It is a good divine that follows her own instructions

What the hell is up with all the IFLY's and stars and shit lately? Are you people getting soft in your old age? Feeling the holiday spirit? Suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder?

Damnit, I want some ass spankings around this joint. I want someone to threaten their asshole reviewee with a back alley lobotomy. Give me some blood and guts and giblets, people.

Later this week? Please?

I say this because you're not gonna get any angry banshee-screeching from my neck of the woods today.

Good for your feed reader. Bad for your entertainment, I'm afraid.

Jayne, the Suburban Soliloquist, is funny and neurotic and just a cool lady. And this bitch can write.


* I don't have kids, but this post made me understand what it might be like.

* She gets sociological and feminist about book reviews on Amazon

* This is exactly how I feel about Twitter.

* This is exactly how I feel about poetry. In fact, Shiner gave me the choice between this blog and a poetry one . . .

* I love this post. It's funny, but is still poetic in its own way.

However . . .

(I feel like a fucking hypocrite for getting on her case about this, because it's MY major blogging flaw.)

Jayne, your posts could do with some major editing. Reorganization, paring down, splitting up posts, etc.

For example, I think this post would flow better if you started with the Halloween costume story, and then worked into the tailor hemming the skirt. The punchline to the story, the kicker if you will, is in the first paragraph ($15). Why would I continue reading the post? Hold onto the "best" part of the story until the end-ish. Make your reader want to find out what happened.

There's also a difference between writing in a casual, conversational manner, and writing out your ADHD train of thought. I tend to be a rambling storyteller in real life, and that inadvertently carries over into rambling story-writing, which does not translate well and bores my readers. I didn't even realize I was doing it until I was reviewed myself.

For instance, the first paragraph of this post, could be completely deleted. It's the rambling storyteller coming out right there.

In that same post, it seems like you're telling two different stories at the same time even though it's ONE outing you're writing about. Different parts of the post evoked different feelings in me and my emotions felt torn all over the place. I understand what you were trying to do, but I think I would have preferred it if it was JUST about you and your son walking around town and your conversation with him about homeless people OR if it was a "you can't go home again" type post.

And I say that, because you are able to write both types of posts. You go back and forth between writing funny little slice of life stories, and writing evocative pieces that allow your reader to imagine what it's like to experience something. That's a good thing. Personally, I wish I could write the latter, but I'm afraid everything I write like that sounds contrived and maudlin.

I'm awarding you:




For being a cool chick and for having serious potential.

I was bound to love someone sooner or later

The work week flies by and I’m hardly awake. I have the feeling that my life is being lived; passive tense. By Sunday night I already know exactly where I’ll be at any given moment for the next six days. In fact, not a single decision needs to be made because it’s already all figured out and has very little to do with what I really feel like doing.

My life is a high-speed blender of quasi-obligations of my own creation because I'm trying to resemble the person I used to be convinced that I was going to be someday. You know, the one that actually does shit instead of sitting around moaning about how the years are going by and what the fuck am I doing with my life and since when do I have fat there? This leaves a couple of hours per day to unwind and I’m having to decide if I’d rather sit for a couple more hours per day in front of the pterygium-inducing computer blogging or spend them with the school janitor who is now exclusively working from home and needs human interaction when I get home, even if in the form of a brutal love-beating.

Blogging has sort of lost the battle for me. I’ll be honest. It hasn’t only been about finding time. Many of my most inspiring blogging friends have dwindled away from their spaces and finding new bloggers who are just as good is exhausting. I’m hanging in here on the blogosphere by a tattered string and it’s been a long damn time since I’ve found a good new blog that makes me want to spend time in this cyber world, want to somehow fit it into my day, want to dust off the old blogroll which has become an antique collection and add a new link. Finding good blogs regularly had a recursive effect on my own desire to write. I wanted to write for the writers that I thought were amazing. I wanted to see if someone that good thought I was any good. I wanted to share a part of myself with those who were so generously sharing the really naked parts of themselves with me.

This brings us to today and this review that I didn’t want to do; this review that got pushed to the end of the queue in favor of work and yoga classes and exercise videos and stupid fucking French lessons and preparing meals that don't suck.

I had hoped this would take me an hour or less to pump out with a MEH or a GO FUCK YOURSELF. And then I read this and realized it was going to take a lot longer because I was going to need to read it all and in reading I began to remember why I was drawn to blogging to begin with. I remembered the feeling of discovering that there were real people out there living their lives, people I would never otherwise cross paths with: they were nurses and bikini waxers and stay-at-home dads and cancer survivors and ex-addicts and expats that had some kind of communicative gift that made me want to know everything about them, that made me hope that in some way I could be like them too. The ones I was drawn to the most were simultaneously funny yet serious, introspective but only by looking at others, wanting yet altogether grateful, and especially the ones that were prone to sometimes hysterical reflections on their own inherent contradictions.

Michelle is a self-proclaimed work in progress and she puts that work in progress forth for the world to read, totally and utterly unselfishly. Sure, she tends to get a little rambly, and maybe sometimes I want to beat her within an inch of her ability to modify her font sizes and colors. Maybe she has no About Me page for some dumb reason and maybe 90% of what makes up her template confuses me. Maybe she gets all Wordless Wednesday-ie and Friday Fragmenty and maybe sometimes I want to shake her into giving me a real title to a synthesized post. Maybe she's raging against a bunch of machines I'm just not raging against (one of them apparently being the fascism that is punctuation) but for the most part she's able to richly convey her rage and it's all her and so be it.

