My Toddler has Mad Talent

In yesterday’s post, I listed off a number of responsibilities and difficulties I confronted last week.  In that list, I failed to mention that I have also been busy helping my three-year-old daughter compose and illustrate her own books.  Emily loves to tell stories, so we have been recording them and making them into small books for her friends and family.  She’s quite demanding with my time as I serve as her transcriptionist and illustrator.  Emily’s “published” books include such titles as “Puppy Time with Grandma” and “I Love My Daddy.”  Yesterday, we just finished a book she made for her cousin called “Dolphin Adventures with Emily and Paris.”  I record the contents of that book here: 

The proud author, Emily Jane

Once upon a time, Emily and Paris went to have many adventures today.  They went to see a dolphin at the swimming pool.

Emily and Paris played with the dolphin and swam with the dolphin.  They swam a lot and the dolphin was so big.

Emily and Paris met a baby dolphin and it was so cute.  Paris loves just dolphins, and puppies want to swim in the pool too.

Then the baby dolphin swam away.  A big eagle came by and troubled everybody in the whole water.  Another eagle hopped on the raft and drank from a teapot.  Then a bee buzzed by.

Emily and Paris call the dolphin back and it jumps.  Then a big lion comes by and stops everybody.  The lion says, “Stop! I need some teapots!”  But the lion leaves because that’s what I want.

Now there is just one dolphin and one puppy and the puppy sings, “I love my Mommy!” Paris chases the eagle and says, “Sing! Sing! Give me the teapot!”  So the eagle drops the teapot and goes away.

A whale comes by.  The whale played with Paris some more.  The whale had a magic cylinder and the train went by.  The puppy barked at the train.

Emily and Paris went home in the car.  Emily told Paris, “I had fun, my friend.”  Emily and Paris give each other hugs and hop around and that is the end.

Celebrated artwork "Eagle on Raft with Teapot" by Angela Ryan

I feel fairly certain that Emily will become an accomplished author far before I ever do.  At least I’ll have my kid to take care of me.  She can financially support me, change my diapers, wax my mustache, and refill my wineglass.  If I never succeed myself, I figure I’ll be set anyway given the talent of my offspring.  I would note that the only editorial assistance I gave Emily in creating the above story was to question, “And then what happened?” and comment “Do we really need to write about more teapots?  What’s the deal with teapots, kid?” 

#fuckitfridays

I have a confession to make: I hate twitter.  Yeah, I know it's beneficial for marketing and networking with other writers, but to me it honestly just feels like one more damn obligation.  This is not to say that connecting with others feels like a duty too; I enjoy making connections with other bloggers and like-minded individuals.  However, there are other outlets for that, and facebook is my preferred form of social media.  (So, you know, you should totally follow me there.)

Despite my disdain for twitter, I made myself a very simple goal last week.  I thought it was simple anyway.  However, perhaps one should not make any additional demands upon oneself when she is trying to return to employment after a two week absence due to severe depression, is currently taking a new antipsychotic drug to support the antidepressant that isn’t quite doing the job battling bipolar with the addition of seasonal affective depression, is raising two toddler children, is battling fibromyalgia, is coaching, and is also beginning her freelance writing career with several writing assignments due in the week.  That should have been enough for me, but I decided that last week was the week I finally play along with these weekly hashtags I’m sure most of you are familiar with.

I'm down for the weird stuff, Franco.

Therefore, I made my goal known on twitter and facebook.  I started off my #mancrushmonday with a lovely photo of James Franco from his guest spot on 30 Rock, announcing I wouldn’t mind taking on the Liz Lemon role in the Franco/Kimiko threesome.  I must admit I had to google what Tuesday’s hashtag was.  Let’s be honest, I don’t live in the hippest locale in the world, so I’m not always current on these kinds of things.  At any rate, I managed to follow through with #transformationtuesday, #womancrushwednesday, and #throwbackthursday, although as an English instructor, I cringe when typing these words without spaces and proper capitalization. 

Then Friday came, and it was a long fucking week for me, y’all.  I don’t know what the hell kind of hashtagged (is this a word?) day Friday was supposed to be either.  I would have googled that shit had I the energy to meet my goal.  Alas, I could not even follow through with a week of obnoxious hashtags. 

