Monday, August 31, 2009
It is 2 in the morning and I have to work tomorrow. I should be sleeping but I am not.
I should at least be staring at my dust covered ceiling fan, making seizure inducing shadows on the brick wall above my bed, counting the rotations till my eyes forget that my brain isn’t yet tired. But I don’t.
I surf the internet. I check my facebook page for the zillionth time, I shop online for things I cannot afford, I half-watch episodes of Dexter on netflix.com, I google stalk.
I am not ready to surrender to the beginning of Monday and I occupy myself to avoid considering the opportunity my family friendly weekend has presented.
It seems the universe is trying to find me a date and I am hell bent to blow the universe off.
Why is it that when you just don’t give a shit, when the thought of dating is about as appetizing as a grilled chicken wrap after hours upon hours of biting into slimy camera ready chicken and smiling every time the director says, “let’s get a shot of you chewing from another angle,” that matchmakers and matches start appearing around every turn.
I woke up far too late to take full advantage of my day off but mustered up the energy for the farmer’s market. I was there, minding my own business, when the men selling me my zucchinis and funky star-looking squash things, started interrogating me on my love life.
“I bet you need a big guy,” said the one with the ZZ Top beard. “How tall are you? 5’10”? 5’11”?
“And some change,” I said, in what has become my standard response.
The two elderly gentleman quizzed me on my preferences and physical requirements and I obliged because they were charming, in a creepy leprechaun-y sort of way and because I had just spent the last of my cash and I was betting I could score some free veggies.
I did, in fact, but they didn’t want me to walk away with just a handful of vegetables I would have no idea how to cook. They wanted to find me a man.
“What about *Guy*?” said the bald one. (His name wasn’t actually Guy but I figure it is best to protect the identity of my potential future husband until I actually meet him.)
“Oh yeah!! He would be perfect. You’d like him. His is a big guy. He owns ---(fill in the name of hipster downtown restaurant)! And I bet he could handle you!”
“You have to go and tell him Thane sent you.”
“Um, sure.” I was a little disturbed at being pimped out these toothless Woodstock relics, but they were so giddy I hated to spoil their fun. So they rattled on like a bunch of old chickens or my grandmother and her sisters when they get together to see who can cackle loudest.
There wasn’t a chance in hell that I would actually go stalk a complete stranger at his place of business and tell him that some random old men said we would be perfect together – at least… not again… but I was amused by the possibilities and empowered by the fact that if I wanted to, I could.
Later, a gorgeous, funny, smart, accomplished, did I mention gorgeous man asked me on a date. I never ceased to be shocked when attractive men hit on me, a residual insecurity of chubby adolescence and awkward post-adolescence that I doubt I will ever escape.
I was flattered and I said yes but as I lay here counting the minutes until I am running late for work, I am sorting out my excuse to bail.
There are plenty of reasons why not (luckily, none of them seem to be the old stand by of ‘you’re not good enough’) but mainly, I just can’t make myself be that interested. It is nice in theory but the thought of actually shaving my legs and spritzing perfume behind my ears is just not as appealing as it used to be.
I am rejecting the idea that I am officially in a drought. I talk a big enough game that no one would believe that but I think that maybe my faux man fast has completely taken over my animal instinct and plain common sense, which is screaming to jump at a great thing.
I don’t know maybe the universe is serving up plate after plate of the tastiest poultry this side of the Mississippi, but it’s still chicken and I am just not that hungry.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Character Number 1 and Number 2
(Character Number 3, operating the camera)
Wednesday 10:06 pm - "Friday, girls nite. be there or be square."
They are almost as good at guilt as my grandmother.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
So I just made:
- Caprese Salad with fresh basil, mozzarella, red onion and tomatoes from the farmers market
- Smashed potatoes with fat free cream cheese, garlic and dill
- Sautéed purple peppers from the farmers market
- Seared tuna with a fresh black berry glaze
- Vanilla bean ice cream covered in black berries, black berry sauce and homemade oatmeal wafer crispies.
It was all delicious and way way to much. Not bad for my first cooking experience without calling my other for directions.
I am cheap. This is a widely known fact. Not in the never pick up a tab, only buy the discount toilet paper, consistently ‘forget’ a wallet type of cheap, so masterfully executed by most of my recent boyfriends.
