Tag Archives: blogging

Coming Out of the Blogset

When I started blogging and tweeting earlier this year, only my husband and three dogs knew I was doing this. Frankly, I’m not sure how much they cared, as long as they got their belly rubs. But, recently, I’ve decided to come out of the blogging closet, or blogset, to use a fun portmanteau.

At first, I kept things quiet because I didn’t know how long I would keep up with it. I have a tendency to go from, “Hey! Look at this fun thing I’m doing!” to, “Well, looks like I need to do this thing,” culminating in, “Hey! Look at this NEW fun thing I’m doing!”

I am Dug, from Up. Squirrel!



After gaining some traction with my blog and tweets (big hugs to all of you), I started to feel like I was leading some sort of double life. People asked me what I did over the weekend and I’d reply very quickly, “Nothing! Why do you ask? What did you hear? I spent all of time with my children. Coloring. And reading the bible.”

I could have been doing those things. Or, I could have been hiding from my children drinking wine in a closet, while trying to whip up bon mots for Twitter. Either one.

One night, I thought I’d tell two of my very best friends about my great secret. Of course, with the way I am with the word putting together, they probably thought I was going to tell them I was pregnant with baby #3, even though they know better.

I started off with, “So… I have some news.” And anyone who has friends, knows that in your 20s, this means someone is announcing an engagement, in your late 20s/early 30s you’re telling everyone you’re pregnant, and in your 40s, it means you’re telling everyone either that you’re getting a divorce or you’ve found a new wine you really like. Or both.

My blogging news was met with a much better reception than if I had announced I was pregnant, because once again, my friends know me way too well. And the next day, I had one following me on twitter and the other had read my blog in its entirety.

Have I mentioned that I heart my friends?

Every up has its down. Just like every rose has its thorn. Just like… sorry. Channeling my inner Bret Michaels there.

So, I was out for a work happy hour and I mentioned to a co-worker that I blogged. And then he asked about my blog. I felt like a doofus saying, “I blog about motherhood.” Somehow, it seemed like I could have easily said, “I Instagram photos of my dogs.”

Heeeyyy... So... I blog. And I'm not weird at all.

Heeeyyy… So… I blog. And I’m not weird at all.

Instantly, my great passion seemed ridiculous.

In retrospect, I SHOULD have said, “I amusingly write about the ups and downs of motherhood.” Or something like that. Anything else would have been better.

It wasn’t until I wrote about my personal loss that I let anyone else know that I did this. Everyone was very kind, but I still feared some backlash. Not about the one particular post I shared, but… the other posts.

So… I may have referenced people I know in other blog posts. Not by name; I’m not stupid, but if they read it, they would know it was them. And… I may have to see one of those people on a semi-regular basis. Yeah. Awkward. I can only hope they are not big blog readers. Or, that I can distract them with something shiny if they get to that post.

I’m screwed, aren’t I?

All I can do is embrace my blogginess and ask everyone to love me, even if I might have tossed a little snark their way.

Who knows, I may even become more bold in what I write, because if I have already ticked off family and survived, does anything else matter? The only thing I probably won’t do is put my kids in my blog or on Twitter, but that’s mainly because I think their combination of brilliance and stunning good looks would just make other parents sad. Plus, this is all about me, obviously, so I’ll keep the attention where it is most important.


Filed under Martini Madness

I Love Social Media, But It Makes Me Hyperventilate

I have been swimming in the social media space for a couple of months now, but there are times when I feel great anxiety about proper netiquette. Like, “hand me a brown paper bag” anxiety.  When it flares up alongside spelling and grammar worries, I might as well sit in a corner and rock until the feeling goes away.

But it never does.  It’s probably because I am, at heart, an introvert and people pleaser. I might as well get “LOVE ME!” tattooed on my forehead. At least then people know what they’re dealing with. My need to be loved, looks like this in the real world:

Pinkie Pie

Pinkie Pie, as drawn by moi.

I wanted to use a picture of Benedict Cumberbatch photobombing U2, but I had a panic attack about what was legal to use. Then, I thought I’d use a photo of Pinkie Pie, who is a needy and energetic, and suitable to represent my people-pleasing angst. Once again… copyright. I do not want to tick off the Ponies. So, I decided to draw my own image of Pinkie Pie. I know. It’s awesome.

Ah, yes. Twitter.  It’s 140 characters, chock full of wit & wisdom. I understand the basics; tweet a few times a day, don’t promote only your stuff, interact with your virtual friends, and don’t tell the world when you’re using Twitter in the bathroom. What I get stressed out about is…. When do I favorite? I usually favorite a tweet that I find amusing or when someone has tweeted me. But, what happens when I’ve had an interaction, but really don’t have more to say? Do I just favorite? Do I add a winky face or emoticon? Is the person on the other end of the tweet sitting there, waiting for my reply and thinking, “Is she still there? Why is she not continuing this conversation? Forget her. I’m taking my ball and going home.”

