This

I was supposed to post something tonight.

But I didn't.

Here's a picture I thought was funny.

Personal safety was a thing tonight, sorry.

Tomorrow will be better.

Hehehe, big albino snake.

Topical

I really want to write a book.

Really.

In fact, I've wanted to write a book since I was...six? Eight? I don't know, I can't really remember a time when I didn't want to be a writer. That fire has burned within me for decades, yet not much has come of it. So much real life has come between me and my aspiration.

Well...I guess, if I'm going to be honest, I have to say that a lot of self-created bullshit has come between me and my aspiration. I am my worst freaking enemy with regard to being the writer I want to be and always have been. If I could go back and do things differently...

...of course, I wouldn't. Because what if one tiny change to the way I've lived my life resulted in not having my Precocious Daughter? Or my Drummer Boy? Or simply surviving to my current age with my faculties intact?

Be careful what you wish for. For real.

All I have is what I have in front of me. The rest is memories and second guesses, and those things get you bupkus in the game of life. I need to embrace the stark fact that what I want lies in front of me or nowhere. Regrets of what I didn't accomplish in the past are dragons that want to consume me.

Dear dragons: Fuck you.

Yes, Smaug, even you.

In 2015, I want to finally write a book. I don't care if I don't have a publishing contract, or a million followers who might pre-order an e-book, or any of that. Because it's important to me, I want to write a book this year. And I want to sincerely believe that that's a good enough reason, even if no-freaking-body ever reads it.

I know I should do this. I just need to know what my book should be about.

Will you help?

Here are the topics I think I could write a whole book about. About which I think I could write a whole book. Whatever.

Let me know if any of these (or, you know, none of these) would be interesting to you.

• A cookbook of my grandma's recipes, with plenty of anecdotes about what a dork I was as a child.
• A semi-autobiographical account of how a completely mediocre girl from Milwaukee became a blogger single mom in only forty-some years.
• A satirical first-person account of the last 50 years, told from the perspective of an aborted fetus.
• An almost entirely fictional account of a little girl who wanted to be a Mouseketeer and found that international fame came at a heavy price.
• A bunch of stories about growing up in the late 20th century without fully understanding what was going on.
• A searing critique of Reagonomics and its legacy into the 21st century.

I really am going to pick one of these to write about in 2015. I totally invite you to vote on the subject you like (if you like any of them). Otherwise, I'm going to start penning a manuscript about something stupid.

LOL, j/k, they're all stupid.

Help me out, please. I have no idea what I'm doing.

Behold This Bad Post

I'm entering this post in the "Worst Blog Post" contest.

Which is totally a thing.

Here it is:

My dander is up.

The Learning Channel would roll in its grave if it could watch a few hours of TLC.

I crave salt.

----------------------------------------

Holy shit, that was terrible, wasn't it?

Get the word out. Tell your friends. Vote early and often.

(Sorry, guys. I'm out of sorts tonight. Back tomorrow with some brilliance all up in it.)

Stubs

Here are bunch of stubby little thoughts. They're all too weak to make an entire post out of...out of which to make...whatever. So I'm mashing them all together into one barely adequate post. And I get to throw away all these random scraps of paper with sentence fragments scrawled on them. They're like creepy fortune-cookies written by a marmoset with ADD.

I totally used that simile so I could
use this picture.

1. Obviously, when someone sits on their cellphone and accidentally calls you, it's called a butt-dial. But what if the phone is in their front pocket? I've decided it's called a nut-dial (for guys only, of course; I'm still working on the female version).

2. I realize that there is only a tiny subset of my already tiny body of readers who will get both halves of this comparison. But I'm not going to let that stop me. Does anyone else think that Robert De Niro as the young Vito Corleone in The Godfather Part II is a dead ringer for Kendall from boy band Big Time Rush?

This is haunting me.

3. Snickers Peanut Butter Squared is advertsing that it now contains 125% more peanut butter. Longtime readers know that I have had a passionate love affair with Snickers PBS. But now I don't eat sweets. So this news only makes me yearn for my former love like a middle-aged woman at a Rick Springfield concert.

I've hungered for your nuts...

4. I spent several hours yesterday reading David Thorne's blog 27b/6 (which you seriously need to stalk if you don't already). He is, hands down, the funniest blogger on teh Interwebz, and I only stopped reading because the urge to kill myself in a fit of writer's envy was growing unmanageable.

5. I've almost decided on what to get as a tattoo, assuming I ever decide to get a tattoo. Or I thought I'd almost decided. And then I saw this.

How do you say "squee" in Japanese?

Miyazaki soot-sprites for the win. How does one choose between this and Kermit the Frog, pray tell? And don't say both - I don't even know if I the nerve to get one, let alone two. But OMG, such cuteness in ink.

6.  Finally, Benedict Cumberbatch is making a movie called Black Mass. It's set in the 1970s. Check this out.

That tie. That hair. Those sideburns. Far out, man.

Stubs out.

Fill In the Blank

Let's play a game, Drunkards.

