So, which guy and his hot tamale wife is Ken, and which is Chuck?
You understand the quandary, don't you?
The explanation for the wussy O-WOW is I was under the weather. I had MAJOR surgery on Tuesday - and by "major" I mean outpatient with no incisions or the removal of any innards or outards or anything - but where I still could have died multiple times on the operating table and probably did, now that I think about it, only to be yyyyaaaannnked back to life at the last second by means of the anesthesiologist's tech confiscating his cell phone so he'd stop playing "Words With Friends" long enough to notice that I was hovering over the bed in a beam of light.
Because how else would you explain all those canceled funerals?
If I had finished dying on the operating table, I would have had to send my wisdom through ouija boards and appearances as an image in righteous people's oatmeal and stuff like that. And that would have been terrible, because honestly, I'm not that wild about oatmeal. So all my appearances would have been with me scowling and offering grumpy wisdom, like, "Hey! That underwear isn't going to put itself in the hamper!"
When put in that context, suddenly it's all right that all I had to say on Wednesday was "pay attention while you type," huh?
No more whining, then.
On to other subjects, namely, what surgery did I have, exactly?
None of your business. Sheesh.
Next on the update agenda, then, is I'm getting ready for the SITS conference in Seattle on June 4. I love speaking at these conferences, because I love the subject: "How Blogging Has Transformed the Global Laundry Industry."
Who says Blogging hasn't Transformed the Global Laundry Industry? Laundry gets done because it allows bloggers to feel productive while sitting at their computers for 40 minutes at a time. It used to be we had to pretend we were checking our bank balances or looking into changing cell phone plans while we spent 40 minute stretches at our computers. But then one lone voice - I think it was my mother's - said, "Look. At least put in a load of whites while you monkey around on the internet."
And the global laundry industry was transformed forever.
So I talk about that, and about telling stories on your blog, and about how if you tell enough stories on your blog you can actually get all of your towels washed, dried, folded, and put away, which always leads to the suprising revelation that you have too many towels.
You can't tell me that's not, like, crazy inspirational.
See? I'm a giver.
The EVO people didn't invite me to speak at their July conference this year, so guess what? They can fold their own damn towels. Although don't tell them I said that, especially since the gal in charge is also speaking in Seattle, and it could get awkward if she suddenly and entirely without provocation (except for the towel thing) smushed cheesecake in my face during a breakout session.
It is really hard to bring a conversation back around to the weather after that. I tell you these things from experience.
And then in September I get to go to North Carolina to speak at a women's conference about other subjects I love - specifically, Scriptural Tributes to Cupcakes.
I know, right?
My daughter turns 21 on June 5.
This is 21 in Vanessa-land: One minute she is suggesting that, for her gift, we could fly her to Florida in August so she can cruise to the Bahamas for two weeks on her roommate's family sailboat.
And the next minute she is texting me with the announcement that, like Daisy Mae in the ridiculous musical "Li'l Abner" (in which I played "wife number two" in the ninth grade) she is - at the ripe old age of 21 - past her prime, and really has nothing left to expect from life except collecting and labeling disposable serving containers in hopes of a starring role on "Hoarders: The Past Your Prime Edition."
I wonder if she realizes that, if she were married right now, the very last thing she would be doing in August would be sailing to the Bahamas.
I was married at 21, and we were more in the 'collecting and labeling disposable serving containers' club.
My other daughter has senior-itis so bad I am seriously considering having her whacked. I live in Vegas and my husband's a Fed. He's bound to have the connections.
I think my 15-year old asked Santa if he could take Algebra as a summer school activity. I don't know why he would do that, but there's no arguing with the evidence.
Hmm... I think that's all I have to report. Let's see: Lame O-WOW; didn't die on the operating table; oatmeal; Seattle; cheesecake; scriptures; cupcakes; my poor unmarried daughter; sitting in the 'I gave up at the semester' section at graduation; Algebra as a spectator sport.
Yep. That's it.
Please get back to me if any of you see Ken and Chuck together, so I can get that one off my plate.