Therefore, despite whatever Friday’s formerly popular hashtag was, I am now declaring Friday #fuckitfriday, for when you just barely made it through the week, and praise the Lord, but you ain’t got the energy for any other kind of bullshit, so give me a Miller Lite and a bag of Doritos and just let me pass out on the couch. Whatever, I did enough this week, mother fuckers.  That’s #fuckitfriday, my friends.

The Mac Dad will make ya Jump, Jump

And as Monday rolls around again, and I’m still struggling, I petition that Monday no longer be #mancrushmonday and rather become #mehmonday.  #mehmonday is for those days you just want to say, “Hey, I showered.  You better be fucking happy with that.  Don’t expect me to change the world today.  I showed up to work, didn’t I?  So shut your damn trap and just let me survive.  Kids, watch cartoons and don’t whine to Momma today, it’s #mehmonday.”  I know you all can feel me on this one, right?  I don’t have time on Monday to think about whom I might want to fuck, because I wouldn’t have the energy even if James Franco showed up on my door step.  “Hey, Franco,” I’d say, “So, I applaud your effort on As I Lay Dying, but I haven’t shaved my legs (and other unmentionables) in over a week and I’m kind of tired.  You want some Doritos?  You can share my chips, but I ain’t up for fucking nobody tonight.” 

So, twitter, quit making more work for me.  I have enough shit on my plate.  Can’t I just eat Doritos and take naps?  Why must I post pictures of me from 1993 when I was in hip-hop dance class and performing to Kris Kross’ “Jump”?  Hey, I’m pretty damn hot for a fifteen-year-old though, huh, Nabokov?  

Resolutions for the Rest of You

This year, I might try to lose some weight.  I might try to play less Candy Crush. I might also try to practice more patience with my spouse.  While all of these would be wonderful resolutions, the truth is I’m not as worried about myself as I am with the rest of ‘Murica.  Therefore, this year I decided to make resolutions for the rest of you.  Listen up, assholes! I just might offend every person possible with this post.  In 2014, I resolve that you people need to do the following:

1.       Get off your fucking phones! Seriously, enough already.  Put the phone down. Stop texting.  Stop checking statuses. Stop playing whatever app is all the rage right now and actually have a conversation with the person sitting right across from you. 

 

2.       Stop glorifying all the hot messes. This is for you main stream media.  Stop it right now! I mean it.  No more Miley Cyrus. No more Lindsey Lohan. No more Amanda Bynes. No! No! No! If any young girl deserved your attention last year, it was Malala Yousafzai.  I doubt most young folks could even tell me why Malala matters, and I blame the media.  Can intelligence and integrity please take the spotlight this year?

 

3.       No more selfies.  I’m sick of all you young girls making duck faces in the bathroom mirror, and I certainly never wanted to see fucking half nude Geraldo Rivera. What makes you people think that shit is attractive? And I got some real problems with you too, Mr. President. Who takes a selfie at Nelson Mandela’s memorial service? Shame on you; you really ought to know better.

 



                                     

                                 Don't nobody want to see that shit. Put your old man balls away. 

 

4.       Stop the partisan bullshit. Enough. Democracy can be defined as “a form of government in which all eligible citizens participate equally – either directly or through elected representatives.”  Hmmm ….  doesn’t America continue to call itself a democracy? I’m sure as shit, however, that my participation isn’t equal to that of fucking Koch Industries or Goldman Sachs.  I’m disgusted with our bought and purchased politicians.  A government shutdown? Start putting your political parties aside and put the people first – and not just the people with the biggest wallets. 

 

5.       Stop wearing knit caps at unnecessary times.  I honestly thought this trend would have been long dead by now, but I keep spotting teens and fucking hipsters sporting knit caps indoors and in the oppressive heat of summer.  What the fuck, guys? If you’re not in a snow storm, get that stupid shit off your head.  And do I even need to mention Uggs?

 

                                  The knit cap really completes the douche-bag look.

6.       No more posting your prayers on facebook.  I have no problem with religion.  JC and I have a good relationship.  However, when I pray it’s in earnest solemnity.  God isn’t trolling facebook to see if you need some help in your relationship.  You can offer gratitude and you can request prayer assistance, but the actual address “Dear God” ought not appear in your feed.  Keep it up and I’m going to be posting “Dear God, give me patience to deal with all the assholes that think posting prayers on facebook makes them more pious than me.”

 

7.       Stop asking “You mad, bro?” Okay, I’m going to admit that I’m so unhip that I don’t even know where this originated from.  However, I do know that it irritates the shit out of me.  In particular, this annoys me when I receive this reply after reprimanding a student about his or her behavior.  I ain’t your bro, but yeah, I am mad. Shut the fuck up.

 

8.       Stop telling me my grandmother will be raped by Satan or I will die a slow, miserable death if I don’t repost your online image about ending cancer.  Yes, I think cancer sucks. Yes, I love the Lord.  Yes, I appreciate the men and women of the military.  Don’t you threaten me with some bad luck just because I don’t repost the meme supporting your cause though. 

 

  

9.       Stop defending ignorance with more ignorance. Oh, what’s that you say? Paula Deen and Phil Robertson had their first amendment rights violated when they experienced backlash for the really dumb shit they said? Yeah, you might be wrong about that one, buddy. Please study the first amendment again.  I don’t believe it reads: “Say any fucking thing you want without consequence.”  If it did, we could expect the young kid working at McDonald’s to say,  “Here you go. Enjoy your Big Mac meal, you fat fuck” without repercussion. 

 

 

10.   Stop taking pictures of your food. Just stop.  If Wolfgang Puck comes to your house and cooks you and your significant other a five-course meal, post away my friend.  Instagram the shit out of that meal.  But, every single person on the planet knows what fucking french fries look like.  Nobody needs to see your appetizer from Applebee’s. Believe me.

 

                   

                    You just ordered these french fries, and no one gives a fuck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Year We all Got More Dumber: 2013 in Review

As I sat down at my laptop this morning, Google kindly asked me if I would like to remember the moments of 2013.  My immediate internal response was a resounding NO.  Why would I? While 2013 was a year of calm and contentment in my personal life, the year in pop culture left much to be desired.

Last week, I began on the venture of creating an annual “best of” list.  Given that this little blog has survived over a year, I figured it was time to start some tradition around this place.  In 2012, I provided readers with an end of the year round-up of all things awesome, including Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl and Amy Poehler’s brilliant comedics.  In 2013, however, Parks and Recreation went and jumped the shark too and I read the worst damn book ever published – ever (here’s a clue …  Holy Crap - it was awful).  Thus, as I set about creating my own year in review, I severely struggled to find any moment in the media worthy of recognition.  Due to my toils, there are two results: 1) I failed to publish this year in review during 2013. Whatever. Lay off. 2) This list offers a twist and provides quite different categories than the traditional “best of” I had hoped to create. Enjoy!

Most Misogynistic Music Video

I do believe the winner is clear here, so all hail Robin Thicke for his thoroughly obscene video to the admittedly catchy hot single of the summer, “Blurred Lines.” I know the video is intended to get your heart pulsing a bit as you imagine sexy, sultry scenes of desire in your head.  However, Robin looks far too much like his father Alan and, hence, even with beautiful naked women shimmying about him, I keep picturing Dr. Seaver and the children of Growing Pains.  I miss cute, wholesome little Kirk Cameron.

 

Most Obnoxious Viral Video

If you did the Harlem Shake this year or tried Prancercise, you know that web videos often created more buzz than the stars of major cinema.  Forget Iron Man; there’s Bat Dad.  2013 was also the year when we had one of the biggest mysteries of the world answered: What does the fox say?  Yes, Ylvis takes home the top honor as the most obnoxious viral video of 2013.  You couldn’t get away from this video, and it produced quite the repugnant accompanying ear-worm as well.  In addition, it spawned a whole host of parodies, tee shirts, and even a children’s book.  No book should ever have a cover that reads “based on the popular you tube video.” Ugh.  

 

Most OMG Miley Cyrus Moment

No matter what kind of stunt Miley pulls this year, I promise this will be my only mention of her in 2014.  Can we all resolve the same?  We need to stop giving this misguided little girl so much attention for her shenanigans, but having said that, all eyes were on Miley in 2013.  Miley had her tongue sticking out and her ass hanging out all over the place, like at the Amsterdam awards show where she also lit a joint on stage.  Of course, though, nothing tops her pornographic performance at the MTV VMAs.  It was during this performance that she also licked the ass of a giant teddy bear and used a foam finger as a dildo.  Keep it classy, Miley, keep it classy. 

