The Versatile Blogger Award Now Tattooed on My First Born Son!

I didn't know WHAT to do with this shiny new award I just got from the delightful Cherie over at Ready. Write. Go. (Honored I am, indeed!)

At first I thought this might be some kind of master Ponzi scheme. If I give five people awards, and they give five people awards, and so on, and so on, we'll end up with really thick and lustrous hair, or maybe in prison! I wouldn't like prison. Unless I had really shiny, nice hair, which I could sell for contraband so that my fellow inmates could make knock-off Barbie dolls and sell them, to others who would then re-sell them to still other people...oh, I digress.

So I thought the best thing to do with this nice award was to display it to my neighbors, in case they forget to read my blog. So I took my kid to a tattoo artist and had this done. He was upset, but I was proud and pleased.

Relax, everyone, this is not really my kid! He doesn't even look like me, man. No, I never saw that kid, I swear. I got this photo off Flickr. He has only TWO teeth and I have lots. Where are you taking me?

Without further adieu, the rules of this blogger award are:

1. Thank and link to the person who nominated me.
2. Share seven random facts about myself.
3. Pass the award along to 5 new-found blogging buddies.
4. Contact those buddies to congratulate them.

SEVEN FACTS

1. I have never tattooed a child. I am Caucasian with a wee bit of Native American tossed in the pot, and that kid is not mine.
2. I was once painted green, and I have updated my profile photo to share that, in honor of my new green award! Green is my favorite color, too. Especially when featured on a Lilly Pulitzer outfit.
3. I lived in Athens, Greece for a year at age 13.
4. I can play guitar but...
5. My singing is frightful. (I'm working on it, though.)
6. I have a costume trunk in the attic that contains wig, fake animal noses, and all manner of marvelous tag sale finds.
7. In elementary school I decided I wanted to be called "Pony," hence the true origin of this blog's name.

And the award-ees! I'm betting that a couple of these peeps have this award already (I searched but could not find it), but if I am first to hand it over, GO ME! (By the way, I feel sort of shy and goofy giving this award. Shucks. I like these people!)

1. Anita Howard
2. Angela, aka The Starving Novelist
3. Bethany, aka Rookie Riter
4. Mary Frame, aka Marewolf
5. Holly VanDyne

Early Drafts of Famous Clichés Now Discovered in a Cache Near the Dead Sea!

These early drafts of famous clichés were recently unearthed in a cache near the Dead Sea, proving once and for all that all writers—even those of famous clichés—must undergo an arduous revision process. The notes contained many crossings-out and occasional curse words in the margins, and I have attempted to replicate them here as accurately as possible.
Those who live in a house of meat must not throw forks.
Those who live inside an egg should not peck with their sharp beaks at others who live outside the egg, for they will surely crack their own egg in the process, and be sad, and will be born before their time as chickens.
Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones.
[Writer's margin notes: I am going to get representation for sure with this beauty. Agents, take note!]

Depressed losers generally like to hang out with other depressed, pathetic losers.
That miserable shithead John is dating that wretch Sally. They are frigging perfect together! I sort of hate them both, and their long mournful faces.
Misery loves company.
[Writer's margin notes: I am feeling kinda low myself. Hey, maybe I will seek out the company of other writers! But writers are weird. Sometimes they gaze out the window and spill soup down their shirtfronts while they obsess about this character or that. I hate writers. But I am a writer. Damn it, this cliché is so good I cannot stand it. I need a martini.]

My white friend Bill called my other white friend Jim "white." It seemed kinda dumb.
That's like the squirrel calling the ferret a rodent!
That's like the pot calling the kettle black.

[Writer's margin notes: My kettle is stainless steel. This doesn't really work. I'll fix it in the next draft.]

Caught between my winkie and my anal aperture.
Caught between Scylla and Charybdis. Shit, that's been used. Why can I not be ORIGINAL?
Caught by my wife in bed with another woman, and unable to attend to the dinner that is currently burning on the stove and setting off all the smoke alarms.
Caught between a rock and a hard place.[Writer's margin notes: No one will buy this. My writing sux. "Rock." "Hard Place." How much more boring can I be?]

Worth one's weight in pork products and fatty sausages.
Worth one's weight in doubloons, unless one is really skinny or even anorexic.
Worth one's weight in gold.
[Writer's margin notes: My professor will like this allusion. I will get an A. Not that HE ever wrote anything so spot on. Are clichés like this selling these days? Who can predict the whims of the market. I have to have faith.]

A crazed toddler in a store filled with expensive breakables.
An angry marmot inside the pants of someone with a weenie made of porcelain.
A big machine running roughshod over a person who has porcelain arms and legs! And also a porcelain head!
A bull in a china shop.
[Writer's margin notes: Nailed it. But, will editors be familiar with bulls? Perhaps I should use "rampaging pony" or maybe "stompling lion." Too wordy. I am riddled with doubt, as always.]

Laughter makes me piddle my pants and forget about my sorrows and failings, so busy am I changing my pants and doing laundry, endless laundry, as well as changing my underwear. Could I be incontinent? Damn it! I should not have had all those children, for they damaged my undercarriage.
Laughter is the best medicine.