Honea Express

Archive for the ‘guest blogger’ Category

Did you smell what’s cooking? Thank you, Flutter. BTW, the cool job I mentioned before was that she used to be Snow White at Disneyland. Is it wrong that I think that’s hot?

Today we have Patty, author of The WingWangDoo. The tagline on her blog is “Making shit up since the late seventies.” Best. Tagline. Ever.

She also has awesome dogs.

Please welcome Patty!

It’s never quiet in my house. Ever-growing boys in their startlingly large sneakers clomp across the floor. Too-large dogs obsess over the same rawhide bone, furtively stealing it and loudly dropping it as they prance from room to room. Prowling cats are in and out all night through their cat door, bringing bedlam and chipmunks and the occasional stray feline back inside along with them.

I’m always the first human to wake up, always finding my husband fast asleep beside me. I struggle to leave the warmth of the comforter across my torso and the labradoodle across my feet. Some mornings I leave the house for the pre-dawn quiet of the gym or the pool, where the hum of the filter and the gentle splash of the swimmers seems reverential compared to the din at my house.

In the dining room I see a cat, the other just inches away. They are clearly up to no good. One has a mouse in her mouth, still alive, playing possum, unharmed and so small. She lets him go as I approach.

I’m too tired for this. I find my car keys, brush my teeth, dress warmly for the first time in months as I feel autumn rising along with the first hints of sunlight.

The cats are now gathered around my son’s sneaker, heads dipping in anticipation as they peer under the tongue for a glimpse of their prey. The dog joins them, transforming the scene from Tom and Jerry into Larry, Moe and Curly. Still too sleepy to consider the logical outcome, I pick up the shoe to bring the mouse outside. From midair, he dives for the rug and the chase begins.

Mouse followed by cat followed by puppy followed by cat. I let out an involuntary shriek. On the other side of the wall, my sons sleep the hard sleep of children exhausted by the strange newness and excitement of second and third grade. I consider how many books I’ve read to them with this same plot. The mouse tucks himself into a corner, safe behind a heavy chest of drawers. The three musketeers gather, all staring at the corner as if I’ve put them in a collective time out. I close the door behind me and look for the first silvery signs of frost on my overgrown lawn.

The mouse (perhaps the luckiest I’ve ever seen) is still in the corner when I return, forgotten by the posse as they move on to breakfast and collecting burrs in the weeds and hedges. I know he’ll find the crack in the old floorboards where he’ll make his escape.

It’s a daily struggle to wake our boys. We pat their backs, we talk to them, I sing made-up songs about our lives loudly and off key. Some days I jump on their beds. I can’t expect anything short of this daily struggle. Raised amid the loud voices, the howling dogs, the raucous laughter, the house that’s never still, they’ve learned from their earliest days to sleep through everything.

And so we begin another day, some of us considerably earlier than others.

Thank you kindly, New Age Bitch and elves (call me!).

Today’s post is brought to us by the lovely Flutter who is the only blogger I know that lives someplace hotter than I do. She also had the coolest job ever, but I’m not sure if I’m allowed to talk about it. Imagine what you will.

Allow me to present Flutter!

My fiance and I met on a very warm day in July, 8 years ago. I broke my cardinal rule of celibacy and slept with him on the first date. OK FINE. I am a hussy. But I figured, hell why not? I mean he DID buy me dinner, isn’t that the international contract for sex?

You buy me food, I give you a little sumpin sumpin? Shut up.

After the throes of bow chika bow wow, he gave me a gift. I know what you’re thinking. It was right then that I was presented with a ring, a symbol of his undying love. A ring that he purchased when he was 5 years old, from a gumball machine. One that made several moves with him, accompanied him to his college classes all in the hopes that he would have it at the ready when he met the ONE. Right? Or perhaps I was given a sports car for my mattress mambo prowess. A nice, sleek Lambo with yellow paint and black leather interior? Or maybe, he called for room service to bring us champagne and strawberries, to toast and celebrate our love, newly formed on the well loved sheets of a nice hotel?

Yeah, no.

I was rewarded for my kindness with a dutch oven.

No no, my pretties. Not a Le Creuset. Not something that you can put a roast in overnight and have a lovely meal. Oh, no. He farted, pulled the covers up over our heads and would not let me escape. I coughed and much to his surprise, began to laugh. But, since all of the oxygen had been sucked out of my immediate breathing supply, my laugh was high pitched and munchkinesque. As if I had been sucking on helium.

In one weekend I went from single, to attached and left with some lovely parting gifts. A bruise on my ass, a dutch oven, a steak dinner and the love of my life. Pretty sure I came out ahead.

–
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

-Anais Nin

Hey, who’s been in my closet? SciFi Dad, my skeletons are dry clean only.

Next up is the mysterious New Age Bitch. What do we know about her? Well, going by her handle she obviously loves Yanni and she has some attitude. You don’t want to mess with that.

Please wave your crystals in the air for New Age Bitch!

Okay, so once upon a time there was this guy named Whit. He lived in…oh, that doesn’t really matter, does it? Somewhere. He lived somewhere. California? Arizona? Fuck, now I’m going to be thinking about that like ALL.DAY. Where the FUCK does Whit live. Because it’s not like we’ve ever met in real life or anything, NO. You can go whole lifetimes interacting with people and NEVER ACTUALLY MEET THEM.

What a concept.

Because you can just stay naked all day, or in Whit’s case, in your underwear.

Hmm. Boxers or briefs? I’m thinking those nice clingy boxer-briefs.

Yeah. Shake it off, NAB. Back to Whit. Okay. So, you all know that he’s been having guest posting here for a bit, right? But…has anyone mentioned WHY? I thought not. It’s my duty to tell you.

Was carried off by elves.

I am so not shitting you!!

Yeah. Elves. Wearing lots and lots of leather.

Okay, before you go all anal-probe on me, just picture this: There’s Whit, sitting there in his boxer-briefs front of his Macbook Pro and his fourth sweating beer, idly sipping at it while he’s waiting for the porn to download. There’s a scuffle at the cat door. Some strange noises. Heaving a big sigh, Whit scrapes back his chair and gets up, scratching his belly a little and stretching. The porn’s still downloading (fuck you, BitTorrent!) so he figures he’d better see what’s on the other side of the cat door. Might as well.

He opens the door and peers out into the darkness, blinking a little. He’s sort of drunk and was REALLY looking forward to the porn. His eyes adjust to the sudden change from Macbook-light to outside-dark. There are six weird little short dudes with pointy ears* standing there, holding up what Whit thinks was the neighbor’s cat** by its hind legs.

“Fuck you,” says the front short dude to Whit in a weird high voice. Like metal scraping on metal. Ow. Whit held his ears. They seemed to be expecting him. “You were supposed to increase the herd. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“Herd?” Whit stares uncomprehendingly at the cat. Has its tail been shaved? He’s never seen a naked cat tail before. Weird. Fuck.

“You’re going to have to explain this. Come on,” the short dude says, grabbing Whit by his closest appendage, which happens to be inside his boxer-briefs.

“HEY—“

There’s a huge flash of green light and a big pop. Whit blacked out a little there, and swears he doesn’t remember anything after that. But I got this strange email from someone saying they were Whit not long after that and of course I hastened to explain his absence to his adoring audience.

Whit’ll be back eventually, but I’m pretty sure he’ll never be quite the same again. So if I were you I wouldn’t mention anything about fisting to him. He’s still sort of sensitive about that, if you know what I mean.

*Management regrets the perpetuation of stereotypes in this reenactment.

**No actual cats were harmed in the making of this post.

Let’s hear it for DutchBitch and her prayers to The DBG (don’t worry I answer all prayers in order received)!

