J. Belinda Yandell
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    • The One that Got Away. Thank God.
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    • Where Babies Come From
    • Thoughts on Mortality
    • Fleeing the Country
    • I Want a Hopper
    • A Nightmare Thanksgiving
    • When Inspiration Dies....
    • Gay Eskimos, ABBA and Lost Love
    • The Truth About Fat Chicks and Personal Ads
    • A New Career
  • Contact Me
  • Blog
  • Home Page
  • Writer
    • Small Change
    • Misery's Child
    • Something Blue
  • Artist & Crafty Wench
    • Coloring with the Crafty Wench
    • Paintings
    • Treasure Boxes
    • The Crafty Wench
  • Utterly Random Thoughts
    • The Great Fried Chicken Debate
    • Oh Christmas Tree….
    • Screw You: Making Food Choices
    • Beauty Isn't Pretty
    • Up in the Air
    • Sexy Appliances
    • How a book can save your life
    • Death Watch
    • The Best Daddy in the World
    • Was my Cell Phone Raptured?
    • The One that Got Away. Thank God.
    • The Whole Food Experience
    • The Pitfalls of Being Online Past Midnight
    • Where Babies Come From
    • Thoughts on Mortality
    • Fleeing the Country
    • I Want a Hopper
    • A Nightmare Thanksgiving
    • When Inspiration Dies....
    • Gay Eskimos, ABBA and Lost Love
    • The Truth About Fat Chicks and Personal Ads
    • A New Career
  • Contact Me
  • Blog

Sort of a Blog... But not really. More like a bunch of random essays. Or something.

Picture
Dad, Mom and baby me makes three....
Blogging is such a fabulous idea. Any idiot with a computer and internet access can suddenly create their own little kingdom dedicated to the most fascinating and important thoughts and opinions in the universe: their own.

That's why i love writing on the internet. If you click and read me, you've agreed to "listen" to whatever pops into my brain at 2 am, and even better, you can't interrupt. Sure, you can talk back, but I don't have to listen. 

The problem with blogging, for me, personally, is that you have to make a commitment to write with some degree of regularity. I may be struck with inspiration three nights in a row, and then not have much of anything to say (or the time to write it) for weeks. That alone makes me a lousy blogger. 

Mainly, I use the notes on my Facebook page to vent, suppose, obsess, mull, or amble down memory lane. Mostly I try to entertain and amuse in a pathetic plea for the approval of both friends and strangers. 

So in this section, I've included some of my better "blogs." At least, the ones I wrote when I was sober.*

* This is a perfect example of the dangers of personal blogs from writers of fiction. We don't exactly lie, but we can't resist a good line, or in my case, something that passes for a joke. (Again, it's that pathetic urge to dance in hopes you'll throw a coin or two my way.) My point: I'm always sober these days. I don't drink simply because I've lost all capacity to hold my liquor. Gone are the college days when I could drink a couple of pitchers right by my lonesome and still walk a semi-straight line, or at least remember how to get home. And I was a fabulous drunk; I loved everybody when I was drunk. Now, I have one beer, and I begin to yawn and want a nap. Gimme a break, will ya? I'm old.
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