Tootsie Talks ~ Some People Listen Saturday Edition

Tootsie's weekly advice column. She's no expert, although she's not really sure what constitutes "expert". If it involves school, she attended the school of Very Strong Opinions. Questions are welcomed. Answers may borderline ridiculous.


Today's question is brought to you by Jessie from Jason Loves Jessie and it's GULP relationship advice Tootsie runs screaming from her computer screen.

Tootsie,

Your blog has become my daily dose of humor as well as smart advice. Really, I think you are fantastic. Mostly I admire the great relationship you seem to have with your husband, which leads me to my question. How do I get my husband to pay attention to me and stop neglecting me for video games? Also, how do I get him to value my opinion and feel like my needs matter?

Thank you kindly,

Jessie

First of all, thank you for the wonderful compliments! I'm not even kidding when I say that you have no idea how an email like this absolutely makes my day! Now, on to the advice:

I generally avoid giving relationship advice, even to my closest friends, because no one is in a position to judge save for the two people in said relationship. Instead I will offer some general points of interest that I have learned along the way, navigating my way through the minefield we call marriage (12 years next month!):

• Communicate!!! But do it when you're both engaged in the conversation (i.e. not while video games are being played) otherwise one or both of you will end up unnecessarily frustrated. (For instance, I don't talk to Mr. Farklepants during "How It's Made").
  
• People don't change unless they want to. In other words: "Don't try to teach a pig to sing. It just frustrates you and annoys the pig"
• Make sure you each know what the other's needs are. (Falls under the "Communicate" category. I'm often amazed at how people just assume their mate can read their minds I'm looking at you women of the world)
• Have sex often.
  
• It's not you it's me. Seriously? Sometimes we they just need some "me" time and it has nothing to do whatsoever with the relationship. (File under the "Needs" category)
• Find a common interest/hobby that you can enjoy together. It will allow you to spend time together having fun -which is way better than fighting about not having fun- and will also give you something to talk about (i.e. there's that communication thing again) (another i.e.? Learn to play video games. Just don't kick his ass at it all the time they like to win)
• If you fart in the car roll the window down. That's just good sense.
  
• Don't sweat the small stuff (seriously, whomever coined that is a genius)
  
• Randomly blow him when he's not expecting it. And do it well.
  
• Let them handle the problems with YOUR inlaws.
  
• Just because the honeymoon phase ends doesn't mean the marriage is over. It's just evolved. And if you end it too soon you miss the part where the honeymoon phase reemerges and oh lawdy-hallelujah! (i.e. appreciate and patience)
• Have more sex.
• A hand job every now and then doesn't hurt either.
  
• Sometimes he's just in a bad mood and kind of an ass. Sometimes I am too. Don't take it personally.
  
• Every once in a while pull the car over on the side of the road and inappropriately grope one another.
• Learn to recognize their behavior. (If he comes home quiet and sullen from work now is not a good time to discuss those things that need to be repaired around the house not that I learned this the hard way or anything).
• Be friends. Enjoy each other's company. This comes in handy when you're doing stuff like spending the rest of your lives together.
• Opposites can attract but make sure you have the same goals. It makes for disappointment otherwise.
  

I hope this helps you! Now that I've crossed "saving marriages" off my list of things to do, next up? World peace.

We Pause to Bring You This Moment We Like to Call Mighty Proud

*In keeping with the inconsistent theme currently in practice, today's regularly scheduled advice column will be posted tomorrow, Saturday. We thank you for your forced patience.*

This I have learned: There are two scores in the history of music that will cause one to cry on cue; The first is "The Wedding March" and the other is "Pomp and Circumstance".

Guess who has a junior high schooler living in her house?

I know I keep mentioning Boy-Child#1's sixth grade graduation in posts here and there but I'm so effing proud it's kind of a big deal around our house. And kind of the major thing going on right now. There were 133 graduating students. Each gave a 15 second speech when their name was called. All thanked their parents, some included teachers and friends, and 8 out of 10 thanked God. Except for that one girl who raised the bar and out of left field, thanked Jesus. We were all, "way to change it up, Homeslice"! We all noted how it was as if they'd all just won the super bowl what with all of the God thanking; well, we didn't note it out loud but we were all thinking it.


