Where the Wild Rose Grows

AB is Brilliant, But I Am Not

Well, it must be said, again, that AB is the most beautiful, talented, sassy, and stylish web designer anywhere on the ol’ world wide web. Thank you, AB, for the gorgeous site! Thank you for the working comments! Thank you for giving me the ability to (gasp) upload PICTURES, actual PICTURES, onto this site, which will invariably lead to seven million photo essay entries, and doesn’t that just make everyone…happy? Yes! Of COURSE it does. YAY AB! Everyone go hire her to do y’all’s own sites now, so she can make a million dollars and whisk me off to Tahiti.

So, missdoxie.com is growing up. We are officially in our third generation, people, and doesn’t that make you kind of…proud? We’re getting Big! I mean, I still do not know what a “gig” is, but we will overlook that kind of thing.

Sadly, as growing cannot be done without a certain amount of pain, there is also the unfortunate matter of my email. Being that I am an idiot who doesn’t understand words like “gig” or “ports” or “portals”, I successfully deleted about one million email messages when I was trying to set up my new account. Those include interesting messages from people like yourselves, possibly even YOU, sending me interesting facts about craft things, and your weird dreams, and all manner of wonderfulness. I deleted ALL of these. So please do not think I am ignoring you, but if you sent me an email in the past two weeks or so…well. I lost it. It has left this world and gone to live with Jesus and all the missing socks, and I will therefore ask you to kindly resend. Especially if it was something interesting. I don’t have enough entertainment in my life, and I am relying on you to fill that void. Hop to!

Also! Please kindly note my new About Me page, which is updated with a picture Dukay hates. Apparently, I am in big trouble for not displaying a more flattering image of him, but I am not afraid of Dukay. When I find a picture that meets his High Standards of Whatever the Hell, then we will change it out. (Or, to put it more specifically, AB will change it out. You think I know how to do that? HA! Nope.) Also, AB created pretty new archives, making it much easier to access all of those old, pre-MT entries, if you were so inclined. It’s all very professional and shiny and new.

SO. Now that I have a new website, bet you were thinking I would…write something on it. Weren’t you.

Weren’t we all, really?

But I waited for a while, in part because I was afraid of logging in to movable type, fully convinced that I would do so and somehow manage to delete everything AB had done, and that she would then kill me. I am not afraid of Dukay, but I do not want AB after me. She may be small, but she could kick my ass six ways from Sunday, and I do not need that kind of fear in my life.

But, now that I’ve been given the go-ahead by AB herself, I have, of course, forgotten all of those things I wanted to write about over the past few days. And, kind of a lot has happened, some of which was funny to me, and I wanted to write about it, but…hmmm. Gone from the brain.

And I was sitting here, imagining my individual brain cells, hanging out somewhere else, smoking itty bitty vials of crack or whatever, when I was immediately reminded that this weekend, Dukay and I went to go visit his grandmother Mimi in South Carolina. (No, wait. Seriously, this will all come together, I swear.) And we love Mimi. Mimi is one of those grand old Southern women who speaks with a low, drawling accent, and lives alone, taking care of her damn self despite the fact that she is at least 88 million years old.

When you are 88 million years old, you do not mince words. Accordingly, to my endless delight, Mimi is always telling Dukay that he is full of shit. Dukay will say something, and she’ll just shake her fist at him. “You’re full of shit,” she’ll holler. This fills me with glee. “He is!” I immediately agree. “He is absolutely full of shit. I thank you and your wisdom for acknowledging this fact.”

On Saturday night, when Dukay started talking about his future plans, Mimi waved her hand and cut him off.

“Don’t you be smokin’ those cigarettes and makin’ those big plans,” she told him.

And when Dukay told her about eventually switching careers, she had a similar response:

“Don’t you be smokin’ those cigarettes,” she said, shaking her head. “Oh, no. Oh no, no, no, no. Don’t you be smokin’ THOSE cigarettes.”

We have no idea what this means, but we find it enchanting. “Don’t go smoking those cigarettes, Dukay,” I tell him later on, as he tries to decide on a parking place. “Don’t you go smokin’ those cigarettes and parking here.”

This is a fabulous thing to say, and I encourage all of you to use it liberally. “Don’t you go smokin’ those cigarettes and forgettin’ what you were gonna write about,” you might say to me. Or you might say, “Don’t you go smokin’ those cigarettes and post yet another entry about nothin’ at all.”

So, considering the fact that those lonely little brain cells o’ mine are apparently smokin’ those cigarettes and refusing to cough up my memories of funny shit, we are going to do something New, a Kick Off for the new site, if you will, and for the first and probably ONLY time ever, I am taking requests.

Yes! Just like on the radio.

I get emails all the time asking me to write more about the dogs, no, write LESS about the dogs and more about Dukay, NO, write LESS about Dukay and more about your sister, NO, WRITE NOTHING, but post pictures of the dogs, NO, JUST LEAVE THE INTERNET FOREVER, GOD. And it is all very confusing.

So today, y’all decide. What do you want to hear about? Lord knows I have a story about everything. Y’all give me a subject, and whichever seems to garner the most support will result in an entry, probably tomorrow (heh. We’ll see), and it will be all about WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT.

This is so democratic! Now, comment away. But don’t you go smokin’ those cigarettes. You’ll forget what you were going to say.

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