Reluctant Reviewer Desperately Seeking... Anything

I have been remiss in my blog reviewing duties and for that I apologize, but I'm not going to lie. The conflict and drama involved in this process gets to me. Although the URL clearly shows that this is not a tea party hosted in your grandmother's lovely garden, folks still get all up in arms when a spanking is deservedly served. This is perplexing. Are you confused? Do you not know where it is that you have submitted your blog to be reviewed?

I think you and I both know that, yes, you do know whose hands you've placed your sweet little blog into. Your hope was that we would think that you are as awesome as YOU wholeheartedly believe you are. This causes you to be unjustifiably upset when you and your writing styles are ripped to pieces.

To further push me away, it seems that one of our lovely readers outed me and my identity to someone that I was to review. I hope that this was done with a purpose that was for good and not evil, because I found it disheartening.

So it is with all of this drama in my thoughts that I stepped away from AAYSR. And, it is here today that I step forward again to review, in hopes that the drama will stay within the level that is appropriate and intended. We love the drama, it's just that you all take it so darned personally. You can only imagine my hesitation when I was assigned today's blog. I think we all remember this.

Sigh.

But it is my promise and intention that I will not pull any punches or act as a puss cookie might while conducting this review. Integrity... I have it. Mostly.

So let's get down to business. I'll start with the "new first impression" that I got as I pushed past transgressions out of my mind, clicked onto The Reluctant Housewife and laid my eyes upon the design. Melanie has obviously put a lot into this design and I love the DIY blog designer. There is really good intention behind the design and she has it well organized. I like the look she was going for but somehow feel like it fell short. The font in the header is not going to be getting a fan club organized by little ol' me anytime soon. And while there is an extreme amount of organization in the navigation, the overall feel is still chaotic and cluttered.

I trust that this will fall into "personal preference" and this is mine. It just falls short of what I think you were trying to achieve, but I love the retro feel.

Melanie's writing feels all sorts of proper to me. I felt like I was wearing cardboard panties the entire time I read. Not entirely unpleasant, really, quite functional, but lacking in appeal and zest. However, I don't hate it. She writes well, it's just all very... meh.

You can stop groaning right now. Let me clarify. If Melanie was writing about something, anything that held my interest or that provoked my thoughts, then her style of writing would be fantastic. Her subject matter would do all the "excite me, thrill me" work. However, while I relate to her subject matter, I'm uninterested. Just as her title suggests, she is indeed a housewife and while she hates that title, she has wrapped her blog right around it.

In all honesty how am I supposed to get behind someone who spells out "shit" like this? Or comedic stylings such as this? And, isn't this all sorts of riveting?

What I'm saying here is that we have a perfectly lovely blog. There is nothing exciting, nothing that is going to crinkle up those cardboard panties. And quite honestly, I could have stuck my hand into the big ol' pot that is the internet and pulled out a blog just like this one hundreds, probably thousands of times over.

I guess what I'm saying is that your "meh" is polished is but, good lord, it's still just:








This is all sorts of really, we have to say this again? Because I know that we have told you again and again that you can be a mommy blogger, just be an interesting one, puhlease. Melanie, you've been reading here long enough to know better.

I should throw this in though. If you want to read about other people's kids and every little nuance of their farts and drooling, then Melanie isn't horrible. You know, minus the reviews.

Eh, How About... No?

Here is the thing about today's review, there isn't going to be one. Trust me, it's for the best.

I sat down at my computer and I placed my hands on the keyboard and started to type and when I looked at the screen all I saw was:

Fuck you.

Feeling just a little like Jack Torrance, I hit the backspace, cleared my throat and started again. When I looked this time I read:

Fuck this!

And, the more I tried, the more I wanted to put something real onto the page, the more resistance I was met with. Clicking away on my keyboard, I realized I'd rather be sitting in a bar, drinking imaginary things and speaking with dead people. You see? It seems that I've got one foot out the door this morning and it's refusing to come back inside. I don't know if it's writer's block or just a lack of caffeine. I could try to force it but I felt like today's reviewee deserves better.

Her template deserves to be set on fire, but she, the writer, the blogger deserves better than I can offer up today. Mostly, because she seems extraordinarily thoughtful and I'm quite thoughtless.

So I offer up my apologies to the reviewee and to you, the reader. This review will happen. Just not today. I just don't think it's fair. Despite what some might think, we do try to offer up fair reviews around these parts.

I should probably mention that I just told the man who signs my paychecks that I'd rather just not be at work today. So it's not you, it's me. Drunken, rattling around in an empty hotel, playing with ghosts... me.

