I am having the hardest time putting together a post. I know some of it is because I have a lot of STUFF floating around my brain. It’s on overload, overdrive, and overabundance. Nothing is cohesively coming together. Just from today, I have three posts drafted. Not a single one complete. Talk about frustration. Three posts. With nothing to show for it. Because I can’t. I’m a little, shall we say, stuffed up.
If I could write a post. Today. I would tell you about the NKOTB concert that I saw last night at DTE Energy Music Theater. I would, if I could, tell you how colorful and interesting the crowd of mostly all women were, at the jam packed, almost sold out show. We would discuss the fact that, based upon all the tats and piercings of these chicks, one would feel as if they had come to a Kid Rock concert by mistake. Also, I would tell you the fear I had of making eye contact with a few of these interesting looking characters, in case I found myself bloodied and battered on the urine filled bathroom floor. And that would have sucked because I was wearing really cute pants. I would laugh with you about the fact that it is almost ridiculously asinine that grown middle aged men still call themselves kids. Talk about a Peter Pan Complex. Really, Middle Aged Men Living In The Past, would be a much more appropriate name. MAMLITP. But then THAT would describe most everyone’s husbands, and not a bubble gum band. I would giggle at the memory I was sharing with you, of cringing at what they considered to be harmonizing, which made me teeth curl. And we’d belly laugh together because the New Kids proved that white boys from Boston…can’t dance. Really, they proved they don’t have much rhythm at all. I would, however, express to you that these men still could make almost 15,000 chicks swoon, scream, cry, and pass out. Which was pretty damn amazing. And also, because these chicks were so busy swooning, screaming, crying and passing out, they didn’t notice the fact that their beloved New Kids can’t sing or dance. I would also tell you that Donny Wahlberg made a speech that left me thinking. Seriously. In reference to the loss of our music legend, Michael Jackson. (So sad) About how precious and precarious life is and we should always keep the party going. God damn it…he is right. Hang tough. Get the right stuff. I would try to relay to you how much fun it was seeing a band that I never really liked, back in the day. And how great it was to see a concert by geriatrics pull in that many chicks. But how gross it was to watch a overly drunk woman throw up, right in front of me. I would be happy to tell you all of this. If I could. But I can’t.
I would, if I could. Today. Tell you why I am a top rated Power Mommy Blogger. Well…in my own home. In my own mind. And I don’t need Nielsen to put me on some sort of list. If I could. If I wasn’t so blocked up. I would explain to you that I, sometimes…am so powerful. Sometimes. *flexes muscles* Because I am raising 5 kids. His, mine and ours. And I. Am trying to give them the best foundation I can, to go on to become…Power People. Who maybe, one day, will be rated by Nielsen. To the best of my ability. Despite all the drama that goes on in almost every aspect of our lives. And the fact that life tosses my family so many freaking curve balls. I would tell you that in my house, the brats know if they do something that I don’t like (or do like) I’m going to blog about it. Which leads to them begging me not to because I’m going to embarrass them. Which, generally gets them, or some of them, to behave OR misbehave, depending on what type of blogpost I’m looking for. Sometimes. But, I blog about it. To the best of my ability. And that is what makes ME a HUGE Power Mommy Blogger. In my own home. In my own mind. And I don’t need Nielsens ratings to quantify or qualify me. Although, it would be fairly exciting, I guess.
And before I got really frustrated. And before I shut down my computer because no blog post was coming out the way I wanted it to. I would make sure to tell you that I am going to SITScation in October. I got the go ahead from the hubby (well, with promises of “favors”). And I got some sponsorship from a company who has faith in me, that I’ll be a good swag giver outer for them. So I’m all signed up. And I’ve started hunting for airfare. And I’ve started looking for shoes. Because one must always have the perfect shoe for every situation. This SITScation, it’s a smaller, more intimate group than Blogher. Holy CRAP! Am I excited. I would, if I could, go on to explain to you how monumental this is for me. The fact that I’ve NEVER traveled by myself. And in the span of 3 months, I’ll have left Michigan. TWICE. By myself. To meet a bunch of women that I’ve only tweeted with or commented back and forth on blogs. Me. A painfully shy person who used to barely be able to make eye contact and because of this, was sure people thought I was inspecting their boobs…which assuredly, I wasn’t. Unless they were really huge. Or misshapen. And then I probably was staring, out of complete curiosity. I would tell you that. If I could.
Yeah. If I could tell you all of that. And make it into a somewhat decent post. I would. If I could. But, I have major writers block. So, I can’t.