Broom Shoes

I have 1, 250 unread emails. My car looks like a homeless person is living in the backseat. Fuck, a homeless person could actually be living back there and I am not sure I would know. But, if there is a homeless person back there, I would appreciate if they would stop stealing my sharpies. I need them for work. My backseat homeless person is a dick.

I am watching my blog readership dwindle. Helplessly watching. I want to blog. I love this space, this little piece of me. I love all of you. I want to provide you guys with funny anecdotes of my culinary life.

Like this conversation with time change guy.

TCG: You know what the best idea ever is?

Erratic: I feel like this is a conversation I am going to regret, but what?

TCG: Broom shoes.

Erratic: And, here comes the regret.

TCG: No, seriously. So many people would buy broom shoes. Like moms.

Erratic: Why would moms buy broom shoes?

TCG: For their kids.

Erratic: The regret is actually becoming painful.

TCG: TONS of people would buy them.

Erratic: Like who? Other than the obvious answer of moms.

TCG: People who like brooms. AND PEOPLE WHO LIKE BROOM SHOES.

Erratic: So, your demographic for broom shoes are people who like brooms and broom shoes?

TCG: Don't forget moms.

Erratic: Ah, yes. Moms.

TCG: It's genius.

Erratic: Do you realize that drugs have made you this stupid?

TCG: You're just jealous of my broom shoes.

I love all of you that have hung in there. I promise to start blogging more. I promise to not be that person who promises to start blogging more and then stops blogging. I have SO MUCH I want to say. I will find the time to say it.

Sometimes I wonder why anyone still talks to me.

Hi fellow bloggers. I have a question. About ads. I have no intention of putting ads on this blog unless someone is like, YOU WILL MAKE A MILLION BAZILLION DOLLARS. Then, well, that's a lot of money.

I just don't, I don't know. I mean, I read everything in google reader, so it affects me not at all. I never go to actual blogs unless I am commenting. In fact, I read most blogs from my phone, which does not allow me to comment without standing on my head and doing the hokey pokey. This, by the way, is why I never comment anymore. Blame the Droid, man. Blame the Droid. I still love you all more than life, I just fail at expressing this in any way that is tangible. I am a total ass hole.

I know that a lot of people hate ads and liken it to selling out. Again, I care not. Ads, no ads, I never see the difference. The ONLY thing that pisses me off is when you only allow a blurb of your blog on readers so that I have to go to your blog to read the whole post. I will stop reading. Seriously. We have already established I am an ass hole. I am also a busy ass hole. I don't have time to physically go to the blogs that I follow. There are, maybe, 10 people I love enough to go through this for. You know who you are.

Having said that, are ads really the root of all evil? Do you really make any money? Does anyone who reads this blog actually have ads and care? Am I the only person who doesn't get all this drama? OK, yes, if you are Dooce, I get it. Frankly, I am grateful when I look at my stats and see that one person read my blog. I can't even imagine the pressure and stress of her life. She deserves the ads.

And maybe everyone else deserves them too. I just really need someone to explain all the drama around ads and why it is there and if you make money and, please, just hold my hand and try not to talk down to me because I know that this is obvious and I am being lazy by not doing research. Also, that was the biggest run on sentence in the history of life.

And? I am still peeling from that sunburn forever ago and I am pretty sure I have leprosy.

Does anyone else feel like someone is slipping me speed? Because if you are not reading my last few blog posts at least as fast as this guy talks, you are not even near the speed my brain is working lately. I need medication.

Beware: Cheesiness Ahead.

Lately, I have been living in some sort of blog dream world. People that I admire, that I read, have been reading this blog. And posting comments. And I know that this is how the blog world works. I know that because I started commenting on blogs as Erratic as opposed to "real me" that eventually they would be curious and read my blog. But, I feel like I just met Kurt Vonnegut. And he's all dead. (Was that too soon? I feel like it might have been too soon.) And I simultaneously fainted and peed and it was the best day ever.

Here is the thing. I love to write. I sit there and write stories in my head on my way to work. I write poetry and short stories constantly on anything that life will let me get my hands on. I am always writing. My brain pretty much functions in two mediums: story and picture. It is how I think. I see the entire world through the lens of a camera (when I choose to look) and my entire life is quantified in how I will tell others about it.

Here is what is weird. I hate talking. I hate being the center of attention. I hate people's focus to be on me. When I started this blog, it was an outlet for me to write. Because sometimes things don't warrant a short story. Or really much of anything. I cannot tell you how many posts I have written that I haven't posted. I kept it private. I slowly started to let a few very close people in to read it. The boy was first. Then Big Jed. Then Krackle. Then Mrs. Williams. Then other friends started slowly trickling in.

But, I kept it private. And I feel like I owe an explanation for that. I don't want the attention. Plain and simple, I don't. But, anonymous me? Anonymous me does. I want to know what people think. But, holy fucking shit, I am terrified to know what people think.

So...the point of this post...I want a review. I really respect these people. Some of my favorite blogs have come from their reviews. They are some of my favorite bloggers. (One of their reviewers has another blog that I have read forever. And she has read and commented on my blog - Hi Gypsy! - and I absolutely fucking love her.) People whose lives have become a part of my own. Because that is what is weird about blogging...you make these friends. These people that you will have in your life forever. But, it is a community. A community I, admittedly, want to be a part of.

AND I AM SO FUCKING BECOMING A PART OF IT. It is the most exhilarating thing that has ever happened to me. Seriously. I am not sure if anything I say is interesting or if I am really any good at this. One day I will grow a pair and submit this blog for a review. Until then, I hope this community continues to embrace me. I hope I will stop posting cheesy things about it. But, mostly, I hope that these people really become a part of my life. I have read about theirs for, at least, a year. Some for many years.

They are all a part of my life. I hope that, eventually, I can become a part of theirs.

Crazy Life Train. Or Something.

I read a lot of blogs. Like a lot. I find myself worrying about these bloggers, thinking about their lives, talking about their lives. Isn't that creepy? I mean, it is like peering in some one's windows at night when their lights are on. I would never do something like that by the way. I mean, come on, I have boundaries. (note: I do not)

I guess what is so strange is that these people are almost friends. Friends who have no fucking clue who I am. So, more like stalking victims. I thought about this a lot when I debated making this blog public. I wasn't sure I wanted to open that window and leave the light on for all my neighbors to peer in. Mostly because I am always naked. And nobody wants to see that. (note: I am never naked)

On a side note, wouldn't it be hilarious if the blind dude on American Idol was suddenly all "ha ha, America. I'm not blind. Thanks for your pity votes, bitches." I would totally vote for him then.

Anywho...when I decided to go public, it was a little daunting. I kept putting it off and putting it off, until finally, I got drunk at Big Jed's and just did it. I expected it to be liberating. I expected to feel vulnerable and exposed. It was more like...eh, got more wine? (note: she did) So, I guess I am doing this. I am jumping on that crazy ride they call life, and dragging you all along with me. (note: that was lame)

Also - what is with Kelly Clarkson dyeing her hair red and going on American Idol again? Certainly that is against some American Idol rule. Oh, and my picks for the AI Fantasy thingy...not good. Not good at all. I officially suck at this game.

This is like the worst post ever. I am all over the place. And on that note...