Write like nobody is watching

When I went to bed last night, I had four followers. When I woke up this morning I had thirty. And yes, I did a little jumpy/flappy arm dance (it was a masterpiece). Everything was instantly made of kittens and sunshine and creamy custardy flan. My day was made perfect, and it was all thanks to Jenny Lawson, known to all as The Bloggess.

Yesterday after writing the epic tale of OWSR, I decided to indulge a random whim and send an email to Blog Jesus (not to be confused with Keanu Reeves Jesus or Jesus Lion). The email was as follows, with the subject line of I promise, if I wanted you to sell toilet paper for me I'd pay you:

Hi Jenny,

....or  The Bloggess, or My Ladyship the Princess of Germany (has that ever been settled officially?). Anyway, obviously I'm just another one of those peons who is probably just going to clog up your inbox and never be read. I apologize for not being Nathan Fillion. And yes I have just realized the whole first part of this email comes of as like, "ooh look at me I read your blog I bet NO ONE else ever does that and then quotes it back to you in an email." So yeah...sorry about that. 

Anywho I guess I am writing to you because you are awesome, and I kinda sorta maybe wanted you to possibly read my blog if you had a chance. Obviously I don't want you to promote it or anything because 1) who do I think I am? and 2) I've only posted four things so far, which is not much to promote. I just want to see if you think I'm funny at all I suppose. Plus it'd just be really super cool. I know you have to get these kinds of emails literally all the time, in fact mine is probably sandwiched between two shockingly identical ones. However, I figured what do I have to lose? 

But as an anxiety-ridden nineteen year old currently on jury duty while all her friends are at the beach, more disappointment would kind of suck. Ooh, guilt trip! That was uncalled for. So here's the link. Do with it what you will, oh mighty deity of blogging. 

So yeah, it was long, desperate and obviously trying too hard, but I actually managed to send it. And she read it. And clicked the link. And then read that too. And THEN tweeted my blog.

So now here you are. And about twenty seconds after I felt that first sense of elation, I realized that people will actually be reading things I write. AND THAT IS TERRIFYING.

But as it turns out, this was one of the rare times when The Crazy actually got overruled. Sure, I could freak out. I could panic about what I was going to write next, how quickly I would manage to lose all these new followers, or how I would probably become so powerfully uninteresting from now on that the Bloggess would issue a tweet-traction and then find out where I live and mail me a picture of herself looking disapproving. Like this pumpkin.

Disapproving pumpkin, why must you hurt me so? 

However, sane Bailey must be working out, because even though she is one-nineteenth the size of The Crazy she managed to muscle her way through to the forefront. And so, I’m not going to freak out. I’m just going to keep writing and hope you still find it interesting.

And at some point I’m going to figure out how to reply to comments, because I totally have some now (repeats flailing dance).

Sorry to interrupt with this non-humorous post, but I couldn’t just continue on without acknowledging my new readers or the reason for them. So if you still think I’m worth the shot, tune in tomorrow to find out when I found out a terrible truth about myself: that I am racist against blankets. 

In which I scare an old woman while she admires her groceries

I haven’t posted anything in awhile (which doesn’t matter much since the only person who reads this is my mom, but still) so there are a lot of things I could talk about right now.

I initially thought I would talk about my horrible day and how I get to spend the next five days on jury duty. But then I realized just how much I talk about my horrible days lately; how much time I spend complaining and moaning and proclaiming that I am going to burn the world down (an impractical but at times satisfying thought).

So instead of all that negativity, I am going to talk about something amazing. Something that managed to shake me out of my misery and make me smile.

I am speaking, of course, of Old Woman Spaghetti Reader (OWSR for short). Some context is needed I suppose. As I was riding home on the MAX today, lovingly cradling the whip-creamy remnants of my magical headache curing beverage, an old woman got on the train, wheeling in front of her a small cart filled with reusable grocery bags.

I glanced over as she took the seat next to me, and watched covertly as she pulled out a box of Whole Wheat Thin Spaghetti. And began to read.

Not glance; this was not a glance, not a casual once-over of her newly purchased pasta. She was engrossed in it as if it were her favorite novel. It was completely beautiful.

Now as anyone who has ever ridden public transportation knows, they tend to house a lot of strange people/things. So maybe a pasta-reading old woman doesn’t strike you as very interesting. But to me, at that moment, it was so mundanely absurd I couldn’t get enough. Of course, this all probably played out differently to OWSR.

My Thoughts: Oh my God, why is that lady reading that spaghetti? ALL OF THE FUNNY!

OWSR: Yes, lovely, I shall sit and leisurely examine my wonderful new pasta. Now that Mr. Jingles has passed on I can afford food for myself instead of sharing his Meow Mix.

Me: Ok, ok, she put it away. Calm down. Continue listening to music. *Commence lip synching, rock out* CHEESUS CRACKERS SHE JUST PULLED IT OUT AGAIN! What didn’t you see the first time old lady? What further secrets could you be decoding from that box?

OWSR: Oh gracious, the young lady beside me looks a bit manic, why does she keep furtively glancing at me and mouthing silent words? Is she having some kind of fit? Best to keep still so as not to provoke her…

Me: YOU HAVE OTHER GROCERIES! WHY AREN’T THEY GOOD ENOUGH TO READ TOO?

OWSR: …My my, oh goodness, she is definitely still looking at me. Stay calm, Estelle, you’re a strong independent lady. Just casually exit the train at the next stop.

 Me: Aw, she’s getting off at this stop. Wait, what just…HA! The wheel of her little cart-y thing just got stuck in the wheel of that stroller! No way old lady, that mother is not going to help you at all, yessss, struggle to awkwardly remove yourself before the doors close!

OWSR: Mr. Jingles watch over me, I’m trapped! Must escape lunatic girl who seems to have a strange attachment to that near-empty coffee cup!

Me: Caffeine-y goodness, you are a magical headache curing elixir! *Cuddles with cup* Bye weirdo old lady!!!

OWSR: *Runs away and never buys pasta or takes public transport again*

Hmm. I think my point got away from me a little in that reimagining, but I think what I was getting at is that no matter how bad you feel, how depressed or annoyed or angry you are feeling, there will always be tiny, wonderful things to pick you right up again as long as you are willing to see them.

I love you, Old Woman Spaghetti Reader.