So, yes, I am aware that begging for blogosphere cool points automatically makes me less cool. I do not care. All I want for ChristmaSolstice is to be nominated for Freakiest Blogger.
I don’t plan or want to win, but I. Want. That. Button. Gimme.
I’m pretty sure I’m better qualified for Freakiest than I am for Hottest Mommy (Hi, I recently had sex with my husband for the first time since, what… spring? Um, not that long but yeah) or best parenting blog (“TV is the devil; I declare it so!” “OMG Molly luuurves Curious George it is the best show in the werld! Did y’all see House the other day?” And yes, that is my breast in my baby’s mouth as I chug a beer. Why do you ask?) and some crackheads nominated me for those last year. (Which is me kidding, because that was killer, even though I never got around to putting up my brag buttons. I’m busy, yo.)
So I’ll trade ya. Somebody nominate me and I’ll post the prolific doodling I did stranded in Pittsurgh in a software class with no computer. Said doodles include a self portrait, a full page drawing of Stonehenge with grassy patterns under a randomly abbreviated solar system, and a Family of Boo caricature thing.