My business is closed.

So, I think it's time to retire from the blogging world.

I've been actually wanting to do this for awhile, but haven't, for various reasons:

1. "My Business is Your Business" is the single greatest blog name of all time, and if I decide to come back later and start a new one, I'll get stuck with a really lame blog name, because I am notoriously bad at naming stuff, so it'll probably be called "Kim's Wacky Words of Wisdom" or "Oja-pus's Garden"

2. This is my Aunt Kathy's primary way of learning about what's going on in my life (Hi, Aunt Kathy!)

3. I actually did some pretty funny writing here, back in the day.

However, my blogging gene seems to have gone fallow, at least for the moment, and I'm getting pretty tired of making myself feel guilty every time I don't write anything on here for awhile. And also, now that I'm actually writing on a semi-regular basis again (thank you, John Boston Story-- yet another stellar title thought up by Kim Oja!), I should probably put most of my writing time towards that.

So I'm saying goodbye for now-- thanks for reading for the last three years, it's been a blast! And for now, at least, please don't remove me from your blogrolls-- you never know when the Awesome Blogging gene will flicker back to life and I will be inspired to share stories about my sad vagina or my vitriolic hatred of Mark Harmon (which this whole John Boston thing has TOTALLY stirred up again).

From me, Crunchy, vulvodynia, the guys who stole my Garmin, Ricky Martin, Guitar Hero and all the other major players here at "My Business is your Business", we wish you all a fond farewell!

Dear Evil Cable Corporation,

First off, please just let me apologize for writing this on the back of a Burger King bag; I have been unable to order my favorite stationary for the last week or so, because our Internet is out, and I believe it to be all your fault.

Okay, maybe it was our fault at first. Maybe we spliced a cable we shouldn’t have in an effort to supply precious, life-giving cable television to another room of our house, so Ben would no longer be forced to sit through countless episodes of I Love Money on VHI. We did that, and then the Internet didn’t work. Okay. Our bad.

Then we had to call you for help, which really means talking to The Demonic Machine—one of those recorded ladies that asks you questions like “Did you turn off your computer?” and then, when you scream at her, “YES, I TURNED OFF THE FUCKING COMPUTER, YOU PRERECORDED RETARD!”, she says, “sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

And when we finally got to a real person, we were informed that no one was coming to fix the Internet until at least Saturday. Thus, an entire week passed with Ben and I falling further and further into Internet-deprived depression and despair, until finally our house was like the last few days in Lord of the Flies, with an old computer monitor stuck in our front yard with a crudely shaved stake.

But then—salvation! In the form of Randy, the Perfectly Acceptable Cable Repairman, who had the whole problem fixed within ten minutes, giving us a full day of glorious, glorious Internet access. Thank you, Randy! If you ever return to my home, you will be greeted at the door by several comely virgins, as a mere “thanks” can’t possibly explain our gratitude.

Sadly, though, it was not to be.

Yesterday evening, I returned to my computer after a long day of painting Ben’s basement office only to find the ominous absence of the “online” button from the front of the modem. No service!

And so I ask you, Evil Cable Corporation, what you intend to do to make this right. Merely fixing our Internet is no longer enough—I have spent so long without it that I have become feral, getting my gossip fix by following the exploits of Lucky on the back of my Lucky Charms box and crafting e-mails from leaves and twigs I find in my backyard. It may be too late for me—I might actually have to go back to living off the Internet grid, a terrifying prospect that I haven’t had to look in the face since 1996.

Look at me! I’m even having to blog from work. FROM WORK! Every blogger’s nightmare—what if the boss catches me? Or that weird coworker that always peers at my computer as if she’s trying to see into my soul? I cannot allow this to continue!

My first request is the hearts of each of your children brought to me on a platter made of the deeds to all your homes. I will stick a leaf in your mailbox once I have come up with a second request.

All best,
Kim

Blog, Interrupted

Just when I thought I was in, they pull me back out-- the internets are down at my house for the foreseeable future, and (other than this emergency posting), I don't like to blog at work. I'll be back as soon as I can, but to tide you over, here is a brief tidbit-- last night, I had a dream that I lived with Michael and LaToya Jackson, and LaToya had to drive me to work because I couldn't get my car to turn off, and I didn't want it to die in the work parking lot, and Michael was super mad that I had broken my car again.

Life with the Jacksons, man. It's wacky.

