Not that kind of murder. We're bloggers. Not The Sopranos.

I survived the first week of the A To Z Challenge and it was a good thing I had written this weeks posts ahead of time, because my laptop died and went to technology hell on Monday. Thankfully the shop where I took my laptop for confirmation of it's death had just got in a used laptop they were selling, and for $100 it was mine. It's similar to my old laptop in age and value, except it's WAY faster and far less annoying, so this firmly lands in the "woohoo, I fucking win" column.

I have most of next weeks's posts ready, but I want to write a couple more, because a post cushion keeps away the panic attacks. I'm finding this challenge a lot of fun and have found several new-to-me blogs I really like and will keep following after A to Z is over. I do need to spend some time today visiting blogs of people who visited my blog this week, especially because some of them have left the most hilarious comments, which makes it clear to me that we need to know each other better, since I firmly believe you should surround yourself with people who crack you up so hard that humour-based incontinence is an issue.

Honest Mom wrote a really good post this week about blogging tribes and it made me think about what kind of blogging tribe I'd like to be a part of. First of all, I'd like to change "my blogging tribe" to "my murder of bloggers" (like a murder of crows) because it sounds all badass, like we're in the blogging mafia but sarcasm is our weapon of choice and the only way to get whacked is by accidentally laughing to death. Anyone can join, as long as your sensibilities are not offended by the kind of swearing that would make a longshoreman blush, you consider complaining an enjoyable hobby and you're not afraid to share stupid stories about yourself for the whole blogging murder's entertainment, like the time you were smoking on your patio and your sweatpants fell down (because the elastic was shot in them but you wore them anyway despite the fact you had to hold them up when you walked) and the next door neighbour politely held back his laughter until you tripped over your feet trying to get the cursed sweatpants back up, fell and landed with your ass in the air, which is when the neighbour lost his shit and started laughing hysterically.

Yeah. Those kind of stories.

Want to join my blogging murder? We may not change the world for the better, but we will cause you to laugh so hard you accidentally snort the beverage of your choice up your nose and possibly crack a rib from the hilarity