hmph

Ok I'm putting my pride on the line here, but I think it's time to admit... I haven't the slightest idea about how to work this thing.

I see a box to my right that says "followers", which, I'm not gonna lie, makes me feel like Kelly Kapowski for a minute. Until I realize that I only have one follower. And she is my sister. And I asked her to do it.

While we're at it, I'm not sure what I think about the use of the term "followers". Although, I suppose it's good we're getting past all that Facebook sugar-coating of being a person's "friend". Calling it like it is, I guess.

So come, follow me, and help me vindicate the awkward freckled-face Jr. High girl with the tapered jeans and the hair that was not-so-subtly calling out for a straightener that just wanted a Zack Morris to call her own. My mom will pay you.

Do I really have to come up with a title for every single one of these?

So I started a blog. Stating the obvious here. Let it be known that this is something that I said I would never do (FYI, other things I said I would never do: wear Bermuda shorts, poof my hair, dance in public, watch The Real World... all of which I eventually gave in to. Moral of the story? Don't trust me). So you might be asking yourself this very question, "Why now, Carla?". Why the sudden interest in posting your innermost thoughts for the world to see? Disclaimer: this blog most certainly will not contain my innermost thoughts. Back to the question at hand... Is it because you're getting married? It's not. Is it because you're pregnant? Absolutely no. Is it because your life is so interesting that it should be featured in US Weekly? Sometimes, but that's not the reason. Here is what ultimately made me decide to start a blog....

Cue dramatic background music.

Ahem.... This evening I was thoroughly enjoying my Sunday tradition of catching up on my DVR from the previous week(s). As I was sitting here waiting to see if Whitney was going to take Jay back, my dog jumps up from her spot, runs to the door in apparent frenzy, and proceeds to bark incessantly until I take her outside. Seconds later, I'm just standing outside waiting on Ozzie to do her thing, when I casually glance back towards my apartment building. And there I see it in the window of apartment 303, building 54. A Christmas tree. I didn't stutter... a CHRISTMAS tree. Not only that, the lights were on, an angel was on top, and I'm assuming that if I knocked on that door right now, I would see perfectly wrapped presents sitting under said tree. Then I start to get angry. Not only is it 3 months+ post-Christmas, it's freaking Spring. I'm trying to find any way possible to cut these people a little bit of slack, because let's face it, I'm a forgiving person. But I just can't do it. Can't chalk this one up to laziness, because every night, these "neighbors" of mine consciously get off their rears, walk to the tree, and plug in the lights. Not only that, but they then proceed to walk to the window and turn the rod on their mini-blinds for the entire apartment community to share in their Christmas joy. It's almost as if they are proud of it. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about some Christmas. I love family, presents, food, and of course JC. But seriously neighbors, check your calendar, it's March.

And THAT'S when it hit me. Can I get a date check? Today is March 29... a mere 48 hours away from April 1. And suddenly I laugh to myself, I know what it is... it's an April Fool's joke... on ME! Good one neighbors, I fell for it. Now take down your tree. It made me start a blog.

With that said, I've conformed to the ways of this world, I've given in to peer pressure, I've fallen into a bear trap (anyone who graduated from 6th grade at FBC feels me here). I'm not promising to update this every day, every week, or heck let's be serious... even every year. I'm not promising for this to be interesting, informative, or even entertaining. But I bet you'll read it because you're at work, and you have nothing better to do. Am I right or am I right? But here's the deal, when people of this calibre come along... the story must be told.

And that, I can promise to do.