IknowIknowIknow, I've been lax. I have been writing up a storm: the real writing for which I have no current fan base; as opposed to this fake writing for which I have a minor fan base. Shit, who am I kidding? Why be so modest? I'm a minor Web celebrity, right? A regular acidman.
Riiiight.
While I'm on the subject, will someone pleeeeease go to my website and look at it? The hits have all but dried up and I'm starting to get a complex because my blog hits are growing exponentially. So go here and see what I really do. You can leave me some cryptic comment and completely destroy my sense of self-worth. It'll be fun.
I've recieved a few raised eyebrows over my blog lately. Kinda funny considering the disclaimer I've repeatedly made about it being 60/40 real/fiction. And it's not that offensive, is it? At least I'm not in Costa Rica hiring hookers. Really, let's face it, all blogs have got to be in large part fiction. No way does all the shit happen that you read about. (sorry for the prep at the end, but get over yourself)
Reality sucks and is boring. Reality is what the previous post's blogs have in common. Reality is crying kids and picking up dog poop in the back yard, doing your kid's homework for him, arguing with your spouse over something even though you know you are wrong, but still arguing anyway, and overeating and road rage. It ain't pretty. It ain't all Christmas lights and cheerful, "No, you take the last sweater. I'll find something else for my mother-in-law who is impossible to buy for." No way in hell is it all roses and teddy bears and "wistful ramblings of a tortured soul." Blogs are lies. At least the good ones are.
But back to my excuse making: I have also been decorating for Christmas, which at my house is a serious, days-long endeavor that requires much beer and patience; especially when recieving "help" from Punkinhead (her way of helping is, "Here, let me just get this present out of the way for ya by opening it. I'll even throw away the wrapping paper.") (Damn, I'm good. Somehow I managed to get a colon and semi-colon and parentheses in one sentence, and I think it's actually gramatically ok - Krypto?)
Again, back to Christmas - we put up 8 Crispy Trees (Punkinhead calls the trees Crispy Trees - it's totally cute, admit it) and that doesn't include the one we have to get for the lake. They range in size from 18 inches to 9 feet, and range in alive-ness from entirely-plastic-and-cheap-metal, to once-alive-now-only-a-log-in-the-middle-of-some-plastic-branches, to soon-to-be-mulch. What with the red and green tableclothes and the candles in the windows and the greenery and a Santa on every bare stretch of side table, it's a regular Currier and Ives scene around here. The Great expressed his appreciation for the "different holiday, different tablecloth" effort. Six year olds are weird that way, I guess
I quit really appreciating Christmas about the time I got enough money to just go out and get what I want (ok, not everything, but my wants are few anyway.) Not only do I have to make lists for the kids (not that many options left since between the two of them they have all the toys currently on the market) I've got to do the decorating, make 1000 cookies, buy presents for EVERYONE in the Western Hemisphere, and, oh yeah, try to keep writing so that well doesn't dry up. All with a happy little holiday smile on my face.
Not to get all Scroogelicious, but I'm not in the mood. I guess I need a good dose of Linus to get me there.
That said, in the spirit of the season, I'm posting my Christmas list for all to see:
1 A tattoo. Think I want to do it now. Something subtle and in the ankle region.
2 Many, many CDs. Can't recall them all because PHF took the list.
3 Jeans. Yeah, real life intruding on fiction again. How to make that racy and sensationalistic? Ummm, tight ones? Yeah, really tight ones. Low cut, too.
4 Mini-Cooper. Don't know why. They are so not me. But I want one anyway.
5 New computer moniter - huge and flat. Oh, what the hell, it's Christmas - let's go plasma.
6 A dog - one that is cool and hangs out in my yard and never barks or rolls in poop or runs off.
7 Someone to walk the dog. Preferably an easy-on-the-eyes, hunky 22 year old guy nanny who also likes to do laundry.
8 Supercharger, 8 inch lift, 33's on my jeep. Oh darn it, there I go getting my list mixed up with PHF's again. It's like we're soul mates or something.
9 New roof rack and tire mount and lights and step ups for my jeep. For real.
10 Zippo lighter. I want to be like in the movies. Not that I smoke. Much.
11 One more piercing. I'll let you all give me suggestions as to where it should go.
Talk amongst yourselves to divvy up the giving.
4 comments:
Only one minor mistake. End of sentence should read:
throw away the wrapping paper").
Forgivable, though. Complex sentences like that give even "the pros" grief. What's not forgivable? G-R-A-M-M-A-T-I-C-A-L-L-Y.
And what's this about "No way does all the shit happen that you read about?" I can proudly say that the Sinkpig is 97/3 real/hyperbole.
Er... maybe I shouldn't be proud about that.
Er... maybe not.
Ah, what the hell am I saying? If it's not lies, then Krypto, you truly lead a charmed life.
Except for the no sex part.
And the stoopid students.
And living in your folk's basement.
And...
Ok, it's early. I'm evil. Apologies all around. You know I love ya anyway.
My folks' basement. Get it straight.
Ooooooooooo, you make me soooooo mad!!
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