 

Biggest Jack-Ass Joke of a Politician

2013 certainly left us no shortage of total jack-ass, sleazy, corrupt, partisan games playing, dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks politicians.  Where do I begin? Perhaps with Anthony Weiner and his “package,” seemingly oblivious to the fact that it’s unfavorable to send dick pics to strangers when you’re in the public eye, or, you know, ever.  We were also thoroughly impressed with the brilliant minds of our political leaders when Ted Cruz decided to entertain us with Dr. Seuss during his September “filibuster.”  Marco Rubio got thirsty, Obama got his web site all kinds of wrong, and don’t even get me started on that cry-baby John Boehner.  But, none of these men could possibly compete with the biggest jack-ass politician of them all: Rob Ford.  You totally earned this title, buddy.  I don’t even know where to begin with this crack-smoking, belligerent mess, so I kindly direct you to this awesome compilation of Rob Ford’s greatest moments.  Don’t worry about him, folks, he’s “got plenty to eat at home.” Eeewwwww.

Biggest Mindless Time Suck

Candy Crush.  Need I say more?  Yes, yes, I must indeed say more.  I must say: “Fuck you, Candy Crush. Fuck you.  I could have been so productive in 2013 were it not for your addictive nature.”  I sure as shit hope I accomplish something greater than beating level 378 in only 12 moves in 2014. I am a pathetic mess, but apparently I’m not alone as Candy Crush earns $928,408 in estimated daily revenue and gets 98,387 daily installs. We’re a sad lot, ‘Murica. We all need to get our shit together in 2014.

 

 

And one last thing … fuck you too, Justin Timberlake, for failing to help me reach my 2013 resolutions. You didn’t even follow me back on twitter.  Whatev. I’m so over you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I WON!!! Wait ...

“You just wait,” I told my husband defiantly and confidently, “you just wait and see.  This won’t be a waste when the fucking Prize Patrol shows up at our door, alright?”

This was my defense after he expressed his justified anger given all the money I had wasted buying junk gifts from Publisher’s Clearing House.  Earlier this year, I had myself completely convinced that we would win PCH.  I even made plans with my best friend about how we would quit our jobs and run a business together.  I would like to share my business plans because they’re totally fucking awesome, but I don’t want anyone stealing my brilliant ideas.

In order to help make this dream a reality, I began purchasing PCH items.  I bought the damn Wax-Vac, which doesn’t work worth a shit.  I bought the damn OrGreenic pan, which works just the same as any other pan, but it’s green.  I bought those damn food safe rolls too – you know, the plastic rolls with a slide cutter that make it easier to remove your Saran Wrap as if it was so complicated in the first place.  Well, it was hard for me – so lay off!!

Quite rightly so, my husband was less than pleased with my purchases and the corresponding plan of winning PCH.  But today I got to tell him, “I told you so!”

YES!!! That’s right! Can you believe it? PCH called today to inform me that I had won 2.5 million dollars!



“Hello,” the man on the line said, “Is this Angela?  Angela, we’re calling to inform you that you have won 2.5 million dollars from PCH." 

 

“Okay,” I said, a bit hesitantly.  Who could believe such good luck?  Who could believe my delusional dream was actually becoming a reality? Could it really be?

“Ma’am,” the man asked, “You have won 2.5 million dollars.  Are you not excited?” 

This Prize Patrol doesn't look Jamaican to me.
 

 

“Sure,” I said, “I’m excited if this is real.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, this is surely real.  Let me get my manager.”

The manager then went on to inform me that I had won 2.5 million dollars from US Make a Million, and they would be delivering my check publicly, along with a camera crew, a state trooper, and a company representative within the next few hours.  All I had to do to receive my check was go to Western Union and transfer money to Marvin Bent in Trelawny, Jamaica in order to receive my wonderful prize.  Isn’t that just the best news ever? 

Yeah, I didn’t send the money.  I did, however, call my bank immediately after getting off the phone.

I dialed up my own hometown bank (not the non-existent Bank of America branch that would reportedly be delivering me a check today) and explained the situation.  I then asked, “So, could you please let me know if everything with my checking and savings accounts looks okay?” 

She kindly obliged, informing me, “Well, there are a lot of charges to amazon.com recently.”

“Oh, yeah, well, that’s just me,” I explained.  Everyone who knows me in real life knows I spend too much damn money on amazon because I’m addicted to books.  I had already completed the vast majority of my holiday shopping online too. 

