I’ve been chatting up all the dead relatives lately, and I’ll tell you, the dead are very quiet, in my opinion. Too quiet. It’s not natural.
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From the category archives:
Play nice. (Religion & Politics)
Hear ye!
I am not angsty for effect. I moved from the old shiny pretty breed ‘em and weep (now the Archives Museum, free admission, do take the tour, some good stuff if I do say so myself, and cookies and cider if you make it to the end) down the block to this drafty shack because I am seeking more authenticity in my life. Read on, ye, because I need ye.
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I can understand the political blogs trash-talking and bloodying a few cyberschnozzes in the heat of competition—I haven’t lived long enough to remember a time of honor in politics—but there is something simultaneously wildly funny and horrendously depressing about terms like cheating slut being bandied about in the category of Best Parenting Blog. I keep bursting into embarrassed giggles and murmuring, Tramp! under my breath as I do the laundry and wrap the holiday presents and wipe human and canine bottoms and try to figure out what’s gone bad in the fridge. Cheating, grocery-shopping, toilet-scrubbing, blog-writing slut! Where do I find the time?
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