It’s not Wednesday anymore, but it IS another day

Internet. We have to talk.

Something’s happened to my mojo, my inspiration, my desire to get out here and kick blogging ass. What is it? I don’t know. Let’s explore:

1. First of all, I’m a big fat liar. I said that I was going to provide you with a little video where you [finally] get to hear my voice in all its awful glory but y’all, I swear I haven’t had time. It’s on the to-do list this weekend. Really. It is. See? I can’t even keep my promises, much less get inspired to blow you away with my blogging prowess.

2. Birthdays abound this week, as do visits with people I never see. All this social excitement is apparently taking away the usual excitement I have for writing things down here. Don’t get me wrong: I realize this interests you none. But it is worth exploring for the purposes of figuring out where my mojo’s gone.

3. I am on . . . medication. Not the OTC pain relievers, not the good stuff with the codeine that the doctor gives you when you have a sinus infection, but the really good stuff. The stuff that makes me measurably less crazy than I was before I was on it. That’s the up side to this. The down side is that my husband is going to have to hire a hooker one of these days and again, I can’t blog to save my soul.

4. I got this new monitor at work, which I adore, but for some reason office visitors feel like it’s license to walk around to my side of the desk. If anything, I thought that this would be one more barrier between me and the panic-causers, but that’s not the case. Alas, I minimize screens a lot and body block with my feet on my desk. It’s not attractive, and it wastes time. (Time that should be spent working? No, silly! Time that should be spent blogging.)

Alright, so here we have four whole reasons that I think this blog has suffered lately. Feel free to post additional reasons below. But not before you peek at this picture of my mommy and me, taken last night at dear Ruthie’s fabulous birthday party.

Look how pink I am. I'd prefer to think that it's from the wine, as opposed to what it actually was: a hot flash. Damn you, good medication!

I’m still a little bit in shock, really.

So you know how when you wander around on the Interwebs, discovering bloggers and blogs, and seeing people all over Facebook and such and you’re all Hey! Check out that chick! and stuff? And while you’re doing that, you picture them in your head except not really because you’ve probably already seen their picture and so in your head you just imagine their voices and their gestures and stuff?

I’m completely disturbed at how off base I was about one of my blogger idols, Jenny Lawson aka the Bloggess. For some reason I thought – no lie – that she would have this sort of authoritative voice – not boomy, but just in-charge sounding – and Y’ALL. She totally does not. She’s got this tiny little girl voice that makes me want to put her in my pocket and carry her around, wig and all. No lie.

That said, I started thinking that maybe you all wonder what I sound like. Do I have a Southern accent? Do I say “y’all” and “um” a lot? The answers are YES and YES. Would you like to hear? Should I promise (this time with makeup and un-scary hair) to post a video here tomorrow? Or better yet, after a glass or 6 of wine TONIGHT?

At the risk of alienating my readers…

. . . I am linking to this article in Jezebel, which discusses, um, relations (Hi, Mom!) during a woman’s monthly visit from Aunt Flo. (I would like to note for the record here that whoever coined the term “monthly visit from Aunt Flo” should be shot.) Anyway, not to pass judgment and all, but seriously, there are women out there who don’t mind this? Because quite frankly, GUH-ROSS.

I realize this lands squarely in the category of disgusting, right up there with Dooce’s poop posts and The Bloggess’ weirdo trip to Japan, but I gotta know: am I alone in my thinking?

In support of the everysize girl

There’s a great discussion going on over at BlogHer today about Glamour magazine’s plus-sized photo shoot. I highly suggest you check out the discussion, because not only is it informative, it also really gives a woman some food for thought (no pun intended?). Since I read Susan Wagner’s post, I’ve been thinking about designers and stylists in general, and what they are doing to our self images.

Media is flooded with talk about the fashion industry, and what it means for society. Little girls are obsessed with their bodies, and who do we blame? Do we blame magazines? Television? Mothers? I say we blame none of the above. What I noted in the BlogHer discussion, and will note here, is that the designers we all love are being supported by both the model-thin and the plus-sized and the everything-in-between. Don’t we buy Marc Jacobs handbags no matter what size we are? Don’t Jimmy Choos fit most every girl (regardless of whether we can afford them)? Haven’t we bought the “frugalista” lines of Anya Hindmarch and Anna Sui and Isaac Mizrahi? When the economy tanked, high-end designers found a new niche: Target shoppers. You can’t tell me that only the model-thin shop at Target, because I shop there and to think of me as anything but larger than the average girl is laughable.

It’s no secret that very few women are sample size, much less smaller than a 12 (I believe that’s still the national “average”).  Certainly we should all strive to be healthy, but as Oprah, Kirstie Alley, Valerie Bertinelli and I know all too well, it takes a while to get where you’re going. And sometimes you go there and come back – several times. I’m not saying here that I think more or less of someone because of their size (except YOU, Blake Lively, I do hate you and your tall skinny self) but I do think less of designers that limit their products to the very rich and the very skinny.

Rachel Zoe

I love fashion magazines. I watch Project Runway and The Rachel Zoe Project. I see Rachel’s collar bones and spine sticking out like a sharp coffee table edge, and I see the models the Runway hopefuls design for. We support their shows and their work; it’s time for designers – and the magazines and shows that feature them – to support everysized women by designing for ALL of us. Haute couture will never be within my financial reach, and to be honest, I wouldn’t wear half the crap that goes down the runway each fall and spring. BUT – and this is a big BUT – Americans are bigger now than they were last year, and I don’t see that trend changing much. We’re not all getting gastric bypass for Christmas, so until the national “average” turns around, design some decent-looking clothes for the rest of us, would ya?

Renaming New Year’s Eve

Conversation between Kathy and me this week:

Me: Dude, this year has sucked some major balls.

Kathy: Um, yes.

Me: I mean, really. Think about all the shitty stuff that’s happened. I am SO over 2009. I should make a list.

Kathy: I don’t think we need a list to remember all the bad stuff.

Me: Maybe not. But that’s not the point. The point is, 2009 needs to be done.

Kathy: Yeah, I am with you on telling 2009 to peace the fuck out already.

And so this, Internet, is my new mission. Get through the end of the year, get through the messy holidays, the impending bad stuff, the doctor’s appointments, the final exams, the WHATEVER, and get to New Year’s Eve. This year, New Year’s Eve will be known as “Peace the fuck out already, 2009″ Night.

You think if I sent out invitations to a party celebrating “Peace the fuck out already, 2009″ people would come?