Last week I was hurting for ideas of things to write about. Sometimes I do nothing and therefore have nothing to write about. Sometimes I’m busy doing crafty shit so that I have something to blog about later. Sometimes I just don’t feel like it.

Last week, I was a little bit of everything so I asked some of my loyal readers to give me some ideas. Here’s what they were:

1) Shannon: Me

2) Diane:  National Hairball Awareness Day

3) Kristin: Just ate a Whopper at BK

All great ideas guys! What to say, what to say…

Shannon: We’ve known each other only forever. I wish I could say I have some deep, dark secrets I could blackmail you with or discuss here in more depth, but I don’t. You’ve led a pretty commendably clean life. How is this possible? I must investigate for further blog ideas.

Diane: Hairball awareness. Cat hairballs, I assume? Or any old kind of hairball? I don’t have any cats. I’m not a cat person. I can’t say I’ve actually even seen a legit hairball, and I’m cool with that. Talking about hairballs though does remind me of owl pellets. I remember my nephew had some kind of fascination with them and dissected some for a science project. I guess you can find mouse bones in them.

And why do you need to be AWARE of hairballs? It wasn’t the national day of prevention of hairballs. But just a day to sit back and reflect on hairballs and the nature thereof? I think this day is bullshit and I move to strike it from the calendar of random things to create days about.

Kristin: What to say about Whoppers? I actually don’t think I’ve ever had one. I don’t care for burgers. When I went off to college, I realized I didn’t have to eat anything I didn’t want to anymore. It was liberating. No more ground beef or stews or gross pieces of meat. My parents STILL make a huge deal out of it. My dad actually seems personally offended that I don’t like cows. I mean, you’d think he got kickbacks from the beef council or something.

I know it’s strange that I don’t like red meat. I’m the weird one. It doesn’t bother me in the least if other people eat it. I don’t mean to go off on this but I take a lot of shit about it. I’m a damn grown-ass woman though and I can eat what I want right?

However, I DO really like the other kind of Whoppers–especially disguised as robin eggs around Easter. One of my favorite Easter traditions is to eat them till I want to puke. So if BK had both kinds of Whoppers, I would probably go there more often.

Well friends, there you have it. It’s a blog about nothing. I welcome any other ideas for blog posts. It means I don’t have to think. And you know how much I hate to think.