These easily-fixed annoyances aside, what I love the most about Michelle is that she's whole grain bread, man. She hasn't been processed into just giving us the sweet fluffy palatable side of her. She's heavily textured and is grainy going down and she's replete with all the integral parts that complete a real live person and not a persona: brains, toenails, warts, kidneys, heart, soul, sadness, joy, fears, and frustrations. The great majority of her posts are pieces to the great big yummy pie that I'm always harping on people around here for not fucking giving up and so I'm not holding back now for a few punctuation and font problems. Are you kidding? I have been wanting to do this dirty little deed for a long damn time so here you go, Michelle, here is my IFLY virginity.






An artist is only good to the extent that they are generous with what's inside them; they don't save what they have for another post, another drawing, another project, another day. They give 100 % of what makes them who they are each and every time they start the creative process. And this, My Dear Askers, is what it has taken to drag this old rusty blogger back to the blogosphere, to shake me and take hold of me and say nope your not done here yet.

And now, inspired, with my IFLY cherry popped, I'm off to dust off my poor forgotten blog and see if I can't pump some life into that fucker and visit some of my favorite bloggers who are still writing their hearts out who I have missed so.

That's why her hair is so big: it's full of secrets.

As any regular readers can tell, I don't shy away from swearing. Identifying myself as a person who clutters her speech with extravagant curses is like working for the Department of Redundancy Department. You people can deduce my fondness for profanity on your own because you aren't fucking goldfish.

Of course, some bloggers, like One Crazy Brunette Chick, find it necessary to shock and tug us in specified direction by grabbing our ears and thrusting obscenities down our throats. No regard for foreplay or discipline, it's just, "I SAY FUCK A LOT!!! FUCKINDEALWITHIT!! LIFE SUCKS, CUNTS!!!" as if we'll recoil at the impiety or something.

CB, lady, that shit is tired. Everyone says fuck a lot. It's not shocking, it's not revolutionary, it's the way a million bajillion people speak all the time, and the fact that a grown woman is shilling it as some sort of slutty rebellion is a bit fatigued. We get it. You're so bad. You wear stilettos and swear. The dichotomy is mind-blowing. Fuckin' hooray.

Honestly, I find the whole thing quite boring.

Cursing and exclamation points and a faux sociopathic surface don't make bloggers more interesting, just more widespread and demanding. You wanna fucking prove you're a fucking bad ass by fucking having a verbal fucking fuckathon? BRING IT.

See, I can throw sporadic fucks around too, but that doesn't make my writing any better. Too much vulgarity is one-dimensional and boring, unless it compliments the story. I feel like you're blogging just to remind everyone you know how to run your fucking mouth. Apparently your life is full of internet drama that I don't understand, since I run in a different pack of bloggers - you know, the ones that write because they have to write, not because they want to shit-talk. Which is odd to think about, since I write here.

You claim to have a number of enhancing characteristics:

...it takes a considerable amount of FABulous to be a crazy ass, eccentric, dramatic, charming, and classy lady like myself.

but you've got the charm of a condom, and let's be honest here: condoms are the least sexy thing about doin' it. No one fantasizes about dirty, sultry prophylactic-time (well now they do, Rule 34). We want it passionate and urgently momentous in its raw, honest, unprotected glory.

And what do we get? Fucking latex, a protective sheath. You're better than that, and I know it. Your tattoos say more about you than your blog. You're mixing a shot of impulsiveness and youth, beauty, love and regret, then choking it down, smashing the glass and dancing in its shards, with a flippant "I'm a dumb bitch" dismissal and a change of subject.

I want to hear about Ryan and Justin. I want to hear about the hasty girl of your past that morphed into this eyebrowless, very hot mother of two who chainsmokes and clouds herself in blasphemy and kitten rage. Prove you're eccentric by giving me ideas and perspectives I've never heard before. As of right now, after rummaging through all the "skanks" and "cunts," it's crystal to me: you're afraid of having no personality, and you cover it up by littering your posts with insults and curses.

Stop cocking around. Every once in awhile you show us a smidge of wisdom, a speck of uniqueness, but this bawdy, brash brat routine is old. As a society we've been watching ignorant, self-obsessed TV mutants get drunk and swear and slap each other over shitty lovers. Please don't add another lamewad to the mix. I get it though, because you're in it for the clicks. The internet is obviously a popularity contest for you and nothing else.

Those rare times you seem intelligent and hilariously creative, I smile in satisfaction. See, details are good, like calling your daughter 'Ladybug' in a line of dialogue instead of braying, "I call my daughter 'Ladybug!' I fucking rock!" You show that you have quirkish stories to tell. But then? Then you purposely cover it up with a spree of exclamations and pointless asides, which turns your writing into just about the most boringest thing ever.

As far as the template is concerned, I definitely like this header better than the mudflaps girl you sported a month ago, but I think you should minimize it and destroy the "click here to share" links. They're a trashy, whorish distraction, they take lightyears to load, and I have important cartoons to watch. And I can't deal with that crawling, epileptic banner circus, could you please do something about that?

Don't center the text of your posts. They're far easier to read earlier on in your blog when it's all flush left. Remember, some people are old. Of course I'm not, I'm an angry twenty-something who loves deadpan satire, loathes Nickelback (CB, you have the shittiest music taste ever - luvyabetch!) and slacks off at work to review blogs that want it from me and want it bad, but your sidebar hurts behind my eyes, like the entire eyeball and all the stringy nerves behind it are throbbing because there is so much fucking widgetty bannery stuff.

I gotta say though, I love how the 'Click Your Heels' button sends you home. Brilliant. Hopefully someday the other links will lead to relevant entries and maybe a personal profile instead of noxious self-promotion.

