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Givin' My Heart A Break

A Rant About Posting...

I've been trying to crack my internal Da Vinci Code - I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT WOULD ENTAIL - and figure out what's up with my flipping muse? Bish is fickle these days. I haven't wanted to post much, but I've been horse whipping my own butt into doing so anyway.

(Hehe... "butt." Riiiight.)

You know that feeling of COLOSSAL ENVY when you hop by a blog and they're talking about something you SO WOULD HAVE posted about if your head hadn't been up That Place Where The Sun Doesn't Frequent for the past few days. You're making a squinty-eyed face at all the genius in each sentence and you're all wounded and indignant, 'cos YOU KNOW YOU WOULD HAVE SAID THE THINGS. Possibly. In a few days, for sure. I look at all these great ideas pouring out of these people and I can't help but feel like the loser scrambling to make the finish line.

(And to think I even brought my Nikes for this shizz.)

WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?

I think I have an idea. The following synopsis of my problem is basically an account of blame that I've hurled at everything else but me. But we all know the truth. Whoever smelt it dealt it and all that.

Could it be...

You are heinous, Thursday. You are the originator of the Sally Saver, I'm sure. BRING ON THE FRIDAY, you little tease.
THURSDAYS?

No. More specifically speaking, I'm referring to a little show and inside the little show are little vampires and inside the little vampires is a little romance and inside the little romance is a little show.

AND IT'S CALLED MOTHER FRYING VAMPIRE DIARIES.

You know the one.

So I was all ready to write a very dignified, strongly-worded, X-TREMELY lengthy letter politely telling the CW11 to Suck. It. Whatever It may be in your wild and want-on imaginations. I couldn't be more thrown by Elena's Big Choice. I was seriously shocked. A love that WILL CONSUME YOU and not because Daemon thinks you are delish, yum yum, and all that but because it fills you up inside for this dark and dangerous and deep bad boy vs. a love that makes you think of THINGS YOU WOULD FIND IN YOUR GRANDMOTHER'S DIARY.

I just assumed it was no contest. My mistake.

But this same sneaky and sly network saved themselves from having to scan pages and pages of very interesting syntax when THEY DECIDED TO DO THAT THING TO ELENA. And now she'll remember this other thing, and things just MIGHT WORK OUT. *fist-pumps*

So, no. The show can't be the problem.

Could it be...

Am I a boy? A girl? DO YOU KNOW WHAT I AM?

Now, I KNOW I'm not the ONLY ONE thinking what I'm thinking.

I think. What the what is up with this cover?

I have a serious bone to smack with it.
Calder White lives in the cold, clear waters of Lake Superior, the only brother in a family of murderous mermaids. To survive, Calder and his sisters prey on humans, killing them to absorb their energy. But this summer the underwater clan targets Jason Hancock out of pure revenge. They blame Hancock for their mother's death and have been waiting a long time for him to return to his family's homestead on the lake. Hancock has a fear of water, so to lure him in, Calder sets out to seduce Hancock's daughter, Lily. Easy enough—especially as Calder has lots of practice using his irresistable good looks and charm on ususpecting girls. Only this time Calder screws everything up: he falls for Lily—just as Lily starts to suspect that there's more to the monsters-in-the-lake legends than she ever imagined. And just as his sisters are losing patience with him.
NOTICE how it talks about a Calder White who is INDEED A CARRIER OF THE XX CHROMOSOME. Unless that is a boy with really long hair and no breasts instead of VERY SMALL breasts, this cover is ALL WRONG. Do all mermen have suspiciously long, flowy hair, a girly face, and small breasts, I wonder? I demand an explanation for this.

So this COULD BE the problem.

Could it be...

I just love how this is on Wikipedia's page for explaining Mother's Day.
Forget sunshine and daisies when it comes to Mother's Day. This is probably the most stressful day of the year. Especially when you're not the greatest daughter on the planet. You've got to get something GOOD to make up for all the teenage angst and general BS that you inject into your mother's everyday life. Not to mention paying her back for the small fact that she PUSHED YOU OUT OF HER POOR BODY.

In a superpainful way. It's probably worse than getting a thousand - no, A MILLION - paper cuts.

(Which is especially painful when that child has a really big head, just FYI.)

So this year, I determined that it was time. Time to shy away from gifts that require my mad art skillz, in which I hand-draw a card depicting all the soft things in my heart, and I forbade myself from just doing what I've done for the past couple years:

Me: Hi, Mom. So it's Mother's Day. Did you know? Well, Happy Mother's Day.

(Exits room)

And of course my mother would never look hopeful or presume that I actually have a gift. She'd just deal with whatever happened.

One year I gave her a card. Crayola might appreciate the free advertising.

