How has all of this been going on behind my back? I'm a pretty aware woman, not much gets past me, but somehow THIS has??? You mean I COULD have been sharing all my wisdom, craftiness, cleverness -- not to mention the cuteness of my pets and kidlets -- all this time? With the world? People I don't even actually know? Strangers, yet kindred souls? The same people I'd scoff at if they sent me a friend request on Facebook? Instead of all the fun stuff I've been up to? WOW.
Let me sit down whilst I let this all sink in.
Please tell me this can all be forgiven -- you don't have to forget, but please accept my apology for being so clueless. You've made it quite obvious I've deprived you of my brilliance for far too long.
In case you're wondering WHO I think I am -- and I'm sure you're thinking pompous, self-absorbed, arrogant, conceited, insert other such words here -- let me tell you that I am probably the most sarcastic person you will ever stumble across in blogosphere. (That IS what we do here -- stumble across each other's blogs like clumsy idiots, right?) Wait, did that sound arrogant? Okay, ONE of the most sarcastic. I certainly don't want to set the standards too high right out the gate.
So, why am I finally crawling out from under the proverbial rock? Why is today the day? Are you tired of me italicizing things yet? Let me lay a few things down. It's hard to hold all this while I type:
Just about everyone I know has repeatedly told me to, "WRITE SOMETHING, DAMN IT!!!" (Yes, they are quite adamant...keep your panties on everyone!) Back in the days of LETTER writing (those silly things we used to write to each other (on paper) to keep in touch before all the instant stuff was available, folded neatly and inserted into this thing called an ENVELOPE (made of paper), upon which we scrawled the street address of the beloved recipient...and which was delivered to the actual mailbox of same (no, not your GMAIL inbox silly, that box thingy outside where all the stuff you throw away magically appears) by a postal worker...this obviously has the material for an entirely separate post...pardon the pun) I was always told how amusing and heartfelt my writing was. The letters, the notes, the cards -- well, they became anticipated by many, received by the fortunate, thrown away by few. Soon, I felt tremendous pressure to perform and produce. I hate pressure. And I'm a sucky performer. Letter writing became not so enjoyable. Hey, I'm at gosh darn Girl Scout camp, people, I've got other things to do. Skip foward a few years...hmmm, frat party? Or a cozy night in writing letters to grams and the high school crowd....
Progress to the modern era --
you know, the one where kids don't know HOW to address an envelope but can effortlessly tweet, text, tumble, and tivo -- simultaneously? Today, my emails and texts apparently have people rolling on the floor, I think they just call that "rofl" these days -- gag. At least that's my take on the matter when a friend's response to said text or email is, "If I hadn't had that bladder surgery, I'd be peeing myself right now!" Or, the ever popular, "My husband wants to know who the heck is making me cackle like a hyena." I have also, apparently, made dogs question the sanity of their owners. I'm often introduced to spouses, children and friends as "SHE'S the one you're always asking me about, you know, the one that's always cracking me up!"
But I'm a classic underachiever, which is just fine with me. I may never write a book, but I could probably muster a blog. Get a few people off my back. Make me feel semi-accomplished. And, most importantly, it won't interfere with my joie de vivre.
Perfect.
Did I mention I also procrastinate? QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEN of it, thank you very much!
That's a story for a different day. As in not today. Or even next week. Maybe not EVER. My life is quite full. Patience, people!
The roses are in full bloom -- and the waves are calling!
Let me sit down whilst I let this all sink in.
Please tell me this can all be forgiven -- you don't have to forget, but please accept my apology for being so clueless. You've made it quite obvious I've deprived you of my brilliance for far too long.
In case you're wondering WHO I think I am -- and I'm sure you're thinking pompous, self-absorbed, arrogant, conceited, insert other such words here -- let me tell you that I am probably the most sarcastic person you will ever stumble across in blogosphere. (That IS what we do here -- stumble across each other's blogs like clumsy idiots, right?) Wait, did that sound arrogant? Okay, ONE of the most sarcastic. I certainly don't want to set the standards too high right out the gate.
So, why am I finally crawling out from under the proverbial rock? Why is today the day? Are you tired of me italicizing things yet? Let me lay a few things down. It's hard to hold all this while I type:
Just about everyone I know has repeatedly told me to, "WRITE SOMETHING, DAMN IT!!!" (Yes, they are quite adamant...keep your panties on everyone!) Back in the days of LETTER writing (those silly things we used to write to each other (on paper) to keep in touch before all the instant stuff was available, folded neatly and inserted into this thing called an ENVELOPE (made of paper), upon which we scrawled the street address of the beloved recipient...and which was delivered to the actual mailbox of same (no, not your GMAIL inbox silly, that box thingy outside where all the stuff you throw away magically appears) by a postal worker...this obviously has the material for an entirely separate post...pardon the pun) I was always told how amusing and heartfelt my writing was. The letters, the notes, the cards -- well, they became anticipated by many, received by the fortunate, thrown away by few. Soon, I felt tremendous pressure to perform and produce. I hate pressure. And I'm a sucky performer. Letter writing became not so enjoyable. Hey, I'm at gosh darn Girl Scout camp, people, I've got other things to do. Skip foward a few years...hmmm, frat party? Or a cozy night in writing letters to grams and the high school crowd....
Progress to the modern era --
you know, the one where kids don't know HOW to address an envelope but can effortlessly tweet, text, tumble, and tivo -- simultaneously? Today, my emails and texts apparently have people rolling on the floor, I think they just call that "rofl" these days -- gag. At least that's my take on the matter when a friend's response to said text or email is, "If I hadn't had that bladder surgery, I'd be peeing myself right now!" Or, the ever popular, "My husband wants to know who the heck is making me cackle like a hyena." I have also, apparently, made dogs question the sanity of their owners. I'm often introduced to spouses, children and friends as "SHE'S the one you're always asking me about, you know, the one that's always cracking me up!"
But I'm a classic underachiever, which is just fine with me. I may never write a book, but I could probably muster a blog. Get a few people off my back. Make me feel semi-accomplished. And, most importantly, it won't interfere with my joie de vivre.
Perfect.
Did I mention I also procrastinate? QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEN of it, thank you very much!
That's a story for a different day. As in not today. Or even next week. Maybe not EVER. My life is quite full. Patience, people!
The roses are in full bloom -- and the waves are calling!