The Voices In My Head Can Be Wrong

Our first review after the departure of Love Bites comes not from me, but from one Jessica Gottlieb, who blogs over at, well, um, Jessica Gottlieb. Based on what I've gleaned from her blog, she's a regular fucking force paradox. Quite the feat, don't you think?

When Love Bites asked me to review The Real Suburban Housewives I said yes, but inside my head a voice was screaming no more housewives.

Thank gawd I don't listen to the voices inside my head.

The Real Suburban Housewives are real. From sandpaper pedicures, to kissing sweaty strangers for a discount in Cabo, these ladies are the neighbors you wish you had.

The housewive are awesome, and they're smart too. The blog is nice enough looking, posts are readable and every so often they give you some video too. How can you not love women who train their dogs?



To be fair, I'm not crazy about the music selection. There you go, The Real Suburban Housewives don't choose good music for their dogs to jack off to, they are imperfect. But not really.

The Housewives are an interesting bunch, but at the same time they're just like you and me. They aren't clear on why you pierce an infant's ears and they include recipes that make mornings easier.

If the internet wasn't made for the Real Suburban Housewives I just don't know what it's for.

I have one complaint/suggetion: when I click on each of the housewive's about me pages I'd love to then be sent directly to their posts.

When push comes to shove, I'm just delighted to waste an afternoon poking around the site, and if the navigation never works, I still fucking love you.

I am at home with the me, I am rooted in the me who is on this adventure.

I knew a girl in college who wore long, flowing skirts and no makeup. Her hair looked how it looked with no product or styling or coercing. If she felt like dancing she danced, if she thought something was funny she laughed loud and long (I remember that laugh still: "ha, ha, HAH!" with her head thrust back), and if she wanted to touch you she would. She'd lean in close when she talked, in your space, looking you directly in the eye. Rebecca liked people, liked getting to know them, finding out what made them tick, figuring out how their minds worked, why they did what they did. She hated shoes and clothes and artifice. She liked boys and girls in equal measure, and typically they liked her, too. They couldn't help it. She was light and direct and earthy. And she was the most present and carefree person I think I've ever know.

Rebecca made me uncomfortable while she was making me interested. She just didn't hide. She'd loop her arm through mine and snug her chin on my shoulder, smelling like patchouli and sunshine. She confronted and questioned and she just was so very much her own person. You could take her or leave her and she wouldn't mind either way.

In some ways, Hope's blog Hopenminded reminds me of Rebecca. She has that same carefree directness, that same hippy-dippy, woo-woo peace and love mentality, where they just delve and ask and explore and analyze.

Hope has, by her own admission, a darker experience. There's an edge to her lightness. Her hopefulness is hard-gained and bruised. She is honest (if maybe a little defensive?) about who she is and where she's been. She really is open and hopeful, and based on the glimpses she's given of the life she's lived, it's really a wonderful thing to see. She's chosen -- and probably has to make that choice over and over -- to live simply, peacefully, and joyfully. And for someone like me, who tends to piss and moan about every little inconvenience in her my-god-I've-had-it-damned-easy life, this mentality is really rather instructive.

Now that I've admired the hell out of Hope and appreciated her for drawing out the memory of someone admirable and slightly complicated from my past, let's move on to the nuts and bolts of blogging, shall we? Good. Because Hope needs some help.

Getting the design stuff out of the way, there are three empty tabs. Hey how about taking them down until they're actually useful? You have way too much shit in the sidebars, and you don't need two of them. Get rid of the random posts and recent comments and either stick with the tag cloud OR the categories (categories, please), not both. And your blogroll? It's not really a blogroll. Take it down until it has something in it, or better yet move it to a tab. The design is fine, but consider bumping up the size of your font -- it's way too small.

Now, the writing, which is what Hope and I (and you) care most about. She faces some marked challenges in her writing, with (apparently) little training or education. It shows. But that's ok. You hear me, Hope? That's ok. You keep at it, dammit. You love it, and there's no reason you can't do this if you work hard enough.

But yes, to be honest because that's what we do here and that's what you expect and you can take it, your writing needs some work. You don't need me to tell you there are considerable spelling and grammar and construction mistakes, but I'll do it anyway: there are. You show your rookie roots with rambling, unedited, uncrafted writing. You write because you love it, because it's cathartic for you, because you have to. That impetus is fantastic and can't be taught. What you need -- and what can be taught -- is polish. You need to keep reading good writing that speaks to you, you need to sign up for a local writing group where you can learn from more experienced writers, you need to challenge yourself with writing exercises, and you need to edit the hell out of yourself.

This post here, where you're watching people and recording? That was good (and so was this). Keep observing. Keep figuring out what makes people tick. Write often and always go back and clean up your writing, find the good bits, prune the unnecessary bits, and get to the heart, the poetry, the art of your writing. Your passion is there -- now practice.





P.S. You have a category called "I'm Fingering it all out." I kind of hope that's on purpose. You finger the hell out of life.

Waxing Scatalogical

Every time I get a mommy blogger to review I say some variation of this: I'm not a mom; I don't want kids; parenting is beyond me and I just don't get it. And it's true, every time. But I'll be damned if there aren't a lot of you parents out there blogging away. You've snuck right up on me so that here I am at 34, still befuddled by the thought that people try to get pregnant. I know; I'm kind of a late bloomer.

Still, every time I get a blog that's demonstrably mommy in nature, I cringe. And this is entirely unfair because, lord, how many people out there have kids? Some of my favorite people are parents. Some of my favorite bloggers are parents. My parents are parents and I love the hell out of them. I am so much in the minority as to be almost freakish. And they're just people, after all. They haven't been infiltrated by evil parent aliens from the planet Annoy the Fuck Out of Me, where their god is The Mighty Scrapbook and their government -- My Offspring Did the Cutest Thing Today -- demands a kid-centric regime. At least not all of them have.

