The Suburban Subversive

This is a test. I repeat, this is only a test.

I’m new to blogging and I haven’t quite worked out how to do it yet. For instance, this blog used to be called the Suburban Subversive. Only no one knew it. That’s because I never got anything posted in a layout that I was happy with (and therefore didn’t send the link to anyone out there dying to know my infinite wisdom on the world).

Truth be told, I suck at, I mean, I’m not good at figuring things out on the computer. However, as a writer, I have won a few awards. I really hate to brag, but I scored a silver award from the Council on Foundations, an investigative journalism award from Parenting Publications of America, and the Guinness Toast award from Mickey Finn’s Pub (prize was a tall, velvet Guinness hat, good for snowmen).



But my most cherished award is from my KnowledgeWorks editor, Linda. It’s a smallish plastic trophy with a sticker on one side that reads ‘best telling detail’ and on the other side, ‘most disregard for spelling of names.’



It’s not that I have a disregard for spelling. It’s that I can’t f-ing do it, ur, have some sort of impairment (which includes punctuation as well). Case in point—I had reservations with some of the names I came up with for this blog, so I asked (begged, really) my editor to vote for one of the following:

The Clogging Blogger (in a word, queer)
Crazed and Confused (taken)
Writer, Wife, Mom, Drunk (I was trying to get away from the wife thing)
Harried With Children (didn’t want to limit my blog to straight people)
Midlife-ing It (didn’t want to limit my blog to old people)
Suburban Subversive (seemed too difficult to say under the influence)

Linda said she liked Suburban Subversive. So I checked to see if the name was taken and yeah!!! it wasn’t. I was now the Suburban Subversive. And this Suburban Subversive neglected her family for a day and a half, I mean, painstakingly created a profile on the site. It read like this:

I’m not really a subversive. I just like to stick it to the man every once in a while. You see:

…I’m the one in elementary school who raised her hand and asked the ‘If there is a God, then why’ question

…the one in junior high school who got sent to the principal’s office for wearing a bare midriff

…the one in high school who refused to say the Pledge of Alliance during my Honor Society induction

… the one after high school who hitchhiked out west with her best friend and then a year later, moved to Venice Beach with her boyfriend

…the one who finally went to college and studied Modern Dance

…the one who after college protested the Contra War in Nicaragua

…the one who at 30 married The Communist and moved to Tokyo for two years to teach English

…Now I drive a mini-van. With a peace sticker on the bumper



For days, I googled my subversive site and admired my new blog description box. I couldn’t, however, post anything because there was no manual called ‘Layout for Dummies’ handy. I wasted five f-ing hours and drank four beers messing around with page layout and photos. No f-ing luck.

Before bed, I googled my blog again and this time another Suburban Subversive came up.

What the F--K!! (isn’t it silly to do that when everyone knows the word is fuck?)

What the F—K!!

I THOUGHT I WAS THE SUBURBAN SUBVERSIVE.

Where’s my blog?

And who is this other subversive?

Is she as cool as I am?

This must be a mistake.

I then navigated back to my dashboard and linked onto my blog that way. And guess what? I discovered I was the Surburban Subversive.

Surburban with an extra R!!

So it’s really no joke, I can’t f-ing spell, and I have an award and a now defunct blog to prove it.

So what did I do? I calmly swigged another beer and downed a double dose of Paxil, uh, I mean, changed the name to ‘Prefers Her Fantasy Life.’

And truth be told, it may be for the best. Suburban Subversive could scare the likes of NPR or Oprah from knocking on my door. And really, ‘Prefers Her Fantasy Life’ would look nice on a t-shirt, don’t you think? (should I ever happen to figure out how to f-ing post merchandise on line.)

BUT WAIT. Stay with me now. There is more to this happy ending.

After one big headache and 848 extra calories, I had a success. I asked my 12 year-old daughter how to use the strikethrough key in my draft postings (she actually told me that it was called the strikethrough key and not ‘that thingy that puts a line through a word’) and she suggested I google how to do it.

So I googled it, checking my spelling carefully. Once I was successful (go to format, font, effects--strikethrough, OK) I cheered in celebration and did my happy dance. Upon hearing my jubilation, my Spousal Unit came running down the stairs, “Did your book get published?” he asked excitedly.



I guess he hasn’t learned to celebrate the small things in life because the larger things only happen to other people (No, I’m not a pessimist. I see the glass as full. Only like Wood Allen, I see that it’s full of poison).

So welcome to my blog. But please don’t check the spelling or grammar. And forgive me if I’m a bit overzealous with the strikethrough key.

addendum

As you might have noticed, the use of the strikethrough key is not present. That’s because I couldn’t f-ing figure out how to get my formatting through. Thus, I’ve had to change my strikethroughs to the annoying urs, uhs, rathers and I means.

I guess even the small successes only happen to other people.