Guest Blogger: Amber from Unladylike Behavior

I didn't write anything today. I don't have any ideas and I'm too tired to think of something. Plus I'm taking your advice and spending some quality time with Child 2. He's been sitting on me for hours now. Awesome. So, I asked El Twitter if anybody felt like whipping up a guest post for me real quick like, and CHECK IT OUT!!! I scored!!!!! May I present Amber, who blogs at Unladylike Behavior (love that name!) I, naturally, have some things to say about what she's talking about but I'll put my comments in the comments instead of taking up more space here. Didn't I say I had nothing to say today? SHUT UP, Jill!

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Truth Behind the Lady
By Amber, from Unladylike Behavior

All my life I’ve always known that I’ve wanted to be a mother. The youngest of two, I grew up wishing, praying, and hoping for a little brother. Alas, my wish was never granted. I resorted to dressing up the dog and playing with the neighbor’s daughter, 5 years my junior. When I reached puberty I began to pimp myself out as the town’s most well-known babysitter. I was a damn good babysitter, and I made a hell of a lot of money at it. Each night I spent tucking these precious children into their beds I wondered when I would be singing the bed-bite song to one of my own.

It’s not that I am or ever was desperate for children. I’ve never tried to rush it. I simply knew that when the time came it’s something that would bring even more happiness into an already contented life.

It’s what I’m meant to do, right?

Do you want to know the truth? I’m terrified. I’m a fucking mess, how am I ever going to be capable enough to raise a child? When my dog wakes me at 3am to go to the bathroom I can barely muster ‘lay back down, it’s too early’ before my eyes are closed again. And dinner? How do people do it? When I make it home from work my first stop is for a glass of wine then I mull over the contents of my mostly-empty fridge. In the end I’ll probably decide that eating cookies for dinner really isn’t that bad, so long as they’re oatmeal chocolate chip. Hey, if I can have it for breakfast, who’s to say I can’t have it for dinner? God knows you can’t feed a child dessert for dinner. I think they cover that in Child Rearing 101.

I know I’m young, I know everyone is scared, I know blah blah blah. Still, none of that does anything for this voice in the back of my head that says ‘you’ll never be a good enough mother’.

How do you do it?

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I am at a loss (Relatively Serious Post)

Okay, I'll be honest with you guys: Sometimes... okay.... most of the time.... I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with this parenting thing. It constantly amazes me that I'M responsible for keeping these little people alive and making sure they don't turn out to be serial killers. How the fuck did that happen? It's too much pressure sometimes, like I'll say or do one thing wrong and that will fuck them up for the rest of their lives. Whose idea was it to put me in charge??? Because I have no idea what I'm doing!!

Case in point: It seems like all Child 2 and I do these days is argue and bicker like an old married couple. But NOT like an old married couple because hubs and I ARE an old married couple and WE don't argue and bicker like this.

This morning he (Child 2, not hubs) tripped over my foot. It was simple: he was walking, did not see my foot, he tripped and fell on his ass. He then started screaming "You tripped me! Why did you move your foot on purpose so that I would fall down?" and the fucking tantrum just continued on and on with me trying to calmly explain that I did NOT trip him, that it was an accident, etc. etc. etc. It happened 2 minutes before we needed to leave for school, which is when all of these fucking things seem to happen, so I had to drag him out of the house and into the car, with him screaming and crying about how I tripped him and why do I hate him so much??

We got to school and, I fucking swear to god, it turned into "Why are you trying to kill me? You want to make me be dead!"

Seriously? What the fuck, kid? You think I want to fucking kill you? Dramatic much?????

He's hysterical and it's impossible to talk to him when he's like that because he won't stop screaming and yelling at me and no matter what I say he says he doesn't believe me ("I don't want to kill you" "YES YOU DO YOU WANT TO MAKE ME DEAD") and he can't hear me over his own screaming, anyway.

So, I manage somehow to get him out of the car and onto the school yard where he sees his friends and instantly becomes happy and starts playing and running around with them. When I see that he's calmed down I crouch down (OW MY KNEES) so we can have a conversation about it face to face. I explain that I'm sorry he fell down, I'm sorry he got hurt, I understand how frustrating that is, but it was an accident. He tripped over my foot and I was NOT trying to kill him.

He didn't fucking believe me! He started screaming and crying all over again!!

WTF????

