Where I profess my love for graphic designers. The good ones, anyway.

As my creative juices continue to flow - or, gurgle, sputter, and spit until the augger of my inner me dislodges whatever the hell was blocking said juices - I continue to utilize a resource I've never even met in person. Or spoken to verbally. Isn't that crazy?

No. No it's not.

I was searching for your not-so-traditional Valentine's Day cards for my kids one year to share at school and found this etsy shop. From there I not only bought the Valentine's, but I checked out her blog, participated in a contest she had going, and won the Grand Prize! It was a banner for your blog. Needless to say, I stumbled upon a resource that has so far been valuable to me in this world I try to participate in when, say, my juices flow freely.

Her name is Brenda and this is her blog. She tells the tales of her daughter, adventures in their yard, dogs, family, parties, all while Brenda is all creative and stuff. Stuff she makes appear so effortless. She's also a graphic designer and I love graphic designers. I love how the good ones design websites that are so simple and clean and easy to navigate.
Like my friend Marian.

Not only do I love good and talented graphic designers, they impress me. Their efforts appear effortless. My sincerest hopes for said people is that their work is as easy as they make it look and they aren't suffering through anxiety attacks and sleepless nights.

I've started hiring Brenda as my own graphic designer for little projects I need help with. I pay her, you guys. She's affordable, talented, and I'm a firm believer in paying someone to complete a task I could try to accomplish on my own, but I WOULDN'T KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN.

Like hiring the guy to hang my mailbox that sat on the floor of my front porch for almost 5 years. Or the pocket doors in my over-100-year-old house that stayed stuck in their pockets for almost 5 years. Or painting my porch. I appreciate these people big time.

The banner you see above? That's not even the free one anymore. I was ready for a revamp and went to the one girl I knew I could a) trust, b) appreciate, and c) be the one to help me get it done. A few emails exchanged and there it is.

And now she's helping me come up with a watermark for my photography business, which I'm super excited about. Which, as you can see, is also clean, simple, and easy to navigate. I can't stand going to a website that is filled with endless text and images that I forget what I was even looking for.

Our goings on

I do believe NaBloPoMo 2010 was the greatest successful flop I've ever achieved. What's with that, anyway? I mean, during my morning showers is when I come up with most of my content and by the time I actually sit down to put it all together... well... I just don't.

In other news, raising 'tweens has sucked the majority of my creativity clean dry. Yes, I will toss Gil into the Tween category because even though he's 9? He plays 12 really REALLY well.

Gil pointing and shouting tearfull at Allie: YOU, ALRIGHT?! I LEARNED IT BY WATCHING YOU!

Do you guys remember that awesome drug commercial from our youth? The boy air drumming or whatever in his poster laden room, interrupted by his dad who disapprovingly shoves his kid's stash in his face. The boy lowers his headphones, or whatever, and shouts, YOU, ALRIGHT?! I LEARNED IT BY WATCHING YOU!

My dad and I still say that to each other. You may recall his comment on my post about pet peeves.

Back to my kids. After a long, and I mean LONG, Thanksgiving break, I decided to declare authority once again and forbid tv watching. [insert evil witch cackle here] That's right. I FORBODE it. I think that's the first time I've ever used that word. My kids were certifiably awful. I lost all touch with my them. And yes, I blame those stupid Disney twins, Hannah Montana, and Allie sneaking E! and way too much TLC. And by TLC I mean Sarah Palin, Kate Goselin, and those little people. And the family with a million kids.

Day 3:

Damn. I had a great idea for post while I was running today, complete with title, opener, and a punchline. And just like that it's gone. Hate it when that happens.

Accidental tourist

You know you've landed on a blog you shouldn't have when the person's ABOUT involves "loving Jesus Christ." Exit stage left.

On shifting

It's been bugging me lately that I have this yearning to create a blog entry, but when I go to write one, I CAN'T. I get this great idea for a topic and then POOF! just like that it's gone.

Today it dawned on me: The masthead. It's all wrong. Just like me struggling to go about my daily routine with Jon still in it, this blog still has him in the masthead. See? Up there?

Not only that, you guys, but we no longer have the Sprinter, bless it's heart. Probably went to some electrician, or general contractor, or painter, or courier, or moving company. SOMEWHERE IT BELONGS.

Just like the decision to ditch the Sprinter and finally get a normal family vehicle, I opted to ditch Jon as my husband. Wait. I'm still keeping him on as The Father of My Kids. He's really good at that part. Amazing, even. Not so much in the Emily's Husband role, though.