I am cheap in the frugal, “I will be damned if I am not going to get every nickels worth of my money”, kind of way. I get every last drop out of my toothpaste container, if spend money on vacation I am going to go all out every minute of the trip and if I spend $130 bucks on an unlimited monthly yoga membership, you had better believe I am going to be there everyday.
Most of the time this cheapness has clear advantages. It is a great motivator. Recently my therapist co-pay went up and so has my standards for men. No douche-bag is worth $40 a session.
A few days ago I over-drafted my checking account. This is the first time I have ever done that and I did it in a big way. I decided to be really productive and pay all of my bill in one day. Car Insurance, student loan, cell phone, geek squad, electricity. And then I went shopping.
And then I realized that my pay check had been sitting in the bottom of my purse for almost 2 weeks.
Yep. That sucked. $250 worth of overdraft fees, $250 worth of sucky.
I worked my charms and got the bank to knock off the majority of the charges but then I had to come to grips with the fact that my crazy summer had now effected more than the size of my rear. It seriously impacted my bank account.
Each of those $5 coffees ended up costing me $50 bucks. And then I started counting up all the happy hours and early morning networking breakfasts and late night desserts with girlfriends. Damn. So it is time for a break from my social life. I have been waxing and waning about my need for a little me time. Well now I have my motivation. I guess everything happens for a reason.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
I am not a morning person. I try but alas, I hit the snooze for at least an hour before I grunt myself out of bed and stand in the shower for at least 15 minutes waiting to be revived out of my dream state. This is problematic because I am always running 15 minutes late. I tell myself I am going to get up and run but I know better. The only thing that would tear me out of my feather bed of coziness is a steaming pot of coffee.
I have been thinking about this in reference to the dating world and relationships. I have joked for quite some time that I am never getting married until I can have a house big enough so that we can each have our own wings. I have been reading a lot about city couples who have their own apartments across the hall from one another and really that doesn’t sound half bad.
This isn’t entirely out of a selfish need for personal space. This is about the well being and sanity of any future life mate I might have.
I barely function before 10 am. I drink the orange juice strait from the carton. I frequently have several electronic devices on at the same time at different volumes so that I can alternate when I get bored. I mutter obscenities at myself, my wardrobe, my food. And I fall down. A lot.
Everyone has their quirks. That is why the world of online dating amuses me so. I mean basically, people are trying to draft their own baseball card, with the stats and figures that best convey their averages so that they can swap and trade and hopefully find a suitable match. But really if people had to write the whole truth and nothing but the truth, how many first dates do you think would really happen?
We don’t want to know the whole truth, not at first, maybe not ever and if enhanced personal space can prolong the mystery just a little bit, maybe it is not such a bad idea.
Monday, August 24, 2009
I once dated a guy whose mother handed me a copy of Good Housekeeping magazine and said, “You could use this.”
I once dated a guy who dumped me in the shower.
I once dated a guy who asked me to move across the country for him on our second date.
I once dated a guy who rented a sailboat for me, only to discover that I get insanely seasick and then wreck the boat requiring that we be rescued by the coast guard.
I have dated guys that said “I’ll get you next time,” “You love me more than I love you,” and guys who have called me “Dumbo.”
I have been cheated on, lied to, stole from and froze out.
I have had guys profess their undying love for me only to never speak to me again once I said lets give it a shot.
For all of this craziness, I have come to a very zen place in my feelings about the opposite sex. It helps that as many times as I have experienced shitty man situations, I have experienced great ones. I have watched my father and step-father and grand-father treat the women in their lives like queens and show the type of respect and integrity that I know the greater population of men to have. I have watched my friends and cousins become amazing husbands and fathers and remind me that good guys are still out there.
Even as of a year ago, I think I was still harboring major man hatred but these days that just seems futile. If it wasn’t for all of these crazy experiences, what would I have to write about?
So last week, when I met up with a designer that I have hired to do a project for work, I was a little freaked out when he said he followed my blog. Flattered but freaked out. And then he said, “You have a lot of man issues don’t you?”
And with the deepest exhalation of relief I have had since I don’t know when, I said, “No. Actually at the moment, I have no man issues. By choice. And that is just fine.”
