Every once in a while I write one of these "Here's why I'm not posting so much lately but if you just hang on for a while I promise to start posting more" in an attempt to salvage the last of my audience, and as soon as I write that post, my husband immediately emails me and tells me that, basically, I am lame.
No one wants to hear why I'm not posting more. They just want me to post.
Except that after a while, I think, people just give up waiting for me to post more, and with good reason.
Oh sure, I get a lot of clicks on my blog...except lately, most people out there from The Internets are looking for this picture of David Suzuki naked with a fig leaf. I swear, I get at least twenty hits a day with searches for that photo, and most of them are from the Czech Republic and Dubai. Kinky things going down in Dubai. The Czech Republic, I don't even want to know.
And so my once semi-faithful readership has moved on to more prolific pastures. Well... Slouching Mom still loves me with the eternal flame of Heathcliff for Cathy, and Jane for Mr. Rochester, and for that I am grateful. And Julie Pippert I pay $35.79 a month to read my blog and comment whenever she can. And then there is that gorgeous woman from i, obsess with the sexy hair and the sultry words and the ear she once sent me in blue velvet box (which is why she wears her hair long).
But other than that, some days it's my lonely violin against the hum of one cricket.
That cricket would be my sister.
Anyway, after having a third baby and almost immediately losing my readership due to said baby's favorite pastime of running with scissors and tossing himself down flights of stairs and my necessarily needing to be on call at all times to pry scissors from his tiny Cheeto-encrusted hands, I find that I now have a newfound freedom to be just really wacky-assed on my blog. I had sort of slipped into the Mommy Blog thang - and that's a whole fun genre to be sure, and the material is endless! (Until my oldest daughter gets her own computer and begins trolling my blog with anonymous comments dissing my poor sentence structure and telling eye-rolling tales about how I try to sing like Amy Winehouse in the shower.)
But I suppose I do begin censoring myself a bit. Why? I'm not sure. I mean, I read the other Mommy Blogs and, seriously, some of all y'all are twisted tighter than velcro pantyhose in a dryer. I mean that in the best way possible. Yous guys are nuts in your own endearing ways andI worship at your thrones built of pixels, Play-doh and martini glasses.
And I guess that even though I know that we were all once Not Moms and have our own stories of table dancing at lesbian rugby parties and shooting out ex-boyfriend's truck windows with a b.b. gun and dressing like jesters at Grateful Dead shows...
Oh what? It's not like I ever stole a horse like someone I could mention who happens to share my gene pool.
I don't know...I meet "real life" moms and they all seem so n.o.r.m.a.l and proficient at this Mom thing what with their hair-dos that are something more than a ponytail or a baseball cap, and their blouses that don't have odd light-brown stains on them just around the belly button like all mine do, and their secret knowledge of "how to get the floor mopped more than once a month" and, well, I'm not going out of my way to use my blog as a convincing argument that I should win Mother of the Year, but yeah, sure...I want to come across as...well...
I mean, it doesn't take too many clicks to figure out who I am and where I live, and for gol's sake, I'm a Girl Scout Leader! A pillar of the community! I have to be careful, right? Okay, Halushki isn't threatening to steal Dooce's readership - epsecially not now - nor am I a household name in my neighborhood as "That Woman With The Blog Oh My Gol You've Got To Read Her".
I was holding my freak back a bit.
(I have to interrupt here to report that my husband just handed me a glass of teaberry wine and it's very sweet and minty and I'm not such a wine snob that I'll lie and say I'm not enjoying it because, well, I am. It's disgusting and I'll probably drink the entire bottle because it's so good.)
Anyway, look-it here....
I posted below about poop. Okay. No biggie. A little juvenile sure. My husband told me to grow up. But I'm rubber and he's glue and what he says bounces of me and sticks to him.
Then I found this other potty video that I thought was absolutely side-splittingly genius comedy and I wanted to share it with...well, with whoever...because it's genius that must be shared even if it is oh-so-very-wrong.
But then I began to question whether someone I know might Google me and find this post and then I wouldn't pass future background checks and I'd get kicked out of Girl Scouts for posting a video that shows an animated tiger-boy penis and then my children and I would be shunned at the playground should the neighborhood moms find out that I laughed at the little kid singing filthy rap lyrics while sitting on a potty.
Although, you know what?
No one is going to Google me and find this post.
And really, not too, too many other people are looking right now, anyway.
And what the hell, if getting kicked out of Girl Scouts is the worst thing that happens to me, I'm doing all right.
I can't stand all the permission slips and paperwork anyway.
So here it is...Nazi bathroom humor and animated tiger-boy penises. I think this video is funy as hell. If it clears the room, I'll just dance on the table naked.
And here's another.
Why am I watching Japanimation toilet training videos?
Who can say?
Is Mercury out of retrograde yet?
More importantly, where's that bottle of teaberry wine?