Blog Following Etiquette?

I now have a whopping 60 followers. This honestly thrills me to no end! And it seems only polite to follow-back, all those who have followed my blog, but I’m starting to see how this could get a bit crazy. 

I have only a limited time for blogging. Most of my posts are written in spare moments throughout day on the “notes” app on my phone, or are brought up from my ridiculous story vault and dusted off to be posted. So when I have a few minutes to catch up on the blogs I follow, I usually just go to Reader and scroll through “blogs I follow”. But the more blogs I follow, the less I see of the blogs that I truly enjoy. 

I really have no interest in a blog devoted to knitting mittens out of yak’s hair. . . . Even though the blog may be very well put together and more than effectively covers the world of yak hair knitting. Yet, it seems only courteous to follow such a blog if they were kind enough to follow mine.

How do the mega-bloggers handle this issue? Do they follow all fifteen thousand bloggers who follow their site? How do they keep up with the blogs that they truly enjoy? Or do they not follow everyone automatically?

I have a great fear of being impolite to people, but I’m already losing posts from the blogs I like to the barrage of posts in my Reader . . . . And I really don’t have that many followers! 

DECORATING WITH A HUSBAND’S TOUCH

How, in our culture, has it become accepted that the wife is the decorator of the house? Why is it such a crime for me to hang my Pink Floyd “Wish You Were Here” poster in the living room? What’s wrong with white walls? How many candles are too many in a given room?  These questions have been plaguing me since my wedding day.

Before my wife moved into my apartment and ruined everything, I had a cool living room. The Pink Floyd poster was the center piece on the wall, flanked by a battle-ax and a samurai sword that I had gotten awesome deals on at the flea market. On my coffee table sat a stuffed armadillo, and in the corner stood a one armed mannequin dressed in a tan, suede tuxedo and a Viking’s helmet. The refrigerator stood next to the couch, giving me easy access to the beer crisper without needing to stand up and walk into the kitchen.

But it’s all gone now. There is not a shred of manliness left in the room. Every object decorating the space falls into one of three categories: flower-plant, candle or huge word (the huge words are hung or painted on the wall, and say things like ‘LOVE’ or ‘FAMILY’ or some cheesy saying that no self-respecting man would ever utter).

The walls have been painted a baby poop yellowish-brown, except for the brilliant red ‘accent’ wall, which makes my head hurt and my ears ring when I look at it for too long.

She has had her way with the bathroom as well. It’s a light purple color and she hung mirrors everywhere to make the small space look bigger. Mirrors in the bathroom are fine for the vanity, but why do I need one hanging where I can see myself sitting on the toilet? And not just one angle, I can view myself sitting from the front or side view. . . . . . I never really realized what funny faces I make when I’m pooping. There is also a small mirror hanging over the back of the toilet that provides a near perfect image of my stomach to knee area when standing in front of the toilet. A floral print shower curtain now hangs where my Star Wars shower curtain once hung.

She has taken over the entire house. Like a virus, the candles, plant material, huge words and mirrors have spread into every room. All I have left is my shed. It’s where my Pink Floyd poster now hangs and my armadillo resides. It’s where I go and sit to grieve over losing my man-inspired decorating themes.

It would seem that I have no say left when it comes to our choice in home fashion, but at least I still have my shed.  If she ever gets the crazy idea to decorate my shed, I’ll burn it to the ground! I’d rather see it ablaze than defiled with the “wife decorating virus.”