Silencio, por favor

I haven't been saying much lately. Maybe you didn't notice? The thing is, lately I can't stand blogs. Mine or yours (but not hers or hers...they do their own stunts and are always redeeming). The thought of barfing out another useless blog post makes me sad. Sometimes the blogosphere smells like one big sewage recycling plant...barfing out the same barf someone already barfed a million barfs ago. It is SO TIRED sometimes it makes me want to go Pete Townsend on my keyboard.
And what's with all the unpaid product endorsements? "This cream cured my chapped udders" "I'm swooning for this." Really? You swooned? Was your corset too tight? Did you have to be revived by smelling salts? Any particular organic brand you'd like to endorse? Cuz the next time you swoon I'm going to punch myself in the face, and I'm really going to need smelling salts.
I had a mean, grouchy, talented AP English teacher in high school. And when we would write, he'd say "If it's already been said, and you can't say it differently, then please DON'T BOTHER!"
Kind of a good rule, don't you think? Maybe a good way not to be a regurgitator is to be honest. Say something truthful, painful, or surprising. If you're a designer, show us your own work. Put something out there that wasn't there before. And if you got nothin of your own, maybe you should go out and DO things for a while and get yourself something.

So in that vein, here's what's really going on this week.
We're applying for new health insurance and they've asked us, a number of times now, both in writing and on recorded phone calls, to swear on our dead mothers that we've never suffered mental or physical ailments of any kind. Because your mothers are going to be dead if we find out you're lying to us. Insurance companies are such goons. I truly fear them and their power as if they're some Japanese street fighting gang controlling my neighborhood.

The final question was totally bizarro. The lady said, please answer yes or no: "I am not seeking insurance because of an illness. It is only for peace of mind."

Oh, what a psychotic system this is. No, of course I wouldn't expect my health insurance to treat my illnesses! That would be crazy!
Geez people, I just don't wanna die! That's all. I'm not even asking for peace of mind. Just agree to stop the bleeding and reattach the limbs if necessary. Please insure me. Or I'll have to defect to Cuba. I like those cars...

Also, the youngest is going totally bat guano on us lately. On top of that, he suddenly can't sleep and wants all the lights on. Which, according to all the parenting books, is the number one sign he's taking drugs or that something far more sinister is going on. Which is why I don't read parenting books. But thanks, stupid child psychologists, for making parenting an even more paranoid experience.

And finally, Pork Chop here sure is cute but he's been busy coating everything in our house in thick, musky, brown dog pee. Like, the smell does not go away after it's cleaned up with toxic, non-Mrs. Meyers, bleach-based contraband cleaners. Yes, getting him fixed will help. But the husband is feigning ineptitude in locating one of the 90 vets within a mile of us to perform this basic task. I'm about to do it myself with a pizza cutter. Shut up, PETA.

Yeah, not glamorous. No product recommendations or overexposed lying-sack-of-poo photos showing us all perfect and enjoying an end-of-summer tomato salad on the beach. I had In-n-Out and a beer for dinner. You want a picture of that?? Besides, it would take too long to crop out the dog pee, the pizza cutter, me shaking a fist at the husband, the oldest rolling his eyes, and the youngest rolling on the floor being weird. Photoshop just isn't that good. And you know what? Neither are we. Deal, yo.