All's Quiet on the Blogging Front

It seems like a lot of people are taking breaks from their blogs as of late, myself included.  It's not exactly an easy thing to do.  I can easily spend hours perusing the blogs of my net-buds and then - forget what I got on the computer to do in the first place.  Bills go unpaid.  Word count is unmet.   Harry Potter sites unvisited.  
It's a tragedy, for sure.
In my case, I feel an immense state of guilt when I haven't blogged in awhile.  But since I rarely see anyone any more - I have less fodder for writable stuff.

And by the time the weekend rolls away and Monday crushes the memories of the fun times we had, I can not seem to recall a single hilarity that needs to be recorded for the world wide of the web. 

The only thing that I can really remember from the past weekend was some things that this semi-PG rated blog cannot retell and the instance of the Cardinal that tried to play chicken with us - until things went foul and he ended up in stuck in the grill of our Caddy.   Which, of course, traumatized me and my loving 8-ball-sock wearing hubby for a good ten minutes before we busted out laughing.
You see, it's not the first time a bird has tried to get at me.
Birds hate me.
My head must look like a shiny, brand new car the way they try to poop on me.

Anyway - tangent much?

So - anyone else suffer from a bit of "Blogger's Remorse"? 
And anyone else share a laugh with their sibling, mother, father, friend or significant other to be ended with an abrupt "don't put this on your blog!"?

Take this:
"You're really not catching on today, are you?"  he smiled at me in that special way that makes me realize that he's seen through my guise of watching tv and nodding in his direction occasionally - pretending that his explanation of air filters, the subprime or the state of the Republican party is completely engrossing that no rebuttal from yours truly is necessary.
"Huh?  What?"  I said as a I conspicuously wiped the drool from the corner of my dry lips.
"Oh, you're so cute." He got up and put his red-bearded face inches from mine and cocked his head to the side.  He put his hands on his thighs and looked at me, smiling. "You're like one of those peanuts you get at the Roadhouse. You know? The ones where one nut is perfect and the other half is all squished and gone?"
I squinted at him and furrowed my brows, "So... I'm a retarded peanut?  I'm a half-finished peanut? That's SO not a pet name!"
"Yes.  That's your new pet name.  Peanut."
And as much as I try - he won't drop it.
So now, when he calls me his little peanut I know what he really means - that I'm a bad nut.  
"And don't put that on your blog... Peanut!"
                            

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