Happy Blogaversary to The Bumble Files!!! 

Happy Birthday to my blog. My blog is three years old today!!

While I ask myself where has the time gone, I also admit these three years have felt more like six years. It’s not that the time hasn’t flown by. Usually, when someone says something seems longer than it is, it would be a negative connotation. Not so here. But, indeed, it feels longer than three years. I’ve heard other bloggers share the same sentiment.

What is it with blogging that makes us feel this way?

I’ve been blogging so long, I’ve been doing it since the very beginning…since the beginning of blogging time. What? That wasn’t three years ago?

Let’s see now:

Three years = (@365 x 3)  = 1,095 days = 26,280 hours 

Whew! No wonder it seems like a lot. We can agree it’s an intensive experience, is it not? It’s not simply throwing up a post, as those non-bloggers think while rolling their eyes at you. We all know it’s reading, commenting, and sharing in an active community. Granted, I haven’t blogged every hour, but I may have thought about my blog many of those hours. I have had a few forced breaks, a few unintended, but mostly my blog has been a part of my life and an extension of me.

For me, The Bumble Files has been a life philosophy about finding the path in life that is meaningful and true. Most of the time, I’m feeling my way as if in a tunnel of darkness. Not really, just kidding. I see the light just as much.

But I’ve been doing it so long, I feel a little like this penguin here:

Where did everybody go?

I’ve seen bloggers come and go…come back and leave again. It’s understandable and there is always a valid excuse explanation. Perhaps they got a new job or a new boyfriend or husband or had a new baby, finished school, or they’re finally binge watching on Netflix writing that book. Sometimes, it’s just burn out. I bet some of you are nodding your head at me now. Sadly, a lot of my friends have left the scene and have abandoned their blogs.

They have what I call a “Ghost Blog.” While they are absent from their blog, their spirit is still here with us.

Happily, there are always new blogging friends to make. If you’ve followed me recently and have never returned, oh, please come back and have a chat. Just because I’ve been blogging for three years does not mean that I don’t want to make new friends.

While some things change, some things remain the same.

The numbers always change:

Some current numbers:

Number of posts: 354 
Views: 51,792
Number of comments: 16,651

But the thing I’ve realized is that the bigger some of these numbers get, the less significance they seem to have. While some bloggers may have higher numbers, I am proud of these no matter what.

More things remain the same:

  • I still haven’t written my book. Argh!
  • I still haven’t met most of my followers. Please come back.
  • My biggest search item is still boobs!
  • I still don’t have a blogging schedule, because that would be so “Un-Bumble” like.
  • I still have blog posts lined up to write.
  • I still laugh my way through much of my blog reading. You are all so funny and talented.
  • I still have trouble reading everyone and am searching for that “balance.”
  • I’m still meeting fascinating people from all over the world.
  • I still feel proud every time I publish a post.
  • I still feel excited when you stop by to like/comment or both!

Recently, with the death of my father, I am reminded why I blog. You were here with your kindness, giving me strength, and in some ways, more comfort than I experienced in my real life. You were really there for me. For me, this speaks to the power of the blogging bond and the deep connection we share with words. And this just gets better over time.

A celebration would not be complete without cake. And this, my friends, is still the best cake on the Internet (thanks Sandee!). Won’t you have some?

Image Source:

I still have the best WordPress community. I couldn’t be more thrilled. Truly, I hope everyone feels that way about their blog because that’s what it’s all about. Thank you one and all! You are simply the best.


My Blog is Three Years Old!

Let’s Talk Twitteresque

There, I made up a new phrase. Twitteresque. I have no idea what it means. I just like the way it sounds, and if I like it, you might like it too. I’m adopting the “Effortless” approach. You may recall I used the Social Effort Scale last week, which determined that I “try too hard” on Twitter…even though most of my activity was said to be in the “Effortless” category.

According to the feedback on individual tweets, replying with a simple, “Thanks, that’s cool!” gets a “Not Trying Hard Enough” score. However, if you add a hashtag, you may find yourself in the “Effortless” category after all. Fair enough, but doesn’t that require more effort? Just an observation.

But I got to thinking about what “Effortless” look like on Twitter, and by that I mean what does it look like on the screen? I’ve come to this conclusion. Those who do effortless best look like they don’t give a shit. The guy that rolls out of bed, half-dressed, half-asleep and says something clever like, “I don’t want to get up today….” That gets retweeted 1,027 times. I think you know what I mean.

Of course, nobody does “Effortless” better than celebrities. They probably don’t want to be on Twitter in the first place. Let’s take a look see.

Here are a few famous writers. Now, I know Stephen King finally resigned and opened a Twitter account, but I think he’s enjoying himself.


No big introductions here. Just Stephen King in a cool skeleton-with-a-guitar shirt. It’s all you need. Maybe the comfortable, scary approach would work for me. This is rock star cool.

