I decided a while ago that I needed to do something constructive with my time. Seeing as I’ve already mastered the one-handed wine pour into a shooter glass (I know, it’s sacrilege, right? I mean, who only drinks a shooter-glass of wine?!), and horse jockeys don’t need understudies, a blog is the best I could come up with.
I remember being told that to be a good writer, you should write about what you know and tell a story you’re familiar with. After much reflection (most of it done looking down into a glass of wine), it turns out the only story I’m familiar with is mine. And although a voice in my head tells me I’m uproariously funny, there are several more who are shaking their heads at my ego, and a few more besides who are too busy poking their eyes out with stir sticks to weigh in. I choose not to take it too personally.
The great thing about writing a blog is that as far as I’m concerned, you all fall into the same category as 6-foot tall pink bunny rabbits and good highschool trombone players*: you’re all figments of my imagination. As such, I feel as though I can be as honest as I want without fear that someone is going to get offended and come after me with a bucket of rubber chickens and a pitchfork. Again.
A few things about me: I have the short-term memory of a goldfish and I should not be held responsible for anything or anyone with the power to negotiate with me. If you need a ride to the airport at 3h00, advice on how to fly, or something to feel good about, I’m your girl. If you need me to fix dinner, water your plants, or remember to pack undies and a toothbrush, you may as well save yourself some grief: order in, get self-watering plants, and buy stock in Proctor & Gamble. Oh, and birthdays? Unless you were born on Christmas day (I love presents!), St. Patrick’s day (I love drinking!), or the 11th of October (it’s simply a cool date), your birthday is now 01 March. Did I mention I have the short-term memory of a goldfish?
This is the part where I feel the need to tell you how this blog will improve your life. Except it won’t. So unless you like to laugh (at me), drink (with me), or discuss the number of times I will likely reference HGG2 in the next 6 months (um…27?), you may want to get back to the last cat blog you were visiting.
Or practice flying.
*from a joke my highschool band teacher told us. See, Mom? I wasn’t just wasting my time in school…