In the name of the attention-whorism my blog implies, I think I’m going to try a monthly wrap up… again. We’ll see if I remember to do this next month, but it’s part of my system to monitor results of my goal making happenings. Like if all my other blogs and projects are instruments, this blog is the conductor.
So why you should you read it? Because this is more important than Bill Clinton’s Dick, that’s for damn sure, and I distinctly remember a time when we were all obsessed over that thing and who was sucking it.
Things I did for a Klondike Bar
- I started a new blog: Women of ill Repute
- I did a series on making a Business Plan on The Write Moms. Well most of it. The rest will be out soon.
- Lisa Nolan and I chatted about our goals, so expect some great books coming from our combined efforts!
- I got a new camera
- I cheated on my husband with GoDaddy. Well, I talked to GoDaddy more than my husband this month.
Things that make you go Hmmm, what the fuck is she smoking?
If people could put the same passion they have for promoting and debating their opinions into developing their opinion to begin with, this world would be a better place.
#TooOld. You read that hashtag too old. I wrote that as pound too old, if that tells you how old I am.
I could totally make out with a cow. Wrapped in bacon. Doused in Bearnaise sauce.
So if we worship God, then who does God worship? He probably doesn’t believe in a higher power – oh my Gawwwd! God’s an atheist!
— Michelle (@DribblesnGrits) January 30, 2016
Bad words are so bad. Like Bitch. or Fuck. You WILL go to hell if you use those words. You need to use a different word, a better word, that better describes what you are trying to convey, like B!tch or F#ck.
Many words used to scare me like, "Attensh HUH!" and "Satan wants your soul," but nothing is more terrifying than, "Mommy, look at what I painted!"
I invested about an hour and 5 bucks of gas to get a piece of paper to avoid prison. The papers say, "The mom is not a…
So it turns out I've had a fever all week and wasn't actually depressed.
I remember back when I'd feel guilty for blowing 60 bucks on vodka, and now, here I am, feeling guilty for blowing 60 bucks on Chuck E. Cheese tokens.
I had to run to Walmart quick so I was sporting some Star Wars PJ pants aiming for the fat frumpy old hag look and some…
I was on the phone with a customer service representative, and my lovely little Annie squeezes the trigger to the fart gun right next to the phone.
Things I Realized
I totally am biting off more than I can chew, and I’m talking with my mouth open while smacking lips obnoxiously. I really meant that metaphorically, but I seem to literally do that when I’m eating a lot, except hot wings. We don’t speak while I eat hot wings. The first rule of hot wings is don’t talk to me when I’m eating hot wings. And I don’t smack my lips with hot wings. I slurp.
The devil is most likely really hot. I meant sexy, but he’s probably the other hot too. That’s fucked up to say. AND I wonder if he even likes Devils Food or Deviled Eggs…
I’m not an easy person to argue with, and I still feel bad for murdering that one guy’s ego.
I’m condescending and confusing, and I need to stop that shit because I’m also a writer-ish.