I don’t know that I really have anything to say here but I’m fucking BORED. NaBloPoMo may have kicked my ass, but at least I kept myself entertained for most of it. Now I’m just sitting here trying not to think about all the shit I have to do, like Christmas cards, and paying bills, and doing laundry, and finding a sitter and something to wear for the stupid company Christmas party, and calling the bank, and grocery shopping, and, oh yeah, WORK. And while I’m NOT doing any of those things, I’m sitting here, staring into space, fucking BORED.
It’s never good for me to be bored. Weird shit happens when I’m bored.
After I hit my 30 posts, I thought it’d be great to just walk off into the sunset and leave everyone wondering if I would ever come back, like some mysterious Greta Garbo figure — “I vant to be… alone” — and of course then I decided that my disappearance would create a huge Internet sensation, with everyone asking each other “Have you seen Bejewell?” “No, but I heard she left a comment for FADKOG the other day” and “Did you see Arthur’s comment on Jett Superior’s blog? She’s still ALIVE!” and “She’s talking about douchebags with Mommy again! I think douche bags might be a clue!” and of course, “I hear Guy Kawasaki is offering a million-dollar reward to the first person who captures her on film!”
And suddenly I had this whole “Where’s Arthur?” mystery sweeping the nation, kind of like a Where’s Waldo for the blogging set. I’d plant little clues here and there and people would look for me and web sites would pop up with the clues people have collected and some naysayers would insist I was just a myth and I’d become this crazy pop culture phenomenon. And eventually some lucky soul would find me, and Matt Lauer would interview me and the big winner on the Today Show, and as I gave some brilliant answer to one of Matt’s questions he would suddenly realize that he was in love with me and we must be together. And then he’d ask me to leave my husband so we could run off together and travel the world, and next year it would be “Where in the World Are Matt Lauer AND Arthur?”
That’s where the fantasy ends, though, because I’d hate to have to decide between Matt Lauer and the Big Bean. (and the Big Bean would hate it, too.) So now I’m avoiding that, too.
The truth is I’m nothing at all like Greta Garbo OR Waldo and I couldn’t be mysterious if I tried because (a) I’ve got a really-really-REALLY big mouth and (2) I’ve always sucked at Hide-and-Seek because I giggle when the “seeker” passes by my hiding place and totally give myself away.
Also, I’m pretty sure nobody cares that much where I am.
And ALSO, if Guy Kawasaki actually had a million dollars to spare (which he might, hell I don’t know, people talk about him like he’s the second coming so if he’s NOT worth a few mil he’s probably all, “WTF people? Show Big Daddy Guy some love!”) I’m almost positive he wouldn’t waste it on some lame picture of me. He’d probably buy himself a motorcycle or a jet ski or something instead.
(Get it? Motorcycle? Jet ski? Kawasaki?) (No?)
And besides, if Guy Kawasaki really wanted a picture of me (stop laughing, it could happen) all he’d have to do is open Facebook and he could find a TON of pictures of me. Unfortunately though, most of them are FUCKING HORRIFYING because there is apparently a Facebook-wide conspiracy to destroy me and the reputation I’ve taken great pains to cultivate of myself as a stunningly beautiful and gracefully majestic creature. It’s a very well-planned and well-executed conspiracy being carried out by those who call themselves my “friends” but repeatedly post hideous photos that make me look like a strangled goose with no chin.
Or a man.
With no chin.
In real life, I LOOK SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE CHINLESS GOOSE-MAN. I swear.
But I digress.
The point is, here I am only three days out from the nightmare that was NaBloPoMo and I just CANNOT STAND FOR YOU TO NOT KNOW WHAT I AM DOING RIGHT NOW. I’m like a crack whore, except instead of crack I’m addicted to telling lots of people who don’t care exactly what I’m doing at any given moment via really shitty blog posts.