NaBloPoMo 2006Today is the first of thirty days during which I will post at least once daily, because I have sold myself to Fussy's NaBloPoMo.

Whenever I commit myself to something of this nature, a little voice inside my head sing-songs You'll never do it. You know this already. Quit while you're ahead. It's creepy, like it sounds kind of nasal and has a hunchback and its remaining hair is but white wisps on an otherwise naked scalp. I am trying to ignore it, but it smells like old-people liniment.

The Original Perfect Post AwardsAt least this month of daily blog posting is starting off well. Lala nominated me for a Perfect Post Award over at Suburban Turmoil. I am hoping that this is a good omen, because today's post is cranking out of me like glass through a meat grinder. In fact, you should go read my supposedly perfect post, because this one is not going to be getting any better. It's all painful metaphors. The English language never hurt so bad.

Wow, it's going severely downhill, truth be told. So severe is this downhill-going, that it's basically jumped off a cliff.

Exhibit A: sharing photographs of my blogging costume

red underwear

red underwear

Yes, today I have a blogging costume. I despise Halloween and all its fakery, but it brought to mind these sexy red long underwear that I purchased five or six years ago for the last Halloween party I would ever dress up for. I was a used tampon. Very few people spoke to me that night. I understand that my costume was lame, but it's not like I, personally, was actually an oversized used tampon. Some more conversation would have been nice.

If only you could have witnessed me earlier when I was wearing these red long underwear while plunging the toilet vigorously and trying not to mix any curious cat heads into the bowl. That was hot with extra Ts. The Palinode could ask for no more wifely hotness if he dipped me in a tub of Sriracha sauce.

And on that note, I must now bathe and consume quantities of raw garlic in an effort to mend my putrescent tonsils.

Oh, the sexiness, she simply will not end for one Schmutzie Pickles this afternoon. If the sexiness insists on producing such wanton displays of scorchingly hot salacity, I shall be forced to scarify my flesh or roll in offal so as to make possible a peaceable life for myself.