I’m going to my very first Blogger event tonight. I would equate this feeling with going on a blind date except worse. I’m putting way too much pressure on myself to look professional, yet elegantly casual. So I selected some jeans that are entirely too tight for a woman my age. I wanted to wear a shirt that really reflects who I am, so I’m wearing a t-shirt with my elementary school name and mascot (pterodactyl) on it. A little red jacket tops it all off and matches my red high heel sandals that make me 6 foot tall, exactly. Being that these are open toe, I’m painting my toenails and, because I’m ethically against having pedicures, I’m forced to do it myself and make it look like I’ve had a pedicure which is even more unethical.
Not able to leave well enough alone, I could not resist popping what would have been an absolutely invisible zit on my chin. Now it is an oozing pink crater that I have to keep dabbing with toilet paper. I’ve used a shitload of cover-up both on my chin and under my eyes to cover the dark circles and age spots – I want to look alert and youthful. Then I’ve applied a coating of powder all over my face to absorb anything shiny. After that, I’ve topped it all off with mineral powder so that I look … well shiny, I guess.
I’ve shaved my legs, armpits, and mustache. I’ve double coated my deodorant. It's not until something like this arises that I’m aware of how blissfully unaware I am of the details of my body. I’ve trimmed the jagged fingernails and filed them neatly into rounded edges. I’ve left the remnants on the bathroom floor.
I couldn’t get any business cards printed in time so I bought a deck of playing cards and put stickers on them with my blog name and address on them. “Please, take a card. Any card” I’ll say and I’m sure everyone will think I’m hysterically witty. Or, they’ll think I’m a total hobby blogger who broke into their important party. They’ll ask me to leave and thank me for my interest. I’ll end up waiting in the car for my friend. She’s a “real” blogger so they’ll let her stay.
I’m going to go into this with an attitude. I’ll be all “Hey, take me or leave me baby. I am who I am” and then I’ll rush into the bathroom to ask God to help me act like a grown-up and also to please make my zit stop oozing. There will probably be television crews there trying to see into the dark world of a blogger and they’ll ask me for an interview. I’ll be pleased to oblige and my heart will race with the anticipation of being offered such a chance for self promotion. In the middle of the interview my nose will start running and I’ll forget the name of my blog.
Just like a blind date, I want to be wanted. But I don’t want to be wanted too much. I am trying to be noticed, without sticking out. My stomach hurts and I’ve no appetite. I’m going out the door now in plenty of time to stop for a Starbucks to give me a little pick-me-up then I’ll go pick-up my prescription for anti-anxiety medication.
Now I must stop blogging so that I can rush over there and wait until I can arrive fashionably late.