Afterwards we went out to breakfast. You know who else did? EVERYBODY! -another thing I learned; when people graduate people are hungry and people don't cook wearing their fancy come to meetin' clothes- We were not the only local school partaking in the graduation hoopla yesterday. There are only a handful of restaurants in our area that serve breakfast, so space was hard to come by. There were nine in our group waiting to be seated. You know who was seated before us? EVERYBODY! I wish I were kidding. The throng of people waiting for their tables was cleared out until we stood alone. In fact, some of those same people ate and left while we still sat. [Note to self: next time put your order for eggs benedict in when you give your party's name to the hostess at 10:30am since they stop serving eggs benedict at noon] Apparently there is only ONE table in that entire restaurant that can accommodate a party of nine. [Note to self: cross this restaurant off your list because in addition to their poor coordination skills they got rid of that salad that you really liked so screw 'em]


But back to the ceremony: I washed and blew out my hair the previous evening so that yesterday morning all I had to do was run a flat iron through it. Then we went outside where my hair shook hands with the morning fog and I didn't bother with more than two seconds of thought about how much of a waste of time all of that was. I was grateful for the fog because it kept the temps on the cooler side. Since we were sitting in the sun. I was fine though, dressed in a white linen wrap dress and sweat free. I can't say the same for some people who wore jeans and layered shirts [I'm looking at you my two sisters]. Quick aside: I went shopping intending to buy the skirt and top voted on here but they no longer had that skirt with that pattern and all the others they had were, um, ugly. Then I fell into the GAP and spied the white linen wrap dress on the clearance rack in my size and I was all, "helloooo Lovaaahhhh". You understand.
It was a lovely ceremony and noticeably obvious that the staff, teachers, and students rehearsed their asses off. The one and only glitch during the entire event was when one of the microphones cut out for about 30 seconds. No child flubbed their speech. No one tripped. Even the parents remembered ALL of the Pledge of Allegiance.



Look beyond the male pattern baldness and grab a tissue or three...


Special thanks to my sis for getting the video uploaded so promptly when I was all, "can I get this, you know, fast?" and for the pic of Boy-Child#1 and I all unedited and whatnot which I think caused you to experience a seizure. You rock, Dorth. For serious.

It's a Wonder I Have Any Hair Left What With All of the Pulling

Before I go further, I feel it is my duty that you know this: Neutrogena Grapefruit-Nectarine scented self tanner smells like grapefruit-nectarine scented self tanner. It is not the "delicious fresh scent" that they are claiming. Why am I even telling you this seemingly unrelated fact of the day? Because as I sit here writing this entry I'm dying from the odor wafting up from m'legs. Now you know a little more about me. And Neutrogena.

Back to our regularly scheduled observation.

Ripped from the pages of the marital handbook under the section titled: Stuff that Drives Your Wife Crazy but What the Hell is Her Problem She Should Know Better After Eleven Years and Eleven Months, Anyway.

Conversation from yesterday evening...

Me: Did you call your dad and wish him a happy birthday today?
Mr. Farklepants: Today's his birthday? I don't recall getting any reminders.
Me: I told you last night.
Mr. Farklepants: And you expect me to remember TODAY?
Me: So call him now.
Mr. Farklepants: Aren't we going to see him tomorrow anyway at Boy-Child#1's graduation?
Me: Yes.
Mr. Farklepants: So I'll just tell him then.
Me: Okay. But he'll say "thanks but it was yesterday"
Mr. Farklepants: So? I think that sort of thing bothers you more than it does me.

Well he's got me there.

Several minutes later...

Me: Boy-Child#2 had his school play tonight!
Mr. Farklepants: Oh! So that's where you were when I got home. I wondered what happened to you guys.
Me: I told you this morning.
Mr. Farklepants: And you expect me to remember all the way to tonight?
Me: I told you THIS MORNING! Should I call and remind you all day because that wouldn't bother you at all.
Mr. Farklepants: I don't know why you seem surprised that I don't remember no matter how many times I'm reminded.

So why does he bother stating that he doesn't remember getting any reminders if he isn't going to remember the reminders anyway? Someone hand me the white flag. Or some sturdy piano wire. And someone remind me to choke him with it.

Tootsie Talks ~ Some People Listen

Tootsie's weekly advice column. She's no expert, although she's not really sure what constitutes "expert". If it involves school, she attended the school of Very Strong Opinions. Questions are welcomed. Answers may borderline ridiculous.


