I am blogger, hear me whore
While I'm working out all this hoodoo-guru-y whatnot in my head about what to write here and how often and why in the world my whole body is seeping this nostalgic, sentimental molasses, why don't I just direct you to the stuff I am actually churning out elsewhere. Rest assured, friends, that when I am not blah-blah-blahing about my boy or ridiculously expensive heels or how a woodchip tragically got stuck in my sandals at the park (see how I tied those first two topics together there just when you thought I was out of writerly practice?), I am composing artful and important posts on boobs, periods and Jessica Simpson (yes, AGAIN).
Here's the skinny on what I talk about when I get to sit at the cool kids' table. OK, most of the time it is more like speaking at a youth group convention or possibly the oddly enthusiastic singalongs with groups from different sleep-away camps, none of whom belt out exactly the same words to the same songs and end up sort of humming along awkwardly. That should convince you to join the conversation, right?
On with it, already! The posts I'm pimping are about:
Reader Comments (3)
And, Cailey, you are a thousand kinds of awesome for my ego. MWAH!