How would you complete this sentence?

Seriously, I want to know.

Here are a few of mine:

I really thought I'd be recovering from neuropathy by now.

I really thought I'd be a better writer by now.

I really thought I'd be divorced by now.

I really thought I'd be independently wealthy and hella beautiful by now.

Comment, email, or Facebook your answer.

I Wish I Had a Lazy Eye. Mine Is Far Too Busy.

Regular readers know that I have Texas-size allergies that every once in a while cause my eyes to swell shut for a couple of days. If you don't know that, you can read about it here.

My ocular role models.

Well, tonight my right eye is threatening to puff up. And I just know that if it does, the left eye will follow suit. The left eye is such a follower. I think it has self-esteem issues.

Maybe it just needs a hug.
Anyone want to hug my eyeball?

So I've taken a Benadryl to keep my eyes from going full-on-janky. The Benadryl will put me out pretty soon, because that's what it does. With luck, I'll wake up tomorrow with a relatively normal face. Which is all I can ever hope for.

But this is all the post you get tonight, because eyeballs.

Tomorrow I'll tell the tale of how I verbally abused a meth-head. Sort of. And for a very good reason.

Assuming I can see tomorrow.

If not, you can call me the Texas Blind Salamander.

So I'll see you guys later.

See what I did there?

I can't stop making bad sight jokes, you see.

Look, I need to stop.

I think the Benadryl is kicking in.

Placeholder Crazy Emu

Not posting tonight - working on a longer post for tomorrow.

But this emu is keeping an eye on you to make sure you don't stray far.

And so is this one.

These guys really, really want you to come back tomorrow.

And they're prepared to be persuasive.

Oh, yes.

So yeah. Tomorrow. See you then. Good post coming.

Y'all come back now, hear?

Blocked

I have writer's block.

Not even funny, Calvin.

I've been trying to write something all night, but it's not working. I guess I'm just not good at this.

I think I'm wondering where Bill the Butcher has been for the last few days.

I think I've been obsessed with buying a new car.

I think I don't believe in myself.

So I apologize that you spent the time and effort to click here just to find that I've got nothing to blog about.

Thanks, though.

I don't know why I don't get more reader suggestions.

Other than...I don't have many readers.

I would welcome them, though. Just saying.

Here's a picture of a beautiful thing, as my way of saying thanks:

Tomorrow, maybe, Drunkards. Thanks for loving me enough to click.

Ideas are ALWAYS welcome

Brilliance Is in the Eye of the Beholder

Sometimes I pride myself on writing witty, thought-provoking posts.

Other times I post pictures of bears riding motorcycles.

And really, which is more eloquent?

It's a rhetorical question.

I like bears, OK?

Go read HuffPost if you want incisive social commentary.

Because bears.

Tomorrow: How to buy a car if you suck at buying cars.

My Latest Brilliant Idea Involves Ted Nugent and Violence

I've decided that the best way for me to become Internet-famous is to challenge Ted Nugent to a fistfight.

I swear to God he's wearing a tinfoil hat.

Let the headlines read: Out-of-Shape Middle-Aged Blogger Chick Challenges Aging Batshit-Crazy Has-Been Right-Wing Rocker to Steel Cage Match.

I'm the blogger chick.

I'm not much of a fighter, but for a shot at 15 minutes of fame and a crapload of personal satisfaction I would totally get in the ring with Detroit's Best-Known Asshole. No holds barred, Teddy. Wipe the floor with me, if you think you're man enough. I don't, and I'm guessing my tens of readers don't, either.

My Drunkards can be pretty
damn passionate.

I don't want money out of this. All I want is fleeting notoriety and the chance to beat down an old man who believes he's still relevant in the 21st century. Who wouldn't get behind that?

So if you think this is a great idea, spread the word. Use the hashtag #TedNugentBeatdown with reckless abandon. Tell your friends, especially if they have more than 50,000 social media followers.

Why? Because I want to kick Ted Nugent's ass with the world watching. It's my dream, even if I only made it up 15 minutes ago. I want to see if the Motor City Unbelievable Douchebag has the cojones to engage in a fair fight with a suburban mom.

Back me up if you think it's a fight worth humiliating myself for.

Just My Type

I'm quite frustrated. Blogger won't let me upload photos to the post I was writing for tonight.


So who needs images?


We've got TEXT.


(IMPORTANT: I am not taking credit for any of these! I found them at http://www.chris.com/ascii/)


(ALSO IMPORTANT: These all rendered fine on my computer screen. YMMV. Which would be about par for the course tonight. Go look at Cheezburger if you want cool pictures.)


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I'm Failing November

When did November turn into such a bitch?

Yeah, I said it.

November is supposed to be a cool month. Cool temperatures, cool new sweaters and boots, and a big fat old turkey dinner on the fourth Thursday.

I used to look forward to November. But now it's just 30 days of stressing over things the Internet tells me I'm supposed to be doing. But of course I'm not.

I haven't grown a mustache.

I haven't stopped shaving.