Titus Livius wrote "Potius sero quam numquam". Translation "Better late than never". So I bring you Friday's advice column five days past its due date. Titus Livius also wrote "Sic deinde, quicumque alius transiliet moenia mea!" Translation: "And so be damned, whomever shall jump over my walls!". So consider your visit today one of those "at your own risk" deal-e-ohs.

Q: The Madame Queen has lack of tanning needs: "I have a problem when I'm out in the sun. For some reason, my legs (particularly my shins and calves) never seem to tan at the same rate as the rest of my body. I've tried all kinds of positions (get your mind out of the gutter!) to maximize sun exposure and nothing seems to work. Self tanners are out b/c once I start to get real sun the fake stuff just looks, well, fake. Help me, Tootsie. Any advice?"

A: Well, since I can't willingly suggest sunbathing or tanning beds because melanoma is the anti-sexy and rumored to be...what's the word I'm looking for?....oh yeah deadly; I suggest getting a spray tan from your local spa. I have never tried this myself but I do have a friend who has a similar issue as you with the whole "my legs won't tan" thing. And the spray tan looks great on her. Not orangey like you'd picture it. It can be pricey though, so perhaps save this technique for special occasions. And my mind was not in the gutter. It was trapped in the pages of the Kamasutra, thankyouverymuch.

Q: Anglophilefootballfanatic is a very patient woman: "You never answered my ?s from two weeks ago. Just sayin'."

A: I cannot find them in my inbox. They are not in my box of rocks. I'd love to answer them for you, Ma'am. Please resubmit, AnglophilefootballFAN.

Q: Standing Still seeks toe shade advice: "Favorite nail color for toes for this summer? And, please, nothing green, or blue, or black. I am older than that trend can handle. Merci!"

A: Okay, I'll answer but only because you said "please" in French. Green, blue, or black should not be on anyone's nails and I don't care what the runways are sporting this season. Hey, if I was a high fashion model and regularly skipped meals resulting in impaired judgment then I'd probably be willing to give it a try. But I'm not. I am a tried and true go with what looks good on you kinda gal. And my favorite colors on me are pinks in neutral tones. I don't really do bright colors. And, in my book, the same rule applies to makeup. Fads can be dangerous. Look how many people suffered with the thong leotard and leg warmers.

Q: Cheri is curious about the men on my street in my life: "Is the neighbor hawt (because he's helpful)? Is Mr. Farklepants hawt (because his comment makes me think he's funny and plays nicely with others)? I already know Tootsie is hawt and she has good taste in clothes."

A: No. The neighbor is not hawt. Nor is he hot, or hott. Nice, yes, but he's not any kind of hot. Yes, Mr. Farklepants is hawt. My opinion may be biased, however. It's not really his appearance that gets me all to wanting to make the sexy time with him, though. It's his sense of humor and his brain. The man is ridiculously smart. He and I have an agreement that his picture is not to be posted on my blog. But he pretty much is a dead ringer for Hugh Grant, but only when Hugh Grant is smiling.

(This is Hugh Grant and not Mr. Farklepants just to be clear)

Q: The Stay at Home Mom Going Quickly Insane seeks blog traffic advice: "I remember when I first started reading your blog, I would go through and read several entries & comment and I would be the only commenter. However you have a meteoric rise to Internet Power and now approximately a fulfillion commenters on each & every entry. Any advice for someone who would like to experience same? And please do not say read more blogs and comment on more blogs. If I read any more blogs my husband is going to feature me on the back of a milk carton. Please tell me there is a magic pill or cream that can give me the same results and that if I call now to order I can get twice as much for the same price only paying for the extra shipping and handling."

A: I wish I knew! I'm consistently amazed and flattered that people take the time out of their busy day to traipse over here and read my silly words. And I DO keep it silly because real life can totally NOT be. It also helps that I have a husband who spends just as much time on his computer as I do mine so he doesn't even realize I'm absent he's not allowed to whine. And I will not say what you asked me not to say. I will let Mrs. G do it because she DID it and very well at that.

