Song for a Sunday.

Okay this is TOTALLY corny but I decided I wanted to do this "Song for a Sunday" theme to help me get through NaBloPoLetsNotTalkAboutIt, and I had like 398430984 ideas for the first one.

But, since, as many of you know, I write my posts really late at night and set them to post at 2 AM, I thought of this song and how much I loved the show Instant Star.

(ALL of this is incredibly sappy and ridiculous but if I can't share my humiliation with the internet, who can I share it with?)

(The answer, in Hubs' eyes, would be no one. But who listens to him?)

Anyway, enjoy, this girl's voice is kickass and the song is sad but hopeful. I think so, anyway.

This one is for all the insomniacs out there.

(You have to imagine me saying it in a gravelly late-night DJ's voice.)




Happy Sunday, y'all.

Self-realization Saturday.

I don't know what's wrong with me lately, but I've been writing and deleting posts like nobody's business. It's really out of character for me, because, contrary to popular belief, MOST of my posts take me awhile to hammer out, so it's not likely that I'm going to delete something I just worked on for an hour.

(It might or might not take me that long to write a post because I'm easily distracted by google searching and shiny objects. Allegedly. Whatever.)

Anyhoodle. I've been deleting posts. Unpublished ones, of course.

I don't know why, exactly.

(I said that already. But see, that's what happens when I do a stream-of-consciousness post instead of one that's heavily edited.)

I'll speculate on it though since today is Saturday and I have to post because it's NaBloPoMotherOfGodWhyDidIAgreeToDoThisAgain.

I've been writing this blog for two years, and it's evolved from me just randomly bitching about whatever was on my mind at the time to a very half-hearted theme week scenario to limitless stories about how my second marriage is LIGHT YEARS more entertaining than my first (albeit slightly dysfunctional in a loving way) to a mix of all three that is something I think I like but I'm never quite sure.

And since my Google Friend count has creakily yet steadily increased, I'm going to assume you all like The Tia Show.

(Yeah yeah, I know, when you assume you make an ass out of... well, probably just me. I can live with that.)

Sometimes, though, when I look back at the last couple posts at any given time, I think to myself "What would someone think of me if they just stumbled upon my blog?" Lots of you have been reading here for a long time so you know that I am not ALL bullshit and big hair, but I'm sure I can probably come across like that if you don't really know me.

Wouldn't be the first time, anyway, on this blog or in real life.

Yes, everything on this blog is true, and no, I don't make anything up. Couldn't if I tried. Wouldn't. You can't sarcastically self-deprecate yourself if you're not in it for real.

(Plus, it's not fun that way. Nobody makes fun of me as well as I do.)

I would like to state, for the record, though, that beyond all of the vapid vampire fandom and catty couture obsession is a girl who eats poetry for breakfast, wishes on rockstars, craves indie art and film noir, has a dark place or two in her head where nostalgia rules and hindsight can't even begin to fix, and thinks music really can save your soul.

There are two sides to every coin and I think mine is weighted.

Both are true but one is easier.

Spike through the heart.

Friday cannot come fast enough, that's for sure.

I get SO EXCITED to post every Friday, it is LITERALLY the highlight of my week.

(You know, aside from all of my RPattz internet photo searching quality Hubs time.)

This week's Fanged Friday feature is the beautiful blond James Marsters, or as we know him, Spike in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series.

Oh, Spike. You had a rough road. First the Drusilla drama, then your on-again-off-again relationship with Buffy, and THEN your quest to get your soul restored. What a busy, busy boy.

You were always much more my type, Spikey. Sarcastic and a little bitter, a lover AND a fighter, and an uncanny resemblance to one Mr. Billy Idol. Add in a hot body with that penchant for bar brawls, and you're my dream dead man. ME LIKEY.

(I write this blog so I don't have to pay for the therapy I undoubtedly need.)

Happy Fanged Friday, everyone!