Other than the paranoia he apparently now has about his inevitable murder at my hands, this is pretty typical for the kinds of interactions we've been having lately. 1. He fucking freaks out, 2. I try to remain calm and explain, 3. He doesn't believe me 4. I fucking freak out (#4 is sometimes optional).

Then I pick him up this afternoon and he immediately starts crying and screaming at me again. Why? WHY? So I emailed his teacher and asked if maybe he had been crying and screaming all day? Maybe something else is going on with him? Maybe he's getting sick or something? Maybe?

No. She responded that he "was fine all day today, he didn't seem sad or withdrawn at all. He didn't cry either." I knew she was going to say that.

I guess it's personal.  

Thanks

Can anybody recommend a book or something I can read? I feel like I'm totally at a loss here.

If only he had autism... THEN I would know what to do....

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Holy crap, you've gotta vote! QUICK!!

Well, I lost Round 1 in Q's First Annual Blogging Tournament (thanks for nothing, followers!) but somehow I was able to submit another post and now I'm in the consolation round... I'm not entirely sure how this works, I think it has something to do with football and maybe geometry? I'm not very good at math. But, I digress.... How sad is "Consolation Round," though? Awwww.... bless your heart, you tried so hard but you didn't win! Maybe this will console you?

PLEASE GO HERE AND VOTE FOR ME!

Don't even bother reading the posts this time, JUST VOTE FOR ME!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO IT!!!! I'M NOT ENTIRELY SURE WHAT THE CONSEQUENCES WILL BE SINCE I'VE ALREADY LOST THIS THING BUT OHMYGOD PLEASE DO IT, ANYWAY..... OKAY, THANKS

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Think first... THEN talk.

I seem to be turning into one of those people who are missing that filter in their brain that reminds them to think before they speak. I always used to make fun of people like that, and yet, the older I get, the more it seems that it's happening to me. I hope that people make fun of me for it, too. Karma.

You know how I ramble incoherently here with no real point to any of what I say and it's just one long run on sentence after another? That's also how I talk to people. Sometimes I'll be babbling on and on and I realize that I have no idea what I've even been saying. Luckily most of what I say is kind of amusing so people let me get away with it because I make them laugh while I make no sense.

The other night I went to our school's silent auction; I brought a friend along because hubs couldn't make it, and I must have introduced her at least three times, in an obnoxiously loud voice, by saying "her kids don't go to our school, she's just here for the free wine." (Which is true, but totally not the point here). One time I swear I thought she was going to smack me.

Why don't people smack me more? I'm constantly running my mouth off, and that was even before I got into the free wine. At the end of the evening, I was helping people check out (drunk Bookkeeping is FUN!) and I would very often look at all the stuff they got and very loudly exclaim "OH MY GOD YOU SPENT SO MUCH MONEY."

This kind of behavior is perfectly acceptable in this self-contained blogging world, but in person? I really need to figure out a way to keep a lid on it. One day, probably soon, my humor to embarrassment ratio is going to be completely skewed in the opposite direction from how it currently is and somebody is definitely going to falcon punch me for something that comes out of my mouth. It will probably be one of my kids. And I'll totally deserve it, too.

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Rethinking Autism

If you know anybody with autism or any parent who has a child with autism this is worth 1 minutes and 46 seconds of your time




More info here

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This is Me Meme. For reals! Okay... kinda....

Goddammit, Laura! You know I can't say no to you! And yet you fucking tagged me again, knowing how much I hate these things. And even after I made a complete mockery of the whole thing the last time you tagged me?? I'm starting to think you have it in for me.

Sigh.

Fine.

Today's meme is called This is Me Meme or something, and here are the rules:

• Ask your child to draw a picture of you. It doesn’t matter how old they are…
• Post the picture on your blog.
• Call it the ‘This is Me Meme’.
• Pop over to here and add to the linky.
• Then tag some others

Whatever. Okay. So, I asked my kids to draw pictures of me and this is what they came up with:

Child 1. At least I got some arms this time

Child 2. I'm saying "WEE!" I don't know why.

It is clear these children inherited my artistic ability because these drawing suck. I mean... they are just god awful.

So, since the rules specifically say that it doesn't matter how old they are, I thought I'd ask hubs to give it a try. He actually has some artistic ability and this is what he came up with.

I said "don't make me look too fat," and he said "I'm just drawing what I see!"

He even got the crazy hair tuft in there, although he says the boobs aren't big enough. Have to agree with him on that.

