Just what the world needs…another blog about nothing.

During a routine, random, borderline psychotic, temper tantrum with my Manfriend, I shouted what every woman with PMS has shouted at one time or another, “I’m just not really good at anything.”  Cue tears.  Of course, his response, like any good partner, was “Baby, of course you are really good at things.”  Enter tissue box – stage right.  I sat at the corner of the bed anxiously waiting for what I thought would be a laundry list of goodness coming from his mouth.  Orchestra plays music indicating climatic moment.  He said, “You are such a mess and your view of the world is very unique, and honestly, and don’t take this the wrong way, makes you really really funny.”  Gasp from the crowd.

I spent the next few days wondering what the heck that meant.  I’m fairly confident that after that comment he told me I was pretty, but like most of our conversations I picked up on one phrase and decided to analyze the poo-poo out of it.  It wasn’t like I expected him to say I was a great cook.  Slow pan to the left at years worth of scorched skillets.  Or a great housekeeper. Slow pan to the right at months worth of laundry in a pile on the floor.  But funny?

I remember when I graduated from college with a political science degree and as I was smiling for family photos I kept thinking, “what in the hell am I going to do with a political science degree?” and I immediately went home and applied for grad school.  What was I going to do with “funny?”  Be a stand-up comedian?  I’m pretty sure if I announced that career change, I’d get that same patronizing pat on the head that I got from Mom when I told her that I was going to be an astronaut in the second grade. Flashback to childhood memory.

During a chat about work where my Manfriend was telling me about a new technology he was implementing on a major project, I waited until he rattled off about six acronyms that I had no idea what they meant, and then I said, “What do you mean I’m funny?  I’m not funny.  Do you think everything I talk to you about is funny?”

Sometimes I pretend I can read Manfriend’s mind.  It is almost like I can hear him thinking, “Out of all the women in DC, this is what I ended up with?”  Of course, he would never end a sentence with a preposition, so clearly I can’t read his mind.

He looked at me with the most discerning look and said, “You don’t know you’re funny and I know you don’t mean to be funny.  Why don’t you start a blog, get all that energy out of your head, and see what happens?  Ok?  It would be good for you to write.”  I’m guessing he doesn’t check his Facebook wall very often.  How many more posts could I possibly do in one day?

After much consideration and several cups of coffee, I figured I’d just start writing.  So here is the first posting of my very first blog.  It very well may be my last and I can add it to the other items I tried once and never tried again. Screen shots of skis, tennis rackets, basket weaving book,  and other remnants from the storage closet of doom.

Welcome to heidisdrama.  Just what the world needs….another blog.

Curtain closed.