Shaby's back-- back again

I. Am. Officially. Back.

Because as you may have noticed? I've kind of been maybe? A bad blog owner. Not just in my lack of postings, but rather in the quality of the postings that have gone up in the last, oh, say, year. Or so.

But get this-- I'm married. I did it. We bought a house. We did it. And until I have a baby, I can officially go back to being a normal human being. Of outrageously awesome hilariousness.

Throughout this whole getting married, buying a house process, I found myself really wanting to post on my blog, but not really having anything interesting to say. I contemplated deleting it, and just succumbing altogether to my life of audit manager-ness. But I could never bring myself to do it-- my blog is as close as I come-- right now, anyway-- to being an actual writer, as opposed to a relatively funny but mostly indistinguishable insurance drone.

That guy at work, that always tells the jokes, that comes to your cube and then won't leave and you kind of want to kill yourself? I was becoming that guy.

So once the move was complete, I decided-- the blog was back in action. And as evidenced by my severely awesome new background, you can see I totally mean business.

Since readership has dwindled to pretty much Ashley, Alan and my Aunt Kathy (hi, Aunt Kathy!), I realize I'll have to work pretty hard to regain your interest. But please, give me a chance-- I promise not to disappoint. And if I do disappoint? I promise to turn in my MFA and start studying for my CPCU (which, for those of you who don't know, is an insurance designation-- which means I just made an insurance joke, which means I have to go kill myself now, if you'll excuse me).

So please, if I promise not to talk about getting married, or buying a house, ever again? Will you please read this? Because I'm totally all about talking about anything but that, and if you're into it, too, you will be granted one ticket onto Battleship Awesome. For reals.

Pardon our dust

As you may have noticed, my blog is looking a bit different-- this is mostly due to the fact that I spent about three hours yesterday searching in vain for a less lame blog template, and ended up wiping out all my links. I was able to recreate most of them, but if I've forgotten your link, please contact me so I can readd it-- I swear that this is not a roundabout way of booting people from the blogroll, but rather just further proof of my internet-based ineptitude.

I am still planning an overhaul, but should probably attempt it when I have more than a Sunday afternoon to unveil it. So if anyone has any suggestions for that, I'm all ears.

Basically, Frisby, I'm looking to you for both of these things, since your blog link was obliterated and you know everything there is to know about the internet and all things awesome.

In the meantime, please enjoy the somewhat ominous picture of my eyes burning into your soul as you read each new post. Please note that new Swing State author (and super hilarious dude) Matt is featured in the background! I think he's a little tired of me using this picture for everything from MySpace to Twitter, so I like to give him a little shout-out.

What's the frequency, readers?

Okay, let's not beat around the bush-- I am not blogging as much as I should be. I understand that, but as of late, I have also come to understand a terrible truth:

I'm just not as in to blogging as I used to be.

I don't know why-- part of me thinks that (downer alert) I might be having a little bit of a depression problem again (which might be great, because as everyone knows, I'm at least 30% more hilarious when depressed, although 90% of you aren't actually around me to witness it). But then, it might be that The Part That Wants to Start Writing a Book is becoming more aggressive, and wants more time for that. Although if that's the case, I wish it would just Get Started, as opposed to stranding me on the couch for hours a night either reading books by other people or, even worse, honing my Guitar Hero skills.

But either way, I've either got to shut the blog down, or get off my ass, because my posts just aren't good enough to sustain a twice-a-month posting schedule.

So here's what I propose-- from now until April 1, I will attempt to blog every day (barring times that I go out of town, which should only be once or twice), but the blog posts will probably only be a paragraph long, max.

Is this something you guys would be interested in? Or is the twice-monthly post sufficient? Or is it just time for me to hang up my spurs completely? Wait, don't answer that one. Because it's never really been a dream of mine to hear the phrase, "Yeah, it's probably better if you just quit writing now." If I want to hear that, I'll check in with my old poetry professor.

Please advise.

Swingers

How many of you lay awake at night, wondering exactly how Ashley and I are going to vote? Show of hands?

Okay, put 'em down. Because your prayers have been answered.

It is with great pomp and circumstance that Ashley and I are proud to introduce our newest blog, Swing State, into the national consciousness.

We don't know who we're voting for, and we don't have a clue what we're talking about (yet), but we want to share the whole schmiel with you-- we invite your comments, your ideologies, your rants and your raves, as long as the last two are directed at actual candidates, and not at us.

