The Irony of Being a Blogger


Let’s just start off by saying, I blog because I love to write. Writing is my outlet, a form of therapy if you will. Although technology and the ability to text has dumbed down my ability to write in proper English at times (which probably just kills my ever proper grandma and aunt; both English professionals) I still love to really jot down, to my best ability, exactly how I feel.

So here it goes. Being a blogger even just a couple years ago meant this, basically an online diary of something you were passionate about. Something you really felt you wanted to share. It was an insight to the life of the writing and a URL derived version of the writers daily biography. Nowadays though, blogging has been pillaged for all its worth; although pillaged, I have to admit I love it and it is still overly useful. How you ask? Useful in the way that if you ever needed to know how to organize your closet, or find the nearest deal at an unbelievably expensive store, you find a blogger. I myself am guilty of posting my favorite deals and upcoming trends; but I can’t help it. It’s part of my passion.

Today though, the irony is this. As I sit here and post my latest Gianni Bini heel purchase and glorify in all its beauty, I realize how hilarious it truly is. As I set up my bright 50mm lens on the overly priced camera just to claim the perfect picture on my tiny backdrop I proudly call my white faux fur rug, I am an irony myself. Covered in fur (or lonely girl kitty glitter as they say) from head to toe from playing with two of my cats, smelling of dog food from spoon feeding my apparently helpless creature I call dogs, wearing my hair up in a pinned bun (extensions showing and all) eating my chicken nuggets I warmed up from being frozen for god only knows how long; it is then and only then that I realize the irony in a bloggers life.

As we post these glamorous, over-exposed versions of a beautiful product or our favorite venture that week that involved boredom and hair pulling between tinges of fun, I laugh at the thought of what an actual account of how my day really played out would look. So instead of sugar coating my week for you and pretending like my life is glamorous from dust to dawn, I would like to fill you in on the hilarious life I have lived this week.

Sunday: Began with a day filled with sleep, laundry, cleaning, sleep again (don’t fool yourself, it was short lived) and a little bit of pouting because my damn plants out back won’t grow – I then ended it with a fun dinner with my whole family at the parents house and frowned on my way home after watching show after show with my mom because I didn’t like going home alone – keep in mind, it was 11:30pm by the time I headed home. I then fell asleep cuddled in my queen size bed, now a twin size after snuggling with four of my five animals, successfully making me feel like an animal hoarder?

Monday: Time to wake up, but not before I have already heard my painfully happy alarm sound off over a half dozen times as my fingers deviously find their way to the snooze button and I oversleep. But don’t worry, I wake up to the sound of a purring kitty sleeping on my face because, well where else would she sleep, right? Did I mention I am actually allergic? Yep. Puffy eyes, stuffy nose and a 20 minute shower steam session (to relieve my allergies) later, I am finally ready for work. Did I also mention I don’t get to dress up. No, this is not a job for heels and glamour, rather a day of shipping, counting, running after loose puppies who run outside for a break and dragging bags-full of inventory out to the shipping trucks. This is not a job to look pretty at, so if a confidence boost is where I was headed with this one, nope! But at least all of us are on the same page most days; come nappy, leave nappy. Silent agreement that it does not leave those walls of KISSmeMINT.

Monday night then ends with trailing through my mail, truing up my bills and sitting outside talking to my older neighbors to my left. This I feel IS a great part of my day. It is fun to hear about their lives and how they came together spontaneously. Then I realize as my twenty-five year old self sits alone on my own patio across from theirs, that I don’t have much of my story I enjoy telling back to them. So instead I just listen, drink a beer and smile at their candidness.

I get my pictures in for that week, take a long shower and hop in bed with my children with paws again only to check my stats, watch my ghost shows and drift off to sleep as slowly as possible.

Tuesday: Today was a day in wishing. This was the day I conceived of a business idea at the same time as my sister also came up with another genius one as well. It was perfect; another day, another venture. As we texted back and forth, I was posting to social media sites while in the shower – yes, always in a rush. Shampoo lather, post. Rinse and condition, comment. Wash up, post a deal for the day. Blah. All the way, try not to drop the phone, mix the shampoo with the conditioner or forget to shave your second leg. Duh, there’s two. I made it. Onto getting ready, cute hair? Nope. Up in a bun again, that is all. Cute outfit? Yes please! Nope, nope.. shipping today, back to the denim cut-offs and mens tee. Bam, win! I bet I’ll get hit on today! Maybe the gas station attendant at least will like the outfit combo. Nope, even he is rocking rolled denims. Shit.

Tuesday sums it up with Shark week, putting in a Mint plant out back, and letting Snoop Dog install my internet. He thought he was hilarious setting my Wifi to “you’re like really pretty” so that all my neighbors around think I’m that “ignorant, vain girl who doesn’t have a mirror.” Here’s the best part, my neighbors are bummin’ off my wifi. So walking over and handing them my wifi name just topped if off, “here you go guys, I’m cool!” Eek.

Head into work with a car registration two months past due, a peach and 4 hours of sleep ought to do it. Come on home, feed your brood of animals, be picked up for a small, casual dinner with the fam and then come home to clean, write and watch my favorite scary TV shows. While snapping my morning picture of my newest Dooney bag, I drink a Polygamy porter and laugh at the mis-matched socks and the pile of laundry at the top of the stairs. I still smile at my cats chasing each other, my dog walking around burping like a human and my house in a half glorious beauty and half still in absolute disaster from not completely moving in. Irony, at its best.

Today is only Wednesday. SO while the week should bare a little cuter outfits, a little cleaner of a home and a little more fun towards the weekend, I just thought I would gloat about how perfectly imperfect a true bloggers life can be. While we advocate about beauty, social awareness, shopping treasures ect, just know that we also are not perfect. Far from it. And while I should probably only be speaking for myself, because I’m sure there are actually close to “miss-perfect’s” out there, I for one, am NOT one of them.

So next time you see my perfectly formatted 2×2 IG pictures of a cute outfit or some brand new shoes, just remember, I am probably editing the picture in my skivvies or writing about it with four little fur-babies crawling all over me.

FAR from perfect, but pretty awesome all at the same time. My life is a humorous feat.


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