I am a self-proclaimed writer. Writers write. They create stories, describe situations, and a lot of times- tell exaggerated, over-the-top INTERESTING accounts of life because we love an audience! Am I right? Anyone? ::Crickets:: See, I’m just not as funny without an audience.
I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I was pretty sure Shane was the one for me after our first date. Not only was he accomplished and charming, open the car door for me and show up in an ironed shirt, he thought I was funny! He was generally interested in what I had to say and never in my life had I sat across the table from someone more enveloped in the words coming out of my mouth. As I drove home later that night, I called my mom and said, “Mom! He thinks I’m funny! The man said I was better than T.V.!”
I knew it would work out because some people just don’t get my humor. They don’t think I’m as humorous as I intend to be. Sometimes I forget to laugh at my own jokes, and people take my sarcasm for… the opposite of sarcasm.
One of my goals has always been to write a book and- MARK MY WORDS- I will! Perhaps I should put a time frame on it- before I’m 30. Well, crap, that would add another time-consuming goal to the next 6 years of my life (the other being having kids and being out of diapers by my 30th birthday. I feel as if I am running out of time on that one…)
I have started a few books, but have yet to get to a point where they STICK. I believe they have a term for this… Ah, yes, writer’s block. Can I get an “amen”?? I’ll look for some more resources on this and keep trudging along… some of those ideas are too dang good to walk away from.
Recently, my mother and I have toyed with the idea of co-writing a book about our crazy adventures. If you’ve ever read my blog, you know she and I have quite a few of them! Let’s face it- we’re hilarious! Okay, maybe it’s just hilarious that we think we’re so funny. Either way, we could sure fill up some pages. I know how this book would go, though. My beautiful, fun, witty, princess of a mother would describe all these wild scenarios in which she ate wonderful pastries, met helpful wait staff, and bedazzled whatever she could get her hands on. I would write about how irresponsible she was, the sense of urgency I (unsuccessfully) tried to ESP to her, and how she makes me late for everything. Honestly, is it so hard to get an 8-year-old in her Hippie Chick costume to the party on time so she can save face!? Missing out on a few Cheetos and a game of MASH is not to be taken lightly.
The woman has no sense of time, or knows her way around a sewing machine. But boy, can she dress, accessorize, decorate, charm the pants off of anyone, and bedazzle! What she has, I sure don’t, and perhaps vice versa. I think this is what makes us the best of friends.
She gave me a decorated plaque that I have hanging in my closet beside my full-length mirror so I can read it every day. “I am blessed because you are my daughter and also my friend.” It’s not every day you come across a relationship that not only are we forced to know each other because I am part of her, was formed in her womb, but we choose to be close. We choose to reveal our secrets to one another, cry together, and more importantly, laugh together. She makes me a better woman because she showed me what a graceful, loving, attractive, and fun woman looks like. We’re two of a kind… even if deep down, we’re both just a couple of kooks.