before I published my Dostoyevsky post, I ran the spellcheck. It came up with the following misspelled words:
Ikea
cardboardy
Blech
Craigslist
baggied
ARG
matress
orangey
PalPal
hyperdrive
and
matresses
This tells me four things about spellcheck:
1) It obviously hasn't been updated in the last decade. It doesn't recognize Ikea, Craigslist, Paypal, or hyperdrive, words that every American today knows and uses on a nearly daily basis. Especially hyperdrive.
2) Its database is extremely low on useful expletives. For Shame, Google, for shame.
3) Really the only word I don't know how to spell ismatress mattress.
4) I just coined at least three words! I am a genius!
In conclusion, please feel free to consult me any time in the future that the English language just isn't doing enough for you. Except in cases of actual misspellings. Then I am NOT your girl.
Ikea
cardboardy
Blech
Craigslist
baggied
ARG
matress
orangey
PalPal
hyperdrive
and
matresses
This tells me four things about spellcheck:
1) It obviously hasn't been updated in the last decade. It doesn't recognize Ikea, Craigslist, Paypal, or hyperdrive, words that every American today knows and uses on a nearly daily basis. Especially hyperdrive.
2) Its database is extremely low on useful expletives. For Shame, Google, for shame.
3) Really the only word I don't know how to spell is
4) I just coined at least three words! I am a genius!
In conclusion, please feel free to consult me any time in the future that the English language just isn't doing enough for you. Except in cases of actual misspellings. Then I am NOT your girl.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Me and My Boyfriend, Blogging Jones III
My relationship with Blogging goes something like this:
1. First Sight. Blogging Jones III and I met in 2008. I first noticed Blogging watching me from across the smokey room. He was cute. I felt excited, even a little elated at prospect of someone new and interesting in my otherwise mundane life. I felt curious. A little nervous. A little like I might want to throw up. But mostly curious and excited.
2. The Introduction. After that first glance, I started kind of keeping an eye on Blogging. We had some mutual friends, so he kept showing up at places that I went. Ya, Blogging was attractive. But I didn't really know him at all. Mostly all I knew was hearsay, what my friends told me. I decided I needed a way to get to know him better. So I asked a friend to introduce us.
3. Giving It A Go. It was clear from the start that Blogging Jones and I had some things in common. I had a feeling we could be friends. But could it be more? I wasn't sure what kind of a partner Blogging would make. Would he be fun? Demanding? Boring? Would he talk to much? Or not enough? Would he bring me around to meet his other friends? Or would our relationship be so exclusive that we would become solitary and lonely after a while? Despite all these worries, I decided the only way I would find out was to give Blogging a try. So we went on our first date.
3. MAJOR Infatuation. Blogging and I, as it quickly turned out, got along great. He was everything I hoped he would be and then some. He brought me joy. He introduced me to great friends. He was exciting. He got me to think and analyze. He encouraged me to take more pictures, to work on my creative writing, to communicate more. Overall, he was a really supportive, scintillating, thrilling new boyfriend. I'll admit it: I was madly in love.
4. The Real Thing. As all new relationships do, my relationship with Blogging Jones III soon reached a crossroads. For a lot of people, after the fire of infatuation dies down, they discover either that they really don't like the person they've been with, that he wasn't as cool as they first thought, and that their former passion just wasn't meant to last, OR their infatuation turns to warm, glowing embers, the perfect temperature to roast a marshmallow on. That's how it was with me and Blogging. The initial fire may have cooled down, but it had reached a nice comfortable place, a place of honesty and genuine caring. We were happy together.
5. The First Fight. I can't say that Blogging and I had a real knock-down, drag-out fight ever. But we kept having disagreements. About how much time to spend with each other mainly. Because, the truth was, he had become a little demanding after a while. Then we would fight about how I wasn't paying enough attention to him, or he wasn't paying enough attention to me. Some of our friends became jealous of the time we spent with each other, and that caused each of us stress. So the more demanding he became, and the more my friends complained, the more I began to withdraw. And soon the distance between us was palpable; things weren't all peachy keen anymore.
6. The Break-up. Once the signs of trouble in Paradise began to surface, I found myself avoiding Blogging a little bit. And his response? He began ignoring me back. And my response to that? I was hurt. And then mad. And then a little jealous when I looked around and saw all my friends enjoying great relationships like the one Blogging and I used to have. And then I decided the only way to protect myself was to become indifferent. So without really making any formal declarations, Blogging and I decided to take a break.
7. Reconciliation. It's true. I really did love Blogging. Nothing showed that to me faster than a little time apart. I realized how much I missed his attention, his wit, the way his positive attributes rubbed off on me, the way he brought out my good side, and the honesty we shared with each other. I knew we had to get back together. I just missed him too much! (And then we had a really good make-up session, Blogging Jones and I.)