If we wanted to be ranted at, we'd run for office ourselves. Except we can't, because we're not old enough. And our platform would be built entirely of candy.

On hiatus

This is just a short post to let you know that I am going on hiatus for a couple days. Move me to the "blog more" section if you must, Pen and M, but know that I will return, stronger and more venerable than ever before!

In the meantime, I am giving myself a much-needed break from all things wedding over the 4th and just relaxing. Thus far, this includes:

1. Eating 3/4ths of a family-sized bag of (reduced fat, at least!) Shearer's Kettle Cooked Potato Chips

2. Going bowling after getting let out of work early-- I have my own ball, which I keep in the trunk of my car! Convenient!

3. Trying in vain to set up a Twitter account, which I am convinced would be awesome, even though I don't know anyone who uses it and it does seem vaguely annoying. Thoughts?

Anyway, I WILL return soon, so please don't abandon hope, ye who enter here.

Update (8:33 p.m.): So I did succeed in joining Twitter. Will I use this utterly mundane, ultimately soul-killing device? Probably. Probably most often when I'm out at a restaurant and Ben's in the bathroom, which is when I feel the most life-suckingly bored. Luckily for you, Twitter makes a special app that can let you see what I'm Twittering, which I have pasted right here onto my blog. Oh, the joy of it all!

We are the champions

Please note! This entry is not entirely about the Cleveland Cavaliers. Only partially. So please read it, because I am bleeding readers due to my Cavs obsession. But dammit, I cannot help the love!

I don't know if you've heard, but Cleveland kicked all of your cities' collective asses at basketball (except you, San Antonio-- not yet, anyway), which makes Cleveland better than all your cities, using my false logic, even those cities that don't have basketball teams at all, and therefore can't even participate.

The Cleveland Cavaliers are now, officially, the Eastern Conference Champions, which has never, ever, ever happened before, and are going to the NBA finals, which, if they win, will cause this entire city to erupt into a chaos the likes of which has not been seen since Old Testament days. I, for one, plan to turn some people into pillars of salt. I won't tell you which people. But they'd better be ready.

This is something that the people of Cleveland have needed for a long, long time. Approximately since the time that our river caught fire. Which hasn't happened since, all right? So shut up about it.

But there is one major downside to this-- the Cleveland Cavaliers are eating up pretty much all of my free time. If I'm not staking out a table at a restaurant so I have a prime seat to watch the game, or actually watching the game, or discussing the game for hours on end with Ben and the people at work, then I am frantically running around doing errands that should have been done on the nights when I was watching the game.

Bike riding? Gone. E-mail correspondence? Spotty, at best. Blog posting? Pathetic. (Although Pen and M, I think you have to admit that even though I'm ONLY blogging about the Cavs, I feel that I should be upgraded back to normal blogging status.) I have only two modes: Game mode, and Doing The Bare Minimum of the Rest of My Chores In Order To Survive mode.

Not only that, but the Cavs are single-handedly forcing me to gain weight! Because why make a salad at home, when I can enjoy this tasty burger and three beers at Panini's while watching the game? I tell you, I went to try on my dress this weekend for the first time, and it felt as if all my vital organs had been squeezed into a small knot at the center of my abdomen. And, I had back fat. Not good.

So Cavs, I love you. I love you more than any non-athletic, book-reading trombone player really has the right to love you. But please, just hurry up and beat the Spurs in four games so I can bask in your reflected glow just long enough to eat one more plate of onion rings at Panini's and then return to my regularly scheduled life events.

Interview With an Auditor

Many thanks to Meg for turning me on to this awesome meme (question: is "meme" pronounced "me-me" or "memm"?)-- I feel honored to be interviewed by such a luminary!

And in turn, I'd like to interview you! To participate:

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me." (PLEASE NOTE: If I don't have your e-mail address, I probably won't be able to interview you. And unlike Meg, who is brave, I am too wimpy to put my e-mail address on my blog, because a lot more people hate me than you would think, given my pleasant and sunny nature. So if I don't have an e-mail address for you, or you can't get mine from a friend or trusted neighbor, then I might have to exclude you. My apologies!)

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions of my choice.

3. Then, you should update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You have to include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you get to ask them five questions.

And now-- Incredible Megs Interviews Kim Shable: Two Units of Awesome UNITE!

Quick! The house is on fire! Excepting the obvious people and pets, what 5 things do you take?