So I renounce my anti-parent blogger bias and promise to no longer sneer and roll my eyes automatically when I see a page devoted almost entirely to progeny. At least I'll refrain until I've determined whether they are, indeed, aliens.

Which brings me to today's reviewee, Creepy at Tiptoeing Through the Tulips. It is, yes, a mommy blog. You can tell right away -- look at the huge honking childish scrawl that takes up your entire browser window. It kind of gives it away. It also kind of drives me insane. There's also the tell-tale collection of darling pictures of children paraded down her sidebar. Initially you might think, as I did, "Oh holy fucking christ, another fucking mommy blog. I bet her kids shit rainbows and fart lollipops."

Well, you and I would be wrong. Because her kids just shit shit. Lots of it. (Be glad I didn't link to this post. Oh, wait. I did.). A lot a lot. If I didn't think the whole tulips thing was very appropriate, I'd suggest she change her blog title to something along the lines of "There's Shit Everywhere," or "Shitastrophes," or "Ew, What's That Smell?"

But don't let the poopapalooza throw you off. Creepy is worth pinching your nose to tread through all that loaf pinching. She's all kinds of upfront about who she is and what this blog is about. Yes, it's a mommy blog. But if a mommy can say these two things, back to back, I'm down: "*I love my kids so fucking much I want to squeeze them 'til their little heads pop off. *My kids drive me so fucking crazy I want to tear their little heads off." Because that's kind of how I think it should be, me with my neverhavingkids self.

There's a lot of "this is what we did and how it went and aren't my kids the cutest little shitpants on the planet" writing, but Creepy is likable and irreverent and honest and twisted and enraged enough to pull it off. Also, we totally share a birthday. Aries holla!

So, it's not the most carefully crafted blog, and maybe the kid stuff can get a little ho-hum for a nonbreeder like me, but she makes up for that by telling a very honest, meaningful, and relatable story about raising a special needs kid. My day job deals with exceptional education, so I know how valuable sharing experiences can be for parents of kids with special needs, and I respect Creepy for wanting to document her experiences. It makes a difference, and I suspect it will make a difference to her son some day.

However, Creepy, I'd still like to encourage you to branch out more. Frankly, I'd like to know more about you now. The blog feels a little like it's outgrown its beginnings, with Graham thriving and growing and little Dottie, too. It feels like it might be time to drop the umbrella of "mom who blogs about her kids" in exchange for one about Creepy, who is a mom and more.

Some suggestions: Your design is innocuous and boring, but not eye-bleedingly horrible. I'd move the archives up above the pictures of the rugrats. Good job on having separate pages for important things, though. In terms of writing, you have an engaging and funny voice that I suspect is very true to life. But there's a slipshod quality to some of your posts. I know you're a busy mom, and you say you're not a writer, but I suspect you are. Or could be. Spend some more time on crafting your posts and editing them. And please, for the love of Daniel Craig's sweet, sweet ass (<--- my version of heaven), lay off the fucking ellipses.

"When you can take the pebble from my hand, it will be time for you to leave"

I didn't know how to start this review. For the first paragraph or so of my reviews, I generally like to pull out some piece of the personality or experience of the blogger I'm reviewing to relate to or make fun of. I think of how their lives relate or don't relate to mine, I tell a charming or embarrassing story from my past, I make fun of myself and them, I tell you who I am and who they are: pretty much I find some way to make it about me, too. Because I'm just that self-centered. Also it makes for good story telling. Don't tell me it doesn't because I won't believe you (Remember? Self-centered.).

I feel like over the past year or so of reviewing blogs I've started to know what I'm doing. I've been feeling rather old-hat, really: like I've seen it all now, the good blogs and the terrible blogs and the blogs that are getting by but need some work. There haven't been all that many surprises for me lately, and the reviews come quick and dirty and easily. More often than not, frankly, I feel better than the unwashed blogging masses, which sounds really puffed up and full of myself, and, guess what, I am sometimes. (Both better than the unwashed masses and full of myself, at the same time and independent of the other. I'm also over-explainy and unduly fond of parentheticals.)

But this week I struggled.

First impressions: Nice design, organized, good about page, love the tabs and the FAQs, hate the ads, but in today's economy I'm becoming more lax on that (shill!). The archives are all tidy, but I don't like how they automatically roll back up -- sometimes static wins.

Digging in: The dating chronicles are amusing, although she reveals a slight tendency toward superficiality, which is probably forgivable under the auspices of online dating. Also, she realizes she has issues, and I like people who own their foibles. She wears Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab perfume, which is my absolute fave (I wear their O). But I can't figure out why she sometimes writes "noh" instead of "no."

I want to read the entire thing from the beginning, which is a good sign, although there is a marked gap between 2004 and 2008. Anna, I'd like a bit of a re-introduction when you start blogging again in 2008 -- what happened in the meantime? Now all the sudden there's a kid and a husband.

There are posts about things and products and such, which is fine by me. I'm a material girl and I like a review once in a while. And, true to her tag line, there are pop cultural references (I've never watched a single episode of John & Kate, but I don't have to -- the internet tells me all I need to know.) and thoughts about being a mother that in no way step over the line into dreaded cutesy mommy blogger territory.

Here's where my struggle comes in: I feel like I can't really critique her. Anna has got this shit down. She posts often, she writes so very well, she's insightful and charming and she's got a blog design that works and matches her personality. I like her. A lot. If I didn't have all this pesky work to do, I'd have pulled up close and clicked through her entire oeuvre. I no doubt will at some point. She strikes a balance between revealing herself in bits and pieces and just downright entertaining us. She's a smartypants and she knows it but isn't all sneery about it, and I love that. But she's also totally neurotic and acerbic and funny and honest, which I love even more. I find myself in the unenviable position of wishing she'd review my blog instead of the other way around. I figure she can teach me a thing or two.