8. The Carousel. Since our first fight, separation, and reconciliation, Blogging and I have had our ups and downs. Things have never gone back to the way they were at first. I guess they never do. You can never hold on to that giddy, head-over-heels feeling you have when you first meet and fall in love. But we still like each other a lot. We still spend time together when we can. We still value the things we give to each other and get from each other. The nostalgic part of me is probably keeping him around out of remembrance of the good times--man, there were some fun ones! And, I suppose, part of it is that we've never found anyone else to replace each other with. (Plus, I've become pretty good friends with some of his friends, and I wouldn't want to give THEM up). So we'll probably keep going like this for a while. I'll keep Blogging Jones III in my life as long as the relationship continues to be mutually beneficial.
Or until he cheats. Then he's DEAD MEAT.
1. First Sight. Blogging Jones III and I met in 2008. I first noticed Blogging watching me from across the smokey room. He was cute. I felt excited, even a little elated at prospect of someone new and interesting in my otherwise mundane life. I felt curious. A little nervous. A little like I might want to throw up. But mostly curious and excited.
2. The Introduction. After that first glance, I started kind of keeping an eye on Blogging. We had some mutual friends, so he kept showing up at places that I went. Ya, Blogging was attractive. But I didn't really know him at all. Mostly all I knew was hearsay, what my friends told me. I decided I needed a way to get to know him better. So I asked a friend to introduce us.
3. Giving It A Go. It was clear from the start that Blogging Jones and I had some things in common. I had a feeling we could be friends. But could it be more? I wasn't sure what kind of a partner Blogging would make. Would he be fun? Demanding? Boring? Would he talk to much? Or not enough? Would he bring me around to meet his other friends? Or would our relationship be so exclusive that we would become solitary and lonely after a while? Despite all these worries, I decided the only way I would find out was to give Blogging a try. So we went on our first date.
3. MAJOR Infatuation. Blogging and I, as it quickly turned out, got along great. He was everything I hoped he would be and then some. He brought me joy. He introduced me to great friends. He was exciting. He got me to think and analyze. He encouraged me to take more pictures, to work on my creative writing, to communicate more. Overall, he was a really supportive, scintillating, thrilling new boyfriend. I'll admit it: I was madly in love.
4. The Real Thing. As all new relationships do, my relationship with Blogging Jones III soon reached a crossroads. For a lot of people, after the fire of infatuation dies down, they discover either that they really don't like the person they've been with, that he wasn't as cool as they first thought, and that their former passion just wasn't meant to last, OR their infatuation turns to warm, glowing embers, the perfect temperature to roast a marshmallow on. That's how it was with me and Blogging. The initial fire may have cooled down, but it had reached a nice comfortable place, a place of honesty and genuine caring. We were happy together.
5. The First Fight. I can't say that Blogging and I had a real knock-down, drag-out fight ever. But we kept having disagreements. About how much time to spend with each other mainly. Because, the truth was, he had become a little demanding after a while. Then we would fight about how I wasn't paying enough attention to him, or he wasn't paying enough attention to me. Some of our friends became jealous of the time we spent with each other, and that caused each of us stress. So the more demanding he became, and the more my friends complained, the more I began to withdraw. And soon the distance between us was palpable; things weren't all peachy keen anymore.
6. The Break-up. Once the signs of trouble in Paradise began to surface, I found myself avoiding Blogging a little bit. And his response? He began ignoring me back. And my response to that? I was hurt. And then mad. And then a little jealous when I looked around and saw all my friends enjoying great relationships like the one Blogging and I used to have. And then I decided the only way to protect myself was to become indifferent. So without really making any formal declarations, Blogging and I decided to take a break.
7. Reconciliation. It's true. I really did love Blogging. Nothing showed that to me faster than a little time apart. I realized how much I missed his attention, his wit, the way his positive attributes rubbed off on me, the way he brought out my good side, and the honesty we shared with each other. I knew we had to get back together. I just missed him too much! (And then we had a really good make-up session, Blogging Jones and I.)
8. The Carousel. Since our first fight, separation, and reconciliation, Blogging and I have had our ups and downs. Things have never gone back to the way they were at first. I guess they never do. You can never hold on to that giddy, head-over-heels feeling you have when you first meet and fall in love. But we still like each other a lot. We still spend time together when we can. We still value the things we give to each other and get from each other. The nostalgic part of me is probably keeping him around out of remembrance of the good times--man, there were some fun ones! And, I suppose, part of it is that we've never found anyone else to replace each other with. (Plus, I've become pretty good friends with some of his friends, and I wouldn't want to give THEM up). So we'll probably keep going like this for a while. I'll keep Blogging Jones III in my life as long as the relationship continues to be mutually beneficial.
Or until he cheats. Then he's DEAD MEAT.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Galflog, Shrugly, Mactrop
Those are the types of words you'll now have to type into my word verification in order to comment. I'm so sorry. Blame it on the stupid spammers that showed up in droves since I took word verification off last week. Luckily they were all trying to comment on old posts, which I had set to require my approval. So none got through. But I'm tired of rejecting 5-8 comments a day about erectile disfunction medications. So, back to word verification.