And now I will pass this on to three bloggers who have previously tagged ME in things and that I have completely ignored and they probably hate my fucking guts because why do I obey Laura and not them? If I were them, I would hate me, too. It's okay. I understand. Anyway, guys, sorry I'm such a meme bitch but now you've been tagged back! YAY. Oh, and also tulpen.

Shannon at Shanimal's Crackers.

The Princess at Princess Muffintop

Wombat at Postcards from Oblivion

And, of course, tulpen from Bad Words

I'm thinking maybe you guys should stop tagging me in things because I think you're really starting to piss tulpen off. I'm just sayin.

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EDIT:

Many of you have asked about the weird necklace I'm wearing. It's a goddess charm that I've worn for 20+ years now. It used to be a pair of earrings until I lost one, and then I put it on a chain and have never taken it off:

That pink line is a BART track, FYI

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The real brains behind the blog (like we didn't already know) & other stuff

Friday morning early, the first words out of my mouth are "It's Friday!" Hubs says "Okay, that's it....." and goes to YouTube and plays for me that godawful Rebecca Black song that he's been threatening me with for days now. If you don't know what I'm talking about, just be happy, and whatever you do, for the love of god don't Google it. It's the worst song ever written and will end up in your head for all eternity. I'd heard about it from Twitter and reddit but I had refused to actually listen to it because I knew I would be cursed. Apparently Hubs had decided it was time. Thanks.

You've been warned

Anyway, he plays this god awful song which turns out to be, in fact, god awful, and then he starts singing along "It's Friiii-day, it's Friiii-day" and Child 2, who happens to be eating hash browns at the time, sings along with "Because I'm eating friiiiiied food, friiiiiied food."

I start laughing and I tell him "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to blog that."

Child 2 is very excited at the idea of me blogging something that he said, which surprised me because I didn't realize he knew what it meant, so I ask him "Do you know what blogging means?"

"Yes," he says "because you show me all the time" (I do? Okay). "You type in something that happens in real life and send it to somebody else's computer."

And hubs says: "Mama types funny stuff and everybody likes to read her stories."

To which Child 2 responds "yeah, but they come from me."

True story. They do come from him.

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Do you think Child 2 is funny? If so, please vote for him!

Right now he's #12 in the Top 25 Funny Mom Bloggers at Circle of Moms. Voting ends Monday so please don't let him down. He's only 5 and would be crushed if he didn't end up in the top 25. How do you explain that kind of thing to a child?? So, please take a moment to click on the pink circle thingy and then click on the orange thumbs up dealie. THANKS!

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I woke up this morning after a night of drinking and having an uncomfortable dinner with my husband and his divorced parents (where I drunkenly chatted on and on about god knows what in order to fill the awkward silences) and I found an untitled new post in my drafts folder. This is all it contained:



What do you think I was trying to say here? I should ask Child 2.

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The Dive Bar Welcomes: tulpen

Oh, tulpen. My Fairy Blog Mother. I adore you so very very much. I wish I could write something pithy that would sing your praises, but.... I'm way too drunk right now, so.......

I love you. Also: awesome. Take it away tulpsters!!!

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There is much about being a guy that I get.

Boobs?  Big perky ones?  I totally get it.  They're fun to look at.  And if I owned a pair, I'd wanna play with them too.

Hot chicks?  Big boobs or not.  Pretty is pretty.  Ogle, gawk, stare all you want.  I'll join you!

Blow jobs?  Pretty sure Hairy Basketball is the actual official All American pastime.  I could be a fucking cheerleader.

I get it.  And won't begrudge a guy any of these things once he becomes a Dad.

But Al, there are some things, that I just don't understand.

Little things, in which I try to lead by example;

Like removing my dirty clothes and placing them in the hamper, not on the floor.

Like putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher, not the sink.

Like hanging my coat up in the closet, not on a kitchen chair.

These things are minor infractions, and go unvoiced and unpunished.

Other offenses, you do hear about.  Like when I come home from a crazy shift at work, at fucking midnight, and proceed to clean up a filthy kitchen, gather up and put away kids' juice cups, gather up and throw down the cellar stairs the kids' dirty clothes,  turn off EVERY light in the fucking house, turn down the heat and stomp up the stairs, waking you from your snoring stupor to;

"What?  I fell asleep.  I was gonna clean..."

I don't want to hear 'I was gonna'.  If you were 'gonna' you would have.  But you didn't. So I did.

Like I always have.

Like when I was pregnant with Owen and asked you, before I was too huge, to take over laundry duty, as lugging the baskets from the upstairs to the basement and back up again, was a bit much for my largeness and tiredness.

