Tuesday, July 31, 2007

bloomerang CPR underway

You know my other blog? The one you thought was dead? Or never knew was alive? Medics are attending to it, and it has stopped flatlining.

It had the longest near-death experience ever. It shouldn't have survived. Maybe it's going to have that look in its eye, now. If you could see what I've seen, you wouldn't fear the death of your blog. It's BEAUTIFUL.

It was like, I have to go back...my readers...reader...Tina...the author...same thing...she needs me. My reader/author needs me...I can't die yet. It's so peaceful here. It's light. A garden. Blogs I have known and loved before. It's tempting to stay. But I know I get to come back someday.

Bloomerang is the blog where I put the things that don't fit here. Things what are more contemplative, less baby-driven. Heavier. Or more random. Look if you like. Or just malinger around here, malingerer.

You're not a malingerer. I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry. Let's not fight. I love you.


Eve said...

Oh, Bloomie- I never gave up on you, old girl. I KNEW you would pull through.

And, Tina- PUH-LEEEEEEEEZE start tooting your own horn, or promoting yourself, or whatever you want to call it- because we loyal readers are still here pining for you, and would love to hear all about it!

Anonymous said...

No, no, it's okay. It's true, I've been known to malinger. You were right to point that out.

john said...


Mother has a new paramour. She calls it Bloomerang.
Ah good then. She'll fail to notice the speakeasy I've opened with bathtub gin, goodtime ladies, and jazz jazz jazz. "Dance with me?" the gals ask. But I can't dance. No, honestly, I simply don't know what dance is. Though I'm sure Mary could teach me.


Tina Rowley said...


Mother here. Ask the camel hound how he came by the materials to distill gin in his tub. Ask him to ask himself. Does he have money? He doesn't. Does...his mother? See? She's not such a wet blanket.

Also, ask the camel hound how come - if he doesn't dance - how come when his mother says the word "dance", he starts walking slowly backwards and waving his arms, sporadically kicking a leg, with a half smile on his face. Ask him that.

Also, he turns around in a circle.

If you can't be up front with your diary, with whom can you be up front?

Don't answer that. I already know.


However, if this were Mary's diary, I would advise her to watch her back. And listen for young men saying "Ilene" in their sleep.

The jig is up.

Word to the wise,

john said...

I keep on screwing up the acronym of NLP (Noisy Little Playboy). I write NLB or other such nonsense. The poetic license, however, states that he's too hopped up on jazz and flappers and fedoras to keep his acronyms straight. He's quite young, after all.

Now, I'm off to type niwasicu as per the comment instructions.