It was fun while it lasted.
It was fun while it lasted.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The Evolution Of Hating Posting Mechanisms
I remember very clearly when I first started blogging being irritated by word verification. Not so much because it was an extra step before being able to post my oh-so-important comment as much as because I seem to lack the DNA that allows you to read those warped letters. I always got them wrong, making it a five or 10 step process to post a comment instead of one step.
Eventually, due to Chinese commentors who insisted on leaving me a bunch of garbled nonsense characters in my comments, I had to put word verification onto my own comment section. (So sorry. Maybe I'll give it another go without?) I felt like it wasn't fair to hate others for their word verification while having it myself. So I got over it.
Things went fine until about six months ago. Then embedded comments became an option (and probably is the default option because more people had it than didn't have it all of the sudden). Can I just tell you how much I hate embedded comments??? A LOT. Not as much as, like, people driving slowly in the carpool lane, or store clerks who talk to each other while they check me out or anything. Just enough that when I have to go through the comment process on a blog with embedded comments, and it reloads the page so I can add the word verification AFTER I already hit "enter" and then I have to type it and hit enter again, I am miffed.
"Miffed" probably isn't really a high enough level of irritation to write a 4 paragraph blog post about. But I'm trying to get back to regular blogging, so here it is. So if you have embedded comments, why? And why not change! I will love you so much more and you will save me, and probably countless millions, any more miffedness.
Thank you in advance. And I promise work on my word verification situation, the Chinese be damned!
Eventually, due to Chinese commentors who insisted on leaving me a bunch of garbled nonsense characters in my comments, I had to put word verification onto my own comment section. (So sorry. Maybe I'll give it another go without?) I felt like it wasn't fair to hate others for their word verification while having it myself. So I got over it.
Things went fine until about six months ago. Then embedded comments became an option (and probably is the default option because more people had it than didn't have it all of the sudden). Can I just tell you how much I hate embedded comments??? A LOT. Not as much as, like, people driving slowly in the carpool lane, or store clerks who talk to each other while they check me out or anything. Just enough that when I have to go through the comment process on a blog with embedded comments, and it reloads the page so I can add the word verification AFTER I already hit "enter" and then I have to type it and hit enter again, I am miffed.
"Miffed" probably isn't really a high enough level of irritation to write a 4 paragraph blog post about. But I'm trying to get back to regular blogging, so here it is. So if you have embedded comments, why? And why not change! I will love you so much more and you will save me, and probably countless millions, any more miffedness.
Thank you in advance. And I promise work on my word verification situation, the Chinese be damned!
Thursday, April 8, 2010
See Ya! Wouldn't Wanna Be Ya!
Today I unsubscribed to someone's blog on my blog reader FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER.
I was afraid I would suffer serious guilt. And worry that I might regret it at some point in the future. Like if she became famous and I could no longer say I knew her (the way you "know" someone on the blogosphere you've never actually met, which is nearly as real as a real friendship). Or if she gave away a car on her blog and I missed out. Or if I saw her at the store and she recognized me and quizzed me on the events from her last 10 posts and I couldn't answer.
Nope. As I sit here, minutes later, I only feel....relieved.
I don't know why I didn't do it sooner. I haven't read her blog in at least a year. And as far as I know she has never read mine. I used to comment all the time and never got any comments in return. And though there are a few blogs I will always read for pure enjoyment whether they comment on mine or not, this was not one of them. It was OK. But I guess I just never felt the love. No love connection. Sorry, Chuck. I'm going with Bachlorette C.
It's kind of nice no longer seeing the huge list of unread posts next to her name and feeling guilty hitting "Mark all as read."
I'm moving on.
It's a new day.
And I now have 45 unclaimed seconds in my blog reader reading time. Anyone want to suggest a replacement?
p.s. If you're worried that it's you, it's not. If you're reading this, it definitely isn't you. YOU are bachlorette C.
I was afraid I would suffer serious guilt. And worry that I might regret it at some point in the future. Like if she became famous and I could no longer say I knew her (the way you "know" someone on the blogosphere you've never actually met, which is nearly as real as a real friendship). Or if she gave away a car on her blog and I missed out. Or if I saw her at the store and she recognized me and quizzed me on the events from her last 10 posts and I couldn't answer.
Nope. As I sit here, minutes later, I only feel....relieved.
I don't know why I didn't do it sooner. I haven't read her blog in at least a year. And as far as I know she has never read mine. I used to comment all the time and never got any comments in return. And though there are a few blogs I will always read for pure enjoyment whether they comment on mine or not, this was not one of them. It was OK. But I guess I just never felt the love. No love connection. Sorry, Chuck. I'm going with Bachlorette C.
It's kind of nice no longer seeing the huge list of unread posts next to her name and feeling guilty hitting "Mark all as read."
