I have come to the realization that my friends accept my blogging as a means for me to express my inner self.  They’ve also come to expect a wiseass sarcastic bitch who likes to rant on about the terminally painful experience of filling up the gas tank every week or cleaning out the bathroom drawer.  (Incidentally, I found ten boxes of dental floss in there.  Ten!  Who the fuck has ten boxes of dental floss?  We should use that to string up the dog when she pees on the floor…No, I’m not really considering that, put the phone down.  PETA doesn’t give a shit about me and my dog anyway…they’re more worried about the seal hunt….oh, yeah…don’t look over there.  Move along peeps…nothing to see there…did I ever tell you the story about how I stabbed myself in the arm while carving a turkey?  True story.)  The sealers are now forming a posse to down my blog.  What…my distraction story about the turkey-carving incident wasn’t sufficient?  Crap.

Anywho, my friends think my idle rambling is probably good for my mental health…and their eardrums.  I know for a fact that I was a bit inebriated on Friday night and I started droning on about shit I can’t even remember.  Shit.  Dammit…what was it?  It doesn’t matter…what does matter is that they are not bored to tears listening to me ramble on about how my brand new kitchen table has little itty bitty stab marks all over it from D1 doing her ‘building-a-leg-bone-out-of-Styrofoam-project’.  Yep.  Stab marks.  Hubby is still having a coronary…

They (ma peeps) are so supportive…and non-judgmental.  It’s really quite unusual, I think.  They just think my blog is like that scar from the turkey- carving incident.  A part of me that’s not going away so they might as well read my shit and move on, or ignore my shit and move on.   Either way, it’s all good.  And I can usually tell who’s read my blog posts.If I refer to the cart I took to the grocery store as my ‘special needs’ one, and I get a snigger from one of the peeps, I know that she’s read a post I did about shopping.  Same as if I refer to something else I wrote in a previous post that I can’t remember right now because it’s Monday and I’m lucky if I remember my fucking name, and I get a similar reaction and not a look that says “OMG she’s fucking insane and gone and drank the funny kool-aid again’, then I know that she has read what I wrote.  So I can tell.

God, that so sounded like a threat.  I meant it in a totally accepting and non-threatening kind of way.  Just like when I told a co-worker to ‘man-up’.  Totally non-threatening and acquiescent.  See?  Not only are you reading an idle rambling of somebody who needs to find inner peace through bead work, your vocabulary is improving.  I should be listed under the ‘educational’ blogs.  You’re learning shit, yo.

So, in closing,  my peeps are supportive and awesome, sealers are hunting seals, I stabbed myself while carving a turkey and have the scar to prove it and we are in the possession of way too much dental floss.

The End