The Post Where Bev Puts Her Toe In The Water But Doesn't Get Wet

Remember my Blurry Friend Bev?

The one from yesterdays post?

Yup, that's her.

I've been telling her for months that she needs her own blog.

And she's been refusing.

She's been CANTANKEROUS.

can·tan·ker·ous/kanˈtaNGkərəs/

Adjective: Bad-tempered, argumentative, and uncooperative.

Ok, maybe not Bad-tempered but definately uncooperative.

So I figured it might be a good idea to have her guest post on my blog

so she can see what the deal-ee-o is all about.

I would like to say that I do not agree

with her account of the email conversation

that she claims we had.

She makes me sound completely controlling.

I KNOW!

Hard to believe, even though Jan

called me Miss Bossy Socks in the comments yesterday.

So, Bev did a guest post for me.

And here it is:

A few months ago, when Holly and I “met”,

she told me to start a blog.

I gave her a whole list of reasons why that isn’t a good idea -thought that was the end of it.

Evidently I underestimated her determination because

 yesterday I clicked on her blog and found my picture and her version of the truth.

And then you nice people completely overwhelmed me
with the kindest (and funniest) words ever.
Holly sent me a note last night telling me that if I’m not going to blog,
then it was up to me to explain it to you wonderful people
who had taken time out of your day to encourage me,
because she is washing her hands of the whole affair.

She also said that I should include pictures in my explanation,
otherwise blog posts are boring.
And she has standards.
But I’m no photographer (also on my list of reasons I can’t blog),
so I’ll just include pictures I’ve saved of stuff I want from Pottery Barn.

So…here goes…written in Holly-style formatting…

Why I can’t blog. Reason #1:

I FOLLOW quite a few blogs.
In fact, I may have a serious addiction to decorating blogs.
 I used to FOLLOW many more than I do now.

Several months ago I noticed a disturbing trend in a few of these blogs.
People who probably wouldn’t even open the door to a stranger,
were having major, life-changing, hormonal breakdowns on their blogs.
Sometimes with hundreds of followers along for the ride.
I’m not talking about a bad day or a bad week here and there.
But day after day and week after week of telling all their business.


In detail.

Naming names.

Filters had left the building, y’all.

One week they were demonstrating chalk paint methods
and decoupage in their picture-perfect homes
and the next week we hear that their husband
is a low-life, scumbucket s.o.b. who never appreciated
a single thing they ever did even after I bore his enormous children
and I should have known better because
I’ve always thought his eyes were too close together
and what did I expect after I met that cold controlling witch
who called herself his mother and last night I dreamed
that I was flying away on a cloud and he and his
whole trashy falling-down-drunk family
were stranded on a desert island and I was blah blah blah blah

Oh my word.

Somewhere around the third day of this,
the tone of their posts would change.
Instead of focusing on the low-life scumbucket, you, the follower, became the focus:


“You’re going to leave me – my followers!
This is too much! You’re all going to leave me just like everyone else.
I just know that’s what you’re thinking. I just know it!”

Although I hadn’t been thinking that, now it’s all I can think about.

It’s just like that situation with the boyfriend in the 11th grade all over again.

The one you found out too late was needy and had no self-confidence.

Who took everything as a sign you were about to break up with him.

“Just like every girlfriend before you”, he would whine.

For the first dozen or so times he brought it up, you sweetly reassured him.

Eventually you started wondering if he didn’t have something there.

And then you started trying to figure out

exactly when you could gnaw your arm off to get out of the trap.

And you felt really bad about it, because he gave you that cool 8-track player for Christmas.

Or a kidney.

But you did it anyway. And you still feel like crap about it.

So for days, my finger would hover over the UNFOLLOW button
until one day I could resist no longer.

It’s the 11th grade all over again.

So how does this relate to anything? I’ll tell you how.


Filters. And hormones.

Or lack of both in my case.

Make me afraid to blog.

Suppose I start a blog and then I end up in the midst
of one of those downward emotional spirals that happen to all of us?
I mean, who hasn’t told too much of their business to
50 or 75 of their closest friends at one time or another?
You know.
Like telling about the time your brand new husband
“forgot” Valentine’s Day,
then panicked at the last minute and ran out
 at 7:00 p.m. and bought you a waffle iron for crying out loud?

That time.

(totally fictitious example)

But this blogging stuff is a whole different ball of wax
than sobbing uncontrollably on the shoulders of your girlfriends
and the stranger in the waiting room at the oil change place.

Suppose I started a blog and that totally fictitious situation
happened right after I just got my 999th follower
and Pottery Barn had just signed on as my sponsor?

And suddenly instead of giving you tutorials
on how to make completely useless non-absorbent linen dish towels,
I’m giving my family all the evidence
they’ll need for my (in)competency hearing …
documented in my very own words on a blog.


Lack of filters, lack of hormones and a public forum. A really bad combo.

And this is just one of the reasons I can’t start a blog.

Bev