I get these google alerts, 'cause I am a shallow twit who wants to see every time her name is listed in print, and I got one today from the Midtown Miscreant, who made a little mention of my F-bomb in INK in an article he wrote about the failings of our local news.
Truth is, I couldn't agree with him more and more importantly either could my mother.
"She could have left the F-word out."
"Mom, she could have left a lot out; I am pretty sure that was one of the many times I said 'Now don't actually print this but...' Lesson learned."
I document at nauseam the dialogues and ramblings of parents and cohorts. I do my best to represent them accurately in time and place but I am realizing perhaps I don't consider the depth to which they might be read out of context.
An hour long rap session with a reporter who made me comfortable enough to chat like she was one of the girls proved this to me. You switch some sentences around and I can sound like an even bigger dumb ass than I already am, my concern with which about sent my ex-boyfriend/friend into an epileptic seizure from excessive laughter.
"The irony here is so thick."
I do wax philosophic about dating dilemmas. That is my thing. Look at the title. But in the great big light of day I try to maintain a certain level of professionalism, which at this point is all but shot to hell and not because of some article. I suppose the least I could do is extend the same courtesy to those I write about.