I haven't posted something I'm thankful for every damn day on Facebook. (Can I just be thankful that I don't have to post something I'm thankful for 30 times?)

I haven't blogged every day.

I haven't written 21/30 of a novel.

I didn't remember the transgender people yesterday.

I didn't stop smoking today. I mean, I didn't smoke at all today, but I was supposed to stop, and I didn't.

I didn't get pneumonia. I'm not sure that's the purpose of World Pneumonia Day, but still.

OMG, I didn't celebrate Pirates Week!

My apologies to Willie Stargell.

Today was World Television Day, and I haven't watched any television. Or even listened to a single song by Tom Verlaine.

And on the 15th of this month, I utterly failed to commemorate the Day of the German-Speaking Community of Belgium. It's a thing, really, and I simply blew it off. Because I a dirty rotten November-failer.

The month is not a complete loss. I actually voted on Election Day. And on Sunday I will totally celebrate Precocious Daughter Turns 14 Day. Of course, I will pig out like a...um...pig on Thanksgiving.

I just feel as if I could have done so much more.

There's always next year.

Wait! Wait! Apparently November 21 is also World Hello Day!

HELLO!

Nailed it.

It's Friday, and This Is What I've Got

I've got Animals Riding on Other Animals!

Yeah, that's it. The Tea Party, the ACA website, shootings, Kimye's engagement, and I'm not writing about any of it.

Because some days all your writing ability goes into salvaging other people's piece-of-shit reports that are way above your pay grade to fix to the extent they need fixing, but you do it anyway because something that bad shouldn't be allowed to exist in the universe.

So please join me in pretending today's post is brilliant, topical, and insightful, and not simply...Animals Riding on Other Animals!

This tiny monkey riding a baby boar is very concerned about the technical glitches on healthcare.gov.

 

This li'l gator hitching a ride on his mom's scaly head wants to know what Congress is doing to prevent another shutdown in 2014.

 

 

Neither this owl nor her Irish wolfhound mount feels good about the recent wave of student violence.

 

 

These bears are riding swift horses to encourage investors to make like bulls and keep the stock market rally going.

 

Mr. Mouse told Ms. Guinea Pig about Kanye's lavish proposal of marriage to Kim Kardashian during their daily ride, and as you can see, they're both stunned by the news.

 

 

This squirrel is using a snake for a taxi because he's just so tired fro seeing pumpkin spice-flavored stuff EVERYWHERE.

 

This snail knew he would have to ride something faster than he to avoid losing out on an offer in the robust housing market.

 

 

Meanwhile, this monkey boarded the Capybara Express because she didn't want to get home late and miss Game 3 of the World Series.

 

This Chihuahua mix is riding a toy horse to a Halloween party, but his friend the cat thinks they'll never get there before the candy corn Jello shots are all gone without an extra push.

And this penguin who is a-dolphinback hasn't watched the news all week and feels she is all the happier for her limited knowledge of current events.

 

Booyah! Whimsical, adorable, AND topical.

Suck it, Friday.

A Bad Poem for a Bad Day

Here are some rhyming words about having an awful Monday. You can use them if you need to. Because I just give and give. What a stupid bitch I am.

Bad

by Chuck Baudelaire 

 

I'm feeling mad today

I'm having a bad day

I've really tried

To keep inside

That I feel mad today

 

But nothing's going well

The day went straight to hell

It's been reviewed

I must conclude

That nothing's going well

 

I try so hard to please

And not make enemies

I fear that I'm

Just wasting time

By trying hard to please

 

I do not want to curse

Things always could be worse

But holy shit this fucking day

Has been a goddamn clusterfuck

Of feeling like an asshole

And nobody gives a shit...but

I do not want to curse

 

Tomorrow might be better

I'll keep myself together

'Cause things will be

The same for me

Tomorrow, so I'd better.

Why Not Ask Some Rhetorical Questions?

Here are some things I've been wondering about. Feel free to help me figure out the answers.

First of all...when did Steve Carrell get hot?



Smokin' hot, even. Whoah.

Why does a goat need an eyepatch if it's not International Talk Like a Pirate Day?



Maybe he likes Dr. Hook.

Is this a picture of Eddie Vedder impersonating Johnny Depp, or Johnny Depp impersonating Eddie Vedder?

And if it is Eddie, why would he be wearing a
Minnesota Twins hat when he's a diehard Cubs fan?

Where can I get a real Cubone?

Hardly the only question here, to be sure.

Why does my brain never come up with fun, creative ideas like this?

Alternate question: Why do I never
have chic dinner parties where something
like this would be appropriate?

What exactly would Henry Rollins do?

I'm not sure I want to know.

Does she even know why?

Does she think the grass is greener?
Spoiler alert: It's not, little chicken. It's not.

Is this the awesomest poem/piece of word play ever?

Charles Carroll Bombaugh: unsung genius.

Why so serious?

Seriously adorable. I love Grumpy Cat.

And finally...

Tune in next time when we ponder how many licks it takes to get to various places.