Sunday, March 29, 2009

Standing in Line

It’s Sunday morning. In my past life, I would still be under the covers, in bed, nursing a hangover, impatiently waiting for someone, anyone, to go out and buy me a cheeseburger from McDonald's to soak up the indiscretions of the night before. Fast forward 10 years, on this cloudiest of mornings, I have already cooked omelets for the family, fed the cats, cleaned the kitchen, compiled a CD of songs for my oldest daughter, sent the other to time out and as if I have nothing else to do, now I will attempt to join a new kind of club, the blogging community. As I write this first entry questions race through my mind. Am I hip enough to enter through these virtual doors? Or will the bouncer look beyond me an usher in the witty chick behind with the great tips on gardening and food storage? Or maybe I am too late, and I am standing in line for a venue that has closed it’s door and moved to a new secret location without telling me. And if I do happen to slip by unnoticed, once in the club will I be surrounded by new faces and interesting conversations, people curious to hear what I have to say or will I find myself stuck at the bar alone making small talk to the bartender about the weather and the last time he served a flaming Dr. Pepper. Never one to turn down a social opportunity…I think I'll give it a shot, maybe even two. Seriously, why can’t I?

1 comment:

Jessica said...

Have you ever seen the movie Knocked Up? Not necessarily the whole movie, but the part where the main characters, 30 something year old women, are trying to get into that same trendy night club you're alluding to?
As the story goes...behind them of course are those young, hip chick emphasizing all the reasons why they seem a bit out of place and why being there doesn't necessarily make sense or fit the standard mold.
Then, just when you're disappointed that the bouncer won't let them in, disappointed for more than the just the obvious reasons....this little 30 something woman, who can't possibly weigh a buck-ten soaking wet, not only belts this out, but betls it out to the huge, monster of a bouncer standing before her:

"I'm not gonna go to the end of the fucking line, who the fuck are you? I have just as much of a right to be here as any of these little skanky girls. What, am I not skanky enough for you, you want me to hike up my fucking skirt? What the fuck is your problem? I'm not going anywhere, you're just some roided out freak with a fucking clipboard. And your stupid little fucking rope! You know what, you may have power now but you are not god. You're a doorman, okay. You're a doorman, doorman, doorman, doorman, doorman, so... Fuck You! You fucking fag with your fucking little faggy gloves".
It's funny...

The moral of the story here...(in case you didn't know one was coming), is this; I think that for each day you add to your blog, you should first put on a different one of the 27 pair of jeans you own, somedays with heels, some days with flip flops; however the mood shall go.....and get in line knowing your going in - because all of that other stuff, is really just stuff anyway.
PS- If there happens to be a day when you're there alone, I'm buying:)