Where Did the Old School Bloggers Go?

(suggested by Jamie)

I suppose they all got lives, which I'm insanely jealous about. Or maybe, like me, they suffered a blow that killed their confidence and their ability to blog the way they used to, so they just stopped altogether. Most just seemed to slide into a different space in their life, and there was no room for blogging.

It feels like we either have to much free time on our hands, or not enough. Even the origin of this post was hand-written while I was wasting time at work. And I don't know if it's my state of mind or theirs', but the new generation of bloggers just don't capture my attention.

I continue to be on the lookout for the new Outburst, my first blog crush. Blush, I guess they say. If you find any good ones not already on my blogroll, let me know!

Recently I've re-found Team Gingerbread, and through her found "Why Don't We Get Drunk And Blog?"

I'm not going to give up until I find a bunch of people who blog well and often!

***

Do I want children? Well...every now and then I see a kid that makes my ovaries itch, as I put it. Basically, a kid so cute that it makes me want to have children. Because usually I think of a child like I think of having a dog: Damn cute, but I would hate to pick up the doggy poo.

The other night, the last living baby that made my ovaries itch, needed babysitting. I was asked to babysit and said yes, mostly because they didn't have anyone else who would be able to. So it takes me an hour to get this baby into my car and strapped in, and get the massive baby stroller into the trunk. This is after I get the baby bag stuck in-between the trunk and the stroller, and spend more time than I need to trying to free it.

All the while this baby has started to cry. She needs constant attention, and I'm too burnt out to give it to her. Her constant crying finally wins out in the end, and I spend the rest of the night walking around my apartment with her being bounced all the while.

That cured me of wanting to have children. They give me instant Epstein Barr and their constant crying makes me see why parents sometimes shake their babies or drive them off cliffs.

Every once and a while the urge comes back, and I think about how cute it would be to dress up a baby or teach a five year old new things and watch him or her blossom.

But when I hear them cry, the ovaries stop itching. I am cured. I promised Lover Boy that we would re-visit the idea of having children when I'm about 35.