Good morning, pals! I am all thrown off with this short week – I almost forgot it’s Friday. But oh, it is. T to the G-I-F, dudes.
This week the coolest thing ever in the whole wide WORLD happened: I wrote something that was published on a national website. VOGUE.COM. AAAAHHH!!! This is a double-brag if you’re my friend on Facebook so forgive me – I’m just a scoonch excited. If you’ve not yet read it and would like to, I’d be honored! You can click-click-click away riiiight HERE.
Long story short, I was semi-tipsily chatting with an editor I know at a work party a little while back and we got to chatting about Facebook and relationships and how and why and when we use social media to share and define said relationships. As we parted for the evening, she asked if I’d write something for her on the subject, for Vogue.com. Outwardly I said “sure!” and inwardly I said “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” and she put me in touch with her editor, we talked details, I tried to pretend I knew what I was talking about and like, did this all the time and Vogue.com? Not even a big deal, has anyone even heard of Vogue?, and she gave me a deadline of ONE WEEK and then I frantically drafted and worried and thought and wrote and flopped around a lot like “this is a disaster! My one shot in life and I’m about to blow it and be a failure forever!!!!”
I finally came up with a draft I liked (thanks to Claire, Brian & Maggie, my reader/editors) and oh-so-casually cooly submitted it. They liked it! Sent over some edits! Annnnd: posted to the web.
The piece mildly complains about how we share everythinggg on the Facebook, so naturally I immediately shared it on the Facebook. HAH! I was prepared for some thumbs-ups from my mom and besties but Oh. Em. Gee I was not prepared for how freaking nice everyone else would be! Friends were sharing, commenting, liking, emailing, all with praise and encouragement. I got some super sweet notes from friends I haven’t talked to in years. My brother tweeted it.
And at work! I am shy to share any writing at work because I don’t know why. I guess because I always write about myself and I don’t want them to know what a psycho I am? Well apparently they all totally know and love me anyway. Our marketing manager tweeted the link via the department official twitter, work friends shared from theirs and sweetest ever some of my beautiful, genius designer friends put together THE cutest and funniest email, which they then sent department wide in the same style we send our publicity emails:
File me away with Junot Diaz and Anne Lamott! It’s all happening!
I was genuinely, no joke, bowled away with a combination of emotions that is difficult to put into words and is really best summed up by this: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I felt like Sally Field at The Oscars + like, Brandy Chastain at the 1999 World Cup + Marie Curie when she discovered radium + every nerd in a high school movie who then gets elected prom queen. I’ve been published! And everyone LIKED it!
What. A. Day.
This also lights a little fire under my bottom. I love writing (obviously) and would like to try for more opportunities like this. I’ve now eradicated fears that no editors would like my style or that readers will hate it, effectively just leaving laziness as my final hurdle. A hurdle I need to smush to smithereens ASAP.
So SERIOUS thanks dudes, I promise I’ll remember you all when I am famous!!!!!
And lest you worry I’m already changing, don’t you fear: I’m still keeping it WAY too real on the daily. So why don’t we take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.
Sunday, while I was home in Pennsylvania, I arranged a hair and makeup trial for the wedding. Now, hair/makeup trial, you ask? I know. The part of me who thinks weddings are ridiculous is like “come on, ladies, do you really need a test run, it’s just one day” but then the other (louder) part of me who is vain and girlie and wants to look beautiful on that one day is like “DUH.” I’m tryyyyying to do it on the slightly cheap, so was put in touch with a former student of my cousin who is a cosmetologist and I am very glad we set up this little trail because she, unfortunately, was not the right match for me.
I’m not going to throw a ton of shade on this girl – she’s young and incredibly sweet and learning as she goes along.
We had confirmed for her to come to my mom’s house at noon. By 12:15 she wasn’t there and I just KNEW she forgot. I knew it. I’d emailed her to confirm and she didn’t respond and I just instantly got the sense that she forgot and I could tell right then that she wasn’t going to be the right person. I just sensed it. Deep in my hair follicles. Bones predict other stuff but when it comes to sensing beauty disasters: the hair knows.
I should have just put a stop to it right then and there and told her not to come, but I wanted to give her a chance, the benefit of the doubt, so texted her to remind her and she arrived an hour later. Right from the start we were not communicating well and I could tell she just didn’t grasp what I wanted her to do. My mom, sister and friend (wife!) Maureen sat watching as we made small talk and I internally freaked out.
