A Blog by Any Other Name

I remember how challenging it was three years ago when I had to cough up a name for this blog.

Mainly because both She’s Menopausal and She’s a Mean Mofo were already taken.

I picked She’s a Maineiac on a whim and just went with it. At first, I regretted it. Too many vowels, hard to spell, could’ve used a hyphen. Maybe a dollar sign instead of the S.

But it grew on me because it really fit my personality. After all, I’m from Maine. I live in Maine. I’m a she. It was like it was meant to be.

I was recently asked by a WordPress editor: Hey, Darla!  What gives with your blog name? and the result is an interview I did this week for The Daily Post.

daily post

This series spotlights bloggers and details the stories behind their blog names.

As thrilled as I was to do this interview, sadly, my backstory doesn’t involve sex, drugs or rock and roll.  More like an ice hockey team, a couple Advils and a cold cup of coffee.

But please do drop by The Daily Post today to find out why I chose my blog name and not something else more intriguing like She’s A Man.

Click here Choosing the Perfect Blog Name: She’s a Maineiac

How did you guys come up with your blog name? Are you still happy with it?
Did you have any other choices you wished you had gone with instead?


I want to thank you all for being the best group of readers a Maineiac could ever ask for. I heart you all.

Hopefully, I’ll be back to posting more regularly after my finals-from-hell week is over. (But that’s only if my lab partner doesn’t accidentally sever one of my arteries during our phlebotomy exam today.)

Happy Holidays!

Blogging · Humor

The Freshly Pressed Curse

Hey, kids! It’s time once again for me to interview myself!

Y’know….(ahem) because no one else wanted to.


The last time I sat down with myself for an exclusive interview, things got cray-cray up in Darla’s hizzle when an enraged Maineiac toppled the kitchen table à la Desperate Housewife Teresa “The Feds Are Only Jealz of My Fame” Guidice.

Let’s see if this time around I crack a chair on my own forehead Jerry Springer-style.


Me: Good morning.  Today we are going to discuss something that is on every WordPress blogger’s mind.

She’s a Maineiac: Butt implants?

Me: Yes. (tilting head) Have you considered those?

SaM: Well, of course I have. But I thought we were going to discuss the Freshly Pressed phenomena?

Me: Oh, I suppose. God.  (rolling eyes) So, Freshly Pressed–I mean, seriously. What’s the deal? What gives?

SaM: It’s like winning the lottery. Except there’s no money involved.

Me: I don’t understand.

SaM: It’s like being struck by lightning. Except there’s no lightning involved.

Me: You’ve lost me.

SaM: It’s like winning a pretend medal in an imaginary world that only exists in your mind.

Me: Mmkay. Now I’m getting it.

SaM: It’s like finding out everyone in WordPress World thinks your parents are away for the weekend, so they drop by your crib to trash the joint. Maybe drink all your Pabst Blue Ribbon or paint their blog’s URL in ketchup on your bathroom ceiling before they peel out of your driveway in their jacked-up pickup while blaring Crazy Train out the windows and leaving empty Slim-Jim wrappers in their wake, never to return again.

Me: So you didn’t like this Freshly Pressed experience?

SaM: Oh no! I really enjoyed it! (sighing) Best days of my life!

Me: What’s it like? How did you find out you were first Freshly Pressed?

SaM: I woke up, took a long drag off my cigar, opened up my email and Boom — 150 pending emails from WordPress.

Me: You smoke?

SaM: No.

Me: What did you do next?

SaM: I ran around in circles screaming, “What the frack?  How in the hell do I delete all this email?” I honestly had no clue what had happened. I certainly didn’t realize Freshly Pressed was a thing’ back then in 2010. I thought I was picked completely at random.

Me: You were picked at random.

SaM (glaring): Anyway. So I clicked on the front page of WordPress and saw my first FP post up there, right next to a post featuring brownies. I knew right then, I had made it. My husband certainly didn’t think so.

Me: How so?

SaM: When I told him, he just scratched himself, yawned and said, “Gee, that’s nice, honey. What’s for breakfast?”

Me; You threw scrambled eggs at him, didn’t you.

SaM: Well, I had to make sure I spent the next 24 hours glued to my laptop, approving comments like, “Great post!” and “Please visit my blog!” And they were fried eggs.

Me: Are there any drawbacks to being FP?

SaM: Oh sure! Like trying in vain to find that one single breathing non-blogging person on the planet that gives two shits you were Freshly Pressed.

Me: Anything else?

SaM: Nothing prepares you for the inevitable fall from the top, that death spiral of stats when FP fades in a few days. Once the party’s over, you’re left standing on your toilet-papered front lawn, clutching an empty punch bowl and crying, “Come back! Please!”

Me: Do they come back?

SaM: If you’re lucky a few stragglers are left behind who decide to stick around, mainly because they’ve passed out on your couch in their underwear. After three years of blogging, I can honestly say I much prefer the genuine relationship I have with my loyal readers and commenters over being briefly in the spotlight.