“Well, Angela, everything else looks good then,” she warmly explained, “Have a Happy Thanksgiving.  Sorry you didn’t really win the big bucks.” 

I’m sorry too.  My regrets, however, are related more to my inability to say “I told you so; suck it!” to my spouse than they are about the missing million dollars.  If nothing else has been gained, at least my family members can look forward to receiving a Wax-Vac as part of our white elephant gift exchange.  My purchases shall not be a waste one way or another!

Potty Time with Trouble Kitty

I don’t feel like writing tonight, but I’m not depressed or uninspired.  In fact, I began two posts today.  So, I suppose it’s editing that I’m actually avoiding.  Besides, you’re probably all getting real sick of me with National Blog Post Month.  Therefore, I am instead choosing to post the Christmas letter I just transcribed for my two year old daughter.

 

Dear Santa,

I have been a very good girl all year.  I learned to go poop, and I sleep in my big girl bed. It’s right over there.  I got a blow up bed too.  I read books that are special to you.  I go to school and I play with my friends.  I been learning Christmas songs at school and all the puppies love to go see you.  I sing “Santa Coming to Town.”  I sing Frosty too, yeah.  Frosty is a snowman blub blub.  Santa bring me a kitty.  I will name my kitty Trouble Kitty.  I also want another kitty that I gotta name Charlie.  Can I get that Charlie now?  I want a castle and a camera.  Isaac is my little brother.  Please bring Isaac a choo-choo train.  I like Isaac because he loves puppy books.  Isaac drinks bottles.  Momma lives in my house and two one eight nine.  Two times.  What’s in this box, Momma? Momma, what in here?  There’s nothing in here.  I can’t see nothing in here, Momma.  Oh no.  Open this.  Open! Open! My favorite movie is Madagascar and my favorite book is a puzzle book.  Puzzle book, Momma.  I like to draw on there and Dora loves me.  I’m sitting in my home right now.  I’m sitting in my home.  Hi.  Daddy goes to work.  How does this box open, Momma? This making me crazy! Two, one, one, two.  Uhm … uhm … I need to go pee!

 

 

OKAY. END OF TRANSCRIPTION.  TO THE POTTY WE MUST GO!!

 

 

Trouble Kitty? Could be.

 

An Open Letter to the Men of Online Dating

Thanks to another migraine this month, I currently lack the energy for writing a new post. Luckily, I had a guest post in my back pocket.  This was originally written as a two-part rant on facebook.  When I saw it, I immediately messaged this outgoing gal to ask her if I could combine her rants into a full guest post for my blog.  She was happy to oblige, and I’m very grateful.  You see, my request could have been super awkward given that the following post about the disaster of online dating comes from my former sister-in-law.  Some marriages just don’t work out, and that’s no reason for us to stop enjoying one another’s brilliant wit and humor.  Maybe some worthwhile individual will enjoy her humor here and seek a connection; she sure as hell hasn’t had much luck so far.  So, without further ado, I now present an open letter to the men of online dating:

 

As a newly single woman, I have been encouraged to try online dating, or what I am now kindly referring to as "selling yourself to the lonely guy with a bad case of swamp ass.” I mean, seriously! Is there anybody comparatively normal out there?  If I have any hope of finding a possible relationship through this service, I need to make a few things clear.  It’s time to listen up guys; I’m talking to you.

Dear 58 year old Geriatric,

NO! Just NO! Don't you have some Depends to change? For the love, I’m 26 years old!

Dear Gamer,

Get your ass off the damn couch. Kindly clean the potato chip sludge off your Minecraft t-shirt and find some non-virtual friends.

Dear Felon,

I’m all about “seeing the light” too; I just don’t want it to be your taillights after you steal all my shit.

Dear guy who's tag line says "good guys finnish last", Maybe it's because you can't spell...that, or you're from Finland.Dear Guy whose tagline says “good guys finnish last,”

Maybe you’re finishing last because you can’t spell … that, or you’re from Finland.

Dear Guy who has a webcam followed by a winky face emoticon, 

You're not fooling anyone. Have fun with that carpal tunnel.

Dear 20 year old who's "ready to settle down,”

Go get yourself some ADHD meds. That oughtta settle you down. 

