…I have changed my blog theme around 72 times since I started blogging last year. And each time I’ve noticed something odd–I keep choosing text that is significantly bigger on the screen. This means I am either losing my eyesight at a much faster rate than I thought, or I need to invest in glasses that don’t cost 12 bucks at Target. Eventually, I fear my posts will be have to be read one giant word at a time. I apologize in advance.
…I have to post more on this blog so I can generate more “hits” and possibly more comments. If I don’t post something, anything, for a few weeks, I may risk losing readers. I had a total of 7 hits on my blog yesterday. In a strange coincidence, I looked up She’s a Maineiac 7 times on the display iPhone at Target until the clerk asked me to leave when I started crying.
…I need to do some more research on the proper use of colons and semicolons: I’m not sure if I’m doing it right; I’m not sure if I use them too much; I’m sure it’s getting distracting for you readers out there: Am I right? I’ll try to stop; but: I can’t promise anything.
…I’ve been sucked into the Twitter madness. I’ve received lots of requests to follow me lately. (Wait, that makes no sense) Anyway, following myself is going to be hard. But I keep getting these emails for twitter. Do I accept this person as my cult member/follower or blatantly disregard them and toss them aside, thereby cementing the fact that I hate twitter but will be forever behind in this technological age?
Well, after I got over the initial shock that I even have a twitter account (I think I signed up one night in the midst of some moderate wine-drinking) I’ve decided to take the tweety plunge. Now if I could just figure out how to put twitter on my blog’s sidebar with the widget doohicky whazzitdoodle—I’ll be cranking out twitty tweets in no time. It’s quite the challenge bringing my inane thoughts to you in 140 characters or less. I may have to employ my husband as he’s a man of few words, and usually they are: Yes, Dear. I know, Dear. You’re so right, Dear. Why don’t you go blog about it instead of telling me, Dear?
…I am a pathetic slave to technology. What is almost as bad as having no heat and electricity? Having no cable TV, internet or phone. This past weekend, during the “Holla!Surprise, it’s Me, Winter!Oh, Snap! ween” storm, our electricity flickered once then came right back on. We were lucky. (I know how lucky as I survived the Ice Storm of ’98 when I had no heat or running water for 2 weeks and my toilet cracked right around the same time I did.)
But when my husband clicked the TV on, only to be met with some digital snow, (that was his joke) all hell broke loose. It was Sunday, people. No football. Not to mention the fact that it was quiet in our house. Dead calm. The kind of unnerving quiet that gets under your skin and slowly drives you insane. The kind of mind-numbing hush they must have endured all winter in the Little House until Pa broke out his fiddle. The kind of silence where you can only hear the soft swish of your blood as it pulses through your veins. The kind of noiselessness you get after you’ve been at a heavy metal rock concert for a few hours, then go home and your ears are buzzing so loud they start to bleed.
The first few hours we were okay. We talked to each other. We even had back and forth conversations with some occasional eye contact. Then the withdrawal began. I simply told them, no, they couldn’t watch Phineas and Ferb and no, they couldn’t watch Netflix and no, they couldn’t play Dora on the computer and no, they—are you sensing my irritation yet? Finally, the kids gave up and went outside in their shorts to go sledding (Al Gore was so right). After plugging and unplugging the modem several hundred times, my husband gave up and sat down to read a book. I grabbed my latest Oprah magazine and my glasses, and tried to read, but I kept getting distracted by all the noise of us breathing. At one point I could hear the universe humming. I think it sounded like the C note on the piano.
After two days of this, the cable line was repaired and it finally came back on. I rushed to the computer to see what I had missed and I was astonished to realize that nothing had happened. It was almost as if my existence on the internet didn’t matter.
…my kids have trained me well. Why is it that my kids can sense the split second I sit down, so they can then ask me to get them something? I could be in the kitchen, holding the milk, asking them if they want any, waving the carton in their faces, hovering the milk over their glasses in mid-drip– then later on, the nanosecond my butt hits a chair they ask for milk? Is this something they teach them at school? How to Drive Your Poor Mom Crazy–Lesson One: Hey, kids! Be sure to tell her you need something only after she sits down! Then after she gets if for you and sits down again, ask her for something else! Repeat all day long until you see steam coming out of her ears! Reminds me of the movie A Christmas Story, “My mother had not had a hot meal for herself in fifteen years.”
Well, lucky for you dear readers, that’s all I’ve got for this random Fritter Friday post. (Whenever I see the word “fritter” I get hungry, so I’m off to go eat.) Happy weekend, my friends!