One year I gave her silver earrings that are like those straws that change color when you drink what's inside the cup. Her earrings would turn a lovely greenish hue. Green is the universal color of love, appreciation, and generosity. If you didn't already know.

One year I made her breakfast. She braved the scrambled eggs. Despite their burnt brown color. Goodness, I never thought I'd be one of THOSE KIDS. The ones in the movies or books that really sweetly make their parents bad breakfast and pretend the parents' pretending it's good is not for pretend.

Wait, HUH?

And the next year I burnt the really expensive pork chops so that they're totally inedible. And hide the soaked rice in the oven until she walks away.

As you can see, I like to keep her on her toes. SO THIS YEAR. I went through a lot of trouble to buy her some really nice jewelry. And a REAL CARD. Made by Hallmark. They always know what they're doing.

But, selecting said jewelry? Well, let's just say the clerks weren't exactly simpatico by the time I was out the door...

This could've been another Muse butt kicker.

But the real problem is...

What it actually comes down to is my blog being a source of stress. FOR NO REASON, as I've come to realize. THIS IS MY BLOG. I reclaimeth thee, Paranormal Indulgence, for my owneth.

I've decided to stop scheduling most of my reviews and just go with the flow. Stop trying to plan out what I'm reading because I'M GOING TO LOSE IT. My passion, my love, my indulgence. So I broke my Google Calendar. It's got posts listed still, BUT NO REVIEWS.

I'm reading when I say, darnit.

The moral of the story?

Demi Lovato is wise. Do yourself a favor and Give Your Heart a Break. Do what I did. Lose the scheduled reviews notion. Read what you want when you want and talk about it WHENEVER. YOUR BLOG IS YOUR OWN.

And with that, I shall drop a bomb. I'm discontinuing Through the Grapevine. For the second time. I've actually tried out variations of this post before, and they always end up taking a one-way trip to the garbage. Because it's SO STRESSFUL and hours and hours of work.

Instead, I will be utilizing Front Five Friday as an excuse to add in Favorite Fives. Five releases, five reviews, five pieces of exciting news, etc. at the bottom of the post. And not so that it's overwhelming to me.

And NO, I will not be taking a blogging break. Don't need one. Especially when this week will be MADE OF AWESOME. So, stay tuned.

Got something to say? Well, don't be shy. Drop a thought or two or a million down in the comments section below! My blog doesn't mind.

7 comments:

Nea Barabea said...

Ah Asher. You never fail to amaze me. You SERIOUSLY ROCK. I know I've said it before a 1000 times. But still, I mean it. 

Liz. R said...

This post is made of AWESOME. Seriously. Your Vampire Diaries  rant? I was nodding my head. Agree with everything. And we already had Mother's Day ages ago over here, but I can relate to the stress. AND THE COVER. I thought I was the only one who was annoyed by it! Anyway. Awesome.

P E said...

I agree with pretty much everything you said.

 That TVD episode was like an emotional roller coaster. The end... I still can't believe that finally happened. I'm not sure what to expect now, but I'm excited! 

I suck as a teenager too so I bought my mom a barbecue this year. Problem is, I don't have a car so it's being delivered on Thursday. So my mom probably thinks I suck for not getting her anything. It will just sweeten the surprise though, right? 

And lastly, totally agree with your last post. My computer was broken for a while so I couldn't post anything and I realized how ridiculous the idea that with school, sports, and life I expect myself to post everyday with a schedule. It's ridiculous. 

Awesome post btw, it was fun to read. 

Kelly Mills said...

Mother's Day sucks. My mother is deceased. Hey, here's one day each year we're going to throw it in your face that your mom is gone! Ugh. And I work retail, so I get to watch everyone else shopping for their mom, and I have to look at all the Mother's Day stuff for, like, over a month. Blah. And I'm constantly amazed at the number of people who seem to assume that just because of my age (I'm 40) I must have kids. No, I don't. When they wish me happy Mother's Day I just go with it and say thank you. It's just easier that way. Now that Mother's Day is over, we'll move on to Father's Day. I don't associate with my father. Yet another holiday to look forward to, lol!

Melanie said...

You know, I STILL haven't watched TVD.  I feel so culturally unrelevant, lol. :D

Jen said...

Dude. I never even though about the cover of Lies Beneath. Mind blown. 

Heidi said...

THANK YOU for your thoughts on the cover of Lies Beneath, because it was totally the elephant sitting on the bookshelf round these parts.  Seriously...wha???  

Also I love this post, so very much.  And I'm proud of you.  You're right, your blog is YOURS and it's supposed to be FUN!  So read whatever the heck you want, when you want, and post about it (or not) if you want.  I'll certainly be reading whatever comes.