It's not good-bye. It's see you in the funny papers.

I started this blog in 2004, the night before my 40th birthday. I had to have something to do because I was afraid to go to sleep and wake up old.

Since that time, I've written lots and lots of words here about lots and lots of things. You've read about my fear of hotels, my desire to behave childishly, and my love of the guy who stocks frozen peas at Wal-Mart.

You've been with me through numerous fun medical journeys, like the joy that was my lady business check up, the hilarity of my thyroid operation and how fantastic it is not to have a gallbladder.

You've read what it's like to live a day in my skin, you know that I can't dance if I want to, and that I am in crazy love with Michael Buble and vampires.

You've seen me angry and even angrier, happy and even happier (at someone else's expense of course).

You know Kitten, the Big Dog, Deputy Pretty and LT DB, The Evil Red-Headed Berta Lou and of course, Mr. Man.

I've written for you when I was stoned, injured, and profoundly broken hearted.

Now I'm done.

There are many reasons that I will no longer be a part of the blogosphere, but when you boil them all down, it's pretty simple. My dream and my family's dream for me, the dream of writing and having published a book, will never have any real chance if I continue on here.

You know, giving the milk away for free and all that.

The editors who are kind enough to give me actual cash for allowing them to publish Wiping the Crazy Off My Face in their newspapers will (hopefully) continue to do so, but with material not published anywhere else. The ugly fact is that I have been copied, plagiarized and a time or two, have actually had what felt like my whole life stolen and published somewhere else. It's my own fault really. Nobody ever said the internet was a nice place to play.

I genuinely appreciate and adore each and every one of you who has sweetly encouraged me, shared with me and laughed with me over the years. I will miss the give and take this blog has afforded me. I've learned a lot about writing humor here, with each of you as my teachers.

If you've enjoyed the time we've spent together, consider sending a quick note to your newspaper's editor and letting them know you sorta like Wiping the Crazy off My Face. It would also be fantastic if you would mention you will refrain from blowing up his or her office if they contact me about syndication.

I love you, I'll miss you and thank you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.



Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.

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Monkeys make everything better. Let's cross stitch that on something.

Dear Sher,

What the hell?

Dear Question Asker who tires of typing after only one short sentence,

Um. Is this a riddle? Cuz I suck at riddles. I'll give it a shot anyway. I'm gonna say four. Yep, four. Definitely four. It's four, right?

Dear Sher,

How ya doing Lady?

Dear Lionel Richie,

Pretty good. No wait a minute. Make that really good. Like crazy, insanely good. Heavy on the insanely.

Dear Sher,

hi, my name is S* Smith, i was wondering how old you were, and i was wondering why you put 2 children that you know of on your about you list. And seeing if you ever had a daughter by the name of ********! about 15-16 years old!

Dear How's that now?

Of all the email I've ever, ever received in my entire long-legged life...and I do mean ever, ever, ever... this is my most favorite. I admit I have done a lot of things I do not remember (and by things, I mean marriages), but I can say with some authority that I clearly recall each and every birth in which I was the birther. (I think.)

Dear Sher,

Thanks so much for what you do. I just love your blog and I'm still reading it all. I can't wait to read more about you.

Dear Lover of the Blog,

Wanna read more about me, huh? Here's something: I'm a messy tooth brusher. Seriously. When I brush my teeth I look like a rabid dog. Plus it takes me a really long time. That'll learn you.

Dear Sher,

just wanted to say I love ya!!!! Even though you don't have time for me anymore....

Dear Big Fella,

So you love me even though I no longer have time for you? That sounds like a marriage proposal to me. I'll see you at the alter in June. That's my next available opening.

Dear Sher,

I don't know if your local newspaper runs the Garfield comic strip or
if you even read the comics ... or the newspaper for that matter.
Whatever the case, I saw the attached cartoon in yesterday's paper here
and immediately thought of you.


Dear Winner of the Coveted Best Person in the Whole Big World Award,

You are the best person in the whole, big world. Anyone who takes the time to send me an email monkey is automatically in my will. Congratulations on the new Hi-Fi that'll be making it's way to you in about 100 years. (I plan on living a long, long time.)





Copyright © 2004-2008, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.

Blogroll Me!

Doest Thou Get What I'm Saying?

Today I awoke and realized that I was on the verge of experiencing a very rare occurrence. I had a day off and zero responsibility. There was nowhere I had to be and nothing I had to do that couldn’t be put off until tomorrow. It was bliss.

“I am going to the store to purchase crafty things,” I said to Mr. Man, “in large quantities.”

He wept.

Mr. Man knows with absolute certainty I have no business whatsoever buying crafty things as I am not a crafty person by any definition.

Unless you define crafty as cunning, sneaky, shrewd and devious and then I totally am.

Sometimes, like this morning, I forget that I was born missing many of the stereotypical feminine skills like: cooking, cleaning, making napkin rings out of old toilet paper rolls and remaining married to the same person for a lot of days in a row.

All it takes is something as simple as passing by a picture of Martha Stewart on the cover of a magazine holding up a vase she made out of toothpaste and cat litter and I instantly become envious and desire to also create something entirely photographable.

Before beginning, I am always hopeful. I can see clearly in my head what I am about to make and it is completely spectacular. Where I go wrong with craft projects is coincidentally the same place I go wrong with every man I’ve ever loved… I see what I hope they will be rather than the piece of crap they most definitely will turn out to be.

Wow. That was bitter. I think I need to spit.

This time my muse was a little bracelet that I frequently wear which was handcrafted in Uganda by women who have nothing better to do than make beads from paper. That’s probably because their days aren’t over-scheduled the way mine are with things like eating food and living in a house.

Every time I wear my pretty blue bracelet I always think to myself, “I can do that”. But then I get busy with work and family and husband shopping and I never follow the creative urge. Today I decided to throw caution to the wind and give it another go.

Before heading out to forage for Mod Podge, I did the smart thing and Googled for instructions and necessary supplies.

Paper
Toothpicks
Glue
Vasoline

Upon seeing the list I realized that luckily I already had these things on hand.

“Honey, why are you cutting all those little strips of paper?” Mr. Man asked. “And why is our sex kit on the kitchen table? Am I getting lucky?”

“I am creating, you imbecile! Now away with you!” I tend to get a little Master Thespian when in the throws of artful expression. Oddly enough that’s also how I talk when I’m in other throws as well.

Long story short, after approximately seven straight hours of what amounted to arduous gluing, rolling, sticking and dare I say unparalleled creative expression, I have not one single solitary bead to show for it.

Stupid Mr. Man. Next time I’m feeling creative I should probably wait ‘til he’s at work.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~




Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com

Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.

Blogroll Me!