I'm moving on.
It's a new day.
And I now have 45 unclaimed seconds in my blog reader reading time. Anyone want to suggest a replacement?
p.s. If you're worried that it's you, it's not. If you're reading this, it definitely isn't you. YOU are bachlorette C.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Formspring Answers
If you participated in my Formspring debut (bless you!), you may be interested in seeing the answers to your questions. Or you may have just wanted to relieve the guilt you would have felt for not asking, in which case skip right over this post.
Questions Answered
Sample Question:If you had your own talk show, who would your first three guests be?
This is a boring question. Why did I ask myself this? Next!
Do you think you will make it to the end of your diet, without tearing all your hair out with craving for carbs?
Oh, I already did that part. I now have a good wig and should be able to make it to the end of my diet just fine. :) (Honestly, it's not bad anymore)
Why do you feel you need a diet? After all you look amazing as you are.
Well, thank you. You are so kind. But unless you've seen me naked and not photoshopped for my blog, I think you are just judging the I'm-very-good-at-dressing-for-my-body-shape me. I'd like to turn into I-am-comfortable-on-a-stripper-pole me. And that equals -10 lbs.
What does your husband do for his job exactly?
Hey, this isn't about that dork. This is about ME. Next!
What would you do with an extra day in the week? Consider this day free of all current responsibilities.
That depends. Does this day also have my kids and husband in it? Or is it a day in the Twilight Zone when I am alone. If so, THIS is what I would do. I would be online all day, except when I was sleeping in and napping. And there might be a bath with reading involved.
As a parent, what are you vigilant about, and what are you relaxed about?
I am vigilant about manners. And danger. Street danger, stranger danger, choking danger, wearing plaid with stripes danger, that sort of thing. I'm not so vigilant about germs. I just don't care much about them. I mean, I don't recommend my kids stick their fingers up other kids' noses or anything. But then again, if the kid doesn't have a cold....
Why isn't anyone asking me anything?
They are, stupid. You just don't know how to log in and check your questions.
Which is your favorite toe?
My pinkie toe, of course. Not that I don't love my two-headed monster toes, but the pinky is just so small and stubby and has such a tiny delicate, slit-like nail. What's not to love?
What was your favorite TV show as a child?
Wonder Woman. That hot starry blue bustier just did it for me.
Would you rather own a luxury yacht or a private jet?
Jet, for sure. You can't sail from here to Texas.
How would you describe your style?
Incredibly not foo-foo meets scorn for labels
Wow, that was fun! Who's up for some more? Ask me anything!
p.s. Only two more days tosend me my birthday present prepare to wish me happy birthday. No, I am obviously not above groveling for comments /birthday wishes. What else is your stupid 36th birthday good for?!?
Questions Answered
Sample Question:If you had your own talk show, who would your first three guests be?
This is a boring question. Why did I ask myself this? Next!
Do you think you will make it to the end of your diet, without tearing all your hair out with craving for carbs?
Oh, I already did that part. I now have a good wig and should be able to make it to the end of my diet just fine. :) (Honestly, it's not bad anymore)
Why do you feel you need a diet? After all you look amazing as you are.
Well, thank you. You are so kind.
What does your husband do for his job exactly?
Hey, this isn't about that dork. This is about ME. Next!
What would you do with an extra day in the week? Consider this day free of all current responsibilities.
That depends. Does this day also have my kids and husband in it? Or is it a day in the Twilight Zone when I am alone. If so, THIS is what I would do. I would be online all day, except when I was sleeping in and napping. And there might be a bath with reading involved.
As a parent, what are you vigilant about, and what are you relaxed about?
I am vigilant about manners. And danger. Street danger, stranger danger, choking danger, wearing plaid with stripes danger, that sort of thing. I'm not so vigilant about germs. I just don't care much about them. I mean, I don't recommend my kids stick their fingers up other kids' noses or anything. But then again, if the kid doesn't have a cold....
Why isn't anyone asking me anything?
They are, stupid. You just don't know how to log in and check your questions.
Which is your favorite toe?
My pinkie toe, of course. Not that I don't love my two-headed monster toes, but the pinky is just so small and stubby and has such a tiny delicate, slit-like nail. What's not to love?
What was your favorite TV show as a child?
Wonder Woman. That hot starry blue bustier just did it for me.
Would you rather own a luxury yacht or a private jet?
Jet, for sure. You can't sail from here to Texas.
How would you describe your style?
Incredibly not foo-foo meets scorn for labels
Wow, that was fun! Who's up for some more? Ask me anything!
p.s. Only two more days to
Monday, March 22, 2010
Do You Formspring?
Perhaps I flatter myself in thinking that people care that much about learning things about me, but when I saw Formspring on her blog and her blog, I was super jealous intrigued and I had to try it!
So if you'd like to ask me an anonymous question and have me answer it here, on my blog, please visit this link.
