I’ve reduced myself to begging. When I read that Bossy was planning another cross-country odyssey to promote the book she didn’t write and meet other non-published bloggers to exchange autographs and rinse their mouths with high-quality vodka and micro-brewery beer, I had to find a way to lure her to Detroit. Good news: She’s been here before. Bad news: She’s been here before.
How to lure Bossy, whose hair curls the most,
Statuesque Bossy who lives on the East Coast,
Bossy with the big, big dog,
Bossy of the funny blog.
On my knees I’ll plead and beg,
and if she shows, on my face an egg.
For she has written a fabulous (no)book,
and I have lured without a hook.
Since a handful of other Detroit-area and Michigan bloggers have secured coveted pinpoints on her proposed travel route, why not add the humble MomZombie to the itinerary? What could bloggers in sunny Southern California or the Mighty Rockies offer Bossy that we couldn’t here in the fabulous, calloused left hand of America? Could it be the 2 a.m. slider run on the last visit that perked Bossy’s nose in our direction? Stay tuned for all the exciting details.
I’ve met some Detroit-area bloggers, such as Teacher Mommy of Diapers and Dragons, and Melissa of Rock and Drool. Discovering the person behind the persona is an experience in itself. Reading your blog, I learn your pet peeves, hopes, joys, sorrows and dreams. Sitting across from you at a table , I learn how tall you are, if you look 10 pounds thinner in real life than on your blog, what your voice (and your laugh) sound like, if you bite your nails and if we click. If the divine Ms. Bossy comes to Detroit or a nearby suburb I’ll probably faint, and when I come to, with a lump on my head, I’ll shake her hand and utter awkward, inappropriate things until someone calls the police or pours water over my lumpy head. And that will be a very interesting blog post for the future.
On a less-than-happy note: Thank you, readers for your words of encouragement about my terminally ill friend. I’m still slamming into brick walls. At some point I may have to accept that I won’t be able to say good-bye to her. I understand that you can know a person for many years but stay a total stranger to her immediate family.
My kitten is now a cat and has settled down. In fact, he bears almost no resemblance to the cat we plucked from the shelter. No more toppled planters and shattered lamps. The curtains remain hanging on their rods. The scars have healed and faded. We all can sleep at night. The surge of feline testosterone that fueled his frenzy has slowed to a trickle now that the neutering has finally worked its magic.
Speaking of trickles, work comes my way in drips and drops. I’m grateful to take on anything I think is reasonable, but waiting 30 days or longer to get paid just sucks. I now understand the stories of the dirt-poor lottery winners who blow their millions in a matter of months on fuzzy pink guitars, cases of Cheetos and more lottery tickets. When I do get some money in my pocket, I have no desire to stash some into my deflated retirement accounts. Nope. It’s off to the mall or hair salon or liquor store.
Patience and determination pay off in the end. My husband and I will celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary in a few months. This is the longest relationship either of us has logged on our odometers. Since this is my second marriage, I’ve worked hard to make it work as the odds are stacked against us. I’m happy to report that marrying the right person for the right reasons makes a difference. That and a little begging now and then.