So I guess this was the premier post for my original blog, which cost me a hefty ten dollars. It turns out that I should have just used the free one since the ten dollar one won’t work properly. Don't sneeze at that, ten dollars is a lot for someone with little savings, a car note, too many shoes, and delusions of grandeur. Well now I’m back to lilbrownappalachiangirl.blogspot.com with the proper “i” rather than the cutesy “u.” Everybody else writes about a lot of junk in their lives, so I thought that I would jump on the bandwagon. I almost feel like a real writer or something, purchasing domain names and junk. My disclaimer is that I make no qualms about whatever will be included in these blogs; I will not deliberately hurt anyone's feelings; I can't always guarantee that I will want to share with everyone; and this may or may not be daily or more than once a day. I also can't always be on my game with my grammar skills when I'm on a roll. I'm sure that there will be more disclaimers to come, but that's enough for now.
I was prompted to revamp this blog as part of my class assignment for my summer class. My classmates and possibly my professor may be reading my more personalized posts. I guess that’s a risk I will have to take for now. The class only goes through the end of the month, I haven’t quite figured out how to separate my posts into school versus personal. I know that I can make some posts personal, but what’s the whole point then?
My Life in FB and Other Recreational Sports is appropriate because I have developed an unhealthy penchant for reading, updating, and posting on this goshforsaking networking site. I wanted to say Godforsaking, but I know that might be offensive and blasphemous for some who read this (sorry Kim). I suffer a bit from the Pleasing Disease so I have a hard time being mean at times. I no longer drain my vein when I first wake up. I reach for my freaking, overpriced screen smeared, adult phone. Why you ask? Don't toy with me, you know the answer. My excuse is that living precariously through my alter ego online through social networking is quite therapeutic for me. Still, I have read all the scary Career Central advice touting that at least 20% of employers make hiring decisions based on what they Google about a person. Heaven forbid that I take a picture after a fun night out with friends consuming a little happy juice or post pictures of my every-blue-moon-pedi.
In case you haven't noticed, this is all about me, my feelings, my friends, my personal space, etc. I am an only child and live by that code alone at times. My domain name/address is now lilbrownAppalachiangirl...isn't that cool? Say yes, cuz I rarely use words like cool or awesome in my every day vernacular. A lot of my friends have told me that I'm funny and I've let it go to my head at times. Laughter is the best medicine as they say. I thought that lil brown Appalachian girl was somewhat of a dichotomy as the two wouldn't seem to go together. I am a brown girl, born of a brown family, living among non-brown families, in a valley carved out of rocks located on the very tip of Southern Ohio on the edge of the Ohio River kissing cousin to West Virginia. Despite ugly stereotypes, I can read, have all (most) of my teeth, and haven't married any relatives. Plus I have these locs coming out of my head described by some of my family members as snakes. I really like them, but they are not yet matured, just like me. Medusa be damned...
Yesterday, one of my FB friends and former 8th grade boyfriend of my BFF reposted a fantabulous picture of her and I superimposed in front of Prince in a poster like setting. It was great. My BFF and I used to drive people crazy with our mad love for Prince. I once dedicated an entire FB post to his songs, and that's pretty serious. I liked said pic so much that I added it as my new profile of the moment. This zeal for a purveyor of raunchy music might not seem like much to most, but it was a big deal for a brown Appalachian girl living in a sparsely populated town called Martins Ferry. Further, I didn't even know how utterly filthy he was at the time. I thought that I was the shit when I told people about his secret albums and titles like Dirty Minded. I longed to see him in concert but it was never to come to fruition. You see, I've always been this quiet good little girl, but Prince was my let loose, Let's Go Crazy mentor.
My mother, who is quite reserved, once bought me a raspberry beret along with that album on cassette, which was the ultimate birthday present. That took a lot for her, especially after I told her about his whole butt cheek reveal through the tight pants on stage at one of the music award shows (classic). One of my favorite aunts, bless her soul, took me to see Purple Rain when I was in the 7th grade. I only recently confessed this to my mother, her younger sister. I mean (dramatic pause), this was a real live rated with cursing, gyrating, and butt nekked bodies, and I was watching it without anyone shielding my eyes. I had always loved her, but she held and still does, a special place in my heart after that. She is heading toward her 70th birthday but you wouldn't know it.
My BFF mentioned in her update that she was reminiscing about our younger years, listening to Little Red Corvette in her car yesterday, which was what prompted former 8th grade boyfriend to repost the Prince picture. (We're all FB friends, keep up with me here) She then, maybe regretfully now, wrote on my wall to inquire about what it meant when I mentioned that the song was not at all about a car. I felt super cool telling her the true meaning after only learning it myself less than a year ago. I can be such a square at times, but who knew? I mean I got the whole Pour Some Sugar on Me euphemism, but this? This was priceless and clever. BFF and former 8th grade BFF BF, thanks so much for putting a smile on my face yesterday and on into the future. (By the way, I forgive you for making me the go-between for all those silly, adolescent, more serious than life at the time, fights between you two). Rest in peace Mew Mew kitty....
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