Other things I worry about…. When retweeting, if I want to add a response, but there aren’t enough characters, is it ok to delete parts of someone else’s tweet? It reminds me of college when I’d ask a friend to read one of my term papers to make sure it made sense and they would start shuffling my words around. Stick in an Oxford comma or tell me to tighten things up, but don’t squirrel with my words. It’s not cool. Does the same thing apply in the Twitterverse?

And, when is it OK to unfollow someone? I was following someone who I thought was humorous, and then their tweets turned into selling their own stuff and links to other random things. No real thought or interaction. For the longest time, I kept following them because I thought they followed me too, when I finally checked out their feed to see if they did tweet anything other than self-promotion, I saw they weren’t following me. I nipped that twit-lationship in the bud real fast.

Speaking of unfollowing, why is it that some people will follow you to get a followback, and then unfollowing you? In the words of Stephanie Tanner, “How rude!” Why is that a thing? I am probably putting more into Twitter than need be, but I follow people that I think I’ll find interesting, or at least will promote the heck out of me when I am my hilarious self. It just seems so cheap and dirty to do otherwise. All I can say is, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

When I started blogging, I thought I would whip up brilliantly humourous blogs every other day, no problem. I had outlined several topics, set aside time to write, and had been inspired by other bloggers via Facebook and Twitter. I burned through a couple topics, and then it struck. Writer’s Block. My muse left and I could only muster up my Dorothy Parker-esque wit every few days (okay, I’m no Dorothy Parker, but, you know, maybe one day). Then, worry set in. Am I not REALLY a writer? My readers will leave me! And if I’m not writing, I’m not commenting!  And I look ungrateful! I am an uninspired, ungrateful hack!  Commence heavy breathing into a paper bag! In, out, in, out, in, out…. Getting light headed here….

PR Friendly
I read an article that compared labeling oneself as “pr friendly” to having a sign that reads, “Will work for cupcakes.”* Part of me thought, “Hey! I like cupcakes! I would work for those.” And then another part thought, “Am I tarting myself out for cupcakes just to be left with an empty wrapper when the company is done with me and my Twitter followers abandon me for being such a tart?” Other than obviously putting too much thought into cupcakes and tartery, I was faced with a moral dilemma. Would my blog/twitter feed/whatevs turn into me promoting stuff? Would I feel compelled to write things like, “Hanging with my hubs on our new #SealyPosturpedic mattress. I’m getting good sleep tonight!” The thought makes me want to vurp. Or maybe that’s the sushi I had for dinner.

You know… some slutty cupcakes might make me feel better. I think I’ll eat them on my Sealy mattress.

*I can’t find that article anywhere. If anyone knows what I’m talking about and has the URL, let me know. Thanks, love you, mean it.


March 4, 2014 · 10:21 pm

Brilliance, Interrupted

I sat down to write a fresh blog today. I imagined writing something that would be amusing, touching and entertaining. Something that would delight the masses. Or at least the three people who read my blog (Hi, friends!). That did not happen.

Every time my butt hit the seat, something else demanded my attention. First, a dog wanted to sit in my lap. Since she is the size of a chinchilla and has the saddest, most soulful eyes, I can’t say no. So, I pause and get her settled. Then the other dog wants me to throw her ball for her. And you can’t ignore her either, because she drops the ball on your lap, staring at you intently. If you ignore her, she will bore into your skull with her eye lasers. Not wanting to ruin any part of my pretty little puss, I oblige. Then, when I throw said ball, it causes the little one to shift, and then she looks up at me with hurtful eyes because, in her mind, we were having a nice, quiet, snuggly moment and I RUINED it by throwing the ball. How could I be so cruel, her chocolatey eyes say. How could I?

I get the little one settled, and then I completely lose my train of thought. I do not have one funny, insightful topic in my head. I rack my brain for something I can write about. I start to reach for a thought when… my husband needs something. Holy hell. Why can’t this man find anything? It’s not like I put things in odd places so he can’t find them. Keys? Hanging up where they usually are. Gloves? In the basket with all of the other gloves, scarves and random ass crap that I happen to toss in there.

Then, I spot a weird dinosaur squirt gun. Seriously, why is that thing in there? It’s creepy. You have to wrap your hands around his nether-regions to squirt the water. I don’t get it. Maybe I’ll take five minutes and clean out the basket. Of course, I find too small gloves, summer hats and dog hair.

I find dog hair everywhere! I swear I clean my house, but gnomes come in the middle of the night, rip fur off my dogs and sprinkle it all over the bloody house. The probably also bring dog poop inside and deposit on my carpets. I’m always finding a dried up turd wherever I go. Or, if it isn’t gnomes, it’s probably my kids pooping in a corner and laughing their heads off when I have to clean it up.

OK. Dogs happy, husband gone, dog hair vacuumed, poop picked up… and I’m ready to be brilliant. Here comes something interesting…

And my husband calls while running errands. Can I…..? And would I also…? Sweet baby Jesus. He better come home with wine and a funny story for me to blog about. If not, I’ll be forced to write about sorting gloves or I’ll start taking pictures of dog hair tumbleweeds. No one wants it to come to that.

1 Comment

Filed under Martini Madness