Nearly Nekked
Disclaimer: Yeah, I KNOW this is an art blog. That means there should be pictures, right? Well, I didn’t have any appropriate photos for this post. You’ll have to use your imagination.
I’m all about self-improvement. Really. I would love to live in a clean house, wear a crisp white apron (with little lacy hearts) while baking golden cookies and downing copious amounts of good-for-me greens. Smiling the whole damn time like the Beav’s mom.
I would sincerely…no, make that dearly, like to maintain a daily yoga/qi gong/meditation practice while listening to spiritual masters and communing with the universe beyond my current level of understanding. Way beyond. Like to the point of the ever-knowing imperturbable smile even when the voices in my head are being stupid dicks unkind.
And when I get to that point, words like damn and dicks would NEVER enter into my head, much less exit out of my mouth.
In a perfect world I would write (fill in your favorite adjective here) blog posts DAILY. You would tell your friends and they would tell theirs. On and on and on until I was more famous than Oprah.
Although I would settle for being half as rich as her. Just half. Really, is that too much to ask?
Yo, Universe, I’m talkin’ to YOU.
There would be a book deal. Oh, many of them. And Oprah, when she interviews me, because she would have to interview me, wouldn’t she… Oprah would notice I’m a size 2. Just a plain 2. No numbers or letters before or after it. USA Macy’s size 2.
And Oprah would be envious and offer me half of her wealth to be her life coach. If my math is right, that would make me twice as rich as her. Of course I would give most of it away to charity. Because I only have two feet and a girl can only have so many shoes. Unless they’re red. In that case maybe I’d keep the money.
But I’d think about giving it away.
I’m baring my soul to you (and what a lovely size 2 soul it is) because I’m doing this personal branding thing. Taking a class with Michele Bergh. I’ve taken classes with Michele before. She knows her stuff so I was reasonably sure her definition of personal branding would not involve hot metal and the smell of burning flesh.
Oh noooo, it’s MUCH more painful than that. Try standing out on the freeway naked (that’s nekked in cowboy speak) waving as the trucks whizz by. Yoo-hoo, fellas, what’dya think of this? Well, that’s what I had to do today.
Or at least it felt like that. Holy crap, did it ever. Crap, another word I won’t say once I’ve evolved. Maybe. Or maybe not. Depends on how pissed off I am. Oh crap, I suppose I’ll have to ditch piss as well. This being evolved shit isn’t all it’s cut out to be.
But back to personal branding sans cowboys. The first assignment Michele had us do, the one that made me feel naked, but not in a good way naked, was to ask friends, family and coworkers for feedback about me. Like, yo, hey, would you please fill out this questionnaire, this ANONYMOUS questionnaire. Say what you think about me. Let ‘er rip. I’ll never know who said what because it’s anonymous.
And then I’ll take those answers, size ’em up against my answers…what I think people think about me (because I had to answer the damn questionnaire too). After dismissing anything I don’t like as being nothing more than passive agressive retaliation because I forgot to pay back that 20 bucks I must owe someone, well then I’m gonna take that 20, put it as a downpayment on a pizza and beer. And find me a cowboy. With chaps. And just enough of a five o’clock shadow to make me forget about the pain.
And you, my best beloved sweetums, you can cheer me up by leaving sincere, happy face comments in one of those boxes down below. I will share the pizza with you. And the beer.
But not the cowboy. WOOT! I’m keeping him for myself.