I am sure that this is about the time that the man issues will start to spring up – just as I settle into my over-contentment and I welcome the challenge. Boredom beware. Boys keep things interesting.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
It started earlier, on Thursday, playing with my co-workers 2 year old daughter, my good buddy Ellie. It was quasi-babysitting and full fledged fun, listening to this adorable little girl ramble about “worms live in da mud” and “birds go tweet tweet” and "go high on da blue swing." Ellie ran through the leaves and pointed out everything she could see and when we had finished getting ravaged by the mosquitoes, we went inside and Ellie began to entertain herself at her little table. Her mom told me that because they keep her so busy at school, sometimes she just needs some private time in the evenings to decompress.
She is one smart two year old and I realized that that was something I almost never allow myself to do.
When Friday finally came around, I was ready for the weekend but this time, a wild and crazy night was the furthest thing from my mind.
I went to yoga and to the ridiculous downtown market and grabbed sushi and a movie. I went home and took the longest shower possible, and even mustered the will to shave my legs, which I hadn't done in god knows how long before collapsing on my couch.
This had not been the plan and my girlfriends were less than pleased. They sent rounds of guilt-inducing text messages.
Them: You bailed! L That is unfortunate.
Me: I failed as a human being.
Them: Clearly. Not friends anymore. You can take you donation boxes and shove em!
I was momentarily tempted to give in but this tiny voice inside me said, "Sit still. Just sit still." And so I did but with an amused gratitude of knowing that I have the kind of friends who would go as far as blackmailing me with charity to get me to go out.
But I sat still. I went to bed early, slept hard and woke up at the crack of dawn to try out a new running group.
It was the perfect day to pretend to be athletic, the cool pre-fall air making it feel more like LA than the typical humid Missouri summers I remember from my youth. I quickly made friends with a group of delightful strangers who made the miles pass by with such ease I almost forgot that it had been months since I last attempted to run.
I spent the afternoon with my family, my grandparents and aunts and uncles in town for my cousin Jack's six birthday. Jack hugged me hello, thank you and goodbye. This is a huge deal. I have barely been able to get a high five in the past. We now have a date to play mouse trap again and I am pretty stoked, since setting that thing up made me realize why my parents always refused to play it with me. I feel like I now deserve an honorary engineering degree!
I rounded out the evening by making dinner with my girlfriends.
They grilled and steamed and baked. I brought the charcoal.
We sat outside enjoying the magnificent weather and munched until the point of explosion. Then we played a rousing game of scrabble. I didn’t win but I did manage to secure the record for the most dirty words played in one game.
“Are you going to deny me my ‘jiz’!?!”
“See now we have sex and romance!”
As we headed out to our cars, I exalted the advantages of this kind of good clean fun to my girlfriend. It felt so nice to relax in pjs with my girlfriends without being elbow to elbow with a room full of Ed Hardy. To have a good time without alcohol or seeing the sun come up. To be able to wake up at a decent hour – not hung over, not exhausted, go to yoga, do some shopping and then come home and relax for the rest of the afternoon without feeling obligated to be doing something productive or ‘necessary’. To be in my newly cleaned apartment with no desire to be anywhere else.
To sit still.
I have had a fantastic summer. I have played like I was in college again but I am excited for a little ‘me’ time. To whined down with the cooling weather and settle in to the stillness of fall, taking in the simple pleasures of nature and quiet, and lessons learned from two year olds.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
This wavering is part of a process that I know as well as I know my own limbs. It happens with every ending. Every time a project is complete or another one fails to start. Actors call it the post-show mourning. It is my mind’s inability to sit still.
So I buckle. Briefly. In the face of another fork in the road. I know that there will be another project, another goal, another vehicle for forward momentum but for know I must battle all of my fear and insecurity and self-doubt – the little voice inside my head that says, “You aren’t good enough. Your success was a fluke and from here on out there’s gonna be nothin’.”
In a day or two I will beat the crap out of that voice and leave it dead like those annoying house flies that invade my apartment from their feasting ground in the dumpsters behind the Chinese grocery positioned just below my third floor windows.
But for now I waver and I pout and my boss gives her mothering, “Are you alright?”
I assure her I am fine. It will be over in no time.
I had a professor in college who was without a doubt a genius - she was also totally off a rocker, She always had her skirt tucked into her pantyhose. Lipstick on her teeth. Stacks and stacks of papers strewn across her desk, on her floor, teetering on the window sills.
There are days when I look in the mirror & I think to myself - Oh dear dear god I am turning into Katherine. This is not all bad. She is by far the most amazing acting coach I have ever known...but my house and my car and and my person are just a mess. I say I don’t have the time - this is true. I say I am exhausted - also true. But really, it is just that if I had to rank my priorities, clearly my house is sooo far down on the list these days that I end up hurtling over my bicycle with deflated tires, scanners, printers and underused computer equipment just trying to get to the bathroom.