I'm shedding things over here, you guys. People warned me this happens with divorce. And I'm really thinking I'm starting to believe it. The contract is the first to go. You know, the one that declares this person as your HUSBAND or WIFE? Just a formality? Really? Enjoy it when you get sick of that person you spent however-many years with and want out. And that whole 50% thing? Might be worth paying attention to.

Friends shed like your dog's winter coat. Or that snake skin you find on the vine whilst vintnering (shout out to Molly!). It's amazing how people choose to align with one person or the other, rarely maintaining a balance with both exes. Everyone plays a hearty role in creating this shift in friendships. I've found trusting people I once thought I could to be difficult. If you're friends with Jon, supporting Jon, how can you also, equally, support and help me? And vice versa. You may think you can, say you can even. But I don't buy it. I successfully shoved a pretty good friend away by, well, I'll keep all those dainty details to myself. But see, I clearly needed to shift myself in a different direction than the one I was going. I have found a minute select few who are capable of being friends with both Jon and me. And that group can be shaved down into two more groups: Real and Not So Real. Surface bullshit is no longer a part of any friendship I desire. Being blunt and honest? That's a very strong part of my character. Those who can't handle it, POOF! gone.

There's this thing we call Self Medicating. Are you familiar? Thought so. Being able to shed the need to escape into a bottle of High Life or even Torpedo or Two Hearted and replace it with going to bed when my kids do is a fantastic change. Plus I like to enjoy my beers and not just not just regret having them when I get up in the morning. Ouch.

Part of being married to someone I didn't want to be married to created a lot of conflict within myself. Following the divorce, I continued to maintain a positive relationship "for the kids." Just like that guy Doug from the 80s would say, It's an illusion! I'm all, Wait. Didn't I divorce you? For those reasons? Why are you still here? What am I doing? It's like Sleeping Beauty who was awoken after 100 years of slumber by a simple kiss from her prince. Only I'm waking after 10 years of constantly comparing myself to other wives and mothers, knowing the whole time it didn't feel right. And nobody's kissing me. It's Egan shouting, MOOOOOOOOOOOOOM, CAN YOU WIPE ME?!

It's extremely liberating to focus my energies on my kids, my career, my interests, and me; instead of trying to be someone I'm not with all that pretend stuff in the way.

Now about that masthead...

Give me a topic, you guys!

My guess is you were concerned I was sent off to an erotica boarding school, what with my lack of entries after my last post. Perhaps you envisioned me studiously learning about different BDSM paraphernalia while enjoying break out sessions on What Exactly Nipple Clamps Can Do For You!

Where has my creativity gone. I often wish I was one of those freelance writers who are given topics to cover. At least then I'd know what I have to write without pulling something out of thin air. Or my ass.

Let's try something new here: Comment on this here post and tell me what you want me to write about. And I will!

Ready....GO!

Holy Wonderful Weekend, Batman!

Here's how small the world is: On my way back to CF from outside of Winterset, I stopped in Des Moines to reunite with three amazing friends. I begin describing my weekend to said friends Leslie, Phil, Reimer, and Sam - who at 13 was far more concerned about the table of cackling 'tweens dressed in dance recital regalia than my stories of fire spinning, cowgirling, and lazy 35-year-old lounging.

Elaborating far further than necessary about The Duchess of Sheets's amazing garden, Leslie stops me. She explains she too knows The Duchess because he gave her a bunch of zucchini one night. Bombarded by my imaginary chorus of "that's what she said's," I remained on topic realizing that Leslie and I not only share our astrological sign and personality similarities, we know the same amazing people.

Sundrenched cheeks, nose, and chest - dubbed "Spring Break," as in, "Braaaaaah, thrashing the pipe at Breck left me with mad goggle face." - I am acclimating to civilization slowly but surely. Against my will.

I have an assignment!

An acquaintance friend of mine out in Brooklyn is an editor of erotica. She compiles stories filled with various themes involving hot steamy sexy stories Penthouse Forum has a hard time topping. I think her resume includes editing Penthouse Forum. Pardon the use of "hard" and "topping." That'll make more sense in a sec.

One of the many things Rachel does is travel the states conducting workshops on just how one successfully writes a story of erotica. And one time? I went up to Minneapolis to kick it with my friend Courtney, also friends with Rachel, because Rachel was in town giving one of her workshops at a local Uptown dildo shop. Honestly, you guys, my initial thought was YEAH! The perfect reason to get to Minneapolis to see Courtney AND see what Rachel is all about!

