Geez it’s been a busy weekend workwise. Which is a little hairy, since I’m not actually supposed to work weekends, I’m meant to spend quality time with my family. Oooops.
But what do you do when Kim Kardashian has her baby (in my Woman’s Day days, the above pic would have made an EXCELLENT cover shot), Curtis Stone releases his wedding photos and Nigella Lawson’s awful husband tries to strangle her in a restaurant?
You write about it, of course. How can you not?
(OK, I could quite easily not, except that I’m ME.)
But it’s sucked all the creative juices out of me and I’m a hollow husk, incapable of blogging something fresh and new. So I’m going to share my writer’s block column from this time last year. Because, as regular HouseGoesHome readers will be aware, my writer’s block can get quite wordy …
This one was called Suggestive Comments:
People have been offering suggestions on subjects I should blog about. It’s very thoughtful, because blogging can be a grind. Since I launched housegoeshome – almost a year ago – I’ve written 411 posts and my brain does get constipated sometimes.
My sister pulled me aside at the school fundraiser on Saturday night to tell me about a friend of a friend who went for a massage in Oxford Street and was given a happy ending. That’s a woman who went to a male masseusse and got a fun fiddle. My sister was murky on the details of why/how/where the woman allowed this happy ending to occur. But the recipient was apparently quite startled by it. Weird. I’d have thought a reasonable amount of twiddling would be necessary. It’s not like an accidental slip of the fingers was going to set things off … that only happens in Playboy doesn’t it … or am I missing out on something?
Anyway, my sister thought it would make an entertaining blog. But that would require extra detail she couldn’t provide. As I’m not the massage type, I don’t have any personal anecdotes to pad it out. Unlike Mrs Woog, who wrote a blog recently about a massage where she was possibly digitally penetrated (http://www.woogsworld.com/2012/05/quiver-me-sphincters.html).
Although I did help a boy with his homework when I was a young lass and got repaid with massages. I have this funny feeling it involved more than muscle manipulation and possibly led to certain other favours being exchanged. But I’m not entirely sure, which makes me fear I have early-onset Alzheimer’s. I mean, how does someone forget sexual encounters that don’t involve alcohol? But that’s a whole other blog.
Then there’s a Facebook buddy who thought I should write about a friend currently staying in New York who was cranky that Malia Obama poked her tongue when she took her photo.
“While understanding that the kid no doubt gets sick of having her pic taken, I reckon she should suck it up and take the bad along with the good, like dancing with One Direction etc,” said my Facebook buddy. “At 14 she should be better mannered.”
I’m quite the expert on celebrity offspring, but not so comfortable discussing the political ones. Tongue-poking is definitely rude and Daddy might be quite cross if the offending photo makes it into print, but celebrity/political offspring didn’t chose to be in the spotlight. So I’m on the fence. On the fence is boring for a blog, you need to be firmly opinionated. But it could be quite handy for a celebrity advice column one day, so thank you.
A few months back, an old school friend suggested I blog about a Mother’s Day scandal involving children being handed bags of chocolate penises and breasts by the P&C to give their mums. People were up in arms, totally outraged. Now, I’m not sure what the P&C were thinking (not clearly, obviously) but erotic choccies don’t really say Happy Mother’s Day to me. I’ve always regarded it as being a carnations and brekkie-in-bed occasion. Still, as one parent pointed out: ‘‘Instead of criticising the P&C, why not pull your weight and join?’’
Now there’s a prospect more terrifying to a parent than their child seeing a chocolate sex organ, I’m sure.
Finally, on the subject of things erotic, after dishing at The Vagina Buffet last week I got a thank-you email from the blog host. “If you ever have any stuff on hair/unwanted hair/brazilian waxing/vaginas etc, I’d love to have you as my guest onwww.vaginabuffet.com,” SJ kindly offered.
Unfortunately, I don’t discuss my vagina that often at housegoeshome. But I’m wondering if she might be interested in previous blogs I’ve written about weeing behind trees (https://housegoeshome.com/2011/11/11/caught-short/), half the hospital putting their hands up my clacker during childbirth (https://housegoeshome.com/2012/05/27/who-were-you-when-you-gave-birth-aka-noisy-sunday/), or getting my kit off in a friend’s loungeroom beside the guinea pig hutch so she could spray tan my spare tyres and bum (https://housegoeshome.com/2012/03/19/naked-and-alone-with-a-woman/).
I briefly wondered if I was brave enough to write a post about varicose veins in intimate places. Because it’s a story that really needs to be told. But not by me. A girl has to retain some mystique. Otherwise when/if Husband divorces me I’ll have absolutely no chance with the opposite sex.
So thank you everyone for thinking of me. But unless I really feel it in my waters, it’s hard to jibber for 500 words about a suggested subject. However, when four people propose different topics, that’s only 100 words for each. Much easier! So thanks guys, you’ve saved my arse. Another blog down. How many more to go?
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