Wherein a Brand New Blogger Attempts to Attract Readers By Following the Internet's Advice to Use All the Memes and a Click Bait Title...
Awhile back, my hubkins and I fled one of those boxy Midwestern states and relocated to a region of the deep-fried South where a few folks still refer to the Civil War as "that recent unpleasantness." We had been here, like, a whole day before my life partner forgot that I had left my job to move for his job, and he was all like,"Go get a job, lazy bones." As a journalist, I was all like, "Sure thing. Let me just resuscitate my dying industry with this magic wand I found hiding in my ass!" In other words, I was all like:
So I didn't do shit for a little bit. Well, that's not totes true. I did find fierce designer kitty bow ties for my fur babies. But my hubkins, Chris, was all like, "Um, not with my money." So I sent out the ol' resume, and some foolish newspaper failed to call my references and went ahead and promised me paychecks, and I was all like:
Then, I arrived at my reporter job, and I was all like:
And then, I actually started working my job, and I was all like:
Y'all! Working 40 hours is bothersome! Oh, and -- plot twist! -- doctors found a gnarly tumor on my thyroid, and my health started being a little bitch. So, I quit the job that interfered with my doctor visits, and then my friends were all like:
I had a dilemma. I could either do that whole adult thing where I put on pants every day, or I could wave goodbye to my marriage. So I did what had to be done and called the Mexican restaurant down the street and was all like, "Hi. Yes. I'll have one chicken burrito." Except, I was pretty intense about it, so it came off more like this:
That night, while noshing on a surprisingly sizable guac mountain, I had a flash of insight. I didn't have to work! I could be a famous blogger, instead! I pitched this to the Mister, and he was all like:
But here's the thing...
Just off the top of my head... there's my family. My sister died a prostitute. My other sister went to jail for manufacturing meth. At my childhood evangelical church, I was literally locked in a room and not allowed out until I learned to speak in tongues. When my brother landed in a coma, my mother-in-law tried to comfort me by showing me pictures of her own brother... dead... in his casket.
I also have banana pants friends. My bestie won a flock of sheep in an essay contest. One of my other friends was deployed in Iraq when she discovered that she was a psychic, and she returned from overseas military service to a starring role on a TV show. Another of my gal pals loved her boyfriend's penis so much that she made a mold of it and mailed the papier-mâchéd manliness to a company that crafted a to-scale vibrator. She ditched the dude but kept his duplicate dong.
Then, there's the shit that happens to me just because it's a day on which I've dared to awaken. I kissed President George W. Bush. I acquired a bulbous, snot-colored cat named Booger on my wedding day. A thug named Richard Simmons III broke out of his juvenile facility and stole my first car for his getaway. Oh, and that tumor I mentioned? Well, it evolved into a medical mess that left me almost hairless, shitting my pants in public, and gaining 130 pounds.
And, finally, there's my marriage, which I'm pretty sure has given Quentin Tarantino exactly seven wet dreams. The hubkins and I met in junior high and have been arch enemies ever since. Just a few minutes ago, he told me to "back up the nag train" and then made the "choo choo" noise. He will not survive the night.
So, I figure I've got this blog thing in the bag. After all, a quick Google search assured me that blogging has nothing to do with content and is actually all about MEMES. So, I'll just be typing along and then throw in some spice with this:
But don't think that this here corner of the Internet is just going to be memes. I'll throw actual content at y'all like whoa. I'm a ginormous hippie, so I'll probably discuss such dreaded topics as white privilege, feminism, income inequality, and those fabulous folks in the LGBTQQIPP2SAA community. Oh, and cats. You'll read about cats (also a key element to a successful blog, according to the Interwebs). Just say the c-word, and I'm all like:
Because cats are all like:
Now, for serious for a second. Sometimes this blog will be silly. Because my life is one big, floppy shoe short of a ride in a clown car. Other times it will be sad. Because my life is based on a true story, and in real life, people die and lie and betray and dismay.
I can't promise that every time you visit TheOMGSpot you'll experience wave upon wave of pleasure, but I can predict with absolutely zero certainty that you'll at least probably not hate every single second of it. Which is more than Chris can say of our last sexual encounter, when he asked me to talk dirty to him, and I tried to say, "Suck my tits," but accidentally said, "Suck my dick." (See? Sex talk!)
In summary: it might not all be memes and click bait going forward, but stick with me, kid, and I will make you cry rainbows.
No, really, you'll be all like:
True story: Life would be super swell if we all embraced our OMG side instead of living a Facebook-friendly existence. So, let it out. If you were a nascent narcissist blogger, which of your life's OMG moments would you highlight? Feel free to disclose details. You're safe here.