PLEEEEEASE?
So if you'd like to ask me an anonymous question and have me answer it here, on my blog, please visit this link.
PLEEEEEASE?
Monday, March 15, 2010
Mommy, Do All Blog Readers Go To Heaven?
Have you noticed, over the life of your blog, that sometimes very faithful readers just suddenly disappear into thin air?
Over the last nine months, a very dedicated new reader went back and began reading my blog from the very beginning. Moderating the comments for those older posts caused me to go back and read a lot of my older posts. And I found in the comments from those posts, faithful readers who I had totally forgotten about. Readers who read every post, commented every time, for months. And who were now nowhere to be found. Where had they gone? Why had they stopped reading? Had I said something to offend them? Had I stopped being funny? Or interesting? Or relevant? Had I pushed the 12-hour lipstick too hard?
I just wonder. Has this happened to you? Has this BEEN you? Where do the good readers go when they disappear from your blog?
Over the last nine months, a very dedicated new reader went back and began reading my blog from the very beginning. Moderating the comments for those older posts caused me to go back and read a lot of my older posts. And I found in the comments from those posts, faithful readers who I had totally forgotten about. Readers who read every post, commented every time, for months. And who were now nowhere to be found. Where had they gone? Why had they stopped reading? Had I said something to offend them? Had I stopped being funny? Or interesting? Or relevant? Had I pushed the 12-hour lipstick too hard?
I just wonder. Has this happened to you? Has this BEEN you? Where do the good readers go when they disappear from your blog?
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
It's Not You, It's Me
By the way, I am eight hundred and nintey-one thousand million posts behind. I had all these grand illusions of catching up on my blogging A) on the flight to St. Thomas, B) in St. Thomas, and C) on the flight home from St. Thomas. Instead, having no internet on the flights out, no internet in the apartment in St.Thomas, and finally internet, but a dead laptop (DANGIT) on the flight home, I ended up getting deeper and deeper into internet debt. I now need to hire an internet debt consolidation company to peruse my posts for me and point out the absolute must-reads and/or write witty and consise comments for me. Just to get my head above water.
Do they have internet debt consolidation companies??
Anyway, if you're still out there, and haven't decided to burn me at the stake for not commenting on your blog for at least two weeks (prep for St.T took a lot out of me, too), feel free to say hello. Even though your generous gesture has not (yet) been reciprocated. Even though every post may not ever be reciprocted (not my fault if the debt consolidators cut you, right?). Even though my comments may be slightly more consise than witty while I catch up.
Just cause you love me.
(Or feel some amount of pity for me. Whatever. I'm not picky.)
Fingers crossed.
Do they have internet debt consolidation companies??
Anyway, if you're still out there, and haven't decided to burn me at the stake for not commenting on your blog for at least two weeks (prep for St.T took a lot out of me, too), feel free to say hello. Even though your generous gesture has not (yet) been reciprocated. Even though every post may not ever be reciprocted (not my fault if the debt consolidators cut you, right?). Even though my comments may be slightly more consise than witty while I catch up.
Just cause you love me.
(Or feel some amount of pity for me. Whatever. I'm not picky.)
Fingers crossed.
Monday, January 18, 2010
I'm boring MYSELF to death
What is wrong with me? I have blogged twice in the last 10 days. I haven't been reading or commenting either, because when you comment people generally want to go to your blog to return the favor, and I can't have people coming to my blog to comment on a blog that is a week old, now can I?
So for the love of all that's holy, someone please give me a topic to write about!!!
So for the love of all that's holy, someone please give me a topic to write about!!!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
And Don't Ever Forget It
I am nothing if not creative with a capital K. So of course I was thrilled when the lovely and talented Wym bestowed the Kreativ Bloggger award upon me today. (Actually, the original Kreativ Blogger award only had two "g"s in it, but since I'm at lesat 1/3 more kreativ than everyone else alive, I decided to bump it up to 3 g's. See how I've proven I deserve this award already?? )
The upside of receiving this award is that all my wasted time blah-blah-blah-ing over the world wide web has just been validated. Ha! In your face, 10th grade English teacher who told me I'd never amount to anything! The downside is that I now have to come up with 7 interesting and/or unknown things to say about myself, as per the Kreativ Blogger Award Official Rules and Obligations. How will I ever narrow it down??? And then I have to pass on this award to several other super kreativ bloggers. Who will make the list? I know you are all dying to find out. Well, here goes with the first part...
1) My body's default reaction to any conditions that threaten homeostasis--i.e. exercise, nervousness, stress, cold, etc.--is for my nose to run. It really can be quite inopportune to have your nose start running like a tap during the middle of your Sunday School lesson. People really don't appreciate my loud goose honk nose blow during yoga either.
2) Scrubbing toilets isn't even close to the top of my list of Most Hated Household Chores. I feel like if I was any kind of human being, it should be. But usually I find it cathartic.
