Ben’s gone! Hooray! Time to PAR-TAY! Okay, so maybe we’ll be a bit sad he’s gone, but it’s only because there won’t be any more hottie pictures on here!Â
So he’s gone and he left the keys to the kingdom to me…as well as to anyone else who smiled and promised sexual favors. I do have my own site, but just because I could, I decided to go under an anonymous name.Â
It’s kind of like when you go out for a first date. You meet the person and head for dinner (or movies…whatever). The date goes fine but you’re still really nervous. Then your date decides they want to go to a bar to get to know each other a bit better. So you head to the bar and your nervousness causes you to drink more then you regularly would. Now, since you don’t have a head for alcohol anyway, a few drinks and you’re three sheets in the wind. Another drink or two and you find yourself dancing on the table and crawling all over your date hoping to get lucky.
That’s what anonymous posting is like! On your own site you set a tone, and people expect that. If you have a family blog, you talk about that, if you have a sex blog, you talk about that, if you have a political blog..well..God help you cause no one else will. But here, I can be whomever I want! I can discuss family or annoying friends or my deviant sexual encounters…you pick! (but God no politics, because then I’d have to cut my eye out with a spoon). So tell me, dear readers, what do you want to discuss?
As was routine after a good feeding with my newborn daughter, I put her on my shoulder and patted her on the back (read: whacked her repeatedly for several minutes) until she produced a resounding belch. Of course, DH and I cheered her accomplishment. A moment after that, it struck me as strange, so I asked my husband, “At what age do we stop congratulating her on expelling gas?” My fresh-out-of-college Prince Charming replied, “What do you mean?” Seven years later, we have three daughters that laugh hysterically before they announce : ‘Excuse Me’ for a burp, or ‘Pardon Me’ for gas. My seven year old feels it’s her duty to comment on the odiferous qualities of each one. She was once heard to say to her five year old sister, “That was a good one! Do I still have eyebrows?!” Ahh. My girls are actually boys in floral prints. What’s nice is that I can now use the statement I heard my mother say repeatedly when I was young:
