While I waited in the green room, I sat on a couch and talked with the two people I brought with me to do the scene. One is a fellow blogger wannabe. She was inspired to blog after we met at a party, but alas, she's only posted once. Her perfectionism has paralyzed her ability to publish.
So as we sat there we talked about how she has several posts written, but she just can't seem to finish them and post them to her blog. I felt her pain. I have a bunch of those posts .... OK, I haven't actually written them. I've just
written copious notes and a rough draft obsessed about thought about some shit I want to write about someday. Usually when I was in the shower, where I do my best plotting thinking.
As we talked I was feeling so flattered that she'd started a blog just because I have one that I heard these words coming out of my mouth: "Hey, you know what helps me is making a commitment to write every day for a month. Then I don't have any choice about writing because I have readers who will jump up my generous ass if I don't keep my promise. If you'll write every day in September, I will too."
Inside my head a voice was shouting, Shut the fuck up, you large stupid idiot! What the fuck are you committing us to now? You promised we would go to bed earlier and get up earlier. And don't you remember the official NaBloPoMo (National Blog Post Month) is in November. That's, like, only 2 months away. What the fuck were you thinking? You'd better hope she says no .... Do you even fucking remember we're going to Chicago in less than a week? Are you going to spend your time in Chicago writing blog posts? OMMFG! You're such an asshole. If she says yes ... "
She said yes. I'm sure this is what a fellow feels like after he gets drunk and proposes and she says yes and he's aaaaalllll fucking in now because there's no going back from proposals and promises to blog and genital warts.
So I'm going to post something here every day in September. You'll probably see lots of vaginas. No, literally, I'm going to show you vaginas. And maybe a couple of rants on .... well, I'll have wait for those to come to me. I'm over Miley Cyrus, so you can open your eyes.
Mostly I'll probably write about vaginas, because that seems to be a popular topic.
(I just want to take a parenthetical moment here to thank all of my readers who introduce me to their friends as "Reticula ... she writes about vaginas a lot." Very flattering. I have no idea why I never get laid.)
And dating. I promise to get back to the sordid saga of 10 Dates, 10 Men™. You might want to
fasten your seatbelt check your gag reflex at the door double up on your Xanax when you see those posts coming. I've got some screen captures that will cause me you to slide into a deep, Mercury-in-retrograde black hole of depression. And I've got a story about 1 of 10 that I should have told months ago. Let's just say for now that it ends with him discovering I have no soul. Big fucking deal, right? What has your soul ever done for you? At least my vagina smells like rain.
To kick off the month, I'm going to give you a gift. I don't really encourage you to read any of the other bazillion bloggers out there, but I do encourage you to read Sunny Haralson's freshly minted book Beauty Tips for the Bereaved on your Kindle.
That's not really a gift, you say? Bullshit. Until Labor Day at midnight, that book is free. So it is a fucking gift because I told you about it and I said so. (I don't get paid for anything I write here, so this is not an ad.)
Anyway, I'm sure the book will be a crazy ride just like her blog. I've been anticipating it for months now. So read it, because it takes balls and many hours and days and nights to write a fucking book and she did it.
One down. Only 29 to go. What the fuck was I thinking?