Blogless in Brooklyn

Can’t seem to make my brain work lately.

My gray matter is like the equivalent of the DMV: I submit a form, slip it under the window, and wait and wait and wait. Then the window shuts and the sign says, “Closed.” My brain is very uncooperative.

There’s so much happening in the political landscape, I keep wanting to write a blog about it, especially about the historic year for women and about feminism as it relates to the election. Sounds smart, right? I know! I think, wow, that’s so smart, Libba. You should write about that. Yuppers. Good topic. Just tap that one right out. And…now. Ready, set, action. And a one and a two and a three. Thundercats are go!

Yeah. That’s about as far as I get.

I’m working on the third go-round of GOING BOVINE and getting my kid off to school, and apparently, those are the only channels I’ve got coming into my brain. And cake. The cake channel is always receiving.

However, if you want to read an excellent blog about teen sex and the importance of sex education, go here:
It’s so much easier to link to cool writers whose brains ARE working than to try to jumpstart my own.

Also, I have not forgotten about the Worst Make-Out Songs blog, I promise. Bear with me. I keep adding to it and taking songs away as I realize, you know, I could manage to swap spit to that tune. (I’m still on the fence about Captain & Tenille’s “Muskrat Love”:
“Nibblin’ on bacon
Chewin’ on cheese
Sam says to Suzie
Honey, would you please be my Mrs
Suzie says, yes, with her kisses…”)

I think you can sense my dilemma. So many lust-crushing songs. So little time.

And so, because my brain is set to white noise, I ask for your help. What do you want me to blog about? Throw it out there, anything goes. I’m pretty sure I won’t get to everything, but I’ll pick three of your topics and force my brain to answer the call of the blog. Or die trying.

Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.

P.S. I hope everyone who lives in a hurricane zone is dry and well. And for our friend Haitian Texan, let us know you’re okay, Miss D. I worry. 🙂

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