I’m Just an Impressionable Flower
Although now that I think about it, can a flower be impressionable? I kind of feel like I just told you guys I’m one of those 4-leaf clovers your grandmother used to squish between cellophane and scrapbook paper and hang on the wall like something from a bad horror movie. (Because it would rock back and forth and fall off the wall when the killer shows up. OBVIOUSLY.)
As far as I’m concerned, I basically accomplished two things this weekend:
- Completing an absolutely miserable 20-mile run (of which I may or may not give you tantalizing details later this week).
- Finishing Jenny Lawson’s (aka The Bloggess’s) memoir, Let’s Pretend this Never Happened.
|The mouse is saying, “Buy meeee…“
(No, I’m not getting paid to hawk this book.)
If you follow me on various social media outlets, you probably already knew both of those facts thanks to my obsession with posting pictures of hot pink compression socks:
And large metal chickens:
|Yes, I’m going to link to her post.
BUT, I sincerely suggest you exercise some self-control and read this story in the book.
It’s just way better with context.
Fine, here’s the link.
(DO NOT GO READ THAT BLOG POST UNTIL YOU FINISH THIS ONE. Seriously, I will never get you back.)
Becoming a sudden Bloggess addict did several things to/for me:
- Confirmed that I will inevitably get really excited about trendy things (like the hottest blogs, fashions, etc.) 3-5 years after the rest of society.
- Proved I’m not the actual originator of the whole “be yourself” idea. Damn.
- Made me want to start dropping F-bombs in casual conversation…like at dinner parties. (I’m not kidding, it’s like adult-onset Tourette’s. I blame this compulsion on the same part of my brain that always tries to convince me to throw my car keys in the river when we run over the I35 bridge. WTF, brain?)
- Made me want to write like Jenny Lawson, be her best friend (except if she’s as awkward as she claims, and knowing how awkward I am, we could spend a week trapped in an elevator and never speak), and conquer the blogging world like she has.
- Compelled me to decorate the house with metal chickens. (But not, thankfully, decaying taxidermy.)
- Reminded me that I have a tendency to get briefly but seriously obsessed with random women I admire.
That’s right. I have a girl crush on a random person I’ve never met.
This is not the first time, either. I know you’re wondering, so here’s my current list:
- Melissa McCarthy (Because come on, she’s freaking hilarious.)
- Ellen DeGeneres (For similar reasons.)
- A couple girls I see at Rogue/the gym who can actually look good in head-to-toe spandex. (Because it’s either love them or slash their tires.)
- My doppelganger, Tina Fey. (Because everything she does is perfect. And because I kind of look like her.)
I’m not kidding. My LinkedIn profile picture is actually from the corporate Halloween costume contest a few years back, in which I won $100 by putting on my interview suit and pointing out that when I wear glasses, I kind of look like Tina Fey:
|What?? It’s the closest thing I have to a “professional” headshot.
We could probably spend hours talking about the psychology of the girl crush, but let’s just say it’s some combination of, “I’m jealous of you, I want to look like you, I want your cool personality, I want the respect you demand, I want you to be a man so I can legitimately be attracted to you.”
It’s basically a full-on crush minus the physical attraction. Which is awesome, because if you’re in a committed relationship, it makes you beyond moral reproach. “Obviously I would never leaveyou for this person. I just think she’s prettier than you…”
When I go off on ridiculous tangents like this, I always remember my old friend Bryan from college. He would probably be yelling this right about now:
“Bring it back!!!”
In that spirit, why have I now wasted another entire post rambling about things that aren’t really related to running? Especially given that I initially sat down to write an uplifting post about that crappy 20-miler?
Well, because I’m both impressionable and anxious (Hehehe, Jenny’s anxious too! We’re soul-mates, I tell you!), and I was worried that if I just kept posting like normal, you would all notice me trying to be a less-funny, more-fitness-obsessed knock-off of The Bloggess.
(I may or may not already have ideas for a line of Doof products. The first will be a coffee mug with this picture on one side:
|Please don’t report me to PETA.
And “The Doof Abides” on the back.)
So, rather than piss of a famous blogger and
get sued by the people who made…
…oh my God, the only movie name that’s coming to my head is The Full Monty, and that’s so NOT the right movie, and it’s totally an admission of failure if I have too look this up…
…Jeff Bridges, The Dude, The Jesus, the rug, nihilists, White Russians…
…gahhh! This is Handsome J’s favorite movie, and my entire marriage hangs on my ability to remember this name…
…We own TWO EFFING COPIES of this movie. I’m so getting dumped for someone cooler…
…Let’s think of similar movies: This is Spinal Tap (okay, not really similar, but I saw it the same night), pretty much anything by Kevin Smith…
Well crap. I’m just going to go ahead and write the last paragraph while wracking my brain for the name of one of the most popular movies EVER MADE.
That wasn’t it. The next one is.
The reason I wrote this ridiculous post was to preemptively apologize to both my readers and The Bloggess for any unintentional/pathetic parodies of her far superior humor writing. I figured if I just put it out there that I’m LIKELY to always sound an awful lot like the author of whatever book I most recently read, you guys will be less-inclined to think I have multiple-personality disorder.
Ooh, turns out that wasn’t the last paragraph, because I actually picked up The Sports Gene
at Barnes & Noble the other day – because a) I had a gift card, b) everybody and their brother is talking about it, and c) shopping in a brick-and-mortar bookstore makes me feel altruistic – so you can expect some super “scientific, yet approachable” posts in the near future.
And yes, I am going to write about that dang run next time. Now, back to more important matters…
…holy crap, I still can’t remember the damn movie name. I will now put my head on the desk until it comes to me. If that fails, I will go make a White Russian. (Question: Do we think that would work with Almond Milk and tequila? Just hypothetically speaking, of course…)…
…I had to look it up. I’m so ashamed. I’m not even going to tell you guys the name, because nobody but me would have had to look it up.
In other news, I recently bought this rug for my office. It really ties the room together.