You know how sometimes you have things to say that just don’t fit on Facebook?  Or Twitter?  Or whatever the kids are using these days?  And your livejournal account, let’s face it, is mostly just a bunch of fanfic and you only use it anymore to stalk people you used to feel really close to?  And then your friends start pressuring you to actually blog and they’re like “oh, you remind me of [insert really cool blog here]” and your ego gets all stroked and then you have this conversation:

ME:If I send in 2 applications a week, that’s 104 applications a year, that would be significantly better than the 20-30 apps a year I’ve been sending, but then, there haven’t really been JOBS



HER:Operation GTFO

ME:Operation “can I monetize this as a blog? probably not, but it might be worth a shot.”  Seriously, The Bloggess already exists.

I sort of feel like she’s living my life except with a husband that actually lets her buy giant bear heads because it seems like their house is big enough fro shit like that.

HER:I’m working on ways to monetize my blog

ME:See, your blog is all academic and interesting.  Mine would just be me writing about stupid shit that happens to me, but doing it with STYLE, yo, cause I is a riter.  Like this morning’s workout.  Fuuuuuck.  Every time we do this one it’s like the hardest 15 minutes of my life and I have no idea why.

HER:which means I have less of a target readership

ME:well, but my readership isn’t targeted.  I mean, is it a crossfit blog? a knitblog? a blawg?  Why do we have the word BLAWG.  It sounds like lawyers quietly vomiting into their keyboards.

HER:web log.  who cares.  Don’t over analyze

ME:no, blawg, as a category of blog.  I’m ok with blog.  Law blog.  bLAWg.

HER:Oh. Don’t do that. Just write the stuff you normally do.  Its funny as fuck

ME:See, why is fuck funny?  Funny is such a cockblock.  There you are, getting it on, and you’re suddenly like “penises look like yoda, except labia are more like yoda’s ears” and then it’s all over.  My whole blog would just be me saying shit like that.  Either the internet would love me forever or nobody would read it.

HER: …

ME: I sorta think I should just paste this entire conversation and call it my first post

HER: I have a name for your blog.  Scorn.  because, well.

ME:too bad I’m a girl.  If I were a man I’d b e Pop Scorn.



HER:*covers eyes*

ME:ScornBread?  That sounds like the ultimate GF/Paleo blog

HER:this is an excellent first post.  Just Scorn, but you could have a uniscorn as a mascot.  Unicorn giving you the eyeball.  Like, dude.

I bet you’re drawing a sardonic unicorn RIGHT NOW

ME:I’m not, actually.  I’m weeping with laughter and rereading Beartram Higglebottom.

[ I have no work ethic.  None.]

Also I’m not sure I could draw a uniscorn.

HER:I read about Beartrum yesterday [hipster.  Also I am no longer able to restrain myself. Here come the editorial comments.]

ME:She has a picture of Wil Wheaton collating paper.  What do I have?  Although Wil did reply to a FB comment of mine once. [you like how I say “Wil” as though we were friends]  And he was one of the top 5 people that Google thought I was friends with when G+ happened.  THAT WAS REALLY CONFUSING.  Also I can talk about Rowan and then everyone will think I have a terribly clever autistic parenting blog. [she’s a Weimaraner.  It’s basically the same thing.  You’ll see.]

But can I post my collection of pictures of The Boss with his hands down his pants, though.  I really do need a forum for that.

HER:yeah… maybe that’s not a good idea.

ME:  What if I just basically edited it down to nothing but hands and pants?  Also, The Boy just confirmed he would allow me to put a disembodied bear head in our hedge.

HER:Nope.  that is your private stalker collection.

ME:I know.  But if I can’t talk about pantshands, I’m basically out of material ALREADY and I haven’t even started writing.

ME:The Boss has a voice coach.  I don’t understand, but it made my day.  Apparently he has a *prescription to sing in the shower*


ME:I think it’s from when he had salivary gland surgery, but that makes the story so much more mundane that I think I’m only going to tell the interesting half.  Also, he refuses to sing in the shower.  So there’s that.


So there you have it.  This blog is about maybe law, maybe fiber, quite possibly running and crossfit (if my emotional scars from Fight Gone Bad this morning ever heal), and there might be some fiction or food or something.  And my batshit crazy job.