State of the Blog Address
Even though I’m about to launch into a subject that, on its face, has nothing to do with the blog and everything to do with me, by the transitive property, I conclude that it is relevant for inclusion in this here letter: My sister had a baby yesterday, making me an aunt. And after writing that last sentence, it dawned on me that I have another reason why I think this is relevant and that is that this blog is the closest thing to a baby I believe that I will have for quite some time.
I realize that I’m in a place in my life where being pregnant looks like fun. I like having my stomach rubbed, the idea of justifying my constant need for cake and all the extra attention a motherly baby bump would garner me. Back when I was working in an office, miserable and bored out of my skull answering phones and setting up lunches, I daydreamed of ways to possibly fake a pregnancy so that I might somehow manage to enjoy some maternity leave. And baby-shower cake.
More on Lisa’s not-so maternal instincts, as well as the Electric Six concert she attended last week…
Then, of course, I found this blog and determined that perhaps I should just focus on actually working, instead of concocting Lucille Ball-like scenarios in my head. Yet, the idea of being pregnant still intrigues me. Although, I’m extremely aware of the fact that I am nowhere near ready to deal with the day-to-day of having children, I know that the being pregnant part looks like fun. It’s kind of like how I think a wedding would be fun, as long as all the pressures of marriage were taken away. And these celebs, with their radiant faces and maternity Oscar gowns aren’t really helping me to fathom the concept that yes, as glamorous as they make it all look sometimes, it is also a great deal of hard work. And as much as I enjoy entertaining these fantasies of me religiously attending pre-natal yoga throughout my imaginary pregnancy, which has me described more often as “glowing” rather than “swollen,” I know in my heart of hearts that it’s a hell of a lot more work than I’m giving credit for in my head.
With that in mind, I decided that I should go and do something on a Friday night that most mothers aren’t usually able to do without the aid of a babysitter, go out to a concert on the Sunset Strip. My friend, Kris Jones, procured tickets to Electric Six (whom you might remember from such hits as “Gay Bar,” “Dance Commando” and “Fire in the Disco”) for a night of out-of-control partying. My first task of the night was to get loaded. You guessed it, a grande latte with not one, but TWO Splenda. Oh yeah, this girl was ready to par-tay. Once we celebrated finding decent parking with some celebratory fist-pumps, we sauntered in to enjoy the show. And enjoy it we did indeed. All the crowd-pleasing hits were played, as well as some playful new joints and I realized how happy I am at this point in my life that I have the freedom to just go out and do something like this, without worrying about a little person whose life is in my hands. And yes, I was wearing ear-plugs to protect my hearing, and made sure to get home at a decent hour after the show, but I’m still not yet ready to hang up my dancing shoes just yet.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it,
Send me all arguments to the contrary at firstname.lastname@example.org.