*Hugh Grant photo lifted from Google Images

Dance Dance Evolution

Once upon a time, an ultra sound technician informed the Farklepants' that the fetus Tootsie was carrying came equipped with a vagina. The Farklepants', already proud parents to two fine sons, rejoiced and wept openly right there on the cold slab with what appeared to be KY jelly slathered all over Tootsie's belly. They were not embarrassed by their emotional outburst. In fact, they held hands and were kinda cute. Truth be told, this announcement probably saved the Farklepants marriage because Tootsie would have wanted to keep having children until all of that sex produced a daughter.

As soon as Girl-Child reached the age requirement for dance classes, her mother stuffed her chubby haunches into some tights and a leotard [She knows how it appears but she assures you that no shoe horns were needed to accomplish this] and sent her off to her first lesson where she was read a book about dancing. Baby steps. And the Farklepants boys were just glad that they had a sister because they knew that if they didn't, their mother would have lost all sense grabbing the first tutu she came into contact with, and would have thrown them into ballet and tap. [not that there's anything wrong with that]


It wasn't long before the first of many dance recitals was upon us. And a pink tutu.

And Girl-Child hopped right up on that massive stage and demonstrated her tremendous ability to bite her nails. There was very little dancing, in fact, there was none.


Then came the winter festival and Girl-Child became a snowflake.


This time actual dancing was involved. (note: toe tapping second from the right)

Another recital and more pink tutus! And dancing to the tune of, you guessed it, ABBA's Dancing Queen. [Who put that giant baby on the stage? Note to growth: Slow down]

And HERE is where a picture of last year's winter festival should be. But it isn't because her mother forgot to charge the battery in her camera and doesn't have one single photograph to document Girl-Child dressed as Santa's little helper. You'll just have to trust her when she says that there was a great deal of red and green and little bells. Her mother is ashamed of this faux pas.

And this past Saturday was the most recent recital.


And Girl-Child dragged her fatigued body that had been ravaged by projectile vomit and explosive diarrhea for the days leading up to the event; and in true professional form went on with the show. About three pounds lighter.


The girls tapped their way through Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy with pizazz! [and guidance from their instructor stage right she says in her best Snagglepuss]

The big finish! Complicated choreography for their age range but these girls pulled it off. They're now ready for the USO tour.

[Editor's note: No jazz hands were harmed in the grand finale.]

I Put My Appearance in Your Hands

Before I begin today's post I just want to acknowledge that I know I still owe you an advice column from last Friday. It was a whirlwind of activity around here what with the last couple of days of my brother's visit and my sick children including the event where my daughter vomited an actual lake on my kitchen floor get the raft. The entry is mostly composed and just needs some last minute editing. I shall post it soon.

Speaking of shopping, which we weren't but now we are so look how I pulled a transition out of thin air. Yesterday Boy-Child#1 and I ventured out to GAP Kids and bought an outfit for him to wear to his sixth grade graduation coming up this Thursday. He needed some slacks [no jeans] and a dress shirt [no t-shirts]. When I asked the sales lady to point me in the direction of the belts she said, "That's right. I was looking for the belts for you" which is odd because I hadn't previously inquired. So I thought, "Look who's so omniscient"! Then when I was waiting in line to pay she said, "I'll be right with you" as if I had somehow indicated that I was in a hurry. Which I wasn't. It was the first time I'd been out of the house in days and I was quite happy to stand there all day. Why she was picking up on some imagined impatient vibe is beyond me. So I was like, "No worries". And she looked skeptical. Tres weird. Anyway, I made my purchases that also included a dress for Girl-Child to wear to the graduation and to use for her own that is being held this Saturday. Then it occurred to me that I needed something for myself.

I love to shop. It's what I do. Mr. Farklepants can attest to my addiction hobby propensity to put a hurt on the bank account and clutter up our closet with STUFF! And he will argue that right now I probably have a perfectly acceptable ensemble in the closet that may or may not still have the price tags on them. I can shop the hell out of a mall. Except when I'm looking for an outfit for a particular event. Then I become overwhelmed when I walk into the store. I swear on any given day I can find a million things that I'd love to own and wear but if I'm looking for one specific thing I can't find a darn thing and end up with the first outfit that fits well and will do. Send me back to that same mall the day after that event and I will find a dozen things that I'd rather have worn. HONK if I'm preaching to the choir.