If You Don't Have a Hobby, You Always Have A Buzzy Buddy

Ten years ago, I spent the first year of my daughter's life slowly going insane. Part of it I spent shut in the house with my in-laws, who were suffering through all the ailments that come along with a diagnosis of cancer and the subsequent treatments. Yes, both of them. The other part, I spent feeling alone, in a place where I knew no one, had no friends and the best company I could scrape up was my infant daughter. It wasn't bad company, it just wasn't what I was in desperate need of.

The beauty of the blogosphere is that there is a little something out there for everyone. If I had access to something like Sleepless Nights, I would have been grateful, so very grateful. I might not have gone as crazy as I did, I might not have been as lonely as I was, and I would have had someone who understood. Someone to relate to that could share her experience.

Veronica has been through the wringer. She recently lost someone very close to her because of that beast, cancer. She's dealt with fertility issues and personal ailments. And through it all, she smiles, she laughs and she masturbates.

The girl talks about vibrators... a lot. Don't believe me? Look:

Here
Here
and
Here

She also talks about her boobs... a lot.

Here
Here
and
Here

Living in Tasmania and raising two children, has its share of hilarity and intriguing moments. Veronica is a SAHM who is not afraid to share anything. And, I do mean anything.

She holds nothing back and puts it all out there with a small nod to the fact that she may be providing too much information or offending the delicate sensibilities of people like...

Well like me.

Veronica's blog may have been my cup of tea ten years ago. Today? Eh, not so much. There were moments I found myself on the verge of gagging and literally cringing. Which is not an entirely bad thing, I'm just not big on the details of breastfeeding. But, there are so many out there that are.

The template is clean and neat. It's well organized, uncluttered and easy to navigate. I have no issues with it, but I'm not thrilled by it either. It's there, it's good. Whatever.

I have the feeling that Veronica is the kind of woman that I could sit and have hours of conversation with, all of it heavily laced with the word 'fuck'. My only real complaint about her writing is that she tends to go on. It's something we've said before and we'll keep saying it. Editing is key. Not just for errors but for content. I love the way she writes, matter of fact, yet conversational. She's funny and entertaining, but just a bit long.

Veronica will make you laugh and let you share in her sadness. She'll also make your belly button tweezle with discomfort. Yes, I'm making up words now. And, through it all, I found myself just loving her. She has a spirit that can't be broken.

Darling, I give you this with a hug and a pat on your back:






Just one more thing though. Who has this much time on their hands?

Come on baby, I didn't mean it. Don't leave me hanging.

This week, I've been met with an almost constant flow of inspiration and creativity surging through my being. There may possibly be an undercurrent of booze with that, but let's not discuss such things. Mostly, because then I'd have to admit I could have a problem. Oh and it's not polite in mixed company.

Back to that flow of inspiration. I'm finding that today I'm a tad drained. The creativity I've put forth this week has left me wrung out and feeling just a smidge like the dried up, musty sponge that is currently adorning my kitchen sink. Along with a few crumbs from the frozen pizza I devoured last night.

So here I am, feeling used up, tired and lacking in inspiration, when I've been given this to review. My first thought is, I wonder if she feels the same way, because she hasn't posted in a month. And, this is the second time I've had to review someone that has done that.

My sincerest wish is that she does not feel that way and that her hiatus is simply because she is uber busy taking gorgeous pictures while setting the world on fire with her wit and charm. Because, Death Chick? I kinda love you.

Sassy and smart, she kept me reading and reading and reading.

If I'm going to nitpick here, she can tend to be a little verbose with her posts sometimes tending to be on the long side of the law. (Ha, see what I did there? Ahem.) I actually don't mind, but you know, it's Short Attention Span Theater out there in the internets.

Her 'About Me', however, could be a little more verbose. It's short and to the point, which ain't a bad thing, I would just like more of a hook. How long have you been married? How many kids? Why are you writing? Why should we read? Is it the mortuary school? Her archives need to be rolled up, as they go back over two years. Otherwise, I think the template is a winnah!

What I'm saying here is, Death Chick, come back to me. You're funny and creative, the world needs more of that. Which is why I'm giving you four of these dudes:






Come back to me, I'm begging you, please. I won't be mean anymore.

Stuck Between A Punk And A Hard Place

Askers, please welcome a new reviewer to the team: Vivian VonDoom. You can read more about her here. - Love Bites



Let's keep today's review short and sweet. It's Friday and it's a holiday weekend. We're all feeling easy and relaxed.

It's known in my small circle that I have a soft spot in my heart for a few things. My soft spot things include: zombies, hobos, teenage werewolves and punks. Churchpunkmom, I now have a soft spot in my heart for you too.

Unfortunately, even this tender heart place can't ignore the fact that your blog seems to be suffering through an identity crisis.

Let me ask you, do you want to be this or this? Frankly, I prefer this but I'm not all anti-mommy blogger. I'm not a big fan of memes or awards. I think the concept of Wordless Wednesdays are fine, but you can do so much more. You are a writer at heart but you are also a mother, and believe it or not? These two things CAN be combined. And, combined well. You can be proud of your children and the every day things that make up your life. You know what else you can do? You can write about it. But, if you do, please write about it well. REALLY write about it, instead of taking us on gushing, rambling rides through the mundane.

