I am a Classy Broad.

Dear lovely reader, Thank you for using your precious time to look over my blog. The fact that you’re here is amazing. Call it serendipity, fate, destiny or the Benjamin Button paradigm thing where every step on our separate paths follows a direct trajectory to our inevitable collision. I’m especially grateful for your presence because let’s face it, you could be doing anything else with your life right now, like writing your own blog perhaps. Or clipping your toe nails. You know, meaningful stuff.  Whatever it is you’re not doing that you perhaps could or should, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your attention deficit and subsequent failure to execute said task. Without these important character flaws, we may have never found one another. But here we are. And for the record, I love you just the way you are. Flaws and all.

I will make no guarantees about what’s to come of this. And whether this sticks or not, for the time being I’ve resolved to write more regularly. I can’t get any more stringent than “regularly”. My discipline is like a jumpy fawn. You don’t want to  scare it off by coming on too strong with a blindly cheerful and overly ambitious personal goal. But I’ve also decided it’s not going to be quite enough just to write in the old journal or type realizations into my iPhone “notes” that may never see the light of day. I’ll give you an example. Clearly I’m not going to get anywhere with “You are like a grandma“, one of the deeper epiphanies I arrived at (and felt necessary to record in my phone) after tossing and turning all night over what I am sure is going to be a bunion on my left big toe any day now.*

Nope. If I actually want to do something with my writing, I have to put it out there somewhere. I’ve got to get my toes wet, bunion and all, in the pond of risk and vulnerability. But let’s face it- that’s sort of lame, just tip-toeing around the edge. If I really had any conviction, I’d skip the whole easing-into-the-pond-and-whimpering-like-a-sissy part and just strip my clothes off and jump right in totally naked like the classy broad that I am. I love putting classy and broad together. You know, like: “She’s a real classy brawd, dat one”, thought the engaged reader, nodding to her/himself.

It’s really scary to put myself out there, though. It’s quite possible that you may find my writing boring and trite. Heck, I might find it boring and trite. Just because I want to write doesn’t necessarily mean anyone should be reading it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read through my old high school journals and cringed with embarrassment. I’ve actually contemplated editing the content or tearing out pages and incinerating them to hide the evidence of my dramatic and naive foolishness. But you can’t erase the memories, hopes, dreams and boy obsessions innocent, non-creepy crushes of youth. You’ve got to just swallow your pride, learn to laugh at your ridiculousness, and after many years and a handful of slightly uncomfortable appointments where your therapist makes you talk/sob/whimper to your imaginary younger self in the empty chair across from you and tell her it’s ok and you forgive her and love her etc., you manage to gain some perspective and say to yourself  “Yep, that was me. I pined after that dicky a-hole for 3 years”. Or “yeah, maybe I was a little too slutty that one summer back in 2003, and ok fine, maybe I was a little too slutty from 2003 to let’s just move along now, but dammit, I don’t give a damn! I’m awesome! Always was! And if it wasn’t for all that, you wouldn’t have all this.” If you think it will help, I invite you to picture that last part happening in front of the bathroom mirror with lots of thumbs, pointing and general gesticulation.

I hope I’m a better writer now than my 17-year-old self. And for the record, younger me, I love you just the way you are. My point is that writing and putting it out there is risky business. Jumping in that pond is freaky stuff. Who knows what’s out there lurking at the bottom? Probably just Jason Voorhees waiting to drag me down with him in Friday the 13th XXII: Not Really Dead, Again. No big deal. Horrific outcome or not, I’ve gotta get in there anyway. I’ve got to saddle up and sally forth. It’s time to strip down like a classy broad and jump in. It’s time to get naked and afraid. Yes! You got it! Like that TV show! And the best part? We’re in this together, you and me. And it’s so much less scary when you’re naked together!! (Don’t be pervy. Not that kind of naked. Unless you either a) look like Daniel Craig, or b) are Daniel Craig, then we can get all crazy and throw down. But only if you’re into that kind of thing. Unless you’re not, in which case I’m totally messing with you right now! It’s completely up to you. No pressure) Thanks.

*I’ll tell you all about my grandma tendencies soon, don’t worry. I know everyone likes to be on the up and up with my bodily functions.