10 out of 10 Experts Agree That I'm No Expert

There are a lot of experts out there. Incidentally, I'm not one of them, tho now, with this blog, I play one here on the Internet.

I'm not an expert parent, just ask my kids tonight at about midnight when they'll still be up.

I'm not an expert on being a great wife, just ask my hubby when I tell him that he doesn't get to come home unless he stops leaving his coffee mugs all over the house.

I'm not an expert on surviving set-backs, just ask my pharmacist.

I'm not an expert on fashion or femininity, just ask my neighbors who catch glimpses of my daily ensembles that include my hubby's Hot Rod t-shirts coupled with pink heart clad Victoria's Secret sweat pants and Adidas sandals.

I'm not an expert home maker. Take cooking for example, I don't ever make the same thing twice since the art (or as that beast Martha calls it, "the necessity") of measuring escapes me. Cleaning? Well, I sure do a hell of a lot of it, but the house sure continues to look like hell. Decorating? I've got everything from Grandma's china to Walmart's finest pleather clad child recliners to work with..with that kind of amazingness, I have no excuse.

I'm most certainly not an expert on religion or politics as I tend to tune out other people's offerings on those subjects, therefore learning very little in the process. You see, I don't trust their non-expert opinions.

I'm not an expert in the arts. I like to watch ballet or dance, but space out and end up wondering where they get their spray tan or if they ever eat a Twinkie. I kind of like to listen to classical music...well, at least when it is the "sound-track" to those cheesy photo compilations creative people make..well, that is, until I start spacing out swearing I've seen that picture before in their "creation". I like art, but have a hard time figuring out why a picture of a plum is supposed to be symbolic of war or some crap like that. I'm not particularly well read, in part because my A.D.D. space outs are NOT all that helpful in following story lines, and the other part is that I am a commitment-phobe. No one aims to read half of a book or 1/3 of an article, if they pick the words up, they intend to read it in it's entirety. Well, to me that is like a contract. If I open the book, it means I have to stick with it. So, I don't pick it up too often, that way we don't get "attached".

I'm not an expert writer. I'm not very good at the fundamentals. I'm a terrible speller. I don't remember my rules of constructing sentences and proper punctuation..ya know, the details. I have zero ability to condense, always ramble on and on, often repeating myself. So, I don't like MY writing, but I do like TO write. I think it comes down to the fact that I can say whatever I want to say, however I want to say it, without the inconvenience of actual talking. Don't get me wrong, I'm not afraid to talk..even publicly...the problem with talking is that, well, people talk back. With writing, I don't have to worry about pesky interruptions...ya know, like actual human faces and voices.

So, you see, I'm not an expert on anything. In fact, I know just enough about a little bit to get me in a lot of trouble..especially since I like to talk A LOT about the little bit I do know. Worse, I'm not an expert in biting my tongue either, so my non expert opinions are also unedited.

I always say, I can be either your favorite person or your worst nightmare, I have references for both. Some are even experts.

If I Write It You Will Care

"You should do a blog." (Now, repeat 23423423x in your perkiest voice)

I should "do" the laundry in a timely fashion..like before it topples over on my toddlers head or "do" my toe nails that I neglect in the winter since the unforgiving sandals are safely on hiatus.

I dunno if I should "do" a blog. After all, seems to me that all those really good women out there would be baking fat free whole grain organic muffins or knitting a scarf from the wool they sheered with their own hands from a homeless sheep they rescued....during the time heathens like me would spend Buh-Loggggggggging.

Besides, I'm the anti-blog. Blogs are just forums for narcissists, both accomplished and aspiring, to freely practice their craft. Odes To Self as I call them.

Blogs are places where people who think they have really important stuff to say "share it", and by share, I mean, FORCE other people to read it (or pretend to read it).

Blogs can also be creepy.

Mommy blogs are filled with uteruses and lactation.

Political/Advocate blogs..ya know, that smart people stuff...often seem to show glimpses of potential sociopathy, rants that clearly make you question if the writer may have bodies buried in their basement.

Then the dreaded "diary" blogs...the worst of the worst. Regular every day average Joes and Janes who chronicle their life and feelings one keystroke at a time...forever claiming it to be "therapeutic". Let's face it, I've got issues of my own, I am so NOT into reading all of yours...and really, I give not one shit what you and your kids did last Sunday. Oh, and by the way, I'm not even sure I BELIEVE you. After all, if it was a diary for inner zen and therapy, it would be um..private. Since it's public, I'm pretty sure you've changed and/or embellished a few details so as to capture the attention OF THIS AUDIENCE you have chosen to appeal to.

So blogs suck. I don't want to write a damn blog. Instead, I will write the anti-blog.

I've hastily named my anti-blog, Hillbilly Haute. Honestly, it was the first thing that came to mind, but in keeping with the long tradition of blogs having some kind of literary merit (or pretending they do), I will add that the title is a reflection of me and the life experiences I tend to base my uninformed and unsolicited opinions on.

I'm a chick who knows what fork I'm supposed to use (Haute), but chooses the "little fork" (Hillbilly) because it fits better in my hand. I'm the chick that has silver platters (Haute), but they sit tarnished in a pile in the living room (Hillbilly) because I know I probably shouldn't get rid of them (Haute), but have no idea where the F to put them since I need space for my boybarian's video games (Hillbilly) in the Buffet (Haute).

I even made the layout of my (anti)blog pastel yellow, pink and green, the gang colors of the preppy country club madras loving bunch (Haute), but plan to litter the pages with un-polished (like my silver), slightly tacky and often unlady-like banter that would make my grandmother cringe (Hillbilly). See, symbolism doesn't escape me.

So, here we go. I'm hoping that all 2 of you who will read this (because you searched "Mommy Blogs" hoping for advice on what your 2 month old's crooked toe means and accidentally found me) will learn to embrace your Hillbilly and your Haute. Oh, and if you can't bring yourself to actually exercise the dichotomy in your everyday life(because you find me to be positively terrifying), then, at the very least, you can laugh. Hopefully it is not one of those rhythmic "hahhhahhaaa" laughs that ends with a sigh ("ahhhh")...because, well, not only is that super lame, but also, those are the kinds of things that might be material for me later.

Let the games begin...