Let me give you an example of a blogger that I think you would enjoy and who embodies what I feel like you could really be. Here you go, thank me now. Thank me again later. She talks about her daily life, her little boy and she posts pictures. She does it all in a way that you really feel her in every post that she puts up. It's all her, all the time.

Embellished Truth and Polite Fiction is not going to find its way onto my Reader anytime soon. My honest nature is going to force me to tell you that I was bored. Really, very bored. So bored in fact, that while I was taking notes on your blog, my notepad ended up looking very much like your template. Which is bad ass, minus all the badges, buttons and bullshit. However, I think if you could just figure out what you want your blog to be, then we'd have a whole new ball game.

I hate to give you a Meh, but what choice do I have?








What I'd rather give you is an "In Treatment".








You're not quite sure of who you are or what you are doing in that space, but with some work and understanding you can kick some major ass.

The Devil in Miss Jones

It really irks Miss Missives when every woman who has had humans spring forth from her loins is called a mommyblogger. There's a difference between being a woman who among other things has children and likes to blog and a mommyblogger.

By and large, mommy bloggers are those women for whom the better part of their blog is dedicated to the things we typically associate with motherhood. When people tell Miss Missives that mommy blogs are all the same, I emphatically correct them. There are many distinct types of mommy blogs. Here are just a few:

1.The Family Time Capsule Mom

2.The I Am An Aspiring MILF Look How Wild I Am Even Though I Have Kids(usually found on myspace)

3.The I Write About Other Stuff and Am Only Vaguely Aware that Somewhere I Think I May Have Some Children

4.The Moms that Would Like to Sit and Check Email all Day and Get Paid For It(recognizable by bad content and a profusity of ads, pay per posts and reviews for free swag they got and reviews for stuff they'd like to get)

5.The I Seriously Need an Outlet Mom because Nobody is Being Honest About How Hard This Is and I Think Maybe I Need Medicine, Help

6.The I Need to Complain About My Mate and Get Validated by Strangers because it's Easier and More Rewarding than Fixing My Problems

7.The I'm Funny and I Like to Write, and Yes, I Have Kids, but I Also Have Sex, and Dreams that Don't Include My Kids or Even My Husband (Wife, Mate, Etc.) Sometimes I'm up, sometimes I'm down but I'm honest and I'll write the way we all feel

8.The Snarky, Trashy, Loud(pick your adjective) Mom and Though I May Scare Off the Women in My Neighborhood, I'm Fun, and Interesting and Probably One of the Nicest People You'll Never Know

The Meanest Mom is most certainly a mommyblog but Jana is a delightful mix of the many forms that comprise the genre. There are plenty of stories about her four kids and yes, there are ads. Still, Jana is clearly a writer and therefore gets high marks in Miss Missives big book of good reads. She has brevity, wit and voice and given her kids names, it's clear Jana likes alliteration(more like alloteration).

She reminds me of some of my favorite atypical mommy bloggers. She is funny and irreverent and posts offbeat things that aren't found everywhere else. She manages to be snarky without being crass. Like many of my favorite mommy bloggers she loves her kids while mercilessly making fun of them. She also has her quiet sad moments; Jana, Miss Missives should give you a sharp fingernail in the eye for making her shed a tear.

The writing is top notch although because she focuses so heavily on the subject of parenthood, the Meanest Mom does lack broad appeal. Still, that's okay because there is way too much mediocrity in the province of mommy blogs and Miss Missives desperately wants more talented writers populating this realm.

Jana, I like your template, it's graphically vivid and speaks of your personality. The stripes are a little too reminiscent of television broadcast bars but I can see what you are going for. I don't dig the ads but they aren't overwhelming. I'm not a fan of the three column design in part because I really think you could benefit from a wider text area.

In general, it is clean, tidy and smart, just as I suspect you are.

Living in a Mommy Blog Paradise

Some of you have the fucked up idea that I hate all mommies, especially stay at home mommies, and that I wish they would drop off a cliff into the Grand Canyon and never blog again. That is so harsh, y'all. And you people are judgemental weenies.

For the record, I AM a mommy. True, I don't like a lot of the former junior leaguer mommies with their ugly ass purses who go screaming through my neighborhood like they're trying out for NASCAR, with cellphones glued to their ears and cutesy stickers that make me throw up a little on the backs of their oversized SUVs. I hate those mommies, with a passion. And, when I spot them in blogland, I do tend to give them the equivalent of the gangsta's 187. Yo, that bk stands for pretentious bitch killa.

Just keepin' it real, y'all.

Anyway. I don't hate all mommies. I like the cool ones who drink too much and need lots of coffee in the morning and make fun of Kelly Ripa:

She’s blonde. She’s skinny. She’s so perpetually happy that if I worked for ABC, I’d be making her pee in a cup on a weekly basis. She is as close to perfect as I’ve been led to believe a person can come.

Looking at her makes me feel like crap.

Word, yo.

Best of all...the ones who don't do anything that I hate. Nothing this blogger does gets on my last good nerve. Can I get an Amen about how long it's been since that has happened for me? It's like the first time my boyfriend and I had sex. At this point in my life, the simple fact that he didn't have a pathetically undersized penis, and that he didn't try to rip off my girly parts with aggressive thrusting motions his index finger, AND the fact that he waited until I was ready? He was like a fucking rock star in my eyes. My expectations are that low.

It's basically the same for my blog reviewing "career," such as it is. A blog that doesn't look like shit, that doesn't have ten million gadgets, and where there is an "about me" page, and where I can easily navigate to read more? Oh, yeah.

And, the fact that this chick writes well AND she's funny and snarky in THE RIGHT WAY (god, I'm sick of posers)?

Oh, hell yeah. Give it to me baby. Harder! Deeper!!!