Today we are graced with the presence of SciFi Dad who has two (2) blogs, Tales From The Dad Side and Reviews From The Dad Side (which seems like a great way to get free stuff, I need to look into that). He also writes at Babies Online.

He and his wife are expecting baby number two next month.

Please welcome SciFi Dad!

I saw Whit’s stream of consciousness post last month and thought to myself, Dude, I have to try that sometime. Since I haven’t yet, I figured I’d try it here.

Soo… what do I know about Whit? Admittedly, not a whole lot since I just started reading him like a month ago (yeah, I know, what rock have I been hiding under?) but I know from Karl that he writes for Famecrawler, so he does the celebrity gossip scene. What do I know about celeb gossip? Sweet fuck all. Except for Britney Spears’ vagina. How much did that scar most guys, eh? Seeing that, like that for the first time? Scary shit.

So now what? How about me? I’m scared shitless. My wife is having a baby in less than three weeks. I’m not so scared about the baby (he can shit and piss all he wants) more about the c-section. Surgery is scary shit, man, and on your wife, while you’re present (and nearly passed out the last time it happened) is even worse.

One minute. Damn, this is a LOT harder than I thought (probably because I do the whole thing in raw html and try to be cute and put shit in parentheses and italics instead of just typing full force). Oh well, maybe someone will think this is genius and click through to my blog.

Crap. I’m guest posting. I’m supposed to write about rummaging through his closet… time.

Why does my neighbor have Earl Grey in his teeth? Let’s hear it for Greg, everyone!

Next up is the always lovely DutchBitch, headmistress and “certified fucktard magnet” of The Dutch Files. Sounds sexy, doesn’t she?

Please welcome DutchBitch!

Yeah, so the other day Whit was begging on all fours putting out a call for guestbloggers… on Twitter… I did notice it… on Twitter… but ya know… I already take all the guestblogging requests I get, so I thought I’d restrain myself this time… I chopped off that finger that was almost clicking the DM feature on Twitter –yeah I take forceful measures when I need to restrain myself, it’s a Dutch thing- and forced myself to occupy myself otherwise…

*buzz*

Whit’s request kept buzzing thru my head though…

*buzz*

Then later that day I did my usual rounds. I got onto my feed reader and started reading blogs and yah… sure enough… there it was… Whit’s blog… with a short posts and ya know, it was Sunday evening at my end and I was feeling sneezy, snot was dripping out of my DutchBitch nose continuously (yeah, you’re welcome), I was feverish and I was in the mood for a short post… So I read it…

Big-O Mistake-O!

Cuz of course he was putting out the call again on his blog.. He had tricked me! And before I knew it I had volunteered, without having a friggin’ clue what to write on his incredible much better than mine blog!

So yeah, I guess the secret’s out. Hi, my name is DutchBitch and I am a guestblogging whore.

[now you go: Hi DutchBitch, do it! You lazy buggars!]

I guess I should start working on that problem of mine… Maybe I should work on some kinda 12 step program for it… Ya know, cuz I can’t keep whoring around on other people’s blogs all the time, now can I? I mean, I may be called DutchBitch but in actual fact I am really a very decent Dutch girl…

So I guess no time like the present, right? Here goes:

1. Admitting my problem: so err… I guess… I kinda… sorta… am powerless to guestblogging requests… It’s all I think about… all day…

2. I am pretty sure only a Power bigger than me, The Divine Blogging Greatness, can restore me to sanity. Anyone got his number? Or blog URL? (and ehm.. just curious.. has he put a call out for guestbloggers recently by any chance?)

3. So if anyone can put me on the trail of the The Divine Blogging Greatness, I am pretty sure that the only way to have him save me is to totally surrender myself, and my red latex thigh high stiletto boots to him…. Right? Anyone found his number yet?

Shit! That would be great blog fodder wouldn’t it? I mean either for my own blog or anyone else’s for that matter… Oh bugger the 12 step program! I can’t do it! I guess I am just not there yet…

Anyone else need a guestblogger? Anyone? Hello! Where did you all go?