Conversations With My Favorite Person

Eureka!
Eureka!

Triple Eureka!

I just had a burst of light moment!  It was awesome!  And grapes were involved!

Minding my own business, (lets not kid ourselves here. Just who's business am I going to be a minding??) whilst I was washing a blob of grapes for myself.  (Question:  What is the blob of grapes really called?  Is it cluster?  Is it group?  Is it assortment? )  While washing grapes, I popped one into my mouth and thought:

 "Man, the grapes are REALLY good this summer!!" 

 (Question:  Why do we always say Man when starting a sentence?  Or Boy?  Where are the girls in this expression?  You NEVER hear Girl, or Girlie, or Lady, (Question:  What happened to Jerry Lewis?  Dead or Alive?)  or Woman or Female.  Not even a HeShe.  Just ONCE I'd like to think....

"People-with-ladyparts, the grapes are REALLY good this summer!!"

.....instead of thinking about men all the time.  Ah.  I'm baiting you for a comment, can you feel it?  Can you taste it? Are you all wrapped up in a sparkly bow with it??

Anyway, right after I thought about the grapes being REALLY good this summer, I had this urge to blog about it.  (Question:   "Do you think I might appear a tad geeky for revealing this?"  Question was retorical.  Do not answer, because I don't give a hootie)  

And then my NEXT thought was:

 "Blog about grapes being good?  Are you insane?"

 to which I answered, 

"Well that would be a VERY thin blog Mommacita...there is not NEARLY enough material there."

to which I replied quite harshly:

"That's not a blog you moron, that's a FACEBOOK post."

which stopped me dead in my tracks (Question:  Do you think I'm too harsh with the ones I love?? Did I deserve a more gentle approach, such as "That's not a blog you moron, that's a FACEBOOK post and you look pretty?".)  

Can it be true that the reason I was stopped dead in my tracks is because the subject of Grapes being good is just a facebook post?  A FACEBOOK POST?  

Hmmm

Here's my ah ha moment:  (Question:  Oprah Winfrey....Yes or No? )

I think this blog is nothing more than crap you would read about on facebook.  Pardon my french.  I could do my Question bit and ask you why french and not greek or spanish but I'm on to something here.....

Along with the "I'm cranky today" or the "feeling spiffy" the Mommacita facebook posts very well could have been:

"I went to a funeral today"

"Here are some pictures of cats."
.

"texting olympians is the bomb."

"People who put clothes on their animals need to cover their animal's parts that are usually covered by a swim suit."

"I have dirty little secrets and now YOU get to JUDGE me in the privacy of your own home."

"My son robbed me of graduation and I cursed him and died, (me not him)
.
or
.

"My latest favorite thing is GRAPES!!  Hooray for GRAPES!!"

Now that I think of it, this blog could probably be taken care of on twitter, now that I am hip and squared up with the hashtag situation:

#ifyouseemeinthegrocerystoreandyou'rewearingmickeymousepantsIwillprobablytweetaboutit

I think you get the message.

Blogging, an activity that I have done for more than a couple of years now. (Question:  How much is a couple?  Is it two, more than two?  Because if you add all of the blogs up, the answer might add up to be under one year's worth of blogs, and, wow.    I guess I've just faced this actual fact:   Maybe I exaggerate on this thing??? ) and in that one maybe two years I might have been wasting time?  energy?  exposure on the internet?

So what you're telling me is that this blogging activity could have been an activity that could easily have been condensed down into, say, maybe, 10 minutes total, start to finish?  I could of been concise both with time AND words?

I'm not sure what personality discrepancy I might possess that compels me to go on and on and on about a bunch of grapes, but I just did it and in conclusion I should probably go and sit alone in a closet and eat my hair and never be allowed a rational thought again let alone exposure to a keyboard.  

Those grapes were really good.