This is awesome.

Granted, I have a business card that says “Vanessa Wolf, Journalist,” but that is a gross exaggeration of fact and/or total fiction, depending upon whom you ask. (The assertion, not the card, that is. The card is very real.)

That stated, I think it is completely unfair to use the titles of these blog posts as examples of how “NOT” to craft titles for pieces I write as “news” (although, again, there is “write one fun piece a week” talk going around that also involved the discussion of an opening line about “This is not news.” So there you go.), as

a) I am not a journalist!

b) I suck at titles

c) I don’t particularly care not to suck at titles

d) vagueness is interesting…to me.

e) “Me of Little Faith”: would I read that? Probably. If I knew I wrote it.

Seriously, once in a while someone writes me to comment on how much they loved some ancient post, and I have to go look it up to see what they’re talking about, and more often than not, I’m all, “Damn! I wrote that!? That’s pretty good…”

But I digress…as usual.

Hopefully you guys aren’t coming for the fabulous blog titles anyway, but for the haphazardly timed and hopefully droll material I once and awhile pull myself together to write once in a blue moon.

So anyway, since it’s been a couple weeks since I last updated you, allow me to share my 2013 Resolutions, as publicly posted to Facebook on time.

(Apologies to my parents and any sensitive sorts for #3. It’s kind of an inside joke that you probably don’t want too many details on except to say: thanks for the good genes.)

1. Finish two of the five novels I currently have half-written.
2. Fix The Book Formerly Known As ZION and self-publish that baby.
3. Exercise three times a week and improve my already (allegedly) “magical ass” into something that shrines are built to.
4. Change my name to V-Wo (goes with #3).
5. Stop dating psychopaths.
6. Stop using my bed as a dumping ground for junk mail, dirty clothes, seventeen issues of The New Yorker, dead batteries, dog toys, and empty bottles of wine.
7. Drink less wine and wake up less with that sinking “Did I really…[fill in with something that's probably worse than you think]???” feeling.
8. Believe six impossible things before breakfast.
9. Laugh until my stomach hurts at least once a week.
10. Find something to be grateful for every day.

What isn’t on this list – only because I just thought of it a couple days ago – is BE BOLD. In all caps like that. BE BOLD.

Personally, I think it’s a good thing needlepoint is no longer quite so popular.

In my writing, my choices, my hairdo, my seasoning of soup…I intend to be bold this year.

Again, I have to apologize to my parents as that sentiment probably scares the hell out of them. In general, the adage in my family is “Vanessa is fearless,” so plans to be even more so are likely alarming when you’re fond of your (alleged) only daughter, but I can’t shake it. I feel like this is the year I need to make some big moves and paint with broad strokes and get some things going finally…and it seems like in life that requires boldness, shaking things up, putting yourself out there in a way that not everyone is going to like or appreciate, but that those who “get it” will love.

What’s that they say or somebody said anyway? “”Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid”"

There you go.

More on that (perhaps) when I can articulate my thoughts better…

Moving on…

In the words of several former bosses, “So….what else?”

What else?

I’m pretty good.

Life goes on.

I go on.

I’m two weeks into breaking that “work out three times a week” resolution, but I’ve been dreaming about running which maybe means I’ll actually do it someday soon.

I’m in the throes of making a complex calendar of plans as we speak. Maybe I should go buy one of those big dry erase calendars?

Speaking on the frivolous use of money, I tried to buy  myself those turquoise boots, and they won’t send them to Hawaii.

Let me repeat: I want to buy boots that cost $159 and THEY WON’T SEND THEM TO HAWAII.

I know…right!?!?

Fare well, turquoise boots, my star-crossed love. We were robbed.

We have mail here. Stamps cost the same as everywhere else. There’s even a box outside my house and the lady drives up to it every day but Sunday and sticks stuff in there. The boots could be shipped. There are ways.

But, actually, since “Hawaii” isn’t even in the drop down list, there aren’t ways, so I guess I’ll just take it as a sign it wasn’t meant to be.

In other news, I just now learned today that Lance Armstrong was stripped of his titles for using steroids.


(Well, that and the fact that Livestrong bracelets were cool for five minutes…five years ago. And I’m just kidding. I’ve never owned a Livestrong bracelet.  I don’t have balls, so prostrate cancer is no concern of mine.)

Anyway, I have critical laundry and vacuum duties to attend to, but nice chatting with you.

Live long and prosper and keep doing what you’re doing, because you look gorgeous.


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4 Responses to “I AM NOT A JOURNALIST!”

  1. Rosi

    ok, send me your address and boot size. I will get the boots, mail them to you and you can pay be back! seriously – if you really want them we will make it happen!

  2. Maxxy

    I look gorgeous ?? Really ?? – Thanks. I always knew the vagrant look would come back around some day.

    I think I might completely rewrite my CV again. I might go for the BOLD approach like you say. Just have my name and address and number at the top, and then in big letters across the middle, simply, I’M BLOODY GOOD, TRY ME.

  3. wideawakeinwonderland

    From where I’m sitting, you look better than gorgeous. You are positively smokin’.

  4. wideawakeinwonderland

    Ahhhh. You’re too sweet.
    I think the universe has prevented the boots and I from uniting because I really don’t need them.
    If you could see my existing boot collection (and don’t even get me started on flip flops ["slippers"], platform heels, regular heels, etc. etc.)

    I still want them though. Size 8 1/2, but reading the site they say go up half a size, so size 9.
    Maybe one of my Spokane friends will come visit me and bring them as a hostess gift in exchange for staying in my fabulous home? ;)