Work, work, work and researching and applying for new opportunities to work, has pretty much taken over my life. Well, that and the active social life which has me rockin' the beer gut.
It is just that I am a glutton. I know this to be true because I am also Catholic & as a Catholic I have had the seven deadlies drilled into my head from an early age.
Also because as a kid my parents recounted the movie “Seven” detail by detail over the dinner table while eating spaghetti. I never did watch the movie “Seven” and it took years before I could stomach spaghetti again.
So I am a glutton and not just in the Brad Pitt, Kevin Spacey version of the term. I am a glutton for life, for experiences. I want to take in as much as possible and this sometimes gets me in trouble. For one reason, there are not enough hours in the day to take advantage of all life’s possibilities and secondly, there are always too many great options happening at once. I don’t know how people spend so much time being bored. There is always something new to learn or experience or absorb.
And this gets me to problem number 3 - my inability to sit still. For me boredom becomes depressing.
I try not to resist it. My yoga teacher says to embrace the yin in my yin/yang. Or is it the yang? I can’t remember. Maybe that is my problem.
Regardless I try to embrace my stillness but I am not very good at it.
A week after my last show I was freaking out. I made an appointment with my therapist, my business counselor, my bank advisor and my gynecologist just to make sure I was on the right track.
They all told me the same thing - to calm down and enjoy the down time. Well, that and “Lyndsey, for the 100th time, you DO NOT have an STD! The ‘S’ part is kind of a requirement for that to be possible!”
Yes, I am gluttonous. I am anxious to grow and learn.
And now as I look into the immediate and undefined, unstructured future, I am TERRIFIED to sit still because it might catapult me from my seat on the happiness train just as my butt was starting to go numb.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Question- How is it possible that your computer can bite the dust, taking with it all of your music except the crap downloaded in the wee hours of the morning when drunk downloading seemed like a better alternative to drunk dialing? I am left with nothing but Miley, Brittany and Pussy Cat Dolls. Seriously, I am in hell.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
But let’s just say for a second I did hate things, there would be more than a few things I would put on the list.
Like whistling. I can’t stand it when people whistle. It freaks me out. I feel like only crazy people whistle.
And when people talk to me through the bathroom stall. Don’t do that! It is private time. You can wait a second. I will talk you when we are finished. Eww.
Ethnic slurs. The word ‘retarded’. Guys asking me, “So how tall are you?” Apathy. People screaming at their kids in public.
Getting my hopes up. Letting people down. Feeling guilty because I feel disappointed and my inability to let things go.
I don’t hate these things but I sure don’t like them. You could say I despise them immensely.
“I took the red eye out to the conference, got no sleep, and then stayed up the next night until five in the morning talking with an amazing man from New York – who happens to be married.”
“He said ‘You want to DATE me!’ and I just got out of the car and went home. Maybe I should have at least got some before I turned him down.”
“It turned out to be the most boring date ever. ‘So… (gaping pause)…what do you do for fun? So… (gaping pause)… what kind of music do you listen to?’ I left and ended up spending the evening with someone I would much rather be who but who isn’t actually available.”
It is another sticky afternoon and I have just collapsed into a booth in the back of DeBronx Pizza somewhere in –GASP! – Kansas with three of my new favorite friends.
“This is like Sex and Suburbia,” my girlfriend muttered. “Four women heading out for a night on the town at the glamorous local Applebee’s.” And while I would never let it get that desperate, I suppose the truth isn’t too far off.
As we waited for our pizza to arrive and noshed on only slightly more nutritious salads it became necessary to reflect on our resemblance to the fab four.
This is nothing special. It is practically a requirement that when groups of women get together they assign each other to those Manolo wearing archetypes. I still haven’t figured out how I got called out as Samantha – so not even right! But it as I sat there listening my three blond, fabulous, smart, beautiful girlfriends bitch about boys and jobs and sore muscles and scheduling conflicts I realized that we really did have a lot in common with that group of women. Maybe not the fabulous lifestyles or the closet sent down from the gods but that special unique bond that only comes from becoming close with a group of women.
I feel very lucky to have all of the friends that I do. I would say that I have more than my fair share and often I feel neglectful of these relationships because there is simply not enough hours in the day to dedicate to them all. Even if I did nothing but spend time with friends, I don’t think I would be able focus on them all the way I want to.