3) I've always felt more at home with people of other cultures than my own. In 5th grade, Melanie Riley-Green, Ingrid Middleton, and Leslie Hill cornered me on the Big Slide during recess and confronted me for abandoning them for Yoko Matsumoto, the new Japanese import. I had to confess that she was way more interesting to me even though she couldn't speak a word of English. I don't think they appreciated my cultural sensitivity.
4) Holding things between my teeth makes me super nauseated. Like pencils. Or papers. Or the hem of a shirt so I can examine my bellybutton. I don't know why.
5) I'm addicted to HGTV. I currently DVR at least 5 different shows on that network. Generally my DVR tapes the first two minutes of the following show before the recording cuts off. And no matter what show it is that follows, I find myself shrieking that I don't have the whole show to watch nearly every time.
6) My gosh, aren't I done yet??? Um, let's see....Oh, I got one. I used to have this horrible Michigan accent. Michiganders have a terrible accent. They have super flat vowels, especially the O, which becomes like an A, and the A, which becomes like an A with your nose plugged and someone sitting on your chest. When I first came to Utah, people asked me all the time, "Where are you from??" And I would say, "What do you mean ? I don't hiev and ieccent."
7) Yesterday I turned on the water in my bathroom sink and put a pair of my daughter's soiled underwear in there to soak. Then I went to the bathroom and got in the shower. It was a decent shower--10 minutes or so. But I kept thinking how I needed to have Big Daddy check the plumbing because it didn't seem like there was enough water pressure. When I turned off the shower, I could still hear water running somewhere. I looked over at the bathroom sink and water was pouring onto the floor. Did I seriously forget to turn off the sink? SERIOUSLY? CRAP. I'm turning into my MOTHER!
There you go. Seven highly entertaining and/or unknown things about myself. You don't' have to tell me if they lean more towards the unknown than the entertaining. I am a big believer in denial.
As for the awards, well no one is as kreativ as...
Cadence, who always does beautiful things with chocolate and glue and paper and glitter (not in the same project of course) and then pretends she's not at all a super amazing crafty mom.
or
The Boob Nazi, who I recently started reading. She is spunky and sassy and she tells it LIKE IT IS. I love a woman with a mind of her own!
or
Gurbonzo, who CRACKS. Me. UP. She has the greatest knack for telling the parts of life that should be the most depressing in a way that is absolutely hysterical. Of course, it's mostly only hysterical because it's happening to someone else, not me. But still, that takes talent.
or
Plain Jame. She wields words like a Ginsu knife; the tin cans of mediocrity are nothing to her verbal prowess...hiYA! I love to just plunge into her posts and experience her life almost as real-ly as my own.
or
Rae at Us in Tejas. She tells the best stories ever. And I have a feeling if we got together for a chat, we'd be there for 11 days at least, both of us being so terribly interesting and loving to gab like we do. She's a soul sister, I'm sure.
If you're looking for some good reading, check those out. But make sure you always read MY blog more. Loyalty, people. It's called loyalty.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Down and Out
I'm sitting here in my bed, in my jammies, no make-up, no brushed teeth or hair, at 11:06am. No, I'm not lazy; I'm post-op drugged up! I had my laproscopy yesterday. And I'm not quite 100% yet. Not even quite 55% yet, I'd say. So I'm going to take this opportunity to catch up on all the wonderful blogs I have sadly neglected during this busy holiday season. And I'm going to attempt to write a few posts of my own. If I get to it, you may get to hear a little about:
-a great new sugar cookie recipe (even newer than the last one!)
-peeing blue
-Why I may bomb a movie theater
-How to give yourself 3 days of serious nightmares
-Why I hope, for your sake, you've never heard the children's song "Down By the Bay"
-How to nearly ruin Christmas
-Why I might bomb an insurance company
-Why I might get arrested for too many bombing threats
-Ways in which I am seriously disturbed (not bombing related). And proud of it.
-How I still need a Wisconsin quarter. Actually, maybe I'll just leave that one at that.
But you first. It's Christmas and I'm feeling magnanimous. I'll be seeing you on your blog soon!
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Big In Japan
Evidently, I am a super popular blogger in Japan. I've been getting at least one comment a day from my Japanese fans, different fans, each day for a couple of weeks. In Japanese. It's kind of thrilling to know they love my blog so much. I thought I'd share some of their comments, which I had translated on babelfish.com...
From "Degree of Checker":
Very his person and your deep state of mind which she cannot do doing [mote] degree of [ru] check with thorough elucidation ♪ everyone, result exchange freedom… Very his person and your deep state of mind which she cannot do doing [mote] degree of [ru] check with thorough elucidation ♪ everyone, result exchange freedom, as for combination [kon] and break in [mote] degree of [ru] check the spare time crushing! Publish Reject which diagnoses the instant which [mote] period visits next decisively and the [chi] [ya] is.
Boy, she really said it, huh?
