When it comes to me earning money, I'm all business. Nose to the grindstone, daily 42-item to-do list, lunch at my desk, and usually clean hair/clothes. (No ironing, though, so like 90% business.)
When it comes to stuff I don't directly get paid for, though, like laundry, or making sure my car is legally registered in Ohio, or finding where all my past 401ks are, I'm not quite as on the ball. And that includes blogging.
Every morning or evening or Saturday at 1 p.m., I have brilliant ideas about blogging. Most of them dissolve as soon as the shampoo starts to run in my eyes, but still, a few stick. I've got a couple weeks before I can pull those great ideas together. (But, blessed be! I have 11 days in a row off of work, starting tomorrow, so I don't have to get up at 5:15 a.m. anymore do brainstorm fruitlessly, start and delete posts, and then rewatch 30 Rock on Netflix until the sun comes up! At least not for the next 11 days!)
In the meantime, I have total stage fright. I went public with this - maybe too soon. I posted on Facebook, I tweeted it to all three dozen of my followers. Hell, even my mom knows about it, which is pretty low of me, because my mom has the dogged dedication to bend man and beast to her will, and the sweet but misguided conviction that I am the most talented assemblage of molecules to have ever pulled on a leotard. (Ballet, man. I was mediocre.) As an aside, if anyone from my mom's work is reading this right now because my mom made you read it, sorry. In this instance, she was right, though - right? This is way better than quality control or whatever it is you do. Get back to work!!!
The only cure for blog stage fright is a half drunk, rapidly deteriorating Beaujolais. Cheers.
Anyway, since last Saturday, here are some updates:
Bossypants for my birthday. I read it in 2 hours. It was a rollercoaster of hero worship followed by a deep sense of failure because I will never be that successful and a deep sense of loss because I know in my heart Tina Fey will probably never be my best friend. Because she has two dumb kids that take up all her time and love. Even though in the recent past she drove to Ohio every year around the holidays. (Tina: We both have brown hair. We both have glasses. Please call me if you're coming back to Ohio. I'll meet you wherever is good for you. Wherever.)
2. My boss bought me a bottle of wine from Amish country for Christmas. (Thanks!) I'm excited to drink it, but it begs the question - Do the Amish drink wine? Is this a trap? Am I going to wake up in a somber, button-down dress in a few days? ____ would look like an idiot in a mustache-less beard, and all those creepy Amish men who helped build houses in the southerly suburbs who came through the Route 18 Dairy Queen drive-thru when I was 16 kind of ruined any romantic ideals of what that life might be like.
|I'm Bills and I'm beautiful. |
Come eat some birdseed, Chickadee.
And, that's the end of that bottle of wine. Sorry, Mom. I love you.
P.S. Can anyone tell me exactly how to get this site to load without having to make sure you type www before the dot? I use Blogger and I'm tired of blogging research for now. Please just help me fix it.