This day was special. Different in the group dynamic. It is been a while since I have been a part of a straight up posse and while this is a new formation, it is a great group to be in. I am pretty sure that that is why shows like Sex and the City have always had such a following. We all long to be a part of something, to be needed, and while the romance and adventure is exciting, there is something even more compelling about finding soul mates in the group of women with whom you share your trials, your tears and all your dangerous temptations. We have a great time. Probably better that we should. And I can’t wait for the next recap…hopefully someplace a little less suburban and a little closer to my state line.
I have lots of picture and video of the landing. This makes me happy.
I am also thrilled to be alive and that it all went down (literally) without incident even though all signs pointed to disaster.
Trish made a playlist to listen to as we drove the hour and twenty minutes to the airport. We sang along to “Follow You Down” and “Another One Bites the Dust.”
We got lost and had to call the airport for directions. The guy on the phone yelled at me for not having printed out the map – I had no idea there was a map. We put the corrected address into Garmin (She had confused Osage Street with Orange Street – silly Trish) and followed its directions until we pulled up to the address in question – a funeral home.
The plane that took us up was a 1952 Cessna 182 (I think that is what the guy said). It was a 4-seater. There were 5 of us. I curled up in a ball with my head practically resting in the crouch of the super cute pilot who just happens to be my neighbor, praying I wouldn’t have a claustrophobic panic attack on the 20 minute assent.
Really, I wasn’t to scared about the jump. This picture of Trish proves that she wasn’t quite so secure. I was feeling pretty good as we tumbled out of the plane and did summersaults through the air. I immediately forced myself into the arc possession that they had shown us in the whole five minutes of training that we had and waited for the man strapped to my back to hit me on the shoulder to let me know I could let go of my harness and let my arms free as we plummeted in freefall to our demise. It never came. I waited and waited for the tap on my shoulder, for fifteen seconds that felt like an eternity. I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t feel him behind me and after what felt like the point of know return I determined that something must have gone terribly wrong and that I was going to die. The ground was rising up as the clouds rushed past me dragging my cheeks behind my ears like a Saturday morning cartoon character. I tried to calm down. I was hoping I wouldn’t give myself a heart attack before I slammed into the earth.
And then the parachute deployed and the air become silent and we hovered, no floated, no swished – I am becoming suddenly aware of my decrease vocabulary dissolved after too much reality TV – and the world became still. The man on my back chatted with me, exchanging pleasantries about what I can’t recall, I was too engrossed in the silence. The terror had lasted maybe five seconds, the thrill another 40 and the blissful silence maybe 5 minutes. When we approached the landing strip I told the man on the ground that as soon as we landed, he needed to get the hell off of me because I was going to be sick. “It’s cool,” I assured him. “I am okay with it. It was worth it. I just don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”
We glided delicately to the earth, my backside the first thing to hit the ground. It was incredible.
I didn’t get sick. I did lay in the grass for an hour convinced the world was coming to an end but it was so worth it. I don’t know if I will ever do it again but am so glad I did. It was something I will never forget.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
“Good night,” I said with a subtle eye roll as I climbed out of the passenger seat and shut the door. I didn’t turn around when I heard the sound of the automatic windows roll down and the sarcastic, jeering voice continue, “You want to date me!”
That was how I ended my Friday. It took several hours, a little bit of vomit, a whole lot of bleeding, one large snake, several crowded art galleries, lots and lots of sweaty dancing, two ransacked purses, one lost shirt and a very bizarre incestuous round of shots to get there.
And I was home by midnight.
We started the evening innocent enough. Happy Hour and then First Friday’s Art Festival for a group of stressed out friends, all working far too hard and getting paid far too little. We were belatedly celebrating our friend's birthday and she was by far the most stressed out of us all.And tiny. And tipsy.
Tipsy can turn into obliterated when you weigh five pounds but she was by far the sweetest sick drunky I have ever seen. I just wanted to put my arms around her and tell her the whole world was going to get better. That her job would start to suck less or that she would find a new one all together. That her personal life would get easier as soon as her work life got easier and that it would get easier. I just wanted to hug her but instead I held her hair back. I have never looked that sweet while being sick.