So, here is where I ask you all for help. Out of the following selection, which do you think I should wear? I do not currently own any of these items and I will go and make my purchases based on your opinions. Keep in mind that the ceremony is being held outdoors [read: center of the Earth hot] and also that it is at an elementary school so the length should be appropriate and cleavage should be kept to a minimum. There's a time and a place for flashing the stems and the girls and this is not one of them. A little less 'vava' and hardly any 'voom' :

(A) Simple sheath

(B) Classic wrap dress

(C) Basic sundress

(D) Skirt and basic tee

Vote in the comments!

The Diva Gave This to Me

Don Mills Diva has given my blog the Excellent Award! Thank you Diva!! I hope you know that I think you're excellent as well.



Today I'm passing this along to some of the blogs that are a bit newer to me and that I find pretty excellent:

The Jason Show
Undomestic Diva
Crash Test Mommy

Look! More Divas!

It's Why She Asks My Opinion

My phone call from Mr. Farklepants' sister yesterday went just like this:

Sister: I'm filling out this form for this thing and they want me to list 3 things that I think people would use to describe me

Me: Okay

Sister: I don't know what to say so I want you to do it

Me: Number one you have an awesome sense of humor. Not too many people can make me laugh the way you do and so often

Sister: Everyone always says that

Me: Then I guess it's true. Second, you are generous to a fault

Sister: To a fault?

Me: Yeah, I don't really know what that means either but I hear people say it and I think it's good. Just say super generous just in case.

Sister: Okay. So what else?

Me: You've got a great rack.

Sister: I'm totally using this.

This Picture? Kinda how I Feel About the Flu

Looks like somebody wants a turn on the Wii. Upon closer inspection of this photo I would say that Girl-Child is totally flipping off Boy-Child#1. Don't you love it when kids give you this kind of gold? This is one to show the grandchildren someday. I can be all, "Hey kids! Wanna hear about the time that your mom gave your uncle the bird?" and they'll be like, "No. Way." And then I'll whip this bastard out.

Murphy's Law moment of the week: Name the sound that woke Tootsie from a dead sleep...

1. A whistle
2. Car alarm
3. Dangerous belch that reverberated throughout the house and when asked by a local reporter to describe what she heard, Tootsie said "I hate to sound cliche but it sounded like a freight train running underneath the foundation of our home"
   

Not ones to miss out on any fun that is being had while the family is in town for a much awaited visit; fever and vomit have put their rude hats on and invited themselves into our lives and are attempting to thwart merriment. Specifically attacking Boy-Child#2 and Girl-Child. It's like the flu read my blog, got the 411 on my schedule and said, "Dude. We are so there". Note to flu: Go pound sand.


Before the plague was upon us, we went out for ice cream. Except I think Boy-Child#1 heard "math test".


Here is Boy-Child#2 just hours before he lost his nose to leprosy, clearly amped for cold tasty treats. On the right is my 16 year old sister which explains the texting. Even though she genuinely enjoys spending time with her family, in an attempt to appear to her friends like a normal 16 year old, her text message probably read: ZOMG! WAFNGMOOH! srsly.

No Underwear were Harmed in the Creation of this Post

Friday was the ceremony to honor volunteers at the boys elementary school. It was held on the playground to accommodate the ONE THOUSAND students who attend and their parents. The parents who volunteer their time in the classrooms, which, is a lot of damn parents. Of course I was there for the recognition for the one day a month that I volunteer because I'm all about LOOK AT ME! Out of the sea of small heads I managed to spot Boy-Child#2 and he and I made eye contact, confirmed by a wave of hands and kisses blown through the air. I spied Boy-Child#1 and his sixth grade class file in to their designated spot and threw my hands up in the air and shook them all about like an idiot but he didn't see me. In fact, he never saw me. As far as he knew, I wasn't there. At the end of the ceremony when the sixth graders presented the volunteers and/or their own parents with paper flowers they had made, all of those that I received were from someone else's kids. And when Boy-Child#1 found out later that I WAS there he felt a little like that something that you try to scrape off the bottom of your shoe. He was all kinds of sad and feeling guilty; so worried that he'd hurt my feelings. Which he didn't but I was unsuccessful in convincing him. Poor kiddo.

I mentioned that this ceremony was held outdoors. No shade. The hot California sun melting the left hand side of my body frying my ear its mission was to destroy me. I even removed my watch to avoid tan lines. But more importantly, silk was a poor choice for blouse fabric. It isn't exactly skilled in the art of concealing sweat stains. In fact, it enhances them. Silk can be a real jerk. Luckily I had my enormous paper flowers to hide the offensive boob sweat that was accumulating. I guess I should just be thankful that my pants were not the same material. Because who wants to look at ass-crack sweat? And don't act like that doesn't happen to you.

