My mind is weedy with words, my peeps. I take dictation from my brain and, damn, it won’t let up. Words. All. The. Time.
This is probably why I ain’t no hollaback girl in Twitterland. I crave some hollas back, but that 140-character limit stumps me. Too much like a cocktail party with no food or cocktails, just witty one- or two-liners zinging overhead. I’m not saying I don’t try. Been trying to Twitter, I have. But the banter flies and I’m here transcribing the epic poems in my head and Justin Timberlake never ever writes me back and asks me to thumb-wrestle…well. I’ll just take my invisible pigs-in-a-blanket outside.
I have been blogging since May 2005. How about that? I am officially one of the long-standing “mommy bloggers.” It suits me. But plain old blogging (without product reviews, without interviews, without vlogs and podcasts) is passe now. Traffic is way down at BEAW, because I’m kind of over here doing my own thang, and that can get old. Ask Spot the Wonder Dog, who ran away. Polar bears bummed out hole in the roof yadda yadda yadda. Meh.
Yup. Jenny’s groove thang is not everybody’s groove thang, I realize. Sometimes I think, I should be doing more, talking up bleach and flea spray and books by successful author types.
Then I think: Meh.
The Brunette Ambition Tour.
It’s interesting to see which posts get the most hits. Funny posts are good. Straightforward parenting posts with rotten or adorable kids are good. Cat-and-dog stories are good. Gardening and home un-improvements: good.
Narcolepsy and kosher kitchens used to be good. Nakedness or sex are good for traffic, if not FF (Friendly Factor, see: The Boston Globe).
But, ew, YUCK, cooties! Poetry, depression, bipolar, divorce—that’s an intensely loyal but small posse of readers willing to put up with that crap. You? Hi! Hi! When I am too glum, traffic goes way down and stays that way until I get my happy shiz back on. How about you other bloggers? What have you noticed about traffic patterns?
For the most part, I just keep plodding along, because this is a constant in my life. A record. I sure like that. I sure need that. The blog is always there. You’re there. Thanks for that. The themes have evolved since 2005. Wish that weren’t so sometimes, but I guess that’s the way it goes, this whole grownup bloggy scene. Aging gracefully, ungracefully, and willingly in front of a crowd.
So anyway, I thought maybe for a change I’d blurt out a few posts in a Twitter-sized Choose Your Own Adventure sort of way. That way I get a little Twitter practice. And you can read the titles, and kind of read whatever you want, and hand over the funnies or the glummies or the world news or the sports to the next reader.
Okay, there will be no sports. Unless you want to play dodgeball with me. I like dodgeball, always did. Email me, Justin Timberlake. Or, you know, put your tweet in the box.
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