So instead of cryptoblogging I have not been writing at all. Which sucks. But when you can’t talk about what’s on your mind you’re left with talking about Bret Michaels and how you kind of feel like the entire world has jumped on your bandwagon because you loved him way before he had a stroke (but not so long before he drove a Whore Bus).

Or you talk about the weather and how totally asstastic it was today. So asstastic that it took all my energy to remain upright in front of the fan because I refuse to turn on the AC before Memorial day.

Or you talk about signing up for the Graphic Novel & Comicbooks conference at The Loft ani d how Max, your 11-year-old nephew, is going to attend too.

Or you talk about how you threw yourself into work and books to avoid thinking.

See? Isn’t it annoying as hell? Maybe this will break the dam and l’ll have other things to write about, like how I got a cute haircut to see my College buddies and they stood me up because after all this time they’re still just a bunch of Stupid Boys.

Even though I had already gone to the DMV, SuperT, and the bank, I still got up and went back into the world because I knew if there were not the ingredients for a mighty gin and tonic in Supergenius HQ someone was going to regret it, probably me.

And can I just say that this little incident proves that I am a psychic supergenius? Because not 15 minutes after I got home, I got an e-mail from The Loft telling me that I suck and someone should take away my keyboard. On the brightside, Hipster Mom was told that she just might be a literary genius, so that’s good.

Anyway, I have decided that every literary rejection should be toasted with an alcoholic beverage of some sort and as luck has it, I am totally prepared.

It all works out in the end.

Yes, The Weakerthans’ new album Reunion Tour is solid. You should go buy it right now and listen to it. If this Weakerthans’ dude’s voice doesn’t win you over immediately, his lyrics will. Trust me on this one, I would never lead you down the wrong musical path.

In other news, I submitted my story “Imaginary Boyfriend” to One Story this week. I am eagerly awaiting my very first rejection letter. Once I have the slip of paper in my hot little hands I’ll be a real, struggling writer. Until then I am only a struggling writer wannabe. And much like Pinocchio, I long to be real.

You know, I was just going to write about how I can’t wait until life simmers down a bit so I can spend some more time writing but then I realized that I just spent roughly 10 minutes reading Sex in the City spoilers. Which just proves that I am totally full of shit. God, what is my problem?

After years of writing short stories and listening to Peabo tell me I need to submit my work, I’ve done it. I’ve entered my story “Boobs LaRue” in Glimmer Train’s Short Story contest for new writers. I figure I’m about as new as they get.

My stomach hurts. I think this might be the kind of feelings moms get when they send their kids to kindergarden. I’ve shoved one of my babies out into the cold, hard world without me. What if Boobs can’t fend for herself? What if nobody in class likes her?

This is scary as hell. I am hoping it gets easier, since I have about four more places I want to submit stories to over the next few months.