I believe I missed the memo informing me "workshop" entails you, as in me, actually participating in the shop of work.

Me: Writing? No biggie.
Memo: EROTICA.
Me: Oh.

Although I'll spare the gory details, I will share the image of the Catholic girl in me burying her beet red face anywhere she could so as to not make eye contact. With anyone. Especially the 50-something balding man with Jeffrey Dahmer glasses, white unmarked van parked outside, detailing his erotic fantasies with the entire group. That's how I took every story each brave soul shared. No one else existed in the room but me. Like they were whispering each dirty detail to me in secret as I squirmed doing my best to slither away. Spotlight shining straight down on me as they described the intricacies of the wet dream they had had the other night.

Except for Courntey. Pretty sure her humor disguised the naughtiness, allowing me to laugh. Catholic, remember?

On to my recent assignment. Rachel is now conducting a virtual book tour for her latest compilation,Please, Sir: Erotic Stories of Female Submission. Rachel requested friends with blogs help with her book tour. I have a blog. I am friends with Rachel. This is when I agreed via facebook to do my part to represent erotica writers everywhere. Wait. What?

Female submission. Not sure I even know what that is. BDSM? No idea. Rachel is trusting that I can deliver. So I'll be reviewing the book on May 18. Stay tuned, you guys. This? Should be good.

Wednesday April 28

You know? I totally want to commit to typing something, posting anything, at least once a day. Previous to this Come To Jesus moment, I would unfortunately psych myself out of posting because of the self-imposed pressure to be funny, unique, yet profound.

But you get nothing yet, my one known reader who passive-aggressively successfully encourages me to get to writing.

According to my banner, it is still winter. And we still drive The Sprinter. Perhaps some subtle updating is in order. This I can promise you.

New Plan: Day 2

The best part about creating my own writing goal? I made it up and can amend it as needed. That's the worst: committing to something and then letting yourself down by not following through. That's when you practice unconditional love for yourself and move on.

Our divorce is final. Jon and I completed our Children in the Middle class on Saturday, leaving us feeling validated and closer in our new roles as Partners in Parenting. The whole damn thing still seems surreal. Not only admitting defeat and filing for divorce, but then going through with the whole process.

Hey wait a second...I followed through!

p.s. This post is dedicated to my new dear friend Tara and her subtle nudges to conitnue writing.

New Plan: Day 1

Super bummed I missed signing up for NaBloPoMo! National Blog Posting Month is an awesome way to continue to blog, regardless of content and creative inspiration. A picture, a quote, "blah blah blah," has been known to suffice.

I'm going to make up my own monthly, daily blogging plan this year. It always starts on the 10th of every month, you guys! No sweat then. We're just in time.

Thank you for coming. For my first trick, I will try to stop thinking in Status Updates and actually complete a sentence. Facebook and my recent barrage of texting has really dummed down my ability to craft the written word.

[applause]

Liberation

I told you I'd be back, right? Well here I am. Now I vow not to announce myself like this anymore as I find it far more irritating than you do.

Today I sit with a somewhat-sick 4 year old laid out on the couch with the tones of Big Bird, Elmo, and Maria and Bob filling the air. I still have a hard time accepting that everyone, EVERYONE, can see Snuffy. Poor Egan may have contracted his cousin's illness of last week. The first Stay Home Sick Day, replete with the obligatory call in to the teacher who also, obligatorily, sighs and hopes for the best. After describing Egan's whiney begging to go to bed, glassy eyed, last night, "Well, that's not like him AT ALL!" No shit. Thanks.

After getting the kids off to school, my routine is to fill the biggest coffee cup possible with my freshly brewed joe, and set up shop at my desk to tend to computer and administrative responsibilities. Even if it is just facebooking, I'm still entitled to that time, right? But today I'm going through my bank account and student loan websites. My own. Cutting a check from my checkbook, from my checking account, for Egan's September tuition was quite liberating this morning. Adding various events into my upcoming calendar months, deciding whether I want to do this or that. It's up to me, you guys. And I really like that feeling right now.

Welcome to the machine (Final day of NaBloPoMo)

In routine Emily fashion, she sits down to create her personal biographical statement for admission to graduate school, and is happily distracted by Pink Floyd's Welcome to the Machine.