It's basically like that. She's funny, I like her, and I'm blogrolling her. And, she isn't fucking up. Whee! These days? Huge.

Unfunny people with an inflated view of your own skillz as a writer? Take a lesson. You know who you are. Oh, wait. NVM. You aren't that self-aware. People with ugly/boring blog templates? Take a lesson. I'm talking to you.

Anyway...Ginny? Don't change. Just keep on doing what you're doing, as well as you're currently doing it. If you fuck anything up, I'll have to go all gangsta on your ass, and nobody wants that.

Mommy Blogs, Attack

So. Another mommy blog. Another STAY AT HOME Mommy blog.

What to do, what to do? Do I rip her to shreds or love her to pieces?

Let's take wagers, shall we?

Ah, I can't postpone the agony anymore...Are you ready for it?

Whenever I see another mommyblog in the queue, I sigh. I think about rocking mommyblogs we've had in the past, like Here in Idaho or Drunken Housewife. Then, I psych myself up to wade through another morass of boredom, because 9 times out of 10, mommyblogs hoover harder than a hooker on a deadline. [damn! alliteration!]

But not today, bitches. The Immoral Matriarch is what a mommy blog SHOULD be, if there have to be mommyblogs. This is the standard against which all other mommy blogs are measured, and against which 99.9% of them fall short. This blog, in short, rocks me like a hurricane. I'm in the midst of developing a major girl crush, here.

There are boobs! There is lactation! There is gratuitous use of the fuck word! There is multisyllabic writing! There is a woman with thoughts, and strong opinions, and a kick-ass FAQ! There is a fantabulous template! There is dark sarcasm and motherfucking HAIKU, bitches! There is a little too much shit in the sidebar, but after the week I've had, I'm so not in the mood to bitch about a few minor twinkly thingamajigs.

This is blogging, as it should be.

You know, mommybloggers of the world, they didn't remove your brain or your guts or your heart when they took the bun out of the oven. Nor did those organs, hopefully, stop functioning in some kind of frankensteinian chemical reaction to lactation. So, maybe, when you blog about the precociousness of your offspring, you could throw in some of the real shit (like Maria does), and thus, stop sucking.

That would be, like, fucking awesome, ya know.

Maria, I'm sorry to hear that your computer has broken right when I'm about to tell you that I fucking love you.

But I do. I fucking love you, and possibly, I want to have cute multi-ethnic babies with you. I'll even do all the lactating, bitch. ;) You're that awesome.



p.s. Dear readers, if you go there, please plan on spending an hour, minimum. Start with the prologue and work your way through the background before you even hit the posts. It's that good. You are going to want to get this chick drunk on cheap-ass wine and pillage through her brain before you're done...shouting vociferously about immunizations and breasticles all the while.

Use It or Lose It

OK, I'm not sure if this is going to be a completely fair review, because 1) I'm writing this after a 3 and a half hour Graduate class, 2) it's day 1 of that time of the month when I hate being a woman, 3) it's 4 fucking degrees out, and 4) I have to wash my crock pot tonight or else I'm going to have a total fucking OCD meltdown.

Anyway, the vict...er...blog for the day is Not Afraid to Use It. Basically, it's your average wife and mother pissing and moaning about things that happen in her life or that are on her mind. You know, like the other 8 bajillion bloggers out there (I include myself amongst the bajillions). It's not nearly as nasty and bitchy as I was hoping, what with the Wordless Wednesday posts, Thursday 13's, and pictures of her kid. Now, this isn't really a bad thing, just, well, not crabby enough for my taste. I know we can't all be pissy all the time, because, well, the neighbors might start talking, and before you know it, there's an FBI file with your name on it, but there's got to be more that pisses this girl off than runaway tigers and women watching their carbs (I mean, she is married, after all). Maybe I didn't read back far enough, but that really isn't my thang. Anyway, that aside, she writes pretty well, and there's some pretty good rants on there (I especially liked the little thing about her friend's roommate and the hockey thing, mainly because I don't get the appeal of hockey AT ALL, and I practically live in Canada.

The template is your basic boring blogger template with some blog awards buttons (do people still give those out? If so, who do I have to blow to get one?) and all the archives and links are rolled up nicely. I think she might benefit from getting a free template, or at least picking a blogger template that isn't so goddamn pink, but that's more of a personal decision, not really something I count off points for.

All in all, I give it for not being completely horrible and mostly laying off the mommy blogging.

Stormeka Magnegro, come on down

It's Tuesday morning, I've already had way too much coffee, and I'm actually writing a blog review. How cool is that? I've missed reviewing blogs, though not as much as I miss sex these days. bah humbug on penises! Or peni! Or, rather, the lack thereof.

Today's review is of Pamalicious. Bend over Pammy, you kinky kinky girl, because you're up for a spanking. But you knew that, didn't you?

Okay...template. I like it. It's unique, and so is Pamalicious. No complaints on the template, it's easy to maneuver around on, and it works. It's also white, and I love me some white when it comes to black words on white background. Take a lesson, peeps. If I can't read your shit, it's hard for me to be favorably impressed.

Now, on to the blogging. This is where Pam and I are going to part ways. In a lot of ways, Pam is a part of an extended circle of bloggers who circulate and read each other's words. The same is true for many of us, the communal aspect of blogging is what keeps us addicted when we'd long ago have abandoned a paper journal.

And, Pam does give us some background about her, but I would beg her to post a simple "about me" at the top of her passport section, because those of us who haven't followed her evolution probably are going to stop reading because we aren't emotionally connected to her yet. And, I didn't see anything immediately that hooked me in. Plus, are you NOI? How did you meet that hot man of yours? What do you do? Where do you live? Just you know, like a paragraph, very concisely, all in one place, about your history and why you started blogging, that sort of thing. Just, give me more.

