This post is about Jenny Lawson. I think.

This post didn’t start out about Jenny Lawson, but hang with me for a minute and I’ll explain.

It started out about make-up and curlers and punctuality.

So now you see the connection, right?  No?

OK, here’s the story:  I was running late for a social gathering tonight and I left the house with curlers in my hair and no make-up, mascara wand in my hand.

Now does it make sense?  Still no?  You people need to keep up.  Let me back up a little.

I was leaving the house in curlers and with no make-up on and my mascara in my hand, planning to put my make-up on at the red lights, and the thought occurred to me – I will be flying out of the house in curlers with my make-up in hand when I’m heading to my own damn funeral.

Some of you are thinking “Yeah, if you’re one of those dimwits who puts her make-up on in the car, I’m sure that will be sooner rather than later.”

You were, weren’t you?  I knew it.  You can’t fool me, ’cause I’m sharp.  Remember, I connected the dots regarding the title of this post way up there while you were still confused.

Why is it when I put my make-up on at home, I hit every red light on my way to wherever, but if I need a few red lights in order not to scare small children and timid animals, they’re all green as can be?  (I was totally going to apologize for that tangent and then realized this entire post is already just a comedy tragedy of tangents and my readers can just deal