Well, buy me a litter box and call me a cat!
I sit here and I wait. I am in plain sight, but invisible nonetheless. People pass by me every day, people I know, people I love, people who like me… at least I think they like me.
I haven’t had a best friend since I was 16. I’ve never had a ladies night out. I told my neighbor (and now my BFF4EVS) this a few weeks ago, so she graciously took me under her wing and insisted that we go out last night. (I declined, but then she and my husband cohorted behind my back and planned it anyway, so I had to go.)
My mom and I were discussing my
myriad of bad decisions reasons for being a disappointing daughter life a few months ago. She was asking me what I intended to do with a particularly sticky situation that I was facing. After a few minutes of hearing her opinion on my predicament– complete with her advice about the choice I ought to make– I replied with: “My life is no longer as easy as making the right decision. My life is now about choosing the least bad of two horrible choices.”
Hello, dear readers! Bad Advice Lady has been on vacation
doing body shots off complete strangers in Cancun and turning tricks in her hotel room enjoying the benefits of good weather, sea air, and a nice cup of tea every hour, on the hour courtesy of the strappling young native who speaks very little English but can ride jockey on Bad Advice Lady like her name is Seabiscuit nice room service waiter. With a revitalized nether-region mind, Bad Advice Lady returns to answer your pressing questions and concerns. Pour a cup of coffee, pop open the tin of biscotti, silence your cell phone, and let’s find out what has been happening in your life while Bad Advice Lady has been sowing her wild-ass, high-as-a-kite oats recharging her batteries.
Okay, here’s some irony for you. I stopped blogging daily about a month ago. I was finding that I could come on WordPress, spend hours here, generate some mundane writing, and forget that the towels that I had to wash three times (because I kept forgetting to dry them and they kept getting mildewy) were now dry and waiting to be folded. Then I would wonder what I had done all day and I would feel bad about myself. I would blame this on blogging. So I gave up post-a-day and traded down to post-a-week, feeling that a post per week was totally doable. My posts would be brilliant and engaging. My readers would blindly follow me and then tell their friends. My numbers would sky-rocket and then Freshly Pressed would come sniffing around these parts and before long you would see: