day 15: show me some love [you can read & you think blogging is nice]
I am halfway through this daily posting project, NaBloPoMo.
It hasn’t been too horribly hard, posting every day. It proves I have a lot of pathetic-loner time on my hands. From independently compiled statistics, it looks as though there is a hefty percentage of participants that have failed to post daily. Losers! Ah, ha ha! Ah, ha ha ha ha!! Ah… wait, there’s two more weeks left?
Although this project was mostly a challenge to myself, this exercise (and really, the exercise of blogging in general) sometimes has the void-like feel of tossing a pebble down a bottomless well. In other words: hello, out there?
I appeal to you to cover me with a light blankie of love. Preferably in the form of a post in the comments section or in the form of these boots. An email. A call. Even if you think this blog is one big wankfest. I don’t care. If you are reading this, you are my friend, and some mindless, cheerleading positive reinforcement is in order. By my order!
In the original NaBloPoMo guidlines, our Fearless Leader of NaBloPoMo, M. Kennedy, asserts:
If you don’t want to participate as a NaBloPoMo blogger then your mission is simply to delurk and comment on one of the sites below, or another of your favorite blogs, once a day in the month of November as a show of support. This will also prove that you can read and that you think blogging is nice.
See how nice I’ve been? I haven’t been haranguing you about getting on any kind of regimented posting schedule. No NaComPoMo for you! But how about NaComPoDa (National Comment Posting Day)? C’mon, let me see them.
Go Becky, go! Go Becky, GO! i love reading your blogs. they are entertaining, and very insightful… i think you have lots of things to say, and I enjoy reading about them! go, Becky, GO!
A Mexican Hug. It’s just like the ones you and I exchange upon greeting, but there is something extra, me thinks. The smell of Roses lime, a bit of tortilla flour on the lapel, or a smokey marajuana-infused mad-grab. I can’t put my finger on it exactly. I just sat down with one of the nicest guys who I didn’t know from Adam before, and he treated me like family. That kind of hug. Initially, I wanted to reply every day, for every day you posted. Alas, I am a travelling man and it was not possible. Go, sugar, go make magic on a regular and consistant basis. You are the magician, I am the rabbit. Love my fur.
Oh! You guys! My sweet, sweet, gooey, nougat-centered sweethearts.
Just because you actually have skill at writing, and your posts are witty clever and charming, suddenly you think that you have this challenge won…
Au Contrair…That shitty coffee mug shall be mine, by hook or by crook.
Come to think of it…what the hell does that mean?
Becky oh Becky oh have you seen Becky, Becky the tattooed lady… If you were going to get a tattoo today, what would it be? Mine would be a tattoo of Freud’s head with a heart around it, just to piss people off.
Perhaps it could be I (Heart) Freud, and Freud’s image would be reduced to a Hello-Kitty-style ultra-japano-cute cartoon?
Perhaps I would do some kind of rude connect-the-dots…