And I heard, with every load I lugged;

"I would have",  "I was gonna"

You didn't.

You didn't clean my car off that winter either, every morning, after I'd done the chore, and came huffing and puffing back into the house;

"I would have..."

I didn't think I should have had to ask.  I still don't.

And then there is the most hideous sin. About which you hear DAILY. 

Owen is in the bathtub and you speak to him:

"He can't hear you."

Watching TV at uncomfortable Deaf kid volume and you speak to him:

"He can't hear you."

In the car, music blaring, you speak to him:

"He. Can't. Fucking. Hear. You."

Seven years.  Almost.  Since we found out he was losing his hearing.  Six years since he went from a mild to a profound loss.

ASL dictionaries shoved in your face.  ASL websites shoved in your face.

Deaf kid saying "Huh" in your fucking face 100 times a day, because guess what Einstein?

He CAN'T FUCKING HEAR YOU.

I don't care if you're scared.  I don't care if it seems like a lot of work.  I don't give a fuck how much time you don't have to dedicate to learning your son's language.

You have time for killing hookers on Grand Theft Auto.

Time for Fantasy Fucking Football.

It is about fucking time to step up, be a man, and use your hands.

'Cause if I weren't such a horn dog?  You'd be using fantasies and your hands for a lot more than computer football and video games.

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I don't understand how this happened

I don't like yelling. It's loud. And scary. Please don't yell at me. If you're in another part of the house and you want to tell me something, please get up and come find me instead of screaming your demands at me from 2 floors away. Chances are pretty good that I can't hear what you said, anyway. So, I'll yell back "WHAT?" And you'll repeat whatever you just said, and I still didn't hear you, so I end up schlepping my fat ass to whatever room you're in to find out, when you could have just schlepped your tiny ass to me in the first place.

I'm sure that was your plan all along, you devious little bastards, so most of the time I just pretend I didn't hear it. Then the child is forced to get up and come find me. This system works better for me.

So, how the hell did I become a yeller?

Our house is what they call a split level, which means there are 2 stories on one side and 1 on the other, in the middle. It's also pretty big. As we have already established, I spend every waking moment in the kitchen, which is the middle level. The bedrooms are upstairs and the TV room is downstairs. So, I'm usually in the middle of wherever they are. And I spend a LOT of time yelling at them about stuff.

"GET YOUR SHOES ON IT'S TIME FOR SCHOOL!"

"COME IN HERE AND HAVE DINNER!"

"THREE MINUTES AND IT'S TIME FOR BED!"

"CHILD 1! DO YOU WANT CHEERIOS?"

"WHO DREW ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR?"

"WHY IS THERE A PILE OF WET SOCKS IN MY DINING ROOM?"

"CHILD 2, STOP HITTING THE CAT WITH YOUR PANTS!"

"WHO IS CRYING RIGHT NOW?"

"WHAT IS THAT SMELL???"

(etc. I'm sure you guys can come up with some of your own...)

I do this, and yet I still hate yelling. I hate it when I do it, too.

I don't understand how this happened. How did I become what I hate? I'm thinking of getting an intercom system installed.


Image courtesy of stockimages / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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It was one of those chain of event type things

Our Man Cave. Read more about it here

Earlier I was in the Man Cave fixing a technical issue and I noticed the screen had some schmutz on it. I go over to wipe it off and it doesn't go anywhere. So I flick at it with my finger thinking it's going to go flying across the room.

It doesn't, though, because it's a slug. Why is there a slug on our big screen? I have no idea, and yet here we are. Instead it smushes itself onto my finger and I'm left with a fingertip full of slug guts.

Ew.

I squeal "EWWW!" because I have slug carcass on my fingertip and I shake my hand to get it off. Because.... ew.

Instead of falling nicely onto the floor, though, it flies into the air and lands... in my hair.

EWWWWWWWW.

I freaked out; shaking my head all over the place to get it out and I didn't even end up seeing where it went because it's dark in there.

I went to the bathroom to make sure it was gone, and it was..... but I can still feel it in there.

Crawling through my hair.

Burrowing into my brain.

Yes, a smushed slug can do that.

Ew.

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Who says TV isn't educational?

So, I'm in the kitchen making dinner (have you noticed that an inordinately large percentage of my stories start that way? That's no coincidence) and Child 2 comes in and asks...

"How many is 7 plus 7 plus 7?"

