Category: WORK; a 4 Letter Word

I love blogs. I have a blog; a few in fact. I love how anyone can start writing and write as much or as little as they please, about anything and everything that interests them and that it will find an audience.


Yes, there’s even someone out there who will read your blog about you goldfish who are all named after Meyer-pires. No doubt, someone will have lots to say in your comment section on the day you post that Edward ate all the baby goldfish, too.


So blogs make the interwebs go ’round, and I love them.  L.O.V.E.


That being said, most of them are not very high paying, yes?  Some find tremendous audiences and huge success and woohoo for those bloggers! But for the rest of us, our blogs are simply a labor of love and, while getting paid to write whatever you want whenever you want would be awesome, we’re content to just have a place to get it all out to whomever chooses to read it.


I’m a writer. It’s what I do for a living. (You know that old cliche about the “starving artist?” Totally fucking true, by the way. Especially when said artist is on a diet.)


As a writer, I do lots of different stuff, mostly copywriting, but one of the things I do that I love the best is a regular column on a hyperlocal news site. The reason that I love it so much is that, as a copywriter, I very rarely have a byline. Generally, I write anonymously (kinda like this blog, come to think of it. Hmmmm.)  But this is something I get paid for, and that I can show off on my Facebook and Twitter feeds so my parents know that their hard earned and easily spent money invested in my education is being used to feed my children.


You know what I hate? When someone tells me “I read your blog all the time!”  Well, no I don’t hate that, I actually love it. I hate it when they say that, but they’re talking about my column.  Not all writing on the interwebs is blogging. In fact, this particular interweb writing has deadlines and editors and even a protocol to follow to get articles approved.


In other words, I can’t just write whatever the fuck I want whenever I want to. And I can’t write four sentences and call it a column, like I sometimes do on my blogs.


Okay, so it’s a super picky distinction and I should just be happy to have an audience, yes?  True. And maybe the only reason it’s pissing me off so much right now is that the site I write for recently introduced (unpaid) blogs, and I’m starting to fear that they’re going to kill the freelance staff, and, by extension, me, and replace us with these blogs.


That would suck.


And that’s what’s pissing me off right now. Now I’ll quit bitching and go back to being grateful that anyone is reading my columns or my blogs. Next, I’ll try smoke signals.


How do you spell FUCK in smoke?


Wow, what a sucktastic summer.  Not all of it sucked, but enough of it sucked that it’s going down as one of the top three times of my life I never want to experience again. The other two are my senior year in high school and my twelve year long “awkward phase.”


So, what sucked so hard about it? Do you really wanna know?  Oh, okay, okay, I’ll rehash it all just for your amusement. You better be amused. I’ll probably be psychologically scarred after this.


1. My husband worked too much.  He has to work a lot, or we can’t eat out every night. Well, you know, there’s also gymnastics and dance and aside from that stuff, these kids seem to need clothes and stuff. Not to mention I had to get fancy shoes for my anniversary.  And he paid for a family vacation AND a parentcation to Vegas this summer. So, woohoo. I’m not bitching about the money. I’m bitching about being ALONE. I, apparently, need more friends. Aside from my dog and my kids and the people that live in my computer.  Speaking of the people who live in my computer….


2. I miss my friends. Well, they’re not gone, there was no tragic interstate accident that claimed them, but our relationships have shifted. It started in the late spring time and kept going till, well, now. The ickiness that was going on with me being alone with these munchkins all day every day, and just feeling lonely in general, started eeking into my everyday conversations. I totally see what I did. I made the entire universe into my very own personal pity party, and you know, I don’t blame them a BIT for pulling away from my toxic vortex of doom. But, I swear, I’m better now.


Huh. You know what? Seeing this typed out as two measly bullet points makes me realize that it maybe wasn’t as bad as it seemed at the time. I felt like I was drowning for majority of the summer, but looking back, I  just really needed to put my big girl panties on and get the fuck over it already. And, really, it was probably good for me that most of my friends pulled back from my swirling mist of sucking yuck, because it forced me to deal with my shit.  And I desperately needed to deal with my shit.