Then "¥ Club" wrote
Also the encounter [i] now ¥ club! It was times when [onna] buys [otoko]. With this site opposite support desired woman man freely… Also the encounter [i] now ¥ club! It was times when [onna] buys [otoko]. With this site the system where the opposite support desired woman can choose the man freely is adopted. About the woman who supplies success economically the money aspect is rich, but it is to be hungry to love. Now immediately please from the TOP page
Isn't that awesome!? So insightful. So profound! My favorite comment so far, though, is from "Field Exposure":
To now field exposure 0 image and is the captivity tend, but it becomes really open feeling, the nudist of the famous person,… To now field exposure 0 image and is the captivity tend, but it becomes really open feeling and the nudist of the famous person, is the extent which recommends the fact that it becomes opening. This sight the daughters and is not enjoyed with the field which know each other in opportunity or.
Oh, that Field Exposure. She always knows just how to put into words exactly what I'm thinking. You know anyone who can combine the words "nudist" and "famous" in the same sentence is a friend of mine.
Thanks for all your time and effort, Japanese fans. I really appreciate you taking the time to comment on my blog and share your thoughts. However, you maybe have noticed that my blog is in English. And I am tired of having to translate your lengthy comments. So from now on, I'm going to have to put on the dreaded word verification to see just how dedicated to commenting on my blog you are. Sorry to all my American fans. This is just what happens when you're big in Japan.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Real Life Takes Over
I was about to write and say that I'm in a blogging funk. My blog posts have dwindled down to about two or three a week lately. But then I realized it's not so much that I don't have anything to blog about. Or that I don't feel like blogging. It's just that I've actually let REAL LIFE (remember that old thing?) creep back in lately. I may have even been seen doing activities such as...
Reading to the kids
Leaving the house
Sweeping the bathroom floor (most hated chore of all, except moping the bathroom floor, of course)
Starting dinner before 5:45pm
Reading a book!
Catching up on DVR'ed shows
MAKING HOMEMADE CARDS TO KEEP ON HAND (You know you've strayed seriously from the life of a blogger when you have time for that!)
Moping the entryway
Shoveling snow
Styling my hair
Wearing pants
It's amazing the things a woman can get done around the house if she makes 67 subscribed blog writers take a back seat to her husband and children. (I'm sorry, I still love you! Forgive me! I'll never forget you!) (That was directed to you 67 bloggers, not my family, by the way.)
And next week, when the laundry piles up again and the kitchen sink is covered with goo again, and I can't find my kids' floors again, don't worry; that will inspire me to get back intoavoiding my responsibilities catching up on blogging.
Reading to the kids
Leaving the house
Sweeping the bathroom floor (most hated chore of all, except moping the bathroom floor, of course)
Starting dinner before 5:45pm
Reading a book!
Catching up on DVR'ed shows
MAKING HOMEMADE CARDS TO KEEP ON HAND (You know you've strayed seriously from the life of a blogger when you have time for that!)
Moping the entryway
Shoveling snow
Styling my hair
Wearing pants
It's amazing the things a woman can get done around the house if she makes 67 subscribed blog writers take a back seat to her husband and children. (I'm sorry, I still love you! Forgive me! I'll never forget you!) (That was directed to you 67 bloggers, not my family, by the way.)
And next week, when the laundry piles up again and the kitchen sink is covered with goo again, and I can't find my kids' floors again, don't worry; that will inspire me to get back into
Friday, November 20, 2009
Weekend Writing Project
I've been writing a lot of short, shallow, get-me-through-the-week-until-I-have-time-to-write-a-decent-post posts this week. But I've had a couple of topics on my mind to do a more lengthy and/or entertaining post. I know what you're thinking: More entertaining, less lengthy. Well, I guess we'll see how that works out. At any rate, I thought I'd give you the chance to "choose your own adventure" so to speak. Like Dragon's Lair, only way more verbose.
Option 1: The Tale of the Mysterious Monkey Poo
Option 2: How I Almost Got Sold Into Black Market Slavery in Thailand
Both true stories. Take your pick, and I'll have a nice scintillating, loquacious-ish story for you on Monday.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Please Feel Free To Promote Yourself Now
So. I have four baskets of laundry on my bed that need sorting and folding and putting away.
I'M GETTING TO IT!
So. I have a Blockbuster movie (a part 2 of 2) that I has been sitting here next to my TV, ready to be watched, for 2 weeks.
I'M GETTING TO IT!
So. I have 2 suitcases still unpacked from Vegas sitting in the middle of the living room floor.
I'M GETTING TO IT!
So. I haven't been to read your blog in, like, 3 weeks?
I'M GETTING TO IT!
And just so you know, I'm starting with the most important things first: that being the blog reading, of course. So now is your chance to pop in and say hi and tell me you'd like to be first in line to have your blog read. If I've been neglecting you, or never read you anymore, or don't know who you are, or have forgotten to check in, or if you're a blurker and need some bloggy lovin', or if you wrote something super funny and want recognition, or if you wrote something super boring and no one is commenting....
