.
Telling my sister the story of "The Girl Who Wouldn't Give Her Older Sister The Rest of Her Chocolate Bar"...
.**The following are questions that people have asked me, either in person or via search terms they entered which brought them to my blog.
.
Who are you?
I’m a Mommy Blogger.
.
How many kids do you have?
I don’t have any kids.
.
If you don’t have kids, how can you call yourself a Mommy blogger?
Don’t you think that’s being a little racist? If women can vote and watch sports and make sandwiches and stuff, why can’t we have mommy blogs even we don’t ever plan on compromising our barren yet extremely resilient wombs?
.
What’s your damage?
I didn’t realize people even said that anymore.
.
Is it true that you once had floor seats for the INXS concert but when the band came out the crowd rushed the stage and you ended up being nicked in the head by a flying chair and because you were so drunk your blood wouldn’t coagulate so you assumed you’d been shot and your last memory before waking up in the hospital room with a total of one (1) stitch in your head was of crawling up to the Saint John’s ambulance guy and telling him that you had been caught in the middle of a gang fight?
I plead the fifth. Or whatever the Canadian equivalent is. (4.8, maybe? I’ll have to go and look up the current exchange rates.)
.
Why so random?
I can’t help it. this is the stuff that just pops into my head. I tried narrowing my focus, but I get bored really easily.
This is why my book, “The Link Between Pancakes and Feral Children” will likely never be published.
.
What’s with the new blog theme?
I’ll explain later. I can already feel the boredom from answering these questions starting to release itself from my cerebrum and make it’s way to my epidermis so it can then permeate through my pores via reverse osmosis.
Either that, or I’m sweating. (I’m not a scientist so it’s tough to say for sure.)
.
Are you ever serious?
Yes. But I find it easier to write about funny things than things that affect me on a deeper level. When I started blogging, I only did it to distract myself from all of the serious work-related shit that my co-workers were talking about.
.
Why can’t I find “such and such” post?
So, you know how when you have insomnia and you spend night after night staring at the ceiling until eventually your mind isn’t functioning at its optimum level and suddenly you’ll think of MOSTHILARIOUSTHINGEVER! and you can’t wait to tell your friends about it but deep down you know that you won’t because it’s not really that funny more like really stupid?
Yeah, well, I lack the impulse control to do that last part.
The posts are still around, they’re just hidden somewhere between other, (mildly) less insomnia-triggered posts.
.
Do you have a real job?
Of course I do. I’m a not-for-profit Scientist, specializing in Anti-Social Experiments.
Here is an overview of my most recent project.
.
..
Are you racist against Eskimos?
I’m not kidding, I get this question all the time.
No, I am not racist against Eskimos. Yes, I think it’s gross that Inuit mothers chew up food and then feed it to their babies, but I’m sure they think a lot of the things that I do are gross. Like fluttering my long eyelashes. Or having shiny hair.
.
Hi, I’m Chris Hansen from Dateline. Why don’t you have a seat over there?
Yeah, right. I’m not falling for that one (again).
.
What/Who makes you laugh?
Lots of things. Stupid things, mostly. Sometimes they’re so stupid I don’t even know why I’m laughing.
20 year olds who tweet messages like this make me laugh hysterically-
.
.
Also, my friends. My family. Pretty much every memory I have of my Dad. (Still the funniest person I’ve ever known.) Approximately 8.7% of my ex-boyfriends. Chris Lilley. Ricky Gervais. David Sedaris. Jack Handey. Danny McBride. Creed Bratton. Rx Jones. Engrish. G.I Joe PSA Announcements. Faultfinders who can’t spell. Self-Taught Life-Coaches. This woman’s tweets. Self-Awarenessless. Making up words like Self-Awarenessless. Eskimo Racists.
And of course, the only man I’ve ever loved enough to send a fan letter to, Curry.
.
Why aren’t people going to Souvlaki Hut?
In Canada we don’t ask those kinds of things unless we know the person.
..
Are you adopted?
My (“supposed”) mom says no, but read the following FB status updates and tell me that I don’t have a reason to be suspicious:
.
So boring
.
So not boring!
Just sayin’.
.
Is there such thing as too much Chuck Norris?
Why don’t you ask your mom?
I’m not being facetious, I just think Chuck Norris was more relevant back then. (If you were to ask me is there such thing as too much Ricky Schroeder, I would say definitely not.)
.
*******
I will update this as new questions come in. If you have any questions (or just feel the need to praise me for breaking mommy blogger stereotypes, email me at bschooled@hotmail.com
Oh, and don’t forget to vote for me in the “Mommy Blogger Of The Year!” contest! Only because if you don’t I’ll totally think you’re racist.
Awesome! I had lunch at Souvlaki Hut today. They were out of souvlaki though so I had a grilled cheese on whole wheat.
I totally see your point about racist Eskimo mommy bloggers and their bastard children. What a bunch of ho bags! Chuck Norris would know what to do about them.
Your gifts transcend pretty much everything!
I bet you won’t be calling your mom boring when you inherit that Flavor Wave Turbo endorsement money. Or, maybe she was complaining, I know nothing about the cooking time of pork roast.
This explains so much… :) I already like you.
I don’t know where you came from, and why I haven’t found your blog sooner, but thank you. I thought I was the only one on the planet who had to plead the fifth because of a mistaken gang fight out of a mosh pit.
I just read one of your published articles, where it was revealed to me that we live in the same city.
I guess that means I have to stalk you now. I’m assuming it won’t be too hard, given your proclivity to speak aloud to imaginary K-Rog, and because I know what you would look like if you were trying not to face me while wearing a weird robe.
Were you on the skytrain the other day? It literally smelled like fecal matter. LITERALLY.
It was pretty bad. I had to move cars and everything. Except it was the Canada, so all the cars are connected and I had moved downwind. I’m sure you know how it goes.
Ha! Unless the skytrain has turned into a rickety bus in Mexico that, oddly enough, smelled like urine (also LITERALLY…probably because I was stuck sitting beside the bathroom), then it wasn’t me. But just wait until you hear my feces-on-Vancouver-public-transit story (provisionally titled “Throw Feces Man Off The Train” ). You’ll think we’re like those creepy twins who aren’t really related but still that doesn’t stop them from feeling each others feelings and experiencing each others’ experiences!
Or, maybe not. (But still, crazy coincidence!)