A one-woman show has been in the back of my mind for a while. It's something I think I'd really like doing--more than stand-up. We still have a lot of details to work out, but the concept is on its way to becoming a reality, and like everything else, I just have to take the steps to get there, one foot in front of the other.
I’m very psyched. And what a great motivator to get back in shape—years of sitting on my ass at the keyboard is really starting to take its toll.
Of course, if you’re a Bastard Husband: A Love Story Facebook fan, you’ve already heard this big news. Did I tell you I love Facebook? I used to love MySpace, too, but like a lot of people, I’ve given that up since there’s only so much of that social networking stuff you can possibly do without having it consume your life. It seems most people these days are on Facebook, so Facebook is it for me now. Twitter can still kiss my ass, and earlier this week I deleted my Linked In profile. I just decided I don’t want to play the corporate game anymore; it’s not a ladder I ever wanted to climb in the first place. And my sarcastic updates like, “Linda is busy writing TPS reports” simply couldn’t be helping.
One of my friends at work poo-poos Facebook, saying, “I don’t need to hear from former classmates and others from my past. I didn’t care about those people then, why would I care about them now?” I’m the exact opposite. I love to hear from people from my past! I love hearing about their lives and what they’re up to. People mean a lot to me, even if I haven’t seen them in years. This morning I heard from a girl I knew since first grade who wrote to tell me she’s enjoying my book. Yesterday I got the sweetest message on Facebook from the daughter of my best friend from high school—it was the highlight of my day.
And of course, Facebook makes it easy to catch up with my brother and sisters. Like earlier this week when my sister Stacie posted this:
Stacie is not in the mood to potty train.Her subsequent comment:
The diaper was off for about 10 minutes and she shit on the rug and I stepped in it and I cried. I’ll remember this for a while.Then:
Can you wait at least until tomorrow to admit to laughing? It happened about 4 minutes before I had to get Charlie from the bus and I still haven’t gone back to clean it up yet. I’m thinking of just throwing it out instead. I never did like that rug.So that little exchange prompted my sister Lori to send me this message:
Can you believe Stacie left the shit on her rug? What if a robber comes in and thinks she shits on her rug?I was like, I know! That’s exactly why I make my bed every morning, even if I’m running late for work—what if a robber comes in and thinks I’m the type who doesn’t make my bed? And if the robber has to take a shit, I hope he uses the guest bathroom since no boys are allowed in mine.
Are you, too, thoughtful when it comes to robbers? Any special accommodations?
Which social networking sites do you frequent? Are you on MySpace anymore? Can Twitter kiss your ass, too?
And can you believe this little angel would shit on the rug?