Okay, here's the thing: I am not an expert in, like, anything.
I cannot write about playing midwestern-cattle-wranglin'-footsie with my Marlboro-cowboy-chaps-o'-romance-man, whilst posting color-drenched photos of the epicurean delights I whip up in my newly remodeled kitchen, in between homeschooling my adorable punks and cruising the talk show circuit, like Ree Drummond does.
Nor can I write about how I raised and sheared my own sheep, carded and spun the wool, dyed it and knitted shawls for my children and their friends and mothers. Or figured out how to make soap and sell it. Or discovered the art of tapping 140 maple trees then boiling the sap into syrup in a boiling system I built from an old filing cabinet. Or made my own vanilla. And rose-petal jam. Or went to a local college to lecture on fiber arts and discovered a gorgeous old chapel and photographed it with such loveliness that the camera is still weeping. Like my friend Robin, of Rurification does. Every. Freaking. Day.
In point of very fine fact, I am not like any of the scores of other bloggers out there who actually specialize in something, and have brilliant, scintillating, and otherwise wonderful things to say about it. Something to draw readers in. Something to bring them on a daily basis–like their morning cuppa coffee–to my little corner of the internet. Like, for example, burgeoning broadway-lovely (whom I met a million years ago when she was 14 and we did "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor blah blah together in a tiny local theater), Natalie Hill.
Nope. The sad truth of the matter is this: I am a dyed-in-the-wool, true blue, through and through dork. And after some depressing thought about it, accompanied by two liters of diet coke poured over a gallon of vanilla bean ice cream with little chocolate shavings on top, I've come to a big decision: I am going to embrace, nay, celebrate my inner dork. And you should too.
Do you want to feel validated? To have your inability to wake up before hitting the snooze button for the eighteenth time each morning commiserated with? To have someone else out there FINALLY be able to relate to your incapacity to: take a shower before the kids get home from school? actually stay on the blinkin' treadmill for longer than three and a half minutes without your thighs falling down around your ankles? stay away from chocolate longer than it takes to brush your teeth? brush your teeth? make scrapbooks for each any of your children? plan a meal? cook a meal? remember what a meal looks like? speak to anyone in your household without sounding like a cracked-out Miss Piggy?or go on a date with your significant other without ONCE mentioning a report card, stain remover, or the new fat-globule you've recently discovered somewhere on your person?
If so, then HONEY! This is the blog for you!
Join me as I share some cooking how-to's:
Offer relationship advice:
Enlighten you with my time-tested gardening know-how:
And finally, bring a little culture into your humdrum lives:
Baby, the blog-o-verse ain't gonna know what hit it! The Diva of Dorkification is about to rain down a firestorm of mediocrity upon the reigning Divas of Domesticity such as has never before been seen! Set your watches, people! Because it's all going to start tomorrow!
Or possibly Wednesday!
Unless I'm busy with my nails or having lunch with a friend! In which case the firestorm will hit on Friday! Around 11:30! Or maybe 3:45! But it will HIT, people! Before next year!
Be here or be . . . um. . . . a . . . steer . . .
Yeah. Going to have to work on that whole tag-line-thing.
See you pretty soon!
Oh, Honey. We’re all dorks! I totally wish I had done all the stuff you listed.
I love the cooking photo. That’s my kitchen in a nutshell.
Be proud of your inner dork, not everyone is willing to be so open about it! You are a specialist in humor, honey! Always have been, always will be – love your puppyknees
Bwahahaha! Honey, you know I’m right there with you! Dorks rule! In fact at my house we have instituted the DF, otherwise known as the Dork Factor. Mom dropping a whole bowl of stewed tomatoes on my daughter’s bare feet…DF8. Mom sticking her head between the handles of the choppers she is using to cut down a tree branch just as they cut through the branch, effectively rendering her nearly unconscious as they smack either side of her head…DF10. Mom singing in the grocery store DF 4 (or DF10 if you are my kids). The DF is my constant companion. You should try it!
The Dork Factor is the best! We totally operate under it’s guidelines. (And seriously, you win with the whole tree-cutter-thing. Hah!) We also have a Huh-Factor, in which we measure the relative humor of something (Bruce never laughs hysterically. It’s either one Huh, or two Huh’s. Ergo, the “Huh” Factor), and the Belch-factor, with which we measure the satisfaction level of soda pop.
Rob, I’m pretty sure you DID do all that stuff. It’s on your blog. And I pretty much never exaggerate.
Love your kitchen, babe.
Kris, I heart your muffinhead.
Tooooo funny, but the last pic is the best! You look like you’re seriously constipated in a Catholic church. Classic.