The Finger In The Prince Albert Tin

The tenth year of my life was a dark and tortuous year for my tender, still fledgling soul. Leading up to that year, at the age of nine I had to confront my abusive father and declare that I would no longer be visiting him and taking the beatings he dished out. Then I turned ten.

Ten found my family moving to a new house, in a new town. A town where there was seemingly a church on every corner and all the kids seemed dirty and strange. We moved the summer before my fifth grade year and it was a long, painful, hot summer. Somewhere in that time my mother pulled away from the family, from herself and landed squarely in a mental hospital having tried to off herself in the middle of one desperate night. Being the oldest, I felt I had the weight of my heavy, upside down world sitting on my shoulders.

I turned inside myself and curled up in a ball. I spent hours reading. Being precocious in nature, I read books much too mature for my years. One book in particular will forever be seared into my soft ten year old insides. As the summer grew cool, I picked up The Other by Thomas Tryon. With book in hand, I spent days reading and absorbing the horror, the terror. I was too young to fully understand what I was reading but, I was terrified. I was utterly horrified and scared out of my little mind.

Suddenly? The world was a big, bad, mean place and I now understood that. The mind is a strange thing that can fail you at anytime, releasing the darkness from within. Darkness that you can produce but not even fully understand.

Reading today's blog gave me that same terrible chill that The Other did so many years ago when I was fragile and frightened. The blogger's 'About Me' only offers up this:

Sack Posset: I am a green glass bottle full of filth and bees.

And indeed she is. There is no sense in even going on about the template of this blog. Simply put, I doubt she cares.

Without much to go on, I started with reading a few of the current posts and was oddly intrigued. Wanting to know just exactly what, I was reading I went back to the beginning and it was there that I started the chilling voyage of Sack Posset.

Yesterday I saw the cat with the human face again. It watched me as I passed and it was still staring when I looked back over my shoulder. It insinuated itself into my dreams, where it tried to make me touch it in an inappropriate way and then disappeared under the bed.

It seems that the author is truly that, an author. An author who is deep in the mind of a serial killer, perhaps too deep. Skillfully crafted, the words flow into each other painting a picture of a mind so black and dirty, you feel intimately violated by the stark, fear inducing nothingness of her soul.

However, just like The Other did for me all those years ago, while I was petrified, I also felt wrapped in a web of comfort. I could see the spider closing in to sink it's teeth into my fly flesh, but I was paralyzed and couldn't do anything about it. And, you know what? I just didn't want to.

Step into this world and sometimes you will wonder if the "we's" are actually other people or just the characters inside her head. You'll see glimpses and flashes of the real person that is there, but then you will be tugged right back down into the murk. Snarling, angry words are cleverly twisted around the mundane like watching Britain's Got Talent .

It seemed to me that at some point the author put aside the writings of the killer she has created, and at that point the tone changed ever so slightly. It became lighter and different, but still that blackness is there.

You find yourself imagining that there might just be someone chained to the water heater in the basement, crying for help, as this person clicks away on their computer in a filthy bedroom all day.








Just stay the fuck away from me.

Please.

If You Don't Have a Hobby, You Always Have A Buzzy Buddy

Ten years ago, I spent the first year of my daughter's life slowly going insane. Part of it I spent shut in the house with my in-laws, who were suffering through all the ailments that come along with a diagnosis of cancer and the subsequent treatments. Yes, both of them. The other part, I spent feeling alone, in a place where I knew no one, had no friends and the best company I could scrape up was my infant daughter. It wasn't bad company, it just wasn't what I was in desperate need of.

The beauty of the blogosphere is that there is a little something out there for everyone. If I had access to something like Sleepless Nights, I would have been grateful, so very grateful. I might not have gone as crazy as I did, I might not have been as lonely as I was, and I would have had someone who understood. Someone to relate to that could share her experience.

Veronica has been through the wringer. She recently lost someone very close to her because of that beast, cancer. She's dealt with fertility issues and personal ailments. And through it all, she smiles, she laughs and she masturbates.

The girl talks about vibrators... a lot. Don't believe me? Look:

Here
Here
and
Here

She also talks about her boobs... a lot.

Here
Here
and
Here

Living in Tasmania and raising two children, has its share of hilarity and intriguing moments. Veronica is a SAHM who is not afraid to share anything. And, I do mean anything.

She holds nothing back and puts it all out there with a small nod to the fact that she may be providing too much information or offending the delicate sensibilities of people like...

Well like me.