And really, that's what I'd say about the blog itself...give me more. There are great pieces here...the post on music, the stuff that she loves about her man (and vice versa), those are good stuff. So I know you CAN do it, Pam. I know you have it in you.

But these daily summaries of "I went to the movies, blah, blah blahbiddity blah," FFS, someone stick a fork in my eye, I can't take it. And the 101 ways to save money...good information, really, but put it in an abbreviated post (peek a boo posting, which I know you can do because you do it elsewhere). I hate technological gizmos, so zzzzzz.

I'm not going to hate on you, I'd definitely throw drinks back with you, and you seem cool and fun. But your blog is lacking on soul right now. And depth. Instead of recounting the entire weekend's events, can't you give us a two minute vignette, even if it's only 3 sentences, that makes us smile, or engages us emotionally, or tells something that hooks the reader in and makes them want to learn more about you?

Because, that's why I read blogs. Not to hear what someone did over the weekend, but to live inside their skin.

This year, for Christmas, start celebrating Soulstice. Give us more. Give us your soul, woman.

I give you
for the template, because this is how templates should be done.

But, I give you a right now for content. It's easy to get into a rut with the blogging thing, and you're there, sweetie.

Why Don't We Get Drunk And Screw? Because I'm Hideous, That's Why

The Drunken Housewife. I'm so excited to review this I can hardly stand it.

Fireballs here with your Friday fun. Sometimes I'm a little horrified that my horrific review sits here all weekend, then I realize that we don't get too much traffic, so it's not a big deal. So, if you're stopping by, do two things for me. One, comment. Two, spread the word. And three (okay, three things, sue me), submit your blog for review. Thanks. Commercial over.

The Drunken Housewife is pretty sweet, actually. I'm not the biggest fan of the template, but the content is the shiz. Not fucking kidding, either, read this. It's quite good.

The template is plain. White background, purple header, black text. Nothing to write home about, however, when the content is this good, I don't need a template to make my life complete. Now, this is a mommy blog, and she clearly enjoys the role, but she can really spin a tale, and she's got a wonderful snarky sense of humor. I really enjoy it. When I first read it, I was like, oh well, another mommy blog, but I followed along leading up to this review, and I'm impressed.



Keep up the good work, and happy belated Mother's Day.

Oh, and on a personal note. Fireballs has a new blog-crush. Guess who? Yeah, you. You with the straight hair, not wavy.

Have a great weekend, monkeys. Behave.

It's An Acquired Taste, So You Should Acquire Some.

I think Kitty summed things up well yesterday: There is no way a review was happening. None. Between shitting out my colon and a cornucopia of other internal organs and spending a weekend with my most favorite drunk, I actually had to call into work to take a few days off. I even missed my flight back home. I was hurting. Goddamn I'm getting old.

But it's double your pleasure and double your fun, and who doesn't want a lot more GNVP in their life? Afterall, I'm a fuckin' pimp, and I keep my pimp hand strong while maintaining cool as the other side of the mother fuckin' pillow. Hallelujah hollaback! And, I want Bimbo to keep that in mind, 'cause there ain't nothing I love more than a nappy headed ho, other than a self proclaimed Bimbo, whom I am now picturing in go-go boots and a yellow pleather thigh length dress. Mmmmm.

*Clears throat* Right. The moment has passed and I'm afraid I can't let her join the ranks of my most awesomest hoes because to be a proud member of the GNVP Pimpette's you must have consistency and due diligence, and this bimbo has none. She hasn't even posted since the end of April and she didn't even have the courtesy to e-mail us to tell us that her blog was going kaput and that we shouldn't waste my our precious time reviewing it. BLASPHEMER! She couldn't even hack it in blog land for over 9 months. Some people.

To her I say:

And I'll add a

NEXT STORY!

And the next story is rather lucky that she came after the trollop, because just the fact that she hasn't quit and posted yesterday makes her look much mo' gooder.

Just A Mom seems to think that being a mother is "More Than Enough" to make your blog extra righteously awesome, and I think most of we reviewers have proven we tend to disagree; yet, I can't seem to hate on her in light of the fact that Sunday was Mother's Day and there's nothing like a holiday devoted to Mom to make you realize how much you still love and absolutely miss your mother, and how Mother's Day just isn't right when all you can do is bring as many bouquets of flowers as you can carry on a subway to a cemetery and talk to a cold grey grave.

The template is pretty horrible, but beta makes it damn near impossible to come up with a good color scheme on any of their blogs without understanding how to do widgets, which I know I don't. The template is very kitschy. It makes me think of what my family always dubbed "American-Style": houses wrought with tchotchkes. You know, the house with the montage wall to their children that lined the staircase? No one does that but Americans. I swear to you.

On the template front, I recommend she have more posts on the main page than just three, especially if a lot of the posts are of her paintings. I like the artwork, but I want to do some reading too, because the posts aren't half bad. They're the prototypical story-telling posts, where the author talks about the goings-on in their life. What she writes about doesn't really do it for me, but at least it's not all about her kids and thank G-d there isn't a photo-tribute to her precious darlings in every post. Everyone thinks their children are precious wonders who are unlike any other kid, everyone else thinks you're a douchebag and that your kid shits, cries, and is annoying like everyone else child. GET IT THROUGH YOUR THICK SKULLS!

Anyway, I give Mrs. Jan and wish you a happy belated Mothers Day.

Also? Mad props for loving your children as much as you do. I know a lot of mothers that would view autism and schizophrenia as something to be ashamed of, and you, my dear, put it right out there. That's awesome.