What's In a Name?
That and the law says I have to feed them.
I knew I would be writing about my darling husband because I love him so. And if I kept quiet about all the stupid shit he says my head was in danger of popping like an over-filled helium balloon. (But he's the bestest, sexiest, most generous husband this lady could scrape up around these parts. And I love you so and miss you, in case this is the odd freaking time you decide to READ my blog.)
But I needed to name my blog. As I sat staring at my glowing screen, listening to the hum of my beautiful iMAC, I was suddenly at a loss for anything creative. Or remotely clever.
Immediately, the words 'Redneck Mommy' popped into my head. I wasn't bright enough to Google them first. Nope, I was blinded by mirth, so delighted in my ahem, cleverness that I simply ran with them.
(I was remembering a hot summer day when I was ten and I asked what a redneck meant. My uncle pointed to his very sunburned neck and said this. Ironically, he meant himself and not his fried skin. I was TEN. Oops.)
Knowing that my mother would die of mortification if she knew I called myself a redneck, (or my family a bunch of hillbillies) I pressed the lovely PUBLISH button once more. Nothing like an act of passive aggressive cowardness to really stick it to your mother. (I have since spent the last year trying to keep quiet the fact that I have a blog, let alone her finding out the name of said blog.)
I didn't understand how creative the Google-loving perverts could be. Or how the word "Redneck" is really just code for hillbilly porn. It's been an education. Some of it funny, some of it just plain ewww....
Because I am celebrating the fact that I managed to shove my children onto the school bus this morning and then flee like a third-rate bank robber, and because I am celebrating the fact that I can leave my dog outside to shit on his own, I have decided to share some of the Google searches that have lead the public to me.
Not you of course, dear internet. The other public. Wink, wink.
Pissed on the Ground: Well, I don't, but my neighbour has been known to. Especially if I am standing nearby, wearing slippers.
My Neighbours are hillbilly trash: See above.
Redneck toothless smile: That would be my Daddy's toothless grin you're googling.
Tacky tattoo redneck: What's your point? Some tramp stamps having meaning.
rabbit murderer: And Google led you HERE??? As far as I know, I haven't been guilty of that since they actually started selling premade home pregnancy kits.
origin of baby showers: I don't know, but if you find out could you let me know? Because after the pain that was my sister's, somebody has some explaining to do.
husband is hung: If you mean in the literal sense, hanged, like a certain Iraqi warlord, then no, no he isn't. If you mean hung in a more pornographic way, I'm certain he would agree with you. I, however, am refraining from commenting on the size of Mr. Pickle.
I want to know how a dandelion grows: Something to do with water and sunlight. Having worked in a greenhouse and priding myself on having a huge green thumb, I should know. But when I see the little suckers I kill first and then ask questions later. I'd advise the same action unless you are fond of the prolific little weeds.
picture of kid duct taped to wall: A work of art, if I say so myself.
redneck magic: That would be what happens in our bedroom. Wink, wink.
Does Kraft Dinner Give You TapeWorms: Not sure about that. But there is a case to be made for Pinworms.
After collecting my Google queries and writing this post, I realized something.
I really am a redneck. And there are some questionable folk out there. Questionable, perverted folk.
Welcome to my blog.
****Edit: These are not the dirty ones either... I couldn't type past all the blushing I was doing! And DELURK dammit! I mean, pretty please...****