Wii? Oui.

Our boys have been jonesing for a Wii for about, ohhhh, forever. Since they already have just about every other game system on the planet (except for the PS3 because, FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS!) I we decided that they would have to buy the Wii for themselves. They've been saving and combining their collective Christmas and birthday monies and finally had enough cash. Then there we were, months after Christmas and the Wii still just as hard to come by. Fast forward to Friday evening when Mr. Farklepants arrived home early from work. After my initial, "What the hell are you doing here?" loving wife that I am response, he presented the boys with the Wii system! And Super Smash Brothers! He then announced that Mario Cart would be here on Monday. I was all, "How'd you score Mario Cart". And he was like, "There's this little thing called the Internet and Amazon.com, maybe you've heard of it? You can buy stuff there". And I was all, "bite me".

And when Mr. Farklepants enthusiastically asks, "Who's the best dad EVER?!"; Michael Jordan is not the answer he's looking for. Who knew?

Tootsie's Broham is Totally Boss

My brother and his family are here visiting from Virginia. They are in my house right now. Here. Downstairs. Every time one of us travels to visit the other, we spend the months in between talking about when we'll see each other again. My brother? The most awesomest brother ever to have lived in the history of siblings. My brother? The funniest person I know. He's also? My bestest buddy. That, of course, was not always the case. Except that it was but not. There was a time when I beat him on a daily basis which also included some pinning down and threatening him with dangling spit because that's what big sisters do. And sometimes they follow through on that threat. I would occasionally fart on him. Or just up and outright belch in his face and blow for emphasis. I also had him convinced that Mom loved me more. Sometimes, big sisters are assholes. But, even though there was all of that, I also had his back. I was his protector from bullies and demonstrated that through physical combat with his enemies. We had each other's back when it came to keeping out of trouble with the mom. Then when puberty hit for him he turned into kind of a douche and we hardly spoke until I moved from home. That simple act was the catalyst that changed our relationship forever. One full of love, respect, and friendship.



When he graduated from high school he broke my heart joined the navy and moved three thousand miles away. I was the only family member to attend his boot camp graduation in Florida [an aside: if you ever have the chance to visit a military base, I highly recommend it what with all of the MEN IN UNIFORM swarming the premises. It helps if you're 21 and single to boot]. Then he was transfered up to Virginia where during the course of his service he met the woman who would become his wife one of my best friends. Wasn't that thoughtful of him? He warned her that I'd never once liked any girl he'd ever introduced me too and he wasn't lying even a little bit. He had this poor girl scared shitless to meet me face to face. Then one day, while on leave, he came home to visit and flew his new girlfriend across the country to meet the family. And then I showed up [cue a little diddy called "The Imperial March" and picture Darth Vader if that helps you hear the music]. And it was one of those rare experiences where you meet someone for the first time but also can't imagine having never known them. [Now imagine "The Imperial March" coming to a screeching halt] I loved her from the start.

After his time was served they moved out to California. For the next seven years we spent several days and/or nights a week at each other's homes. Did I mention his wife is also a kick-ass hairdresser? She's a master stylist at a swanky salon and if you have a few hundred dollars lying around to drop on your hair then she's the girl for you because even she admits she can't afford to see her own self. When she was living in California, and before she leased her own suite in a salon in Studio City, she worked for a man called Allen Edwards. You may remember him as the man who originated that unfamiliar 70's hair cut named FARRAH FAWCETT. And while she was working there I would get discounts on my hair needs and totally free when she had her own place. Then my brother and his wife decided they wanted to buy a home. You may not know this about California but in order to buy a home you have to have something banks like to call HALF A MILLION DOLLARS OR MORE. So, after seven years here on the west coast, they packed it up and moved back to Virginia where they bought a beautiful home for half of the aforementioned California requirement.



And now they're here. And I'm going to do my level best not to think about Saturday morning when they'll be leaving. I'm going to enjoy every minute that they are here and hug and snurffle my nephew as much as he will allow. I will still post but they may be light. Which, from what I gather with all you Google Reader peeps out there, may be a little bit of a blessing.