The Lady of this blog invited me to contribute. Or at least sent me an email with the intention of inviting me to read her blog and instead accidentally gave me a link that would enable me to post on here. Either way, Covey would want me to exploit this.
I used to have a blog, but it turns out that my two tragic flaws of having a lot of feelings and being chronically unable to shut up about anything resulted in me whining to the Internet and broadcasting the fact that I am an emotional cripple to the world. Well, to the three people that read my blog, but, technically, the world had access. It could have potentially ruined my aspirations to be a Christian teen idol or Virginia state senator, so I had to cut sling load. And only burden people closest to me with my crushing self-doubt and insecurity.
People wonder why I live alone.
I would like to say that by way of introduction, I have sipped pump chili out of a Big Gulp cup with the owner of this blog. And eaten second-hand nachos. And told myself that saying "second-hand" or "vintage" makes it sound a hell of a lot less like we were eating garbage. And for over a decade have done things like make it about me even when it's not my blog and not my nachos and my only job was to distract the 7-11 clerk long enough to pump 44 oz of chili into a plastic cup, so all I actually did in the most awesome caper of my life was hiccup at a man named Tyrone will my friend did the heavy lifting.
But that's what it's all about, I guess. The people that love you anyway.
And I'm glad you invited me to contribute. Or at least let me exploit an effed up email invite.
Horray! Invite was not an accident.
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