To all my darling readers who have been here from the beginning: We have guests! I know, I totally didn't take out the recycling or anything. Imagine my embarrassment when all these lovely people started showing up. The cats are all sprawled on the furniture, there are seltzer water bottles everywhere, no less than four pairs of shoes in the front room, just…hanging out waiting to be worn? I do have a closet, you know, and there's plenty of room for the shoes, even these:
But no, they're in the living room, just hanging out with two weeks worth of recycling. Again, had I known we were to have guests, I would have tidied up. Or at least put on matching jimjams. But I didn't know! And then the most extraordinary thing happened. Do you remember how it happened? Well…
- I write this article on Roger Ebert for MamaPop, wherein I call the author's presentation of the interview Mr.Ebert gave to Esquire Magazine "flowery and overwrought" and also? I might have called Mr. Ebert a bit of an ass. But in a good way! I clarified! I CLARIFIED.
- I hopped my ass on Twitter wherein I shamelessly begged Mr.Ebert (sir) to read my article.
- I started overthinking things, as I am wont to do, and wrote an article here on the blog about forced silence, the passion of the writer, and yet another tale of rehab.
- I again popped my happy ass onto Twitter and harassed Mr. Ebert AGAIN to THIS time read my blog. Because, if you haven't gleaned so already, I can be a shameless whore when it comes to my writing. WRITING. Not other things. I went to Catholic school, for god's sack.
- Somewhere in the interim, Mr.Ebert saw and retweeted this little gem I wrote regarding a segment on "Regis and Kelly"
This is where things took a turn. Suddenly, new Twitter followers were filling my inbox! I had no idea what was going on! So I did what I always do in times of stress. I smoked a cigarette and took to my bed like a consumptive Bronte heroine. Because I have neither a flair for the dramatic, nor a penchant for the ridiculous.
When I awoke from my nap, I re-tweeted (ad nauseum) both my MamaPop and blog posts. Because I am OBNOXIOUS, and also see above, re: shameless whore.
Then something quite amazing happened. People started reading the blog. And my piece on MamaPop. All thanks to a Tweet that included references to daytime television, tire changing, and my mysterious lady flower. Mr. Ebert (sir) started following me on Twitter. Stats and Twitter subscriptions went, to use the scientific word, KABLOOEY. I got scared and pondered hiding under the couch for a spell. Eventually I went to bed, marveling at the exciting day I had.
The next day, my MamaPop Boss Lady says that Mr.Ebert (sir) had written a note to me at MamaPop saying that yes, he was kind of an ass (this is the first wave of deadly embarrassment to wash over me) and that he gave the article the thumbs up. He had also read my blog "Roger and Me," and was kind and generous enough to leave a comment. I took several Klonopin at this point.
After the Klonopin wore off, I was feeling a mite broody, and I wrote, going off of a question from a reader, the entry "The Seven Year Lie." Wasn't that CHEERY! I know, it was like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. Mr. Ebert (sir) then did this:
Which brought all of you lovely people here! Wasn't that an exciting story??? I know it was for me, I spent most of Thursday gaping at the computer with tears pouring down my face. IN A GOOD WAY. You see, I've been at this blogging thing for quite some time, and I never in a million years thought that it would ever be read by hundreds, nay, thousands of people. I really did cry for a LONG time. (If you stick around the blog for any length of time, you'll find out I'm a bit of an emotional wreck.)
So that brings us to today. I do hope you stick around, ask the old-timers, we have a lot of fun around here, and USUALLY I am not all gloom and doomy and stuff. Usually I'm talking about losing my pants in public or imaginary conversations I have with imaginary people and inanimate objects. Or, so help me, the bloody cats. Seriously, it's a good time. So poke around, reassure yourselves that it is not all heavy downer shit around here, man, it's actually, like Camelot, a very silly place.
And thanks again for reading. I could never express how much it means to me.
And Mr.Ebert? Sir? I'd curtsy, but I'd most certainly fall down, so I will solemnly and cyber-ly firmly shake your hand, sir, for none of this would have been possible without you, and my gratitude knows no bounds.