Me:  Aw, c’mon! You sure there’s not a teeny-tiny part of you, somewhere back in your equally teeny-tiny mind that would love to be Freshly Pressed again?

SaM: Hell yeah! Of course! We all want it but we all act like we don’t want it — unless we get it. If we do get it, we’re happy — but only briefly. And it’s not cool to brag about getting it, so we act like we don’t care we got it, even though inside we’re thrilled.  But only briefly.

Me: Ummm…

SaM: And this Freshly Pressed high is fleeting because things tend to slide back down to normal pretty damn quickly.

Me: So it’s like getting butt implants?

SaM: Exactly.


And so concludes Part 2 of my Q&A with myself. No chairs or tables or butts were harmed during the interview.


Like this? See Part 1: My Exclusive Interview with Me About My Blog

Up next: WordPress Rehab with Dr. Drew


My Exclusive Interview With Me About My Blog

Greetings, fellow bloggers, non-bloggers, readers and non-readers!

Today I bring to you an in-depth interview I did with…myself.

Yes! And they say blogging is narcissistic.


In this Q&A, I will attempt to probe into the deepest, darkest regions of the seedy blogging underbelly. I’ve been warned there’s lots of lint. And some grime. Y’know, stuff stuck up in the bellybutton area. Anyway, it’s pretty gross but it’s always good to get it all out.

Let’s begin.

Me: So, this blogging business…what gives?

She’s a Maineiac: Uh, I’m not sure. I don’t follow…

Me: What gives? I mean, what the hell? Seriously.

SaM: Well, I….I like to blog.

Me (leaning forward, narrowing eyes): Yes. But why. Why do it. Why do you blog?

SaM: To express myself. I guess. Yeah.

Me: Express what?

SaM: My inner thoughts?

Me: Why? For the love of God, why?

SaM: Um…..people like to read about them? Maybe? I don’t know.

Me: So you think the world needs to know about these… inner thoughts, these…gems of yours… these revelations that just pop into your brain willy-nilly?

SaM: Sure.

Me: (picking up laptop computer) I have here a post you wrote dated October 1st, 2012, In which you discuss your droopy boobs.

SaM: Ooh, see–yeah. That wasn’t my best work.

Me (pointing at computer screen): You detailed for your (making air quotes) “thousands” of readers how sad you get when you have to, quote, “pick them up to put them into your bra”. (glaring over eyeglasses)

SaM: That’s true.

Me: And you called this ‘Meloncholy’.

SaM (laughing):  Yeah.

Me: This is what you think people want to read. This is your contribution to society.

SaM: Well…

Me (pointing at computer screen): And here’s another post. About farting. And another. About how you broke your ass. And yet another…(glaring) about farting.

SaM: (looking down, silent)

Me: Okay. Enough of that. I’m getting depressed. Let’s talk money. Moulah.  How many Benji’s you picking up? How much dough you raking in? What’s the street value of She’s a Maineiac going for these days?

SaM: Oh, I don’t make any money! ha! HA-HA!

Me: Huh. Interesting. So let’s go back to why you blog.

SaM: For the connection? Yes! That’s it! I like to connect!

Me: With actual people? Are you sure?


SaM: My readers, yes.

Me: Your readers? Oh! You mean SexyHotXXXLoveMachine69? Is that whom you want to connect with?

SaM: Look–I can’t control who subscribes to my blog. It’s out of my hands.


Me: Control? And do you have control over when you blog? Or how often? Hmm?

SaM: Hey! I can stop at any time! Any time!

Me: Then stop right now.

SaM: What? That’s ridiculous. You mean–

Me: Stop. Blogging. Now.

SaM: Well, I-I just….look–just give me my laptop back…

Me: Let it go. Let it allllll go.

SaM: What? Let what go?

Me: I want you to admit you have a problem.

SaM: Just give me my laptop.

Me (holding laptop over head): Not until you tell the world right here, right now how you really feel about blogging. Spill it. Cleanse your soul.

SaM (reaching for laptop): Give it!

Me (slapping hand away): No.

SaM (standing up): Okay! OKAY! Fine! I love it! I love everything about it! I like how I get that cool orange notification thingy at the top of my screen when there’s a “like” on my post! Even if it’s from Ea$yBowelControlPillz! I love when I see I have a few comments within a few seconds of posting!   I love it when a commenter says they thought my post was funny! Even when I know damn well they didn’t read past the first sentence!

Me: Now don’t you–

SaM (weeping into hands): But I hate it! I hate that I love it! I don’t get why people read my blog! I don’t understand! I have no clue what I’m doing! I just write!  It’s all just utter nonsense! And they want to read it! (sobbing) I want to be a writer! But I’m not! I’m a blogger! Oh god! I don’t want to be a blogger! I’m a loser! I hate Facebook and twitter! I think the Internet is the root of all evil!  Whether the word ‘internet’ is capitalized or not! I can never remember what’s acceptable!

