That's a first, right? Perhaps monumentally a first, not just for this blog but for pretty much the entirety of my blabber-mouthed, prone-to-oversharing life. At my senior send-off from ADPi, my little sister did an impression of me when I'm drunk. It went exactly like this: "SHHHHHH. I want to tell you a secret." The entire room went up in laughter, and I laughed too, because good LORD, was she right. When I was sober I'd pretty much tell anybody anything, and when I was drunk? The one small remaining shred of a filter I had would disappear completely.
I'd be lying if I said there weren't times, especially in college, when I wished I knew better how to keep a lid on it. But mostly I talked (and talked, and talked, and TALKED) to make people laugh. I didn't mind telling the story about how I'd wet my pants in a train station in Wales because it was hysterical. I was okay with calling myself out for accidentally showering in the men's bathroom in a hostel or making snow angels face down in the backyard of a frat house (in the middle of October) or thinking the words to "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" were "when I touch them they return to gold" because all those stories made people laugh.
And that is why I love writing this blog. Why I still love writing it, even four years later. I love sharing with you just exactly why they call me the Mayor of Awkwardtown and the Viceroy of Awkwardtonia and the Queen of the Sovereign Nation of Awkwardlandia. I mean what else can I do? Yes, I am the drunk lady that introduces herself to an ex-boyfriend's current girlfriend in the bathroom at a concert and falls in fountains -- but I'm also the lady that blogs about it, and that shit is comedy effing gold, y'all.
I've digressed, though. Here's where we started: I want to tell you a story. But I'm not going to.
Given my history -- and really just my general affections for a well-told story -- it's kind of hard to believe. But it represents a little change I'm making around here, and rather than just let these stories go silently into the night, I thought I'd tell you about it, first.
(Shocking.)
So here's the deal, y'all. I'm not going to be writing about dating here anymore. I know, I know -- that's actually a much more monumental change than I even gave it credit for in that first paragraph up there, because for a good long while now the Misters on this blog have been the stars of most of my stories. Dating has been the central focus of my writing since I came back to Memphis two years ago.
But it's time for a change.
The first thing I need you to know, and believe, and feel fully faithful about, is that there will be no shortage of awkward for me to document for you. And also no lack of me making an ass of myself in public places large and small. But being as open as I have been about my life on this blog has taught me volumes over the past four years, and all of those lessons are informing this decision. I'm hesitant to write when things are good because I don't want to jinx them, and once things go bad (as they're wont to do, until the one time they don't) I feel obligated to rehash them here.
So you're losing out on awkward first date stories. Or early instances of the awkward Mormon side hug. Or the description of my visceral reaction to someone being a Duke fan or not knowing Alex Chilton. But at such point as there is someone in my life who is more of a staple, a regularly appearing character, an official and regular plus one, then you'll get to meet him.
It feels a little bit like growing up, this decision. But I've figured out that sometimes keeping the really good stuff to yourself makes it even better.
cheers,
elizabeth
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