overexposed.

I got a sunburn when I went to Rio de Janeiro with my host family in Brasil, for our summer vacation, I got this wicked fucking sunburn because, even though I'd practiced my skin up real good at the nearby pool while wearing a Brasilian bikini (picture, please, a piece of cloth large enough to create a pirate eye-patch for a mouse.  Now, multiply that by three, and attach some string in between the pieces.  There's your, er, *my* bikini), I hadn't practiced it up *quite* enough.  En route to the beach (we drove, family-style), we stopped off for the first night's sleep in a town that I wish I could remember the name of.  It was lovely.  (What has that to do, remotely, w the multiple-mouse-eye-patch-kini?  NOTHING.  whee!)  Anyway, we lunched somewhere, the next day, about an hour out of Cabo Frio (the beach that was our trajectory), and the name of *that* town also escapes me, though I do recall it began with an R, and afterward I peered into the shop next to the luncheonette and spied a perfectly edible tangerine-hued bikini made for an even smaller mouse's eyeball, so of course I HAD to have it, snapping it up on the spot.  It didn't cover as much (oh, the silliness in that statement) as the one I'd been accustomed to before, and left a few bare patches of heretofore unexposed-to-sunlight flesh.  Those bits, specifically, one strip on my left breast, and one strip on my right butt cheek, were so scorched as to become raised and leathery.  It took about a year for the skin to lose its slightly-darker appearance.  In the meantime, HOLY SHITBALLS DID IT HURT.  I truly understood the meaning of pain in the days after that exposure. 

I'm going to close up shop, here.

Hold on.  Stop fucking laughing.  I really am, this time.  See, I have a plan.  A several-point one, even.  I'm going to open a NEW shop.  YEAH.  BITCHES.  DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING, DID YOU, SMART-ASS FUCKOS?  (hi!  i like to insult my audience!  -- i don't, really, but i -- just -- oh.  good lord.)

The first part of the plan was to tell you I was going to aim my trusty pop-gun at the belly of this bitch, and the second part was to start a new blog, but to give you some time to beg and plead for the url of the new joint.  And the third part was to possibly explain some of why I'm doing all of this.  Only, I was undecided on the third part.  'Cause OH MY GOD THE TIME IT WOULD TAKE.  You do, you *must*, realize how absolutely fucking wretched I am at telling a story without spending an eternity on the sidetrack-ish portions, if you've been playing along for any length of time, oui?  So there.  You can wait to find out at the new joint as to the manifold reasons why.

For I will list them.

In the interim, you shall have to fold your hands decent-like and be all patient and shit, because SOME PEOPLE are insistent that I keep at this nonsensical business, even though I truly spare about, mmm, five or eight minutes a week for pleasure-writing (blogging not being remotely related to that business of what I would call "pleasurable").  I will say, yes, by golly, I'll say it -- I'm gonna miss this patch of imagined real estate, but shit.  It's fucking time.  Too many bloody unwelcome eyeballs peeled to witness my drivel.  Too many people who read but won't give me a goddam call on the phone to chat.  Which is high -- it's just high.  Who the fuck reads a blog written by a madman but won't call them up on the goddam phone to chat for a bloody fucking minute?  Especially when they could, because they have access to the number, and no excuse as to why they haven't done so, and then it just makes the person writing for the eyeballs all creeped out and shit, and makes that person not want to write on their own little, stupid, idiocy-driven web log. 

I have to come up with a name first, though.  So stick around, chickens and chickadoos, while I ruminate.  I mean, whatever you fucking do, STICK AROUND.  I'm sure it'll be like a veritable madhouse around here in the meantime.  (If a madhouse is still and silent as a tomb.)

(It is.)

(I think.)

Oh!, and email me or comment or some similar shit if you want the new address.  OR, YOU KNOW, YOU COULD CALL ME.  WE COULD CHAT.  YOU COULD ALSO SIMULTANEOUSLY INFORM ME AS TO HOW YOU ARE, TOO, AT THE SAME TIME.  SOUNDS WEIRD, HUH.

*ahem*

Comments

[Chelsie]

I love it! I would like to have the new url.

[E. Jean Carroll]

This is a marvelous blog, my god! I just discovered it.

[Kyla]

Yes, I'd like that new URL please!

[roo]

Well give me your damn phone number, then-- I'll call!

And you bet I want the new URL. It's hard to find my kind of crazy in this world.

In the meantime, don't let the assholes get you down.

[Nancy]

I'll share my sunburn story if you will share your new virtual addy.

(although my story is not nearly as interesting.)

xoxoxo

[MsPrufrock]

I'm a relative newcomer here, so it would just be cruel and unusual to deprive me of the new url when it is created.

In regard to the whole calling thing, I'm willing to bet there are a lot of people with telephonophobia or some shit. I hate the phone myself, and only deign to touch the thing in emergency situations.

[Major Bedhead]

If I had your number, I'd call. But only when I knew you wouldn't answer, so I could leave my number and wait for you to call me back. Because I'm a big chicken like that. Also? Please to be giving me the new url when you get it. tengubeddymudge.

[themikestand]

I'd call you, if only for the abuse. :)

[Kelly]

If you don't find a way to get me your new URL, I might just have to track you down and wrassle you.

Don't think I won't follow through!

[mamatulip]

I'd like the keys to your new place, yo.

[Glennia]

I seriously hate the freaking phone, but for you, I might actual dial. To get your new URL.

xoxo

[Kathi D]

I do not even call people I actually know live and in person.

However, if I don't get the address of your new blog, I will cut you. I will track you down and not call you, just cut you.

[BHJ]

I'm with Neil. I don't play these silly games. Except when I changed blogs a month ago. Shut up, Neil.

[Neil]

No. I will just stay here and wait for your return. I don't play these "games."

[mrs. chicken]

Yes, please. I'm still listening, albeit while playing all kinds of catch-up. And eating a lot of Swiss Cake Rolls.

[flutter]

can I suggest "leathery ass patch" as a name for the new place?

of which I will be told where it is, OH YES I WILL BE.

[hoppytoddle]

For crying out loud. I've never even seen you in person, how would I have your number??? I DO email you. Well, I have. Now you're going to cut me out??? Whiny pregnant ladies are not pretty!

[marcie]

I do! I do!

[magpie]

I'm fine, thanks. You?

Can't wait to hear the name/url of the new spot.

[bea]

Hey. SOME OF US have phone phobia, you know. If I could call people, I would totally be on vacation now, because I would have BOOKED one.

(That is to say, can I come to your new blog too please?)

[Backpacking Dad]

I think you're just rubbing it in my face that you've given your phone number out.

Mine is 1-800-Backpacking-Dad-Is-Awesome. If you don't call me to tell me the address for your new blog I'm going to send telemarketers after you.

[dodo]

leathery butt cheeks, hmmmm

[Chicky Chicky Baby]

You're closing your blog.

I don't have your phone number.

I would totally call you even though I HATE THE MUTHA EFFING PHONE but because of said not having of the phone number I can't.

I will go pout now.

[slouchy]

yes. want. please.

[JChevais]

I totally want the new url. I don't comment a lot, but I'm always a-reading.

I like being insulted.

I think.