Not Much to Tell

Somethinkorother asked in one of the comment sections about Nick booting me and SFChick from his site. I've been kind of expecting someone to ask about that eventually.

The truth is, y'all know as much about the reason as I do. I've e-mailed Nick about that to say "Oh. Okay," and other issues since then, basically about administrative stuff, but I didn't ask him to explain himself further. And of course, he's a loyal reader and commenter over here; y'all could take a lesson or two from him on that score.

Most alcoholics know and try and follow the AA mantra, even though they still drink. You know: accept the things I can't change, change the things I can, wisdom to hide the bodies of the people I had to kill because they pissed me off know the difference?

I can't change Nick's mind, nor would I want to. Therefore, why would I ask for a complete explanation? I don't want to know. However, posting over here means I can ignore the primarily male sensibilities of Nick's readers. (Yes, guys, I could have gotten EVEN MORE mega-mommy than I used ta could. And I will. Be warned; I'm entering pre-menopause, and it won't be pretty.)

In the end: It was Nick's site, it's his choice, and it really is better this way.

(But y'alll can blame it on nekkid pictures of Ewan McGregor if you want to.)

Hello. Hello, again.

Early this morning, I was drunkenly but not unkindly booted off my old shared blog, because I have breasts and a vagina. I could ramble about the event, but I'll just boil it all down to this: Nick's site (linked somewhere on this page) really should be about him. It's definitely time to leave the nest.

I did a lot of crappy, sappy writing over there. But I did a lot of good writing over there, too. So I'll intro over here the same way I did over there. Here's a little ditty from March, 2004:

BeerPup is a Geek

To show what a geek I am, I offer this as my official introduction:

Imagine that you're watching the Bravo channel. Inside the Actor's Studio, having run out of good actors to interview, and has also worked their way through mediocre actors who happen to be ''stars'' (they had SMeg Ryan on, for god's sake!), they have now become Inside the Average Lame Writer's Mind. The interview was very uneven, since the guest declined to ever look at James Lipton, except to call him an obsequious ass (which prompted a standing ovation from the students). Pushing on, however, James 'Where's my martini' Lipton has reached the conclusion, and poses his traditional final questions.

Q. What is your favorite word?

A. 'Worcestershire.' Because I can spell it.

Q. What is your least favorite word?

A. 'Cute.' With 'nice' running a close second.

Q. What turns you on?

A. Guy on guy action. Oh, wait, that wasn't what you meant, was it? You know, you should always explain that question better, Jimmy--can I call you Jimmy? I can't? Well, Jimmy, you really should explain that question better, to save your guests some embarrassment. If you don't, what kind of obsequious ass are you? Where were we? What turns me on, intellectually, emotionally? Um. Guy on guy action. Yeah. That would have to be it.

Q. What turns you off?

A. Penguins. Or when my handcuffs break.

Q. What sound do you love?

A. The sound of air breaks when I'm having sex on the subway.

Q. What sound do you hate?

A. That bongo sound when Scooby and Shaggy run and don't get anywhere.

Q. What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?

A. Belly dancer. I can already roll my stomach like that. No, I won't show you, Jimmy.

Q. What profession would you not like to participate in?

A. Ice cream truck driver. I don't think I could handle the death threats.

Q. If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

A. Bar's open. *clink*