Self-Help Books. Written Just for Me.

My friend Melissa just made the gigantic mistake of alerting me to the existence of... Snark Handbooks. Oh. My. God. With titles including Snark! The Herald Angels Sing: Sarcasm, Bitterness, and the Holiday Season, I. must. own. all. these. books.

They're like... manuals on how to be me. And God knows, I need help with that.

Wonder if Kickstarter would let me have a fund set up to get the series? If I tell them that I really need a series of self-help books on how to be a bitchier bitch? That not having them is keeping me from reaching my full potential as the Impressaria of Innuendo, a Virtuoso of Verbal Attack? I have my doubts since they refused to help The Bloggess to get a taxidermied wolf pelt to wear to the première of Twilight: Breaking Dawn, Part One. I mean, she got Wolf Blitzer in the end, but not because Kickstarter wanted to help. Fools.

There's a lot going on over the next month... and I will no doubt find a lot about which to be snarky. Not in a totally Grinchy way, but in a way that reminds good Episcopalians everywhere of the Eleventh Commandment...

Thou shalt not be tacky.

Forget that rule at your peril, because if you do, you'll find your transgressions catalogued in a blog entry here. If you help me to be snarky by participating in an event that brings it on, or if your own snarky comment makes me snort, you'll find yourself here too. It's like separating the sheep and the goats. And We All Like Sheep. Baaa.

Hope for the Future.

Not mine, necessarily.  But for the next generation's, maybe.

Stolen from the facebook status of an old partner-in-crime's husband:

Teenager: I'm not a nerd.  I'm an intellectual badass.

Maybe there is hope.  Just maybe.  I have hope because of kids like whoever said that, and my choir buddy who writes this blog and our exceptional organ scholar who said, in response to another (adult) singer's suggestion that we use the processional cross as a weapon, "the power of Christ compels you."

You know what?  Maybe there's hope for me too.  Maybe, just maybe, like my heroine (not heroin, because that's a downer, and it's clear that what I do not need is anything to squash my soul more since I've lately been the bug more often than the windshield), The Bloggess, I too can claw my way out of this crushing misery and get back to my intellectual badass, riotously funny self.

The self who said, while on choir tour, "I just bought a handle of gin, four bottles of wine, five cigars, and a lampshade.  It's gonna be a good weekend."

Yeah.  I want that bitch back.