There’s a Bathroom on the Right

I have two sisters, which makes my life doubly awesome.

I might be the youngest, but I’m just the sugary, lard-laden stuffing in the middle of their Whoopie Pie of awesomeness.

And right now you’re thinking, Wow, this English major really got her money’s worth in those upper-level courses. Kate Chopin and Joyce Carol Oates ain’t got nothin’ on me.

Now, where was I going with this? Oh, right. Both of my sisters are popular, but one just became recently married. Oh My Goldfish. Is she really going to talk about this again?

Yes and I’ll tell you why.

You may be surprised to hear that this blog doesn’t exactly rank up there with Pioneer Woman or Dooce in followership. In fact, I count myself lucky when my mother tunes in. I’ve got a faithful few and I like it that way.

But then, my sister’s wedding happened and all of the sudden my blog was being shared and passed along like the sixteenth Janet Evanovich book. (You know, the one that came before her sharp nosedive into the literary version of the last season of Jersey Shore. Talk about jumping the shark. Bo-ring.)

So, I got a little self-conscious knowing all these new people were peeking at my blog. I’m not exactly WikiLeaks here. I’m not revealing deep, dark secrets (you already know this and this and this about me anyway), but I’m like the girl at the party singing the wrong words to Blinded by the Light. Everyone sneaks a glance at the dork talking about douches rolling in the night.

What? That’s not how it goes?

I’m not going to apologize for what unsweptstone is. To me, it’s Words and Pictures. Both. Not just the stuff I photograph, while that’s a big part of it, but also the stories I like to tell, shouldn’t tell, and have to tell. Sometimes there’s even a stick drawing thrown in for added enjoyment (mine usually).

In whatever form it comes, it’s mine and I’m sharing it with you. It’s a labor of love and even though it tickles me pink to think you like it, I’ll still write even if you don’t.

But I secretly hope you do.

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