So, my best friend wants to start a blog, which seems like a great idea. I’ve always wanted to sit down and chronicle the social awkwardness and general debauchery that is my life; write down memories that I know I’ll want to have when I’m old and can’t remember what I had for breakfast that day let alone what I did on Marathon Monday during my senior year of college (which was lay spread eagle in the middle of the road in a skirt so my friend could trace my outline in chalk, among other things). This is a brilliant plan, right? Wrong. Turns out, writing is hard.
I used to have a great imagination. I can recall a 20+ page long story I wrote in 3rd grade about my troll dolls. Yes, you read that right. Troll dolls…the little plastic dudes with bright, spiky hair and jewels in their belly buttons. And it was an awesome story that just came to me as I wrote. Apparently as you get older, your imagination narrows. I have (what I think) are extremely amusing anecdotes I’d like to share with the world (although, in reality, probably the only people reading this will be Rachel, her boyfriend, and my mother), but I just can’t seem to get the right words onto my computer screen.
I admire authors/entertainers, like Laurie Notaro and Chelsea Handler, who can write very candid and hilarious accounts of their lives. Accounts that leave me sitting on the bus, laughing until I cry, as strangers stare at the crazy girl with the book. I want to write like that. It probably won’t happen, but it’s something to strive for.
So, here it is: my first attempt at a blog entry. Hopefully, this will get the creative juices flowing…
Song of the day: Carry On by Fun.