And Neil Gaiman:


More deep cool, and cool enough to drink milk. My husband had a glass of red wine with him once. True story. Where was I? How come I didn’t get to have a glass of wine with him. Now I’m getting upset.

Speaking of wine, here’s Leo enjoying a glass:


Check out those stats. My husband says Leo follows him and even retweeted him once. Oh, sure. I’m a bit skeptical now that I see the smallish number of people that he follows, also typical of celebrities. Grumpy Cat, or some version of him, followed me. I do have that! Anyway, cheers to Leo’s 11.8M followers.

Perhaps, I should be drinking something in my profile picture. Just a thought.

And here’s someone who needs no introduction at all and only one name.


Just the one name identifier and the dogs. Lots of fluffy dogs.

Here’s her friend Ellen with a catchy intro:


Her tweets…she’s referring to the episode in Seinfeld, of course, when Elaine is in the spa, telling a woman that her boobs are real and that “…they’re spectacular.” Boobs, there. I got that in. Boobs! WordPress suggested I should write more about boobs this year in my posts. That worked out well for

me, and…that was effortless. Look at that.

So, Ellen got the flu from her friend Oprah. I’m sure you’ve all heard about it by now. It was big news on Twitter and Ellen was proud to get the flu from her. Favorited more than two thousand times. Let’s celebrate the flu, and why shouldn’t we?

Here’s another one of Oprah’s friend. Mr. Neil Patrick Harris. Incredible in Gone Girl. Did you see him? I thought he was excellent. He deserves some kind of prize.


Act some…you mean since you were four or something? Variety acts…you mean like the Academy Awards? See, effortless. And I will add, humble. And Oprah is here, and not even listed in the “Followed by” list. She’s just hanging out there. It just struck me as funny is all. Not funny?

This has been an edition of “Let’s Talk Twitteresque.” Your takeaway is simply this: If you want to appear effortless on Twitter, just be famous. Got it?

What about you? Ever had a glass of wine with a celebrity? Are you drinking a beverage in your profile pic? Have you ever had any interaction with a celebrity on Twitter? Please share.

There’s Nothing a Few Boob Jokes Can’t Cure

The subject today is boobs. I imagine I have your attention, or at least half of you. Ask any woman and I bet she has her own back story about her breasts.

When I first wore a bra at the age of thirteen, it was really more a matter of principle than need. Even though I was as flat as a pancake, I was strong enough to perform 20 pull-ups without breaking a sweat for my Physical Education test. By night, I was a competitive gymnast which may have stunted my pubescent growth. It didn’t stop some jerk-head at school from pulling my bra strap for his amusement every time our eyes met. Asshole. I wanted to go home immediately, and curl up and die.

Meanwhile, my younger sister blossomed well ahead of schedule. By the time she was thirteen, she was becoming a beautiful woman, her breasts full, a bra necessary, doing her best to ignore the awkward, furtive glances from our older brothers’ friends. Sure, she got some attention, and I was probably a little jealous.

Fast forward a few years more, and my sister’s breasts grew uncomfortably large, causing her back pain, and making exercise difficult. Buying a bra, a swimsuit, or any clothing really, proved to be an enormous, painstaking chore. I’m more or less happy with mine. So for the record, sensitivity is not lost on me.

Here’s the thing, I had an experience the other day with a woman (male audience, relax)…well, I can’t get my point across without explaining to you that the size of her bosom was phenomenal. By this I mean, they were gargantuan, hard not to notice, a huge rack. You got me? I am not well versed in guessing a woman’s chest size, but I would surmise a K or J cup…triple J perhaps? I actually have no idea. This detail isn’t critical. But I know some of you prefer a visual:

Expecting some gratuitous Ta-Tas here? Well, you can fantasize. Welcome to the female mind.

As I wandered aimlessly in the local Barnes & Noble, I looked up from a book, and there they were. My eyeballs popped out of their sockets. Soft, flesh pillows spilled out of the top of her silky, red blouse matching the red of her lips, her smile radiant. Bewildered, I cast my eyes downward. I was caught. She caught me staring at her breasts. Focusing from the chin up, I looked at her straight in the eye, offering a casual smile. I had hoped the whole thing went unnoticed. Oh, I think she noticed all right.

She proceeded as follows:

“You know these women who are hired for their big boobs at restaurants,” I was sure she was seething inside. “Well, what about these women who only have one leg?”


“They work at I-HOP.*”

Relieved, I had a good laugh. She continued.

“What is the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman?”

I shrugged and smiled.

“Snow balls,” she said.

I burst with uncontrollable laughter for some reason. I wanted to give her a high five.

“You needed a good laugh, didn’t you?” Yes, I did. I think she could have told a few more.

I walked away thinking about her brilliant smile, her warm sense of humor, and that she seemed happy in her skin.

Okay, now stop your weeping, and go forth and love yourself. We should all be so lucky.

*A breakfast/pancake house.

photo credit: Kris Kesiak Photography via photopin ccMangiu via photopin cc