So, while I cook and clean, we spend the next 10 or so minutes with me trying to figure out how to get him to figure it out on his own (because... the truth is... I don't know). I had him draw 3 sets of 7 hash marks and then count them all. (Teachers? Did I do that right? I don't really understand that new-fangled "Every Day" Math. Who the hell needs to use math every day?)

Finally he figures it out and then he asks

"How many days is a week?"

"7," I tell him, to which he proudly announces...

"In the commercial I just saw, the weed killer is going to keep the weeds dead for THREE WEEKS. That's 21 days!!"

He was so excited.

Thank you, TV: Mama's little helper.....

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Those Mama Bear instincts

The other day I was dropping the kids off at school; we were, once again, sent to the cafeteria/auditorium because it was raining, and I left Child 1 where he was, happily staring at the clock in the middle of complete and total chaos. I walked by a group of kids and I heard one of them say my son's name. I looked over at him and he had this little smile (I'm sure it was actually a "smirk") on his face and he was looking at another kid. They must have felt my eyes on them because they both stopped and looked at me (and the smirk disappeared).

I have no idea what he said other than to say my son's name, but my mind went to all the worst places, of course. They said he was weird, they said they didn't like him, they said there was something wrong with him, they said they were going to shun him and bully him and they hated him and they were going to kick his ass.....

Whatever. I have no idea. I didn't say a word and just left the room and went about my business. Child 1, of course, was completely oblivious to the whole thing. He just stood there, looking at the clock, flapping his hand in front of his face, whispering to himself about trains or elevators or whatever. He was completely fine. Nobody was getting bullied here; the whole thing happened inside my head, but I swear to god I wanted to fucking kick their little asses. I wanted to take my hands to their throats and throttle the shit out of them. What are you saying about my kid?? Yeah, I know he's different; I know he's weird, but you'd better fucking be nice to him or I'll kick your ass, you little shits! I wanted to grab my kid, run the fuck out of that place and take him home where he would be safe from bullies forever. But, that's not realistic, obviously, and it's not even good for him. He needs to make his way in the world and he needs to figure out how to do it on his own and I was the only one there who had a problem.

I still felt it, though. That protective instinct. You hurt my kid and I'll fucking take you down. When Child 1 was born I had postpartum depression and I wasn't sure I would ever get there. I'm sure now, though. Damn sure.

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On a lighter note, I was drawn by the Animated Woman!! It's so exciting!! Not everybody gets the honor of being drawn and in this case I entered a contest and didn't even WIN, but my number was drawn randomly and after she drew me she drew me!! She made 2 different versions, one with the hat (at the link) and one without, which she emailed me separately (below). I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE it. Love, love, LOVE!!!

THANK YOU!!! You can follow her on Twitter at @LittleAnimation, and you should, because she's exceptionally talented and it's so much fun to see what she comes up with. She's also the brains behind BlueTick, an awesome new meme that's been taking over Twitter. I'm verified! Are you??

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Just a bunch of random crap

Happy first day of Spring! I'm having a bit of writer's block lately, and it's weird. It's not that I'm out of ideas, because I can think of things to write about all the time, but I'm not a writer (I like to call myself a "brain spewer") and I'm not always very good at getting the stuff out of my head and into the computer. So, I tend to start topics based on whatever crazy idea I've had and then never actually finish it. I keep them as drafts, in case I ever figure out how to see the thought through, but so far I've never been able to.

Do you guys ever have that problem? What do you do?

Anyway, today I'm just going to go through all my unfinished drafts and put them in this post all mish-mosh crazy-like because I don't like it when things aren't finished. That's just messy, and messy is bad.

1. Earlier Child 2 and I were watching Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets because, I guess, the ABC Family Channel is required by law to show all Harry Potter movies all the time on the weekends, when he started speaking Parceltongue. I'm not sure if any snakes actually heard him but it was so fricking adorable that I made him say it again, but this time with my phone on Voice Record:




Now he's walking around saying everything in Parceltongue. "Caaaaaaaan IIIIIIIII hhhhaaaaaaavvvve soommmmmmmmmme cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssse?" He calls it "Snake Talk."

2. Did you know that once you hit 1,000 unread blog posts in Google Reader it stops actually counting how many there actually are?

It's too much pressure, I can't take it. When it gets to this point I just have to hit "mark all as read" and start over again. Sorry.

3. Did you guys check out the post I wrote for Momma Politico? Warning: it's political, and I put it over there and not here because I didn't want to scare anybody, so unless you're very very liberal you might not want to read it because you'll probably think less of me.

