This is what I tell people when the blog comes up.
Lots of people blog, and I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that. But somehow it isn’t cool, either. It’s not Dungeon and Dragons uncool, but it isn’t “my band’s new album is on vinyl” cool. You know it isn’t.
But that’s okay.
You’re reading this, so you’re probably not that cool either.
And I suppose I’m just going to have to come to terms with the fact that I’m not that cool. I can deal with it. I can. I’ll adjust, lower my expectations, modify my wardrobe…
Or maybe not.
Maybe the wacky lady that writes the blog can be compartmentalized away from the part of me that’s cool? And the cool part can carry on undeniably cool?
It may be possible.
With some slight outward modifications.
Enter my newest obsession: Wigs.
I don’t know why, but I am all about wigs the last few weeks. I think it’s in part the realization that no matter what color my hair is dyed, it somehow always morphs back to the same ashy blondish brown. Always. There’s no outsmarting it. It’s like a chameleon. Wait. It’s like the opposite of a chameleon. It gets colored something new and fabulous and mysteriously returns itself to the tried and true.
It’d be freaky if I weren’t used to it by now.
So that being what it is, I kind of want it other ways and other styles and other colors. And sometimes I want it colors that I would not want it to be permanently.
Or cuts that would take years to grow out.
And then other days I want to look like Amy Winehouse. Or at least the hair part. I’ll take a pass on the strung out junkie bit.
Or Ronald McDonald.
I don’t know why, but this amuses me.
And true, it probably will work out about as well as the sequin shorts I bought (and the friend who was with me at the time questioned not once, but TWICE, “Where are you going to wear those?” I was warned. I did not listen.), but I’m going to pull the trigger anyway. The red wig at least. For sure. A must. And it claims to be of some better quality than the usual fake hair sh*t.
And for $36.99 on sale?
It better be.
That’s spendy for my non-income generating ass.
Speaking of which, I’m going to be entering a slew (sp?) of short story and poetry contests in the next month. None of you are judges, are you? And if you are, can you do me a solid? I could really use some prize money. And the accolades and public acknowledgement and – why not? It’s my dream. May as well dream big – offers from fancy agents usually too important to accept unsolicited manuscripts or talk to anyone that hasn’t already written a bestselling book.
And considering I’m generating these short stories and poems as we speak and some of them are due on Monday, I’m not sure I’m sitting on winners.
There’s no time to tell.
I need original content. I need it now. So create it on the fly, I must.
I suppose if nothing else, I could put them together as a collection and sell them to you as an online book?
You digging that?
You $9.99 digging that?
Well, get ready to put your money where your mouth is, and we’ll find out.
What if I threw in a picture of me in the red wig?