"If you're not in the mood to hear me feel sorry for myself, I recommend you go read somebody else's blog. Try www.velveteenmind.com or www.dooce.com. Plenty of happy, self-effacing moms there."
That is according to Meg over at Pants and Pie-Oh-My. Well.
First of all, I am fairly certain I've never been grouped into anything with dooce before. Okay, I was mentioned alongside her in a new article over at Seattle P-I on Paul Nyhan's Working Dad blog this week. My third mention from him in less than a month, no less. Totally lovin' some Working Dad. Ya'll are going to see more and more of his articles pop up in my Google Share widget, as he is one of my favorite new finds. But I digress.
Second of all, while I totally get the "self-effacing" thing, I don't know what to make of the "happy" determination. Yes, this is a good thing, right? So why does it make me feel shallow all of the sudden? On the heels of my new award from Nell over at meanwhile..., I'm thinking that I am definitely losing my edge. Must post more videos of freaky aliens dancing with a loony Elijah Wood. And I should definitely start talking more smack.
Thank you, sincerely, for the mention, though, Meg. I am a big believer in that your problems need not be "big ones" before you can vent and whine, however. I would say poop in the tub definitely qualifies for a bit of feeling sorry for yourself. Among other things.
That being said, ya'll better soak up all the shiny happy Megan you can because next week is the second anniversary of Hurricane Katrina and I've got a little story-telling business to take care of here at Velveteen Mind. Then I'm blowing this joint...
Check your green-eyed-monsters, ya'll, because the boys and I are going on vacation at the end of next week! Aaaaawwwww yeah! It's about time.
And, yes, I know you aren't supposed to post about going on vacation before you actually go, lest burglars track you down and steal your stuff, but let me remind you that we are currently living in my parents' backyard and all of our stuff is at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. Have at it, I say. If you find a few boxes of journals and photo albums, would you mind dropping those off at our guest house, as they would be of no value to you and your thieving deep-sea-diving selves? Thanks, yo.
Which brings me to you. Yes, you, dear reader. I'm looking for a few good bloggers to fill in for me while I'm gone. I've noticed that my feed readers tend to drop me like a bad habit when I don't post, say, every fifteen seconds, so I'd hate to lose every last one of my hard-earned 100 of them massive audience while I'm off lounging on the beach.
Any takers? Guest bloggers out there with stories you are dying to spread somewhere other than your own fancy pants blogs? Want to talk some smack about your husband or sister but need a place to hide it? Just want to poke around my place for a few days and see what is hidden in the depths of my threadbare mind? Velveteen Mind can be your temporary home for the low low price of one link back to me zero zip nada nothing!
I'll be gone from my blog for about a week beginning on Wednesday or Thursday, so I've got a lot of spots to fill. I've already lined up a couple of bloggers sure to improve my fart authoritay, as well as "edge" up my blog rating to at least an "R" with their foul language, but I definitely need some more.
You need not be a mommy blogger to apply, either. New to blogging? Great-- me, too. Not funny? Half the time I don't think my readers are laughing at my hysterical self. Too political for your own blog sometimes? Fabulous. I'd love to shake things up a little around here.
Please email me through the address below my picture in the upper right-hand corner if you are interested in guest blogging and we'll work out the details. And I will be very sad and embarrassed if I don't get enough bloggers to fill the spots, so keep that in mind... Help a mutha out, people!
I'm now going to hit "publish" and sit and watch my Google Inbox for the emails to roll in. Email me quick so I don't feel like a fool. ;)
Writer. Mother. 