4. Earlier hubs relayed to me the following story: He and Child 2 were playing a tickling game, which they do often. He said it was a perfect reenactment of the sword fighting scene in Princess Bride, so if you haven't seen that movie this will be meaningless to you. He was tickling the boy with one hand when he stopped and said "There is something that you do not know! I... have two hands" and started tickling the boy with both hands. To that, Child 2 replies, "There's something that you don't know. I have a foot and I can kick you in the face!"

He hasn't seen the Princess Bride.

5. The Monster is 2 months old; that would be the monster that I created in award form. 117 people have linked up to the hop but I know it made it to more than 117 blogs because I've seen posts that didn't make it into the hop. It's been interesting to watch as it changes the farther out it goes; just like a game of Telephone. Rules are being added on that I didn't put in the original version. And the farther out it goes the more the language gets cleaned up. At first people would re-print the rules and then make a note to say they've cleaned up the language, but now it seems people are only getting the sanitized version of the rules. The one thing that seems to have stayed consistent, though, is that people are mad when they get it. HA HA HA HA HA!!!! By the way, I know I've been given some awards in the last week and I will acknowledge them at some point. Maybe not in the way you would want them to be acknowledged, but I don't want to be rude and just ignore you all. And thank you :)

6. A few months ago I wrote about how my husband's step mother died. It was a seriously fucked up thing that happened to her. My father in law had her brain sent to some lab for testing, and it turned out that she had Mad Cow disease. Fucking Mad Cow disease!! Why is this not in the news??? The chances of a human getting this disease is, literally, one in a million. She contracted a horrible, awful, terrible neurological condition from the fucking food she ate. And the worst part? She didn't eat beef! No, she was paranoid about getting fucking Mad Cow disease, so she stopped eating beef. What the fuck?????? Go and read that post I wrote after she died. Life is fucking short, people, and as far as you know, what you just had for breakfast might be the thing that ends up killing you. So hug and kiss your loved ones while you can, because you never know what's going to happen next.

7. Well I can't end this post on a downer note, so now I'll have to find something funny to leave you with. The following 4 1/2 minutes is exactly, exactly, exactly how I feel about Child 2 most of the time. Especially the part about the shoes:

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Today.... I was a Cool Kid

Child 1, as you all probably know, has autism. He's very high functioning and very verbal and  will likely be independent some day. Except... he doesn't like doing anything with other people, and in his "off time" he prefers to be alone. I honor that, because I know that he spends so much of his time at the mercy of adults, and so when he's with me, I let him do his thing. So, most of the time he hangs out by himself, either in his room with his train tracks and drawings, or in the man cave with his videos. I actually spend a good deal of time calling his name and hoping that he'll come and hang out with us, but he always chooses not to.

Earlier this evening I was hanging out in the kitchen, which is something I do quite often.... Child 2 was with me and very enthusiastic about helping me make potatoes.... when Child 1 came in, for no particular reason that I could tell, told me to stop what I was doing... and he hugged me.

Oh. My. God.

Suddenly I was in Junior High again, and the cool kid looked at me. I felt so honored; so thrilled to have his attention. I, for the first time.... was the cool kid. I had the personal validation of the Big Man on Campus. I was IN.

Holy crap that's good stuff.

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Help me get The Stunner!

Note: My husband gave me The Stunner once. It totally wasn't an award, though...

I was thrilled when Q at Thank, Q for Common Sense, my blogger and twitter buddy, asked me to be a participant in his first annual Bloggers Tournament. There are 16(?) bloggers going head to head in a "who is the best blogger" contest and the winner of each round will go against the winner of the other rounds.... uh.... something like March Madness, he says, but I don't know what the hell that means... and the winner of the whole thing will get the soon to be coveted Stunner Award. I submitted a post that I liked and I am now competing against Bob at Squatlo Rant in Round 1 !!!!

I want the Stunner Award. You guys know how (weirdly and obsessively) competitive I am. And since when do I ever ask you for anything?

What? All the time? SHIT! Well, here's another thing, then.....

All you have to do is read the post I submitted and then read the post Bob submitted and then go over to Q's place and cast your vote for whichever post you liked more.

Vote for whichever post you liked more.

Would you like me to tell you which one you liked more? Because I will if you need some help.

This is the first round of, uh..... *cough* rounds total, so you'll be hearing from me again (assuming I make it to round 2. But I think you all know how very very disappointed I would be if I don't make it to round 2).

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