You can't handle the mommy wars

Earlier this week, I spent a couple of hours reading a blog from beginning to end. It's rare for me to do that. Most blogs we review on here, even the best ones, can't keep my interest for more than a couple of dozen posts. The ones that do pull me in are the ones with a compelling story that moves me emotionally beyond just mere interest or a laugh.

The people whose blogs I read daily are people who struggle, who are fully human--warts and all--and are aware of their own frailties. They show me their souls.

So, I was assigned to review this blog. I read for an hour or so, and made several visits. I have yet to see a blog with more words and less substance.

The most striking parallel I can offer is this. Read it. If you can read that goddamn post and not fucking cry like a baby, then you have a black soul-sucking abyss where your heart should be. Then, compare it to this.

So. Your template is like a hideous explosion in a scrapbooking store. Are you sure no one was injured in it's creation? I had awful visions of firefighters walking away from the scene, covered with flowered stickers. For the record, I hate that kitschy brand of faux cute. It's like those Vera Bradley purses that everyone in my neighborhood carries these day, overpriced and hideous. And everyone pretends to like them, and says how cute they are at the bunko party, and inside their heads, if they are sane at all, they are thinking, "Girl, in what world is a puce and hot pink paisley purse gonna match anything?"

Think of me as your crotchety old Aunt Ruby who will stand up in the Chuck-a-Rama and speak truths like: "Why are you wearing that ugly leopard-skin shirt?" The truth is: ugly is ugly. I have nothing to gain by lying to you and kissing your ass.

I would say that you write acceptably, if this were high school and the teacher was counting words on a page for an assigned number. At least, you use correct grammar and punctuation. However, after reading for an hour, I find that I don't give a good goddamn what you have to say because there is no heart. Even when you write about the mommy wars, you write meaningless tripe that doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of the complex issues and emotions involved, and even manages to misunderstand the perspectives involved.

Your blog is the same as millions of other blogs from standard-issue, boring, cookie-cutter, entitled, overpriced-kids'-clothes-shopping, SUV-driving, suburban women with too much time on their hands and an incredibly superficial view of the world and their place in it.

Every single one of your posts is about 3 times as long as it should be, and filled with so many words that reading them brought me within an inch of a fatal head explosion. Take this post. Do you not realize that it really could be said in a single sentence? Maybe two. How about this:

"I need to lose weight."

There's your post...5 words. Now, do the same with the others.

PEOPLE: Writing is more than stringing a bunch of words together on a page. If there is no point, DON'T FUCKING DO IT.

I don't hate you. Frankly, I can't muster enough energy to hate you. Your blog bores me to tears. I'm sure there are other people, just like you, who would read it. I'm not one of them.

Here's a life tip: Get off the damn computer. Go hug your kids. Thank your husband for the fence. Tell him that you don't appreciate him nearly enough. Give him a well-deserved blowjob. Go outside. Sit in the sunshine. Shut the fuck up. You can thank me later for this one, when you're old and wise like me, and have actually been through some shit.

I know you are probably going to think this is a hate-filled and unfair review, but in some tiny part of your soul, you also have to know that what I've written is true. Every post is an apologist treatise for your life.

Before I end, I want to show you some real, compelling blogging:

This.
This.
This.
This.
This.

Please, stop with the posing.