Blogging - commitment or commit me?

Lord, I am an undisciplined woman at times.  I've committed to my "blog" more times than I can remember.  If this were a relationship, my blog would accuse me of being a serial cheater....and it'd be right.  Every pretty little face turns my attention....the new blog of the day, the bloggers who are funnier, prettier and smarter than I.   It's very intimidating, like being in high school again - trying to get through the main intersection, past the chosen ones, the beautiful people of whom I am fairly certain I was never one; the cheerleaders and the football players huddled together, languorous in posture, but with a big, mental, group "fuck you" emanating from their circle of protection.  Yes, the blogs that intimidate me - the Bloggess, Daily Dish, Truthout, Go Fug Yourself - all  the pretty people hanging out daring me to try to usurp them - not likely, but hell, I'm gonna try.  Cuz, I got some good shit to write, ok?  No one else grew up with Penny Pletz for a mother and no one's had my life - I can dredge up some good stories - the trick is to make sure they translate well onto paper - I mean, certainly with practice, I'm going to get funnier and smarter and more urbane, right??

Anyway, back to the commitment...I am going to promise to put an hour or more a day into this.  That's full time writing in my world.  Did I also mention that I am newly addicted to the Hipstamatic app on my iPhone as well?  I'll throw in a little hipsta as well.  Try to keep it fresh, people.  I'll share links, stories, photos and musings of my own and you are all welcome to comment, snarkle, bloviate or simply adore me.  I leave it to you, dear reader.

Hmmm. Somehow while writing this I've thrown my back out or I've got a serious kidney infection, in which case, I'll be blogging from the hospital - let's hope it's a strained muscle, eh?  Anyway, all you who love me and who are coming to my blogsite because I have begged or blackmailed you to, I thank you (and I promise not to reveal any of your secrets unless they're really good ones - but I promise to change the names to protect the innocent.  Keep in mind, though, if you are my friend, chances of you being innocent are slim to none. So basically, you're screwed and you'll have to show up every day to see if I throw you under the bus....)

Look, I'm 50 now, I've achieved that magical age where I can say anything and I don't care what you think. It's the beginning of the great decline but I don't expect to start farting in public and not caring for at least another 20 years, so for now you just have to deal with my 50 year old brain.  The decline into total "not caring" is a gradual progression - I think the mind finally agrees to go along when the body fails.  The other day, I sneezed and I peed my panties a bit.  It reaaaallllly sucked and in my defense I really needed to pee anyway.  But the idea that this was a sign of things to come sent me into a tailspin - for God's sakes, I am an UNMARRIED 50 year old woman - I can't start peeing myself until I find a new husband - who the fuck is going to want a peeing-her-pants 50 year old wife?!!  I used to laugh at the Kegels but boy, I am squeezing those muscles every chance I think about it.  I refuse to contemplate Depends.  Ever.  I will have my friend Jack shoot me if it ever comes to that.

So where was I?  Oh yeah.  The blog.  Commitment.  Yes, I am on that.  Righty O. Right after I finish laundering my panties.