Dear Guy whose introductory tag line reads, “I like to wear cargo pants and shirts with funny sayings,”

Yeah, so does every other virgin.  Next. 

Dear Guy who is holding knives in his profile picture,

That image doesn’t scream “cool” like you had hoped.  It screams “serial killer.”

Dear Former SPED Student,

I’m going to let you down easy.  I know I said I’m a Special Education teacher in my profile, but after five, I wanna be off the clock.

Dear Guy that wishes I lived closer to Milwaukee because you don’t have a car because you “don’t see the need for buying one,”

I’m not buying your story.  TLC said it best, broke son. I don’t want no scrubs.

Dear Guy who doesn’t use a lick of punctuation,

Your letters of professed love are going to piss me off. It will never work.

Dear Guy that called me “thick,”

Is that really intended as a term of endearment? It just makes me want a cheeseburger. Stat.

Dear felon, I'm all about "seeing the light too", I just don't want it to be your tail lights after you kife all my shit.

Dear past special edu student, I'm going to let you down easy. I know I said I was a special edu teacher in my profile but, after 5 I want to be off the clock.

Dear guy that wishes I lived closer to Milwaukee cause you don't have a car because you don't see the need for one, Ain't buying it. You broke son. TLC said it best. I don't want no scrub.

Dear guy who doesn't use a lick of punctuation, Your letters of professed love are just going to piss me off. It'll never work.

Dear guy that calls me "thick", Is that really a term of endearment? Cause it just makes me want a cheeseburger. Stat.

Dear Match.com,

What is this? Craigslist for virgins and morons? I’m out.

With Love, Britt

 



Actual Dating Site Profile Picture.
You can't make this shit up.

Free Porn and Cat Videos

When I first started this blog, it was at around three am a little over a year ago.  This was also during the height of a manic episode.  A great deal of cursing spewed forth as my fingers rushed across the keyboard, and I also felt a stirring of guilt with each profanity I typed.  However, I liked my words -- they were real, honest, and raw.  I mean, I curse, -- big fucking deal.  I did not curse in my professional life though as a former full time AP English Teacher and Debate Coach.  Due to my fear of having this blog potentially block me from future employment, my title became a bit of a warning: “Not Appropriate for All Audiences.”

 In my mind, this somehow translated: “Dear potential employers, I get it.  I know not everything I write here will be school appropriate, but this writing is not intended to be seen by students.  I can separate my worlds and be a professional when the situation calls for it. So, students, parents, potential employers, and probably most grandparents -- just don’t read this shit.  Good? Good.”

 When I first started this blog, most of what I wrote was also snarky, sarcastic, and comical.  As the time has passed, this blog has progressed and changed too.  In fact, some of my favorite posts aren’t satirical or obtuse with profanity.  They’re sweet and sentimental.  They talk about my love for my children, or my battles with bipolar disorder.  Every word I write is genuine, and some of it is perfectly appropriate for all audiences.  You see where I’m going here?  The title just doesn’t make sense anymore -- and it’s simply too damn long.  Therefore, I have been contemplating some new blog titles in my head.  I record ten alternate titles here, and kindly ask for your genuine feedback.  

 

1.         The Purple Tutu Project
        Tag: Choosing Happiness in a World of Chaos

 

This title comes from one of my favorite posts, one that I hoped would be far more popular than it actually was.  I like the concept that I’m going to survive and choose happiness when I am able to, despite all the chaos and crazy in life.  I had hoped it was a concept others could get behind too, and we could make a movement. So … let’s get going here folks.

 

2.       Type Through This

        Tag: Documenting Life’s Ups and Downs

Not yet quite as crazy as Courtney Love

 
Alliteration was my first draw to this title (I’m a geek), and the rationale is that I write through many different emotions and struggles in my life, and finding the energy and inspiration to write (given my mental illness) is often quite challenging.  Further, it’s a slight allusion to Courtney Love and “Live Through This,” only I’m less gross and don’t let random dudes suck on my nipples at the Burger King (such behavior is only acceptable at the Dairy Queen, as everyone knows).  


