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It has been pointed out to me several times over the course of the past few weeks that I, in fact, have a blog and have, in fact, been neglecting said blog. I would like to point out that the people pointing out the neglect are the people who caused said neglect by bullying me into joining Facebook which temporarily consumed my life. But like a phoenix I have risen from the ashes and now I'm BACK! Ha HA!

Unfortunately I have little to say. Which is the other reason I haven't been blogging a lot (at all) lately. I've been working a lot and a little *meh* the rest of the time so haven't had anything truly inspiring to share with my legions of fans in the blogosphere.

I, too, have heard the angels weeping. And I do apologize.

It's late and I need to get to bed, but I wanted to let you all know that more blog posts are forthcoming.

In the meantime, I will leave you with this:

I had a productive weekend. I did a lot of cleaning; spent a lot of time getting to chores around my house that make me feel like a more civilized person. Lovely, right? So how come I feel at this very moment like the only room presentable enough to show a guest would be my master bathroom... a room I rarely invite people to spend any time in. And by "rarely" I mean "never."

It's frustrating.

I think I have shared on this blog that when my house gets messy I will, for instance, step over a pile of magazines on the living room floor while saying out loud to myself, "Who lives here?" I'm not sure I've shared the latest incarnation of that saying, which is to sing it to the tune of "Moon River." "Who... lives here? Why don't they clean up? Oh why don't they clean up, today?" There are other lines that follow, but they vary depending on the mess I'm observing and often involve words I won't publish on my blog without lots of $@*$! symbols.

Tonight I'm singing my version of Moon River.

So anyway, I'm frustrated at the state of my house. Why does it always have to get worse before it gets better? And why can't I be past the worse and on to the better already?

And while we're on that note, why is EVERY light bulb in my house burning out at the same time? And why do I HATE changing lightbulbs so very much? It's almost as bad as filling ice cube trays, which used to be my least favorite house chore until I got an automatic ice maker (and my life was forever improved...)

On a completely unrelated note, I am rendered speechless by the power of the ABC executives to lure me in to a three hour Bachelor finale when I haven't watched one minute of the entire season... how can that be? They are geniuses. And even though I've heard Chris Harrison say with disingenuous sincerity that each and every episode is going to be the most shocking of all 430 episodes ever filmed, somewhere deep in a tiny part of my soul, I choose to believe him. And I watch.

Egad.

So, I know.
You've missed me.
And now you're wondering why...

Bon soir!