When I was little, way little, I had a dream. I was writing on a typewriter in a narrow yellow room with a window, and I was happy. Soooo happy. Growing up, I knew writing would be in my future.
Flash forward to a hubby, a kid, a mortgage, and a teaching career, and writing for fun flew out the window.
Though, somehow, with that mortgage came a prepainted narrow yellow room with a window.
How bizarre.
For years, people have told me I should write a book about all the crazy things that seem to happen to me or that I should have my own talk show, that I am funny and an awesome storyteller. One day, I got a wild hair up my katookis (figurative language, folks) and decided to start a blog to chronicle the craziness that is my life. Maybe someday, someone will see it, and say to themselves, "Self, she makes me smile, and she know how to use commas correctly, most of the time. Let's give her a book deal." Until that time when you people have to pay me for my awesomeness, enjoy the wackiness that is me for free. If you're lucky, you might even end up in a story here.
Since starting the blog, I have millions of followers who pay me for my free posts. I've won a Pulitzer twice, a Tony for my acting ability after a tape of my senior play was uncovered, a Grammy for outsinging Adele while I'm in the car, my adult-onset acne has cleared up, and Publisher's Clearinghouse will *not* quit knocking on my door while I'm in the shower. I only toot glitter now, and life is full of sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns. My cat never misses the litter box, and my dishes wash themselves. Everywhere I go, people burst into spontaneous musical dance numbers. It's a hard life.
It's amazing what following your dreams will do for a gal.
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