WordWebbing.com

Image by Bob AuBuchon via Flickr

As you can see, I’m farking around with my theme here, and I think I’ve got one I can live with. Although I have a predeliction for the dark, I’ve been told it’s hard on the eyes, so I’ve gone more traditional. Tell me what you think, and don’t blow smoke up my ass.

A huge shout-out to my fellow goddess, Lala, who baby-stepped me through the process via G-Chat (which I hate only a little less than the phone.)  I have a lot of tweaking to do until I’m satisfied, and it might take me a few days. I appreciate you being patient and bearing with me. The truth is, things are not going well for my momma and it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better, can you dig it. Tomorrow morning I’m heading up to my sister’s farm, to give her a break and visit with Momma. We don’t have much time.

I can’t really express how I feel right now. My mother is the only parent I have ever known, and as the eldest, we have a relationship that’s different from the other siblings. I’m not saying my pain is greater; it’s different. Her battle with breast cancer has been four years long — we all knew this day was coming. She’s determined to make it until my daughter has her baby, but the price, my friends, is way too high, IMO. Still, she will have what she wants, as long as the Universe allows. My daughter, known as “the GC” (GirlChild) in blogging circles, is due September 7th. In cancer terms, that’s a long way away.

Until then, if Momma can endure, so can I. It’s time for the Big Girl Pants, and all I can do is the best I can do. That’s all any of us can do.

So, if I’m a little spotty on blogging, tweaking or dropping, that’s the reason. Be assured I will return all drops, comments, link-love etc. as best I can until things settle. Until then, if you have some good vibes to spare, I’ll take all I can get.

And call your momma. Lord knows mothers can be a pain in the ass, but believe me when I tell you there’s no one like your mother. Call her and tell her you love her. Please.

Dear Motorcycle Dude,

First of all, let me say I could tell right off the bat you’re not a real motorcycle dude, okay? The motorcycle dudes I’ve known are extremely safety conscious. They wear helmets (sometimes backwards, if they’re really drunk, and then we distract them with naked boobs and take their keys away) and they wear leathers. You, my friend, don’t even have a doo rag on and you’re wearing a t-shirt and cutoffs. Yes, you have nice boots, but are you kidding me?

Anyway. Read more on Dear Motorcycle Dude….

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Since this is a young blog from an old bitch, I’m assuming I might have one or two readers out of my three (heh) that don’t know me very well. Thanks to Lala, here’s an opportunity for you to learn Seven Dark and Dirty Things You Might Not Know About Me…. Read more on Seven Things You Might Not Know About Me

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You have created a literary masterpiece, a gem of a short story. You just know you’re destined to be the next Great Thing in short fiction, and the money will be rolling in. Just a short word of caution: I’ve heard earning a living from writing short fiction can be done, but I’ve also heard people have seen a Sasquatch. Read more on Searching For Sasquatch

There’s nothing like starting out a day when you’re recognized as a Kick Ass Blogger. My fellow Goddess and Partner in Blogging Adventureland, LaLa, was kind enough to pass this along to me. (I didn’t even have to pay her to do it!) Read more on Kick Ass Bloggers

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I’m a huge fan of dancing shows. Whether it’s celebrities, street kids, fledgling amateurs or professionals, I love dancing shows. I marvel at the artistry, the physical prowess, and try to bullshit my kids into thinking I once could dance kinda similar to that when I was a young lass. In the Age of Disco, my friends, everyone thought they could dance. Read more on So You Think You Can Write

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Well, all I can say is the last two weeks have really kicked my ass.

Even still, in the midst of all this, moving forward is the only option. Oh, I know I could probably lie down and not get up, but my Momma raised me better than that, and I have a grandbaby on the way. What would he think of a Noni that is prostrate on the floor, or weeping and gnashing her teeth? I can do better. I will do better, even if it’s just one little step.

How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

****

Let’s talk about structure and format of a flash fiction story. Read more on Carving And Crafting

Image by McBeth via Flickr

*Author’s note: Another cross-post.

well, that was my LYB’s idea, that we all hook up one last time.

Baby Sissy and my BIL had to head out tonight. the five of us have not been all together since christmas, and before that, it had been years. i know Momma really enjoyed seeing us yukking it up and zinging each other. we took turns, when she went in the house, sitting with her, because sometimes her legs don’t hold her up.

**** Read more on Shaking Out

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*Author’s note: This is a cross-post from my personal blog. I freewrite there, meaning no edits and no corrections. No capitals, either. Get over it.

i’m pretty sure that’s what it’s called. that’s how i feel. like, at any moment a mutant squirrel with fangs and claws is going to fall from the tree and rip me to shreds.

have at it, i say.

**** Read more on Fight or Flight

Image by Cuppojoe via Flickr

Although I started WordWebbing for business, I will be cross-posting some of my personal blog here. Not tonight — I am about as beat as a person can get.

Death is such a touchy subject for many people, but my mother and I have a unique relationship. We’re weird, quirky, irreverent and we consider ourselves two of the funniest bitches on the planet. We’ve talked about Death extensively, and we are cool. We are cool.

She’s the strongest person I have ever known. EVER. My first grandbaby, her first great-grandbaby, is due to be born in 44 days, but she won’t make it to that. However, her goal was to make it to the shower this Sunday, and that, friends and neighbors, she will make. She has willed it so. After the shower, she’s going home.

I told her — you’ve put up quite the fight, old woman. You’ve about wore the Grim Reaper out. I bet he goes home at night, grumpy and frazzled. I can see him walking in the door, and from the look on his face, the wife knows he’s had a bad day.

“Hi, Honey. Bad day?” she says.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He growls.

“Oh. Audrey again, huh?”

“I said — I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. Gimme a beer.”

Heh. Momma found that hilarious.

Anyway. Very tired, and it’s not over yet. I will update soon — thanks to all for the good wishes and love pouring over us. I’m overwhelmed.

*hugs*

Because there needs to be more hugs.