I would take the following items:

• My photo albums (which hopefully count as one item)
• The big grocery bag of mementos that I've been hoping to scrapbook one day, in case I ever become crafty enough to scrapbook
• My computer
• Willie, my stuffed bear
• My CD book (or, if I had to choose only one CD, I would take Fashion Nugget by Cake)

What is the best or weirdest reconnection you have made via the internet?

My childhood friend Wendy found me through the (now sadly defunct) journazine Convincing John-- we hadn't talked in like ten years, so it was fantastic to catch up with her and get back into each other's lives! I have to say, though, too, that I'm still really interested in whoever left the comment on my trombone post-- still no leads there...

What is your most hated word?

That's hard, so I'll break it down into categories. My least favorite swear word is the C-word (which I can't even usually bring myself to write out fully, but, paradoxically, which I yelled at a player on the Washington Wizards while he was trying to shoot a free throw last Wednesday). Least favorite business phrase: "Going forward," as in "Going forward, we will no longer be using the microwave for tasty popped-corn treats." And probably my least favorite overall word is "moist."

Tell me something funny that you've never blogged before.

I once knew a guy who told me he would turn gay if Ricky Martin asked him to.

Is there a part of wedding planning that you totally didn't expect or are particularly baffled by?

I'm just surprised by the sheer amount of things that need to be done. Favors for the wedding and the shower. Music for the ceremony and the reception. Readings that need to be selected! (By the way, anyone have any suggestions for non-Biblical love-related readings that we could do? Because if not, I'm going to have someone recite, with deadly seriousness, the words to "The Rose," by Bette Midler.) I simply cannot believe that all of these tiny decisions are going to add up to one big awesome kick-ass wedding. Chances are, I will freak out before I finish, and the whole wedding will be janky. To use an analogy, my wedding will be to normal weddings as The Tonight Show is to local cable access' "Chattin' With Chaz."

All right, having honed my interview answering skills, I am now ready to practice asking. So fire away!

I tip my HAT

Welcome, HAT, to the Land of Blog. I think you will find it pleasant, although sometimes people will tag you and force you to name six weird things about yourself. Which is what I'm doing right now. So do it! Or else!

Meanwhile, the rest of you should check her out-- many of you know her, you love her, and you wish you could be her. That is, when you're not spending all your time wishing you could be me...

Welcome Back, Tullis!

I will be back shortly with stories of my heroic near-victory against Ben's niece Kaylyn at Mastermind (which I am extremely retarded at) over Thanksgiving, but first, it is my honor and pleasure to mark the return of Matt Tullis' Sick Cookie to the blogosphere, after an extended absence. This is proof that hounding someone incessantly for months and months and months is an excellent way to get what you want.

So check him out, yo! You know you want to...

The Unwilling Adult/My Biz is Your Biz-- a retrospective

Happy Blogday to me-- it's the one year anniversary of My Business Is Your Business (the blog formerly known as The Unwilling Adult)! Not unlike Tom, I am secretly horrified at my first post, which should perhaps instead have been called "Look at me! I am still clinging desperately to the fact that I was once a literary writer!" So rather than rehash its pretentious musings here, I will instead give you a guided tour of The Year in Blog:

November: Bought motorcycle on eBay. This, by the way? Still not resolved.

December: Crunchy wishes you all a Merry Christmas. Will we hear from Crunchy again? Only time will tell!

January: I got a sweet ass big giant chair at work. Sadly, I no longer have this chair. Probably a homeless person is using it. I envy him.

February: I learned that there is no such thing as baby carrots. This still haunts me to this very day.

March: I wrote letters to anonymous work mates. I may have to consider this tack again: Dear Person Who Controls the Thermostat-- neither 63 nor 74 make good temperatures for the office. Just so you know. Love, Kim

April: My dental woes begin. Readers settle in for months and months and months and months of disgusting updates.

May: Absolutely nothing of interest happens this month. The blog is a fallow wasteland. I apologize. Although all my Seven Short Shorts in Seven Days are there-- I won't link them all, but they're a fun read! I think.

June: Robbery at the homestead! But luckily, a plucky neighbor saves the day.

July: You wanted more of the Hoff? You got it.

August: More issues with the neighborhood. But I know in my heart that Alex was not a part of this mess.

September: Behold, Zit of the Damned! This was over a month ago, and I still have remants of it. Awesome.