Me: Good. Now don’t you–

SaM: And it’s making my ass fat! It’s true! I blame Matt Mullenweg! And Mark Zuckerberg! Those too-smart-for-their-own-damn-good whippersnappers! They’ve ruined my life! I feel so ashamed! So dirty! I just want to die! (collapsing into a heap)

Me: There, there. Now don’t you feel better?

SaM (raising tear-stained face) No.

Me: Oh.


And that concludes my exclusive interview with addicted blogger,
She’s a Maineiac.

Stay tuned for

Part 2: The Freshly Pressed Curse

followed by

Part 3: WordPress Rehab with Dr. Drew


Tell me, do you have a blogging addiction? Can you admit you have a problem?
That’s the first step, you know.
Maybe Dr. Darla and Dr. Drew can help.
Probably not. But it’s worth a shot.


Hey! I’ve Got Something to Tell You…! (maybe)

Our current culture is driven by drama.  Some of it real, most of it imagined. Seems like these days everything has to be packaged into little sound bites in order to get our attention. With all the digital technology out there– and because we now have the attention spans of a gnat– we have to be crafty with what we throw out there. We need a hook. Things have to be almost like a cliffhanger if we are to get anyone to notice us and our humdrum existence.

For example, once on Facebook, a friend of mine posted in her status update: At ER!!! That was it. Nothing about who was at the ER, why they were at the ER, if anyone was dying or not. Just ‘at ER’. After a flood of concerned comments she posted again: False alarm, just a migraine!

For fun, I once posted on my facebook status a single word as a little experiment to see how people would respond. I typed: Oregano. And then I sat back and waited. The comments flooded in and it turned out to be the most comment-generating status I have ever seen on my facebook page. That may say a lot about our social lives or just that oregano is a riveting conversation starter.

We all seem to want this attention, even if it’s brief. Even if it’s not a genuine crisis. My own 78 year old mother does it now.

I’ll come home and see a message on my machine (I know, I am the last person on the planet to still have a landline and an answering machine) I’ll hit play and her frantic voice fills the room, “Darla! Darla! Are you there? I know you’re there! Darla! I need you! Darla? Daaaaarlaaaa? I need–” then she’ll abruptly hang up. Naturally, my heart starts to race and I call her back, thinking the worst. “Mom? Are you okay? Is it your heart again? Do I need to call 911? Did you fall down? Did aliens come to abduct you? Did you eat an entire pan of brownies but there’s no milk? What is it?!” and they’ll be a long pause and then she’ll laugh and say, “Huh? Oh, no, dear. Goodness, nothing like that! I just wanted to tell you that on Dr. Oz he’s doing an entire show on pee and poop! Can you believe that? Poop!”

Why, yes, mom. I can believe that.

Cute Kiddo Quote of the Week: My nine year old son fell down and got a big scratch on his foot. He could have received the Academy Award for Best Actor for Dying a Slow and Painful Death. After he stopped crying, I tucked him in on the couch, brought him some apple juice and a cookie, turned the TV on Phinneus and Ferb and leaned in to hug him (he squirmed away) Then I asked him, “Do you need anything else before I go?”  Without missing a beat he grinned and said, “A twenty?” So after I brought him $20, I told him he could have it as long as he let me give him one hug. Who says money can’t buy love?

Shameless Begging for Votes I am in The Good Greatsby’s caption contest again.
Mr. Skittles and I would appreciate it if you’d take a second out of your busy day and throw us a vote. If you want. No pressure. Oh, and he wanted to tell you all something before I go…

Little monkey
Image via Wikipedia

After Maineiac lost her last caption contest in a crushing defeat to Peg-o-leg, I ran away. I was quickly captured and forced to live behind these giant yellow bars that I  probably could squeeze through enough to escape my captors and taste my glorious freedom, but since I’ve lost the will to live, I didn’t.

English: Saimiri sciureus. Français : Saimiri ...
Image via Wikipedia

I spent many long, cold and lonely days praying for Maineiac to have another shot at caption glory, my only sustenance a few rancid Circus Peanuts that had turned green from decay.

English: A small monkey. Singapore.
Image via Wikipedia

It’s been a brutal winter while waiting for my beloved owner to spring me from this hell. Time has not been kind: my fur now a ghastly white, my tired bones ravaged by arthritis, my face  forever frozen into a mask of unrelenting hope; hope that you will vote for Darla’s caption here. Or vote for The Life of Jamie, Ape No.1, HoaiPhai, or Perry Block. I will forgive you because theirs are funny as well.

So to sum up:
Mr. Skittles thanks you. Me good monkey. Me love you forever. Methinks Circus Peanuts taste like poop. If you don’t vote, then please send me some real food instead, preferably Hostess Twinkies. Ooh ooh ah ah!