Alt. Title: 2 Years And 653 Posts Later (in which the Jaffa Cake waxes lyrical on my behalf)
Rosie cares so much about her devoted readers that she's asked me to whip up some sort of a second birthday cake for you all on her behalf. The lazy fuckwit.
See, I met Rosie through blogging, and now I'm about to good-n-proper grown-up move in with her. It's a little strange, when I think about it. And I thought about it a lot at first, because I suppose I started off by having some weird form of blogging crush on her. I started reading here when she wrote that post that seemed to hack a few very insecure people off in a big way. Flak was flying, and every cunt in the blogosphere (how I hate that word!) was flying in to give their tuppenceworth. She wasn't so much saying what everyone else was thinking, as saying what everyone else hadn't quite managed to get around to thinking yet. "Why are people being mean to this lady who speaketh only the truth?" I thought to myself, and, like the cunt from the blogosphere that I am, waded in with my tuppenceworth
And I read more, and I back-read (but only a little bit, I don't read so fast).
She often speaks the truth! She's pretty funny! She swears ever so elegantly! She uses italics effectively! She's loquacious! She's uses clever words I don't always understand!*
Today, after being landed with this commission, I did a little more back-reading, just to see what she was writing about in the immediate aftermath of beginning this blog. I had to be careful, though, there might be talk of other fellas' mickeys if I looked in the wrong place. It seems she began with this post and has carried on banging on about herself in much the same vein ever since, only with more bad language and a few posts so emotive that you could feel the tears splashing on the keyboard. Lots of people do that, but she's one of the few who have managed to do it and keep it compelling. If Rosie has nothing to say, she'll generally say fuck-all. But the thing is, and I make my apologies to you all here, since we got together her posting-rate has taken a nosedive to rival Ireland's GDP. Mine has too. Because when you're inclined to telling anyone who'll listen about any little thing that has needled its way into your attentions today, then it comes as a blessed relief when you find that there's one solitary person who's delighted to hear about every little one of them.
She'll carry on posting, she's too talented and far too fond of your affirmations not to. And, with any luck, she'll be asking me to do this again next year.
*Incidentally, she tells me she realised that we'd definitely hit it off after I wrote a post denouncing those who use exclamation marks excessively.
Rosie cares so much about her devoted readers that she's asked me to whip up some sort of a second birthday cake for you all on her behalf. The lazy fuckwit.
See, I met Rosie through blogging, and now I'm about to good-n-proper grown-up move in with her. It's a little strange, when I think about it. And I thought about it a lot at first, because I suppose I started off by having some weird form of blogging crush on her. I started reading here when she wrote that post that seemed to hack a few very insecure people off in a big way. Flak was flying, and every cunt in the blogosphere (how I hate that word!) was flying in to give their tuppenceworth. She wasn't so much saying what everyone else was thinking, as saying what everyone else hadn't quite managed to get around to thinking yet. "Why are people being mean to this lady who speaketh only the truth?" I thought to myself, and, like the cunt from the blogosphere that I am, waded in with my tuppenceworth
And I read more, and I back-read (but only a little bit, I don't read so fast).
She often speaks the truth! She's pretty funny! She swears ever so elegantly! She uses italics effectively! She's loquacious! She's uses clever words I don't always understand!*
Today, after being landed with this commission, I did a little more back-reading, just to see what she was writing about in the immediate aftermath of beginning this blog. I had to be careful, though, there might be talk of other fellas' mickeys if I looked in the wrong place. It seems she began with this post and has carried on banging on about herself in much the same vein ever since, only with more bad language and a few posts so emotive that you could feel the tears splashing on the keyboard. Lots of people do that, but she's one of the few who have managed to do it and keep it compelling. If Rosie has nothing to say, she'll generally say fuck-all. But the thing is, and I make my apologies to you all here, since we got together her posting-rate has taken a nosedive to rival Ireland's GDP. Mine has too. Because when you're inclined to telling anyone who'll listen about any little thing that has needled its way into your attentions today, then it comes as a blessed relief when you find that there's one solitary person who's delighted to hear about every little one of them.
She'll carry on posting, she's too talented and far too fond of your affirmations not to. And, with any luck, she'll be asking me to do this again next year.
*Incidentally, she tells me she realised that we'd definitely hit it off after I wrote a post denouncing those who use exclamation marks excessively.