 

3.       The Illuminati Runs this Blog

 

I really don’t like this title, but I figured it would bring in readers like hotcakes (who uses that phrase anymore? What am I, 90 years old?)  I have learned that the World Wide Web (another outdated phrase) goes loco for the illuminati.  My post about the illuminati and the rap industry, which is not even particularly strong writing, has more readership than any other post.  People are quite frequently brought to my blog due to interest in the illuminati.  Imagine how popular my blog would be if I mentioned the illuminati in the title?  I conceive it could be excessively popular if I considered joining forces with this occult master group, but I’m not markedly interested in getting ass-fucked by Satan at this time.  I might reconsider in a few months.

 

4.      And Now This …

             Tag: Declarations and Disappointments

 

When you read this title, you have to imagine the tone in which I would orally state it.  On one hand, I would be making this statement in the fashion of a newscaster, reporting “And now this … Ann Coulter is a cunt.”  On the other hand, I would be announcing it with a defeated puff of air, “... and now this,” like I’ve got just another pile of shit, or one more fucking illness, to deal with.  You might imagine it like this, “So, I’m manic-depressive, I have PTSD, I have colitis, I have carpal tunnel, and eczema, and now this! I was just diagnosed with fibromyalgia! Argh! How am I going to deal?” Imagine me looking like a frazzled Cathy comic as I deliver this line.  Got it? Good.

 

5.       Bitch, Please

             Tag: Some People Have Real Problems

 

I often find myself thinking such phrases internally.  The first time I believe I ever used this phrase aloud was when I returned to university as a non-traditional student and overheard the following conversation: “I know my roommate is using my computer.  I mean, I’m like, sure of it, and she will not admit it.  So, do you know what I did, Callie? I took a strand of my hair and I placed it right atop the shift key, so when I get home from class, if that hair is, like, missing, I know it’s her.”  Bitch, please.  Some people have real problems.  Communication might be a better fucking approach.  At any rate, I thought this title could cover both my snarky and more serious side.  

 

6. Just Write

 

This is simple, but I like it.  My fear, however, is that it’s probably already in use a thousand times over.  As many of you probably know, this title is appropriate as I so often doubt myself and my abilities, and then stop writing for periods of time.  However, writing makes me happy and it’s naturally cathartic.  I also hope that my readers find my words enjoyable, so I should just write.  Simple, right?  I wish it were simple.

 

7.  This Blog is Bipolar

 

As my blog is a representation of me, quite naturally, this blog truly is bipolar.  One day I will write a post about the top celebrities I most want to fuck (hard) and the next day I write a sestina about my love for my newborn daughter.  I’m all over the map, and so is this blog.  My fear with this title, though, is that it might actually contribute to the stigma surrounding mental illness, which is really in direct opposition to my desire to properly educate others about depression, bipolar, post-traumatic stress disorder, addiction, and the like.  

 

8.  Sarcasm Font Needed

 

If you’ve read this blog before, you know I use this three word phrase quite frequently.  Although there are immense benefits to online communication, it also allows for more misinterpretation.  As tone cannot as easily be identified as with verbal communication, errors and misunderstandings do occur.  Therefore, I firmly propose that the United States of America adopt a sarcasm font.  It’s like using CAPS when you’re PISSED OFF.

 

9. Dear Terri,

          Tag: Things my Mother-in-Law Probably shouldn’t be Reading
 

Other than the same friend who encouraged me to write this blog (who has admitted to anxiously awaiting new posts), no one reads this blog more regularly than my mother-in-law.  I know most folks make jokes about their awful, insufferable in-laws.  You might expect that from me, but I’m lucky and I actually adore my mother-in-law.  However, this still doesn’t mean I want her to read everything I post here.  I want her to still like me, and sometimes I make that difficult. She admitted she wasn’t especially fond of the post talking about her son’s poor suffering existence due to his infrequent receipt of hand jobs. 

  

10. Free Porn and Cat Videos

             Tag: Offering Everything ‘Murica Loves About the Internets

My mother-in-law may not be too excited with this title either, especially with my admittance that this one was her son’s suggestion.  After attempting to offer me encouragement by stating that my blog was “more than adequate,” my husband then offered, “Well, if you really want more people to read it, you should title it ‘Free Porn and Cat Videos.’  That’s the shit people are always searching Google for.”  Clearly, my husband is a genius, or maybe I need to more carefully check his search history. 

                                                       'Murica Cat                                                      

 

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So … let’s hear it! I would so greatly appreciate your feedback.  Do I make a change to one of these titles or leave the blog as it is?  Do you have another brilliant idea for me?  I want to know! Thanks in advance.