Glossy

This morning I woke up with a headache so intense my right eyeball just would not let itself be greeted by the shiny new day.  Not the left eyeball, the right one. It seems that my headache has a bit of a prejudice against the lefties of the world.  Next thing you know I’ll be on Jerry Springer talking about how my Headache molded me into the left-hating woman I am today because if the right one has to hurt it’s just not fair that the left one gets off scott-licking-free.  And then I’ll talk about how I resisted at first, played the skeptical card even, but the Headache’s reasoning was just so, well, reasonable and now I’m fully committed to the cause.

It’s kind of amusing if you think about it because I’m sure the right eyeball playing coy with the world is undeniably sexy.  Like, look in this eye if you want the business-like stare but look in THIS ONE if you want the sultry half-lidded gaze.  You choose.  All in all, this has the brilliance of those little soft-serve ice cream machines where you get to pick chocolate, vanilla or vanilla AND chocolate. 

LOOK, IT’S A TRANSITION

Brittany and I used to laugh uproariously about our blogs and how our personalities totally shone through and all that jazz.  It was like seeing the binary manifestation of ourselves!  Brittany is that kind of gal that can rope people in quicker than a cowboy on stacker2 (ephedra free!) while I normally have an adjustment period where I have to get used to someone else’s presence which is generally taken as bitchniness or even, gasp! snobbishness.  And so in turn people normally have an adjustment period for ME because I am so blatantly and mostly unconsciously adjusting for THEM.  Put back in binary terms, Brittany is a brand new bazillion gigabyte laptop that readily processes most programs that come near while I am a 1985 Commodore, a lugging chugging behemoth of a computer that takes simply ages to process damn near anything. 

This could not have been more clearly demonstrated by the fact that Brittany had struck up relationships with people outside of the blogosphere while I continued to type happily away in near isolation.  It was never a point of contention between us because, hello, we’re totally self-aware like that.  I recognize the limits of my personality and though I could tell you I try to change certain parts (and I certainly do, and have) there are portions that are just inevitably going to be impossible to fully correct.  I can appreciate certain aspects in people but that doesn’t mean I want to be Just Like Them. 

Which is why I gave myself the title of April’s Most Oblivious Douchebag because it was pointed out to me the other day that I don’t receive contact from other bloggers because my shining star personality has frightened everyone away it’s because I don’t have any contact information posted.  I was completely convinced I did and promptly logged onto blogger only to be very quickly proved wrong (not a feeling I’m fond of). This is ohsovery amusing to me because I’ve actually been disappointed when certain bloggers didn’t have an email posted because there have been things I’ve wanted to tell them outside of the public forum. 

So it was with great pomp and circumstance that my first email from a Real Live Blogger was received yesterday.  And what makes it even better is that this Real Live Blogger at one point left me the most cherished and fabulous comment, ever.  He once told me that he hoped his daughter grew up to be like me and because I’m never quite sure if I’m the kind of daughter my father would have wanted, those words will stay with me forever and ever and ever.  Thank you, Carl.