So I guess you can say that is what I was doing all summer, learning how to deal with my shit and then performing thusly.  Now, as the entire world dies around me (it’s autumn, I’m morbid.), I need to work on fixing the stuff I let slide all summer. Like those precious friendships and my blog and my Twitter account.


So,  moving right along, I thought about this blog out of the blue the other day. And then a friend asked me if I wrote on it anymore and I said “no” but how fucking weird that she asked me about it the same day I was thinking about it. And then two, not one, but TWO of my minions on the Twitter sent me messages that basically came down to “Where the fuck are you? Come back or face our wrath.”


Here I am. Because the wrath of those two? Do Not Want.

These shoes were my anniversary present from my wonderful, hardworking husband.

It’s been a good week over here in the Sasha house. Here are the reasons why, in no particular order.
  • The laundry is (almost) done. Like, the only dirty clothes in the house are those that are currently on our asses.
  • I got paid by TWO clients this week, one of whom I usually have to chase down and beat with a stick to get my money.
  • Rebecca Black is not my daughter. This makes me really, really happy, because her whiney voice would seriously make me stab myself in the ears with knitting needles. Unfortunately, Drama Queen thinks Miss Black is the greatest thing since Justin Beaver, and so…. someone hide my knitting needles.
  • My sister in anonymous blogging over at Blogging Dangerously held a little contest a couple of weeks ago that I WON!  That means I’m gonna get one of THESE!  Holy SHIT! I never win anything! But when I do win something, it’s a fucking doozy, ain’t it? Stay tuned for my review of my prize on Kit’s blog. I am the winningest winner since Charlie Sheen.
  • Miss Poopie Pants pooped in the potty yesterday. I wanted to throw a party, but Mr. Sasha thought it was a little preemptive. Turns out he was right, as she’s had three poosplosions right out the sides of her pull ups, since then.
  • I treated myself to Bordeaux cookies today. I’ve eaten almost the entire package. Yay me!
  • I scored the AWESOMEST pair of Fuck Me Shoes EVER at Kohl’s!  I’m thinking I need to find a mini skirt to pair them with. My legs are gonna look like they go up to my neck.

    The F-Me Shoes in question. Hawt, no?
    Happy Friday, ladies and gents. Catch me at #wineparty tonight (I hope. If I don’t put the new shoes to good use, that is 😉 )

    Okay, no, I know. Not fair. Obviously, you don’t come read if there’s nothing here to read.  And it certainly doesn’t take long to read all the posts I have up here. So, I’ll let you slide. You get to live another day.


    Anyway, to answer your unasked question. I’ve been here, writing my ass off. Just not for my blog. You know what would be nice? If I made enough money on this blog to not have to write anything else. Except the novel. Someday, I’ll finish that damn novel.


    However, since I don’t see that happening any time soon, I’ve got other people’s blogs to produce and maintain, columns to write, and marketing pieces to conceive.


    Also? I’ve been watching The Vampire Diaries. Started at the first episode and got all caught up for this past week’s episode.  If you watch it and love Damon like I do…. drop dead. He’s mine.


    Also, also, I’ve had sick kids. This should have given me plenty of blog fodder, except that taking care of them sucks my will to live, and the days of vomit and shit are a blur.  Probably nothing anyone wants to read about anyway.


    If you are a person who wants to hear about my children puking all over the living room, stop reading my blog. Sicko.


    Tonight, my husband is sick. Mr. Sasha is usually a pretty stoic dude. But when he’s actually sick, he’s a big baby. I think this is pretty much true for all men.


    At least I’m pretty sure I won’t have to clean his yak up off the couch at 11pm. Probably.


    The Pupster has a lump in chest that turned out not to be cancer. Good thing, because if he had cancer, I’d snap his neck and save us a whole bunch of money and grief.


    That was  a blatant lie. I’d mortgage my house to save my dog.  Luckily, Mr. S is a little more practical than I am.


    I’ve been watching a lot of stand up comedy on Netflix lately, and I cannot recommend Daniel Tosh enough. Totally offensive to every single person on the planet. Awesome.


    Anyway, tomorrow, I have dinner plans at my mother’s house. That should make for a nice blog full of the EFF word.  Till then, stay rockstar. Smoochies!