Sunday, August 1, 2010
This really IS all about me!
When I was approached by one of my fans (okay, my husband) to write this little ditty of a column, many things went through my mind. Things like, “Well, of COURSE they want me to do it… I’m the funniest person I know!” My husband will argue that HE is the funniest person I know, but I will stand my ground until I’m whooping it up Betty White style at the retirement home that I have known I was funny for over three decades. I’ve only known the husband was funny for five measly years… hence, I win. The next nugget to enter my over inflated head was, “Are they sure 500 words is enough? Undoubtedly, once the readers get a glimpse into my thought processes, they will want more!” I can always allow my rowdy group of pitchfork wielding fans (that’s how I picture them… do not disappoint me) to picket the office and demand more word count at a later date. Once I got over myself for a brief moment, one more thought came into play. And this, my new found friends, is a big one. I fear to think it, but are any of my thoughts, rants, opinions and love of inappropriateness suitable for the average Southern Oregonian? I seem to entertain (shock) those that choose to be my friends (employees, actually-I pay many of them to laugh at me) without too many of them running away, embarrassed by my shenanigans (it helps that I frequently tie them to chairs). Nonetheless, not so shockingly to those that know me, I agreed to do it. Mostly because I have a lot of free time right now, and I still find it socially unacceptable to drink before noon (unless it’s a mimosa or bloody mary, of course). I then had to decide what I would delight you, the deserving reader, with! I would love to pretend I was somewhat Carrie Bradshaw-esque, living in New York City with lots of tales of dating and cosmopolitans and shopping at Barney’s. But, this is Medford. I am married. And we don’t even have a Nordstrom’s. So clearly THAT wouldn’t work. I do have some fantabulous shoes, however. My second consideration was to help others, give guidance and suggestions! However, I quickly realized that I am ill-equipped to dole out advice like the ever intelligent, yet witty Ann Landers. (My attempt at advice usually falls short… like this gem to my then three-year-old daughter, “Emily, if you’re gonna talk bad about people, you have to wait till you’re far enough away from them so they can’t hear you.” Don’t worry, she quickly explained to me how wrong that “helpful advice” was.) So, my suitable place is somewhere comfortably situated between Carrie and Ann. Where I can turn to either of them for counsel, as needed. Which is quite appropriate, actually, because the only advice you should probably accept from me is where to shop, where to eat, and most definitely where to get a fabulous cocktail!