Jayne is an Idiot

I won’t lie to you guys. Even if I was a remotely decent liar (which I’m not [there goes my future as an international spy]), I still wouldn’t lie to you, because you’re reading what I’m writing (even though I take fucking forever to get to my actual fucking point [like now] and every other sentence in my posts are hilarious parentheticals [also like now]) and, brother, I respect that (insert fist-bump from me to you here). So here’s the deal:

I completely forgot till just now (11:45 PM on Monday, December 7th) that it was my day to post.

I was all triumphant and  proud of myself for managing to brush my teeth, wash my face, go through my tedious face moisturizing process, and be in bed a mere 20 minutes after getting home from work that it, of course, only occurred to me that I was definitely fucking forgetting something just as my feet had found the perfect nook of warmth under my two comforters (winter is here, dudes!). My toes have never been so depressed in their entire lives (this includes the period of my youth when I wore Jelly sandals, so you know shit just got real).

So now, I’m this rude asshole in a panic because I have no idea what in the flying rat’s hemorrhoid to write about. One would think I would have an arsenal of partially written drafts set up in the Lady Bromance vault for exactly this purpose. One would think. But that would be assuming that I was actually paying attention in the years I spent as a half-assed girl scout instead of spending the meetings plotting a really elaborate and dramatic escape from all the estrogen.

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I want it to be snappy! And seasonally relevant! Because I want to be an awesome half of the awesome blog that people frequent when they want to read snappy, seasonally relevant things! I JUST WANT TO BE RELEVANT! (Imagine if that was Hamlet’s only real existensial crisis.) Blogging is hard, guys. Journalists and fancy writers who write for fancy periodicals pretty much think that bloggers sit around in their underwear all day stuffing themselves with Flaming Hot Cheetos and switching their web browsers between their blog screen and Sherlock on Netflix, and even though that is sort of totally accurate, it is also kind of an douchey thing to assume because it downplays the very real struggle of writing something that can engage a wide and varied readership in less than 700 words (because anything over that is just verbose as fuck [which is my biggest problem – I am verbose as fuck]). And not only that, but it was to engage them enough so that they keep coming back and thus validate your blog’s existence. PLUS, you have to engage them in a way that doesn’t make you seem like you’re whoring out your words for website views – because there’s no honor or decency in that shit; don’t be a word pimp. ALSO, I feel pretty detached from my generation’s social media fixation 98% of the time (the internet just feels like one giant stalker party to me), which, when you think about it, makes it all the more miraculous that I have managed to go this long without running out of things to say.

Until now, of course. FUCKING WAH!

So, okay, before this goes down a very sleep-deprived, half-delusional road where I start spouting off my half-baked theories about how every time I eat an Oreo, a really awesome TV show gets cancelled, lemme make up for this uselessness by sharing with you this perfectly decent photograph I have ruined with my face. And apologies, yo.

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– Jayne

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