Veronica's blog may have been my cup of tea ten years ago. Today? Eh, not so much. There were moments I found myself on the verge of gagging and literally cringing. Which is not an entirely bad thing, I'm just not big on the details of breastfeeding. But, there are so many out there that are.

The template is clean and neat. It's well organized, uncluttered and easy to navigate. I have no issues with it, but I'm not thrilled by it either. It's there, it's good. Whatever.

I have the feeling that Veronica is the kind of woman that I could sit and have hours of conversation with, all of it heavily laced with the word 'fuck'. My only real complaint about her writing is that she tends to go on. It's something we've said before and we'll keep saying it. Editing is key. Not just for errors but for content. I love the way she writes, matter of fact, yet conversational. She's funny and entertaining, but just a bit long.

Veronica will make you laugh and let you share in her sadness. She'll also make your belly button tweezle with discomfort. Yes, I'm making up words now. And, through it all, I found myself just loving her. She has a spirit that can't be broken.

Darling, I give you this with a hug and a pat on your back:






Just one more thing though. Who has this much time on their hands?

Come on baby, I didn't mean it. Don't leave me hanging.

This week, I've been met with an almost constant flow of inspiration and creativity surging through my being. There may possibly be an undercurrent of booze with that, but let's not discuss such things. Mostly, because then I'd have to admit I could have a problem. Oh and it's not polite in mixed company.

Back to that flow of inspiration. I'm finding that today I'm a tad drained. The creativity I've put forth this week has left me wrung out and feeling just a smidge like the dried up, musty sponge that is currently adorning my kitchen sink. Along with a few crumbs from the frozen pizza I devoured last night.

So here I am, feeling used up, tired and lacking in inspiration, when I've been given this to review. My first thought is, I wonder if she feels the same way, because she hasn't posted in a month. And, this is the second time I've had to review someone that has done that.

My sincerest wish is that she does not feel that way and that her hiatus is simply because she is uber busy taking gorgeous pictures while setting the world on fire with her wit and charm. Because, Death Chick? I kinda love you.

Sassy and smart, she kept me reading and reading and reading.

If I'm going to nitpick here, she can tend to be a little verbose with her posts sometimes tending to be on the long side of the law. (Ha, see what I did there? Ahem.) I actually don't mind, but you know, it's Short Attention Span Theater out there in the internets.

Her 'About Me', however, could be a little more verbose. It's short and to the point, which ain't a bad thing, I would just like more of a hook. How long have you been married? How many kids? Why are you writing? Why should we read? Is it the mortuary school? Her archives need to be rolled up, as they go back over two years. Otherwise, I think the template is a winnah!

What I'm saying here is, Death Chick, come back to me. You're funny and creative, the world needs more of that. Which is why I'm giving you four of these dudes:






Come back to me, I'm begging you, please. I won't be mean anymore.

Less Crap, More Writing

Today's reviewee has been "blogging" since 2007. However, Kris Nair has not posted anything in exactly one month.

Which is mostly a relief.

I like to start things off pretty and with kind words, so let's do that first. Your title, less humans, more robots, fan-fucking-tastic my friend. I would just like to see a capital letter or four in there. Your template is clean and well organized, I love it and your archives? Eye candy, archive porn right there. I wanted to lick the screen, you know, had it loaded quickly for me. It didn't, but I'll forgive you.

Now for the bad. Kris is another in our long line of Indian blogging friends. He's not emo, cutting himself or crying out for universal understanding. Thank the heavens for that. However? He is a 'Mentor Capitalist' out of New Delhi. I'll let you click over to his blog to find out just what a mentor capitalist is, while I cough "bullshit" into my hand. I'll try not to let the fact that I was abused for years by a man from India, that was in a business very much like this, stand in the way of objectivity.

Ahem.

No, you know what? Fuck that. Let's stop right here. If your blog mostly consists of:

YouTube videos

Quotes from other people

Clever pictures and cartoons

Cut and pasted articles

Then stop asking us to review your shit. You are wasting our fucking time!







and








Suck it, Kris Nair, Suck it.

May I Soliloquise Whilst Kicking Your Shins?

Sigh.

I imagine that today's reviewee does that a lot. Sighs. Without an 'About Me' I had to wade through pages and pages to try to piece together who this person is. The very first post will have to do by way of explanation:

Recently, whilst speaking to a friend about being bored, she suggested that I should start an online journal where I could soliloquise about whatever subject I wanted without having to worry if anyone was interested. So here I am, writing the first entry in what will, no doubt, become an epic collection of my various ramblings and opinions.