NOW IS YOUR CHANCE TO PROMOTE YOURSELF.
And I promise that within the next 24 hours I will read everyone's blog who comments on this post. Seriously. It's that easy to get comments from me while I have all this important stuff to avoid. So...
GET TO IT!
.
I'M GETTING TO IT!
So. I have a Blockbuster movie (a part 2 of 2) that I has been sitting here next to my TV, ready to be watched, for 2 weeks.
I'M GETTING TO IT!
So. I have 2 suitcases still unpacked from Vegas sitting in the middle of the living room floor.
I'M GETTING TO IT!
So. I haven't been to read your blog in, like, 3 weeks?
I'M GETTING TO IT!
And just so you know, I'm starting with the most important things first: that being the blog reading, of course. So now is your chance to pop in and say hi and tell me you'd like to be first in line to have your blog read. If I've been neglecting you, or never read you anymore, or don't know who you are, or have forgotten to check in, or if you're a blurker and need some bloggy lovin', or if you wrote something super funny and want recognition, or if you wrote something super boring and no one is commenting....
NOW IS YOUR CHANCE TO PROMOTE YOURSELF.
And I promise that within the next 24 hours I will read everyone's blog who comments on this post. Seriously. It's that easy to get comments from me while I have all this important stuff to avoid. So...
GET TO IT!
.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
A Public Service Announcement On How to Fix Your Majorly Screwed Up Blog
Not that probably any of you care--or at least you won't until it happens to you and then you'll come crawling back to this post to figure things out--but I fixed my blog and it should now appear just fine (solid background under text, sidebar stuff on the side). And here's how it got screwed up:
You know how when you create a new blog post you can choose to write it in "compose" or in "edit html"? Well, if you write it in compose, which I usually don't, it will add in some html codes to space out the paragraphs, etc. One such code is the "div" code. And each time it adds a "div" there is a "< /div >" to close the html code. If you inadvertently (or advertently, in my case) delete some of the < /div >'s cause they annoy the crap out of you, you may find an error message when you try to publish that says something like "Hey, you idiot. You have messed with my perfectly good html code and your blog is about to get majorly screwed up." But fortunately, underneath that error message, a little box can be checked that says "Shut up. I'm too lazy to fix all those codes. Just publish my post already!" I frequently just check that box because, well, I am too lazy to fix all those html codes. And things have always worked out just fine when I have checked that box. Well, this time, not so much. Evidently it really can majorly screw up your blog. If you have multiple missing "< /div >'s," your entire side bar will relocate to the bottom of your blog and the nice pale pink background you had your friend/blog designer put in underneath your text to make it readable will just up and disappear, leaving only crazy, hot pink, headache-inducing swirls.
So, the moral of this story is, Always Write In "edit html." Or it could be "Stop Being So Lazy And Add a Few < /div >'s. But who wants to do that?? Blech. I'll stick with "edit html."
p.s. Thanks to the people at blogger help who so kindly furnished me with the answer to this baffling mystery.
p.p.s. Thanks to all of you who kindly lent your help in letting me know if you were seeing my blog right or not. Turns out it had nothing to do with the browser. Or if it did, I don't want to know. I'd like to live in the delusion that I fixed this issue all by myself.
.
You know how when you create a new blog post you can choose to write it in "compose" or in "edit html"? Well, if you write it in compose, which I usually don't, it will add in some html codes to space out the paragraphs, etc. One such code is the "div" code. And each time it adds a "div" there is a "< /div >" to close the html code. If you inadvertently (or advertently, in my case) delete some of the < /div >'s cause they annoy the crap out of you, you may find an error message when you try to publish that says something like "Hey, you idiot. You have messed with my perfectly good html code and your blog is about to get majorly screwed up." But fortunately, underneath that error message, a little box can be checked that says "Shut up. I'm too lazy to fix all those codes. Just publish my post already!" I frequently just check that box because, well, I am too lazy to fix all those html codes. And things have always worked out just fine when I have checked that box. Well, this time, not so much. Evidently it really can majorly screw up your blog. If you have multiple missing "< /div >'s," your entire side bar will relocate to the bottom of your blog and the nice pale pink background you had your friend/blog designer put in underneath your text to make it readable will just up and disappear, leaving only crazy, hot pink, headache-inducing swirls.
So, the moral of this story is, Always Write In "edit html." Or it could be "Stop Being So Lazy And Add a Few < /div >'s. But who wants to do that?? Blech. I'll stick with "edit html."
p.s. Thanks to the people at blogger help who so kindly furnished me with the answer to this baffling mystery.
p.p.s. Thanks to all of you who kindly lent your help in letting me know if you were seeing my blog right or not. Turns out it had nothing to do with the browser. Or if it did, I don't want to know. I'd like to live in the delusion that I fixed this issue all by myself.
.
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