I’m closing out the books on my little at-home writing business for this year and I can now honestly say that I make a living by being a doofus.
I’m the kind of writer who gets paid to admit that she once accidentally gave her toddler a margarita (calm down perfect parents; did I not just say accidentally? It doesn’t count if it’s more neglect than abuse), that I got my first manicure at 35, my first massage at 54, and I still know all the words to the Lawsons commercial and sing it often when I’m home alone, while dancing to my first Doris Furney dance recital song, The March of the Siamese Children. This is about as liberating as it sounds.
Unlike people who make their living being beautiful or sophisticated or smart or a decent parent, building a business around being the person who makes mistakes is, frankly, awesome. It’s like always being around childhood friends who know you too well, making it impossible to put on airs and pretend you’re something you’re not.
1. You don’t have to worry about tripping, falling awkwardly and having people think badly of you. That’s your job. That’s some freedom right there.
2. Any self-improvement notions like learning a hip foreign language or eating kale and other trendy foods that make you seem savvy? You can say forget that and watch another episode of Hoarders and finish the Cheez-Its.
Your persona is about TV binge watching, not knowing any state capitals and mispronouncing French words. In fact your career depends on it.
Awesome. Right?
If you’ve read my blog, Just Humor Me, and my book, Home Sweet Homes: How Bundt Cakes, Bubble Wrap, and My Accent Helped Me Survive Nine Moves, you already know about the sippy-cup margaritas and all the singing. I thought the new year would be a good time to get a few more revelations off my chest.
I get Yosemite and Yellowstone mixed up. I didn’t know one was in California until last year. In fact, I still don’t know where either is on the map and there is no end in sight. I don’t expect to ever learn and remember any of it.
I mispronounced merlot once and my neighbor Brian never let me forget it.
I took a memory test recently to raise awareness for Alzheimer’s and got a 17 percent. That score put me in the category of You are not only prone to get Alzheimer’s, you probably already have it and if not, getting it will not be a problem because you have no brain synapses left to misfire.
I love math but if I think too much about ∞ I have a panic attack and cry.
I thought hyperventilating was that thing that happens when you hold in tears in 2nd grade and you inhale in little uncontrollable gasps. It wasn’t until I was in labor with my first baby and numbness had moved up from my hands to my elbow region that a nurse told me what a dumbass I was. I made a good case for why that 2nd grade breathing thing should be called hyperventilating, and what we now know as hyperventilating should be called that numby hands thing, but no one could hear me through the paper bag.
To say that I’m unassertive is the understatement of the year. I was the unwitting subject of a psychological experiment in 1980 in which I went the proverbial distance in allowing a stranger to take advantage of me and my kindness. The psych grad student running the test stopped because he felt sorry for me, but told me he was pretty sure I would have agreed to the final challenge: driving him to the airport.
I allowed myself to be videotaped performing the Lollipop Guild song, knowing it would be put on YouTube. I can never run for president now.
I say “thank you” when I give money to street beggars. I’ve decided it’s easier to think of something they’re doing for me and the world than to try to break myself of the habit.
All of this and a number of things I haven’t told you about yet make up my career. When people ask me what I do, it goes something like this:
“Oooh, you’re a writer? Really? What do you write?”
“Well, um, yeah, good question; I — ”
“Do you write romance? Are you like Danielle Steel? Do you write like Fifty Shades of Gray? The Hunger Games? Are you like a mystery writer? Do you write about dogs? You should write about dogs. I read The Notebook and it changed my life. Do you write stuff like The Notebook?”
“No, I pretty much write down stories about stupid stuff I did and then sometimes people laugh and point and then sometimes I get some money for it. So, I do that.”
“You should try writing something like The Notebook.”
~ ~ ~
Read more of Diane’s Just Humor Me columns here. Sign up for our semi-weekly e-newsletter to get new blog post notifications. And if you like her blog, you’ll love her book, Home Sweet Homes: How Bundt Cakes, Bubble Wrap, and My Accent Helped Me Survive Nine Moves.
