W and I have returned from our weekend without kids and cats and chores and the computer.
We had an awesome time. So awesome, in fact, that I can’t post any of the super-sexy details.
Well, I could.
But I’d have to kill you. Or, blush a whole lot.
I can reveal that the weekend included good food and good company, a really nice bottle of Chianti and several rounds of shots. Oh, and our room had a sleep number bed. We were all Beverly Hillbillies over that marvel of modern technology. Firm, soft, firm, soft, firm, soft. You try it, Ellie Mae.
Before we left for the weekend, I got an e-mail from WordPress informing me that I was going to be Freshly Pressed.
I knew from that moment that it was going to be an exciting weekend.
My words on the WordPress homepage for all the world to see.
I’ve only been blogging for a short amount of time, but I’ve written some poignant and heart-felt posts about such tough topics as coming out, depression and being butch. Really.
And, I get Freshly Pressed writing about fish sandwich-induced trauma.
My friend told me that I should focus on the Fish-a-majig fiasco in therapy instead of my mother.
For those of you who are new here, my mother never let me take drum lessons when I was a kid because, apparently, drums are for boys. This is why I never fronted for a kick-ass all-girls band like The Runaways and grew up to become a lesbian.
That is my story in a nutshell.
Which has now culminated in WordPress fame and glory.
So, newcomers, welcome to The Flannel Files, where I hope to amaze and entertain you with more true tales about my many unique neuroses, unfounded anxieties and cats.
If you’ve been here all along, thanks for your support and for letting me know that it’s not weird to be creeped out by Mrs. Butterworth, the talking maple syrup bottle. You are good people.