Do you know what I hate about my blog? I hate that many times I can't find a topic to write about. Actually, scratch that. I have TONS and TONS of topics to write about, I just don't.
Want to know why? Because I'm a nice person, dammit.
I write at the expense of my dear Mr. Schmitty and my three beautiful children. I post about my yappy dog. I even poke fun at myself, on occasion. But I'm allowed to diss my family. Mr. Schmitty is fair game because believe me, he isn't exactly an angel himself. He hands it to me quite often enough. My dog, well, she's just a dog. And considering the hell I went through to conceive and birth my children, well, it's my entitlement to mess with them and tell the world about it. Right?!
My loyal readers seem to enjoy those posts. I've been told from time to time that I have indeed gotten a giggle, if not a full blown soda-out-the-nose-snort, from one of my tales.
But I have to admit, my friends, that you are being jilted. I have so much more to give you. I just can't.
Yea, that niceness thing again.
Much to my chagrin, I'm surrounded by great material. Material that is doing me absolutely no good, because I have to actually SEE these people. I have to interact with them and play, yes, NICE.
There are so many people in my life that are just tempting me. Those bastards. They are dangling that proverbial carrot right in front of me. It's hanging there, all orange and fresh, beckoning me to pounce on it. But I resist.
Many of these juicy stories come from people I may have to deal with for the rest of my life. There is a plethora of hilarious (at least to me) incidents, moments, and observations that I'm just aching to put into words on this blog.
I'm just busting at the seams with their priceless drama, so much so, that it just makes my head spin. And I just hate the fact, that I can't share my sitcom of a life with you, because I believe you would truly pee yourself laughing.
Yes, some of them are THAT entertaining.
I hope someday that I will grow a set. Or they will piss me off one too many times. Or someone will offer me big dough to write a book or something. Because then? All bets are off.
Until then, Mrs. Too Freaking Nice (aka...Mrs. Wimp-ass) is signing off.