Tag Archives: blogs about nothing

I Need Me Some Creative Viagra

It’s been a little quiet here at The Olive Gal lately. And for no good reason. I told myself when I started this blog more than two years ago that I wouldn’t just crank out blogs to have blogs. I’d write when I had something to write about.

So yeah, about that…

It’s not that there hasn’t been stuff happening in my life. Quite the contrary. Maybe it’s not groundbreaking, earth-shattering stuff, but I can usually find something to reflect on. Oh hey, I got a hang nail! What’s the symbology??

It’s not that there haven’t been juicy socio-political-cultural things to satirize. In fact, on Thursday I got all mad and frothy at a USA Today article that explained how the CDC believes all women of child-bearing age should avoid alcohol. (You have a uterus? Does it work yet? NO DRINKING FOR YOU!)

But man. I just can’t get it up lately.

Help, I'm in a nutshell.
Help, I’m in a nutshell.

I spend my days writing and researching and strategizing and worrying about SEO. I ain’t complaining about that. I spend a good part of my time as a virtual car recluse, confined to the four walls of my crossover while I crumple-faced cry-sing my way through Sara Bareilles’ “Gravity” for the 15th time in a row.

I spend my evenings as the Qasimodo-esque servant to a five-year-old tyrant, who’s practically telling me to “mush” as we piggyback down the hallway to the bathroom (because he refuses to walk there on his own), and whose nightly wake-up calls have gotten me daydreaming about dying just so I can have seven straight hours of rest.

So when I do find myself alone on the couch these days, I heave a sigh and reach for my laptop. Upon seeing the login screen, I decide I don’t have the energy to type in my password and give up. If that’s not a parallel for middle-aged flaccidity, I don’t know what is.

So here we are. Me in desperate need of inspiration, and you going “Why the hell am I still reading this bullshit?”

If there were a pill called Creative Viagra, I’d be loading up on it like a rich, privileged pharma-junkie just treading water between scores. Since there isn’t, I’ll have to settle for that Elvis-lite lyfe: hyper-caffeinating during the day and knocking myself out with ZzzQuil at night.

I’m not sure how to end this blog. How did Larry David end Seinfeld, a show about nothing? Terribly. They went to jail, like a bunch of assholes. Is there a blog jail? Maybe I need to go there. For inspiration.

The end.