Archive for the Of the blogosphere Category
I never saw it coming. In fact, I ridiculed my brother when he became overly infatuated with Facebook. What’s the big deal, I wondered? I fell in love with your sweet faces so long ago, you became my reason for being on the internet. And plus, I didn’t see the need to go digging up the carcasses of friendships past.
It’s funny how persistent the internet is in providing a medium of limitless interpretation. I can not believe the long lost cherished relationships I have rekindled thanks to Facebook. It has been a real joy to reconnect and remember things that haven’t crossed my mind since grade school. A veritable smorgasbord of love with a renewing feeling, a fountain of youth.
But like youth, it’s fleeting. I am constantly reminded why I prefer an anonymous voice via this hallowed website, as opposed to trafficking in my past. Every once in a rare while, as I’m wandering down memory lane, I find myself at abandoned crossroads, dead ends. Things that stopped though somewhere I let go of the whys. Mostly, my nature demands it: I despise having public property in purgatorial places.
I am Christian, and therefore by definition a fuct up sinner. I have done some wrongs in my life, but I’m not sure when we were drooling about our rocket powered futures back in grade school that it ever occurred to us we could be so grounded by our past. It’s definitely a new dimension in social interaction, but is it helpful, necessary or truly restorative in any way? That’s a subjective matter, I guess, which I mean only to relate back to the idea of the persisent interpretive powers of the internet.
All this to say, I have been distracted lately. But as the old adage reminds us, absence makes the heart grow fonder. You have been on my mind, and I’m striving to make you a more central priority in the near future. Thanks for checking back, I adore you.
I’m sorry my blog makes people sick, but in this way it kind of mirrors my life. I do that to people. I really hate the stigma of a virus, though. It’s the scarlet A of our day, I’m branded. SUPERGURL GIVES CREATURE COOTIES THAT WILL KILL YOUR WILL TO LIVE in cyberspace. Or something like that.
Rest assured, the experts are up all hours of the night toiling towards an answer. Wait. Strike that. The experts are actually all getting ready for a pilgrimage to the homeland this weekend. These gatherings around the family tree are known to turn into a drunken house afire with no notice at all. So, there’s actually a relatively fair chance that the ole blog will continue to mess with folks through the weekend. Possibly, even worsening once they conspire around the campfire. I am sorry, really, I am.
Yes, I’ve heard you. And I had every intention of putting up a post for the record books. A real wow piece. I did. But it turns out, everyone thinks I’m giving them the viral clap.
Which is ok. Afterall, I was partially wanting to showcase my Future Artist Trading Cards. The Architect’s latest creations, an assignment from school. I’m struck by how LOL cat this one is. It says, “I hungry,” with a space shuttle in it’s mouth. Genius, isn’t it?
But back to the fungus among us: SuperGurl can’t protect you if you won’t protect yourself. 1) Convert and become snobbish about using only Firefox (it’s less headaches, folks) for browsing. 2) Keep your anti-virus software paid for and up to date. I don’t know much that sucks more than hard drive lossage for seriously bad headaches…so please, keep your stuff squared away at the very least.
And I guess I should state the obvious, as well. If you think I want to sneak away to my cozy always seventy degrees, always shady and inviting webberworld only to hear that I shut you down completely, you are out of your mind. No, my pretties. Have I taught you nothing? Tell me in the words I long to hear. Say it like you mean it. But most importantly, lie to me. Pretend you love it, that’s what I like.
I did want to amaze you with my latest exploits, but i’m at a loss for time. I must get on with the mundane. I’m off to San Antone to free my mower and then I’m going to bring her home and make her hum once again for me.
You are here, and so you are loved. Have a wonderfully free non-crashtacular Saturday.
Why, feast your eyes on the fruit of my thighs…
Is there anything like them? In this whole wide world?
Ya’ll, let’s be honest. At this point, I had decided I just didn’t have it in me.
I saw other blog children being borne, growing up, and well, I guess at some point I just accepted that my tree didn’t bear fruit. Plenty of nuts, but fruit? Nunya.
I’ll admit, it was hard not to be jealous. I remember when NAVY CPO dude was borne. I think I said something catty to Harvey. I’ve met Harvey! We were instant friends, I talked his head off! But still, when I saw another Bad Example Family member hitting the wires, I actually felt my blodge equipment wheeze in disgust. I thought, sheesh, someone needs to sterilize your ass, Harv.
I know. Bitter. There is no call for that type of stinking thinking. But I was a woman scorn. Realizing somehow my real life lacking in social skills had conveyed on over to my cyberlife, I gave up the dream. Figured, hell, I can’t have children the way I keep changing my addy every nine months. They might find me!
Camp BlownStar changed all that. Paul, CharlieDelta & Kerrcarto were instant brothers, natural blown-eyes. But it was there on the first night that I witnessed the bigger picture. The lurker bond I had fostered became a multiple blown-eyed birth. It sounds disgusting, I know, but believe me, every second was beautiful. (Especially once ole CD ripped off those cumbersome clothes and rejoined the party–Blessed Second Wind!!)
I met my blodge progeny. They are each really cool. They are all conservatives. They are funny as hell and they are some of the most persistent drunken mofos I have ever had the pleasure to hang with. I hope you will check em out (if you haven’t already) and if they offend you, well, big freaking surprise. You should hear the mouth on their mama!
And forgive me, Harvey, again, for previously thinking such terrible things when I truly adore your amish-like sprawl. It’s still not for me. Obviously, neglect is my number one blog instinct. I think we can safely strike this one up to just another mix up in the rustling of the leaves and the crackling of the lawn chairs. Chaos breeds.
But I do so love my blown-eyed boys. Now play nice, fellas! Watch the linky love. Be careful troll hunting and don’t forget to spell check. Someone around here should.