NOT because my hair looked bad, I’ll figure out a plan B, but because now I had a person in my house with whom I as going to have to have an awwkward conversation. Thsi sweet girl seemed to think things were going OK and I didn’t know how to tell her, to her little face, that she was super not getting hired on our wedding day. I just wanted her to leave! But I didn’t know what to say! I am SO BAD at these kinds of conversations. I just want to be nice and funny all the time, forever, and avoid all confrontation.
After she did my hair, she was set to do my make-up and again, I should have told her right then and there that we were done for the day/life, kthxbye, but I didn’t have the heart and maybe she was really great at make-up! But first I went and hid in my mom’s room, right off the living room where we were doing the trial, to ask Schmoopster for advice. I didn’t want her to know I was talking about her so I pretended I had to go to the bathroom – I even flushed the toilet for emphasis. I then, of course, actually had to go to the bathroom but couldn’t because I already lied to her and told her I just did that and I didn’t want this hair-stylist girl to think I had some kind of like, raging bladder infection, so I just sat there, clenching my legs, rushing through a make-up trial and praying for the day to end.
It did, I awkwardly told her I’d be in touch and did, eventually, let her down over email.
I don’t know if I did the right thing – should I have told her to her face? Cancelled on her when she was late?! AAAAH I hate interacting with human beings sometimes. I need an assistant to do all my dirty work for me. Except then I might sometimes have to yell at the assistant and I wouldn’t be able to do that so I’d have to hire another assistant do to that and then on and on until I just had one million assistants yelling at each other while I hid in my mom’s room pretending to go to the bathroom.
On the train home to NYC later that night I realized I was STARVING and didn’t pack a snack. I did, however, have some blocks of cheese that my mom sent up with me so OH YES I grabbed me a hunk o’ swiss and straight up gnawed on it like a mother flipping rat.
Pro-tip for getting your own seat on public transportation: see above!
The cheese was not cutting it, sadly, so I practically lept with glee when I realized we had a brief stop-over in Philaelphia, enough time to run upstairs to the train station and grab some real food before we continued no our trip. I asked a nice young man sitting across the aisle from me to watch my suitcase (direct quote: “you’re wearing a suit and look trustworthy, would you watch my bag , I’m starving?”) (His internal monologue was probably like “DEAR GOD why is the cheese lady speaking to me?!”) and sprinted to the Au Bon Pan, where I quickly grabbed a pre-made Ceasar Salad, which is weirdly my go-to snack in stressful travel situations (why?!) and a Kind Bar which is one of those horrible monster snacks taht pretends to be healthy but is really like 450% chocolate.
I realized I’d have to re-show my ticket before boarding the train again and a horror washed over me: I had used my ticket as a recepticle for old chewing gum earlier in the trip. I pulled out the ticket an sure enough, there was a blob of gum RIGHT over the barcode they’d need to scan for reentry.
Kill. Me. Now.
I took my usual approach when faced with a tricky situation which is to over-explain in a wildly flustered manner until whoever I am dealing with just tells me to go away.
To the woman checking tickets: “Hi! Oh my gosh, OK I was on the train, coming from Elizabethtown and I got off to get a snack? The conductor said it was OK? I was starving! And I am SO embarrassed but I spit gum into my ticket…here…OH MY GOD I know so gross, I’m so sorry, can I just get back on I swear I’m coming from Elizabethtown.”
All this complete with some wild gesticulating and a positively insane smile on my face.
Cha-ching, she let me through.
LADIES: it might not be considered Leaning In but I fully support the power of occasionally playing dumb.
This Bike Tire:
Flatter than your mother’s chest, Trebek.
Unfortunately I didn’t realize that until I had hauled this 567 pound beast down the stairs and ridden it a full mile to the park, the hardest bike ride of my life. You guys know I’ve had plenty of shenanigans with this bike but this one took the cake. It was so slow, hard to pedal and making loud clanging noises, but I just assumed it was my old bike being old. I was mortified: here I am running half marathons, in the best shape of my life, and I can’t ride my bike half a block without getting winded?
I pushed and pushed and pushed and finally I made it to the park where a kindly (ish) stranger yelled out “YOU HAVE A FLAT!” in a hard to distinguish Eastern European accent and I yelled back “WHO ME?!” and almost crashed my bike and then looked down and yes, sir, I did have a flat and probably caused a huge scene all the way up to the park and OY YOY YOY.
And that, beautiful butterflies, was my week! WHAT A WEEK!!! I’m still riding so high on the Vogue thang, both pride for myself and flat out amazement and joy over all the enthusiasm and encouragement from my peeps. I am metaphorically doing that move where you jump up in the air and gleefully click your heels together.
Have the BEST weekend, y’all!
xoxoxoxo Liz Ho