The Difference Between My Sisters and Why One of Them Should Start a Blog

I recently posted a blog at my Writer of Blogs site about a wasp infestation in my car. I sent the story to a bunch of people and got the following responses from my sisters.

I have often thought Cindy should start her own blog for reasons which will soon become apparent. Kathy, on the other hand, not so much. You'll see why. If you agree with me, that my sister Cindy should start a blog, please let me know by commenting if you can (for some reason, even though I have set up my blogs to accept comments, people tell me they can't, but please try anyway – I changed the settings so maybe now they'll work).

Brief background: If you were to ask my sisters and me what we thought about a movie we had just seen, I would give you not only the synopsis, but character composites, information on the backdrop, the setting, vital conversations, and more. In other words, you could have seen the movie in its entirety in the time it took me to describe it to you. Cindy would point out the highlights and leave you begging for more. Kathy would try to describe the entire movie in one word.

To get a sense of what the following emails concern, read THIS FIRST.

By the way, XXX = swear words deleted (they weren't that bad, but I deleted them anyway).

Here is Cindy's response to my spine chilling wasp story:

Ter, your story sent chills down my spine.   Talk about coincidence.   I too had my share of hornet horror recently.  

 

Throughout the past week, Craig had been getting rid of 3-4 hornets in our porch every day.   It reached the point where I wouldn't go out on the porch until Craig had done his "bee due diligence."  This past Tuesday, however, was the worst.   The porch was secure because Craig had drenched it in wasp spray, but evidently the garage was not secure.   Immediately upon opening the door to the garage, I heard a thunderous buzz by my ear.  I quickly closed the door, but it was too late.   An enormous hornet had flown in.   I stood in our back hallway and, honest to God, saw a black missile coming towards me.  At eye level, both of us could see the whites of our eyes.  

 

Craig was at work, so what was I to do?  I panicked.   I literally "hopped" around the house, gasping for breath, yelling "Oh XXX, oh XXX, oh XXX, oh XXX."    I eventually hopped out to the garage, still "oh XXXing," and returned with a can of wasp killer but, of course, the wasp was no longer in sight.  So, I grabbed one of my cats and screamed "FIND IT OR YOU DIE!!!"   Luckily, Patches knew I meant business.  She spotted it on the window in the foyer, but it was too high for me to reach with the wasp killer.   And, Patches is too fat for me to throw at the window.  So, for the next hour, I sat perfectly still on a stair, killer can in hand, and stared at its every move.  Then I saw it go behind the shade.  The shade is transparent so I could still monitor its actions.   I had such a grip on the wasp killer can that I developed a blister on my finger.   For another 45 minutes, the wasp remained behind the shade and I actually thought maybe it didn't know how to get out and maybe, if there is a God, it will simply die of frustration.   But, no, it found it's way out and I again went into hopping and oh XXXing mode. 

 

Since I saw it fly away from the window, I began the search again, but, glancing back at the window, I see a wasp again behind the shade.   At this point, I'm not sure if it's the same wasp, or God forbid, another one, or even if I'm hallucinating, but I have no choice other than to take the spray and just aim and pray.   The spray hits the lower half of the shade, but is obviously less effective because it's not a direct hit on the wasp.   So I spray and spray and spray.   By this time, I am covered in wasp spray.   The shade is sopping wet.   The walls are dripping in spray.   The pictures on the walls, the books on the book shelf and the carpet are drenched.   The wasp is getting weaker.   I spray some more.   My finger with the blister is bleeding, but I don't even notice.   I continue spraying until the can is empty.    The smell is overwhelming, and I'm nearly choking from the fumes.   And, if that wasp hadn't died at that exact moment, I would have thrown the empty can at it.  

 

I'm still not sure there isn't another one lurking around somewhere, but if there is, we can put both your car and my house up for sale.

And now for my sister Kathy's response: I had a wasp in my house last summer.  I vacummed it, trapped it, put it in the closet.  Case closed.

(photo of Cindy, Kathy, and me is VERY OLD as are we) 

So excited!

I contacted various writers on Associated Content (where I write) to find out how they marketed their articles. I was happy to learn that by hooking up with social marker dot com, I can send articles to 49 sites simultaneously! Wow!

Now here's the sad part: Apparently I found this social networking site many months ago, but due to rapid aging of my brain, completely forgot that I had found it. So, as excited as I was then, because I forgot about it, I am just as excited now.

Reminds me of my friend, Barbara, who has the most amazing sense of humor. Barbara (who I sometimes call Bra Bra because my grandson couldn't pronounce her name and I thought it was cute) has a son who was in a serious car accident several years ago. As a result he suffers from short-term memory loss. One day when he was in the hospital, he met a young woman who suffered from the same problem. As Barbara and the young woman's mother spoke, they heard their kids introducing themselves to each other over and over, "Hi, I'm so and so. What's your name?"

It's like the movies, "50 First Dates" and "Finding Nemo" (with the delightfully forgetful Dory) – everything is brand new all over again.

Well, anyway, my purpose today is to share the information with writers who stumbles across my blog.

Gone With The Wind

I can't take it anymore. I have been writing until my fingers have practically fallen off, and still I get paid only $1.50 for every ONE THOUSAND people who read each article.

So here's what I'm thinking, that I'll put an ad in the paper with a link to my articles, a request to read them, and a promise that the one thousandth person who comments will receive a reward. But by offering a reward I would have to consider it a contest, and by considering it a contest I would have to adhere to the guidelines set by some arbitrary contest committee who will probably tell me I'm breaking Article Whatever of the Constitution of the United States. And really, all I could pay the person is what I would be receiving, which is a whopping $1.50. Who would care? 

And the really sad thing is – only three people read my blog anyway, including myself. Of course I haven't told anybody else that I write a blog, but I'm considering letting other people know. I have difficulty sharing this kind of writing, though, because it's kind of like writing a diary that I'm asking people to read. What's the point?

Glad I asked. I feel compelled to write. I feel compelled to share my heart and soul. I can't share it with my soul mate (sadly, nobody can stand being with me longer than six weeks, or maybe it's that I can't stand being with them for longer than six weeks – I don't know – I'll think about that tomorrow). I'm so Scarlett O'Hara.

So I am left with you, whoever you are, if you exist. Whatever. Frankly I don't give a damn. I'm so Rhett Butler.

If I did care, I'd tell you where to find me.

OK, maybe I do care.