Clean slate

I’m about to start a new job. I’ll still be working downtown, and I’ll still be doing pretty much the same thing I am now. But regardless of this comfort zone, I couldn’t be more scared.

What will people think of me? What if they think I’m a horrible writer? What if I show up three hours late on my first day, naked and with nothing else but Roxy on a leash?

I’ve had this dream; multiple times. And each time the crowd laughing at me grows larger and larger, and inevitably someone’s wearing a panda suit.

All this fear aside, I am looking forward to the one grand opportunity that comes along with beginning something new, with starting fresh—the opportunity to reinvent oneself.

Now I don’t mean showing up with black hair and a pierced lip. What I’m eager for is the chance for people to get to know me as who I am right now, today. Without the baggage that eventually piles on at any job. Because you soon become known only by your office interactions and relationships built while with that business. Not that this is a bad thing, but starting over somewhere else immediately changes the playing field. It changes who you are as a player. No one knows you from Eve. And to me that is exciting.

I can be the legal marketing equivalent to Maria Sharapova. Without the Pantene-perfect hair.

Ok, I may be pushing it. But at least no one has to know right away that I'm horribly incoherent in the morning, or that I despise OSU athletics, or that I enjoy potty humor. That can all wait until I have them hooked.

In the meantime, I will show up at the new job with a clean slate, industry perspective, thick(er) skin and a wide smile and start to apply anew what the past 10 years of professional work (or maybe 5^th grade) has taught me: Stay close to just a few people, avoid the rumor mill at all costs and treat everyone with the respect you hope to receive in return.

I’ll let you know if I make it past lunch.

I swear I'm cool

It’s been 10 years since I graduated from college. My birthdate includes a decade known for bell-bottoms and disco. I can’t stand it when comedians lean on bad language to come across funny. And, I shake my head in disbelief when one of my sisters gets another tattoo (They are up to seven between them…that I know of).

I’m also a mom.

But foul language-hating moms born in 1978 can still be cool, right? I’ll have you know that I have a very robust Facebook profile. I mean, people sometimes “Like” what I have to say on there. For real. And, I believe I can still get away with wearing a few things from Forever 21. At least the jewelry and belts, and a few things from the small but trendy “work attire” rack. OH, and on the random occasions I find myself in a bar late(r) at night, I still know all the new music that is being played. And I know the words. So there!

I don’t know why aging is already hard for me, but it is. There are some great things that come along with being older and more mature, like the doctor allowing you to go home with a helpless three-day-old constantly pooping human. And having a great job for the sole purpose of supporting my severe Target and Rue La La addictions. But can I coolly grow into my mid-30’s without donning the unspeakable mom jeans, placing stick figures of each family member on the back of my SUV, or insisting that Mac watch my old marching band videos?

I’m not sure. But earlier this year, we were (loudly) listening to “We no speak Americano” at my cousins’ house. My youngest sister—still in college— leaned over and said, “This is the kind of music they play at all the frat parties these days.”

Me: “Honey, the frats played techno music when I was in school, too.”

Yesssssss… I still got it.

What am I doing?

It's late.

I think it's about midnight, and I've decided to create one of these fancy blog things. I thought it was going to be easy; just jump online and start typing. But I've already spent hours playing with fonts, background colors and layouts. I'm starting to wonder if this is worth the time. As a marketer, I know that one of the keys to having a good blog with attentive followers is posting regularly...with relevant content. And since I'm positive I will never be able to uphold the latter, I better find the time to pin my prose online at least routinely. I'm hoping for some sense of accomplishment with just that.

This may turn out to be quite the chore, but I figure it has to be more rewarding than watching that obnoxious British guy married to Katy Perry. He's on Conan at the moment, and his voice is making my skin crawl.

Wait - he is British, right? I'm bad with accents...he could be Australian.

Ok, now the largest Kardashian is on. Time for bed.