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An Ode to My Upcoming Blog

An Ode to My Upcoming Blog

or

A letter to My Writing Group to hold ME accountable now that I said I’d do “it” so now, I’ll actually HAVE to do “it” (but is that really a title?)

or

AKA—A List Poem in Honor of What My Blog Won’t Be

Here is what my blog won’t be:

I don’t plan to give self-help tips because let’s face it that small cry for “HELP” ya just heard, mighta just been me.  I’m simply tryin’ to figure out my own shit and so my advice on all accounts could be pretty spotty and possibly downright sketchy.  (Though, I do like to play a good game called, Arm Chair Psychologist with my girlfriends).

I don’t plan to give self-care tips because I’m not sure you would want them from the woman who does three day juice cleanses, then celebrates with a good Pinot and a side of freakin’ french fries.  Really? Who does that? Soooo, my credibility is highly questionable and basically downright contradictory.

I won’t do any DIY/how to crafts.  However tempting that it is to share my knowledge of rhinestoning with everyone.  I will spare you all the details of how toothpicks are truly the best tool in combination with E6000 glue.  And how affixing tiny jewel after jewel, row after flippin’ row on gauzy, shimmery, glittery dance costumes really can be relaxing.

No stunning screen shots nor shout-outs to all the lovely creations I’ve pinned on Pinterest because I’m “that” pinner.  The one who peruses and pins.  Yes, only pins.  Pretty little pins that just sit on their boards.  Taunting me…aren’t you going to do something with us? EV-ER?!

It certainly won’t be story after story about my adorable, angelic, above-average, self-actualized, über involved, champion children of the wooooorld.

No fashion or beauty tips.

No diet regiments drawn out in painstaking detail.

No girlfriends guide to the galaxy.

It certainly won’t be a dumping ground for any of my adoption, Asian, upbringing issues (“yeah, right.” insert maniacal all knowing laugh).

No nifty lil’ nature tid-bits.

No counseling on composting.

No recipe swapping unless I accidentally overshare my twenty ways to do taco meat on any give Tuesday (or Wednesday or Thursday, that is)…tacos, taco salad, taco soup, taco dip, taquitos…sadly the list does go on as does my consistent ability to overcook pork.  I’m talking whatever the cut-tenderloin, chops, roast.  Dry, drier and driest.

It certainly won’t be my soapbox nor a platform for me to do grandstanding or navel gazing.  Though, after a couple of cocktails I have been known to put on my pontificating pants.  So if I can keep that isolated to a bar stool and off the page we’re all good.

No judgmental, self-righteousness unless it happens by mistake or I try to pretend I’m not being judgy when you the reader will really know I am.

I won’t be the town crier reporting hearsay or gossip although, honestly if someone goes and does something bat shit crazy I may have to call you out, BUT never fear.  I will give you another name so that no one will know it’s you (hopefully).

No politics (Is ISIS related to PMS?)

No religion because that would mean I’d have to step foot back into church.  Then for sure I’ll have to write about that (Can we get an “Amen?!”)

It won’t be dating tips because I’m married and we don’t seem to do dates anymore AND we clearly need to work on our communication skills.  Our relationship has been reduced to the following: Email: “Grab chicken at grocery store.” Text 1,”oh and soap.” Text 3 “Don’t forget bananas.” Email: “Also grab milk, eggs and shredded cheese and you need to pick up Lily from dance.  Oh, and we have dinner with The Walkers next Saturday.” Text 4: “Remember to call your mother it’s her birthday. Love ya.” Emoticon kissy face.

No haikus unless I’m truly feeling creative.

No poetry unless I’m feeling truly poetic.

And finally no awesome anecdotes for child rearing unless I pull a complete Mom-of-the-Year moment (which there is always hope).

So now, dear weekly writing group, it’s out there.  You can hold me to this so called blog I plan to start.  As it evolves, I know Julie will slyly say, “I knew you would do it.”  Katie will cheer, “I knew you could do it.” (through text and emojis mind you). Rox will say, Don’t forget to linger on the page and go write your truuuuths.” And Mel will say with a smile and her knowing nod, “Fuck yeah!”

So here I go.

I said it.  I wrote it.

Now I’m ready to blog it out!

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