We all split up from there and that was when the night really began to get interesting. I boy I had blogged about came out with us. He is a really chill guy but I felt a little awkward having not returned his texts and then putting it out to the whole virtual universe. We had somehow all gotten separated and I was trying to find him in the crowd when I did a slam dance into the pavement right between a crowd of people and the band they were listening to.
This is not the first time I have lost control of my oversized limbs and ended up kissing concrete. There have been too many instances to count but the most memorable will always be walking around Universal Studios in Florida with my parents when I was a little kid drinking hands down the most delicious orange soda I had ever tasted before or since and tripping over my own two feet, flying through the air, covering myself in soda and tearing up my knees.
This time there was no soda but there was a slew of people all who gasped in unison with the band that abruptly stopped playing. I gingerly lifted my head, knowing that there would be hundreds of eye balls peering down at me and questioning my sobriety, which was total. I did one of those half-hearted, I am fine. “It’s all good.” I hoisted myself up and raced out of the crowd stopping only for a second to evaluate the hole in my jeans and blood on my knees.
I finally found the boy and we went looking for our friends, some art and some cheap beer. We found a snake.
Eventually our friends made it down, having safely stowed our passed out friend in her home. The four of us, including V, blogger boy and one of my girl friends, found the jam band we had been hoping to see. By this point the only light in the sky was the glow from the mosquito swarmed street lights, however, night fall had done nothing to break the heat and humidity.
We danced anyway. Hot, sweaty summer dancing. The kind that happens when the band is too loud and the air is too thick to care whether or not you look silly.
We asked the boys to hold our purses while we bounced. Blogger boy said no. My friend V said yes (of course) and stalked away. Later we found that they had ransacked them for cash to buy beer. I had never felt so proud! We deserved it being brats who make boys carry their purses. (That and I never carry cash either so there wasn’t anything to find in mine!)
When the band finished their set, we set forth to find cooler pastures. We found a table on the cramped patio at a bar down the street which, thank the lord! was positioned right in front of a giant fan. We chatted for a bit, teasing each other with the lewd trash talk that typically is part and parcel for our little group.
I am not sure how long it took to do the math on the incestuous nature of this little foursome. Ruling out the more obvious same sex couplings it seemed like all of our paths had crossed at one time or another.
I suppose it should have been awkward and uncomfortable but maybe because of the heat or the dancing or the applesauce shots that tasted like Drano, it just didn't seem like a big deal. When the other side of the table wasn't paying attention, we bounced back whispers. "Why don't you date my friend? Why don't you date my friend?"
Finally it was late enough and the reality of early morning wake up calls and work schedules forced us out of the bar and on our way. Somewhere near 20th and Grand our foursome split up into couples and blog boy offered me a lift home.
I am not even going to pretend his intentions were innocent. And am adult enough to admit I considered it, but we had spent the better part of the evening discussing life and relationships and this blog! I even showed it to him on my phone. So after all this talk of my independent spirit and how much I am enjoying my life as it is, it just didn't feel the road to go down.
I put it to him this way, if I am going to give something a whirl at this point [when I am contented doing my own thing] then I am going to want someone to put in the effort - more than just an 11:30 text message.
I don't really know what happened after that. But he was laughing and I was shaking my head and he kept saying, "You want to date me!"
If it was his attempt at being dickishly charming or just dickish, I will probably never know. But I laughed all the way home and was left with a great story to tell.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Well now I’ve done it. I have gone and stuck my foot in it. Repeatedly. Oh this inter-web-thingy is a tricky beast, always getting you in trouble and this little blog of mine was just bound to bite me in the butt eventually.
It seemed like such a perfectly pleasant Friday afternoon. I had had a great morning, attending my bazillionth networking event to finally have it payoff with significant gains for my company. My boss was pleased, I was motivated and the rest of the afternoon flew by.
Before I took off for the evening to meet some friends for a night of debauchery, I checked in to my blog site to see if I had any updates. And there they were, comments from the crowd. And one was none too happy. I suppose that was a risk I took in publishing emails but – hey, I thought they were funny. And this got me thinking, thinking about thinking about what people think about me. I have had a tendency throughout my life to put an awful lot of stock other people’s opinions. The older I am the less I worry because I have given up the need to have everyone like me. Oh, I am still rampant with insecurity and try my best to make sure that most people do but sometimes you just got to give it up.
So someone was not pleased and maybe it wasn’t very nice of me. I should probably apologize but I won’t. I am pretty sure any irate emails that get sent out into the virtual universe are fair game.