NaBloPoMo in Reverse (or, Life Is What Happens When You're Not Blogging)

My son did not slice me like a honey glazed ham on Halloween night.

Unless he did and my disembodied hands typed this up. Awesome.

That would, however, prove that you don't need brains to blog.

Insert your own joke at my expense.

(Sorry.)

(Must. Stop. Thinking. About. Ham.)

I haven't posted anything in the last three weeks because I'm protesting NaBloPoMo.

For those not in the know (and a belated happy hook-up anniversary to you, My Love), NaBloPoMo -- short for National Blog Posting Month -- is an annual event in which bloggers attempt to post every day in the month of November.

Makes no since to me either.

Didn't we all get into this blogging thing to avoid drudgery, responsibility and hard work?

We were going to write a few good posts early on, be discovered and get a book deal or a movie commitment, then live the rest of our days off residuals and the revenue from our Google Ads (in the last month, I've nearly cleared $4.50 -- thanks for clicking, Mortician Babe!).

We were all going make something out of ourselves without making much at all. It's what real Americans do, right? I mean, when they are not telling their story to Oprah. Or Sean Hannity. Yep, real Americans -- just like you.

So someone please get the memo to those NaBloPoMorons -- stat! You're making the rest of us look like sloths!

Or are you?

Since my last post, I've been doing things that require me to actually get away from my computer. And I don't mean watch TiVo. Well, not all the time.

It all started on Nov. 1, known to me as the holiday El Día Del Lastre, or The Day of the Dead Weight.

That's when, after an All Hallow's Eve traditional indulgence of Mexican food, margaritas and the Butterfingers that never made it into the trick-or-treat bowl, I step on the scale to assess the past year's damage.

It's never a pretty figure -- the one I cut physically or the one my scale gives me numerically. That's the price to be paid for a summer of grilled meats, sweet straw-colored ales and dipped cones from the outdoor Dairy Queen in our town. Frickin' butterscotch Magic Shell.

This year, the numbers were pretty awful and I faced the choice of getting off my ass (actually, mah belly -- she is the problem) or going the Homer Simpson "moo moo and fat man cap" route. I think what drove it home was us buying Wii Fit Plus and, after my first weigh-in, my Mii suddenly looking like he engulfed a mini-Cooper.

And a VW Bug.

And the state of Delaware.

As luck would have it, the weather this month has been amazing nice for November in New England. I've been taking Murphy on some extra long walks, cleaning the garage, fertilizing the shrubs, chopping up or disposing of the last wood pile in the yard (I even bought a chainsaw ... after Halloween, of course), stringing Christmas lights around the yard (nyah -- hate me), getting the Minivan of Manliess winterized, taking the Things to an indoor waterpark, volunteering at their school, etc.

You know -- real life.

Oh, I'm still bulging in the belly department (down three pounds, though). But, for the first time in a while, I'm feeling a physical sense of accomplishment.

Why, then, am I posting today just 7 days shy of my goal of sitting out the month?

Am I lonely?

Of course, but that's a peril of at-home dadness in the 'burbs. Word.

Is My Love suspicious of my non-blogging goings-on?

A bit. That new Webcam I bought probably didn't help matters. Honestly, it's only so I can now video chat with my favorite blogger in Utah.

Maybe I'm just afraid that I couldn't handle the success.