October: Perhaps you didn't catch this?

All in all, a great year for blogging! Here's to many more-- even if it means more motorcycles, more big giant zits, and more invasive medical procedures involving cameras. Viva La Business!

Do as I do

Not unlike Pen, I, too, have noticed a general malaise among our Blogs of Note (except, of course, for Ashley, who continues bringing the awesome like it's her job)-- I, personally, have been rather neglectful of late, because I have been too busy doing the following things:

• Getting root canals
• Having my kidneys ultrasound-ed
• Watching the 3rd (and alas, final) season of Arrested Development
• Reading books about girls who had sex in high school, probably in a belated attempt to cover up for the fact that I wasn't one of them
• Attending my butthead cousin's soccer game

Et Cetera.

But more than that, I have been experiencing a general malaise, based largely on my growing belief that, despite the fact that I got into graduate school for creative writing, I am not even kind of creative. I base this belief entirely on the fact that I have never once created a catchphrase.

I am so jealous of people who create catchphrases. Like Daisy's "I less than three..." That totally depresses me. Because I'm like, that's a really awesome catchphrase. And I totally didn't come up with it.

Oh, I'm big on appropriating other people's catchphrases. To the point where, the other day, I had to ask Marita, "Did I come up with the word 'ween?'" Because I really thought I did. But no, I didn't.

And it doesn't help that, around the office, people do an imitation of my boyfriend's catchphrase, which is just the word "sure" spoken with a Wisconsin accent, but still, it's totally catchy, and he came up with it, and he doesn't even work here.

And it's not just catchphrases-- I am also super jealous of T.'s discovery of the Church Sign webpage. Because that thing is totally rad, and I totally can't use it now because it's T.'s thing, and I don't want to be a copycat. So not only have I never come up with a catchy catchphrase, I can't even find awesome webpages to use for awesomeness, as T. did.

So far, the only even remotely creative thing I've done is figure out that I can post to my blog by e-mail, as I am doing right now. But that's not really so much creative as it is devious.

But in an effort to revive the blogscene and ease my own mind, I will attempt to blog more often (and less about my teeth). The way I see it, every entry I write is another chance that a phrase I use will become catchy. And isn't that all we ever dream of?

All Request and Dedication Hour

I don't know about the rest of you Bloggers, but I tend to go through cycles-- from euphoric Blog-related glee to fallow, idealess stretches of evil (often brought on by prolonged quality-checking of the company's collections system).

So, rather than go silent, I thought I'd leave the content up to you (read: make you do most of the work) for a little while-- at least until I can get back on my feet, or until something interesting happens to me, other than this mondo, all-consuming Chin hemorrhoid situation (also brought on by the collections system).

Here's the deal: you drop me a comment with any topic you want, and I promise I will write at least three sentences on it. Some restrictions apply (namely, please don't try to trick me into giving my opinions on world events, as the closest I have ever come to being a political expert was that glorious day in 1992 when I got an A on my election notebook in social studies). Please also don't make me say bad things about people. Unless they're like celebrity people, or people I don't know. Then, screw them.

You want me to write something about your cousin? Bring it. Existentialist art? It's on. These mini-blogs will not be factual, nor particularly educational, but they will be more entertaining than, say, a step-by-step analysis of Where Collections Went Wrong.

Help a sister out here. You provide the topic, I'll provide the words. It's magic time.

A few last random things

Obviously, I have done the triple lindy of blog badness and posted three times tonight (scroll down for more awesomeness). But since I get to post so sporadically anymore, due to my new tendency to drop into a torpor and watch much Celebreality, I figured I'd get them all out in one manic burst. So make them last!

Here are a few last things to ponder:

1. I'm coming to Wilmington over Labor Day weekend! Get your Wilmington on! There will be modge-podge and sunbathing and Arbor Mist wine. It will be glorious.

2. A few weeks ago, someone found my blog by Googling "Elizabeth Hasselbeck" and "Feet." Ew.

3. Ben and I celebrated our two-year anniversary in Pittsburgh, which we chose because it was nearby and, to quote a friend, "less of an armpit than Cleveland"*. Also, it has an Ikea, as evidenced here:

*Please note that as a resident of the Cleveland area, I do not believe it to be an armpit, so please don't write me angry comments to that effect. I didn't think Pittsburgh was an armpit, either. Having never been to Detroit, I will now designate that area an armpit.