For Christmas I was given a fridge magnet that read: ‘Everyone is entitled to my opinion’, which I took to be an indication that, at least in my family’s eyes, I am a highly opinionated person, with no interest in keeping my ideas to myself. So perhaps this journal will not only serve to alleviate my boredom, but also that of anyone who may otherwise have been at the end of one of my rants.

So, let us begin…

Well now, isn't that just dripping with sneering and pretentious use of the English language? Having a strong command of written language is something of a novelty these days, which after having it kicked into my front teeth by the combat boots I suspect this blog wears, I might just be okay with that. I don't know what kind of footwear the actual author wears, but I do know it is not high heels. She's made that clear.

The template is drab and dreary, which is actually suiting. The font is tiny and does not encourage a painstaking wading-through of the reviewee's seemingly self-important views on the world. All of which come across as if they were conceived while sitting in front of her computer, maybe even while looking out an open window. I just had a recurring feeling that this person prefers to sit and form opinions about life rather than going outside to actually live it. She studies the world rather than taking an active part in it.

While, it may be unfair for me to make such a sweeping generalization about this person, I don't feel badly for it, because I read page after page and I still feel like calling you 'this person'. I know all about every minute detail of how you feel about all things feminist, and your bantering conversation style, but I still don't feel like I know YOU. It all comes across as being cold and robotic. And yet, I think that might just be who you really are. I just hope that's not the case.

I do believe the friend that suggested you start a blog was right to do so, and probably had very good reason. However, asking us to review it is just mean. It's mean, because you see, I feel it's necessary to sit here and read rant after rant. Why? Because that is how I produce a fair review. Now, given that you realize that not everyone wants to be privy to your ramblings, why the hell did you do this to me? I suspect it's because you are selfish, egotistical, smug, inherently full of yourself and perhaps even a tad cheeky. That is how it all comes across to your reader. Did you really want someone else's opinion? It appears as if you only value your own.

You are writing for all the right reasons, but you might consider keeping it to yourself. After all, you probably ARE the only one intelligent enough to understand all the minutiae that composes your thoughts and opinions.








I wanted to award you the Abercombie Poser rating, but you mean it, you really mean all of it. You 'fun sucked' my day.

She Doesn't Need To Shut Up, She Actually Puts Up

In this world that we were born into, in this life we've been given, we come to recognize that it is made up of a strange and frightening combination of fragile, strong, evil, love, light and dark.

We come forth and are thrust into this jumble of madness and told to make sense of it all. To experience, but not this or that. To love, but them not those. To take it, but not too much. To give, but to those who deserve.

It's not a clear picture, and there are roads that lead to destinations that are dark and life rattling. Where you become your environment, and it has a hold of you entirely. It all but makes you life's bitch.

If you're lucky something else happens. Something wonderful and just as troubling. Something even harder than sinking to that dark place that you struggled to get to in the beginning.

You recover.

So what happens then? What happens when you've been to the bottom and you lift yourself, fighting tooth and nail, hand over hand to the top again.

This happens.

The Melindaville Blog washed over me and held me close. Her words wrapped around me like a soft, warm blanket. What is The Melindaville Blog about? In her own words:

My name is Melinda Roberts Tyler and many people have told me I have had a fascinating life. In my lifetime, I have been a professional actor and musician, worked as an exotic dancer and high priced call girl, as well as started the world's first fantasy phone call service. I was a member of San Francisco's punk rock scene of the 1980's, performing with the band, "Wild Women of Borneo," during which time I became a hard-core heroin addict. I recovered from addiction in the mid-1990's and became an honors college student, a fully funded doctoral student, and an award-winning professor of psychology. I am currently writing a detailed account of my life experiences in a memoir, whose working title is "Lost and Found: A Journey." My purpose is to tell my story to inspire others if they desire change in their own lives and to increase awareness about the need for free and available treatment in our society.

I could sit here and nitpick about little things like using the word 'blog' in the title, or the crowded sidebar with unnecessary items like the calendar. I could harp about how far you have to scroll down to get to the archives. I could slap Melinda on the hand for saying "dye their hair" instead of exclaiming that wild women COLOR their hair as I learned in hair school. But, then I would be the world's largest douche bag.

Melinda takes you on her journey and when she tells the tale, you are right there in the room with her. Right there in the hotel room as a call girl. You are sitting beside her in her lonely little apartment, infested with cockroaches and library books. She takes you on the path of her recovery without seeming whiny or self-obsessed.

I thank Melinda for asking us for a review, but I have to decline. I cannot review you, Melinda, because simply enough:








Instead? What I want to do is sing your praises and share your words with the world. Melinda is the type of person who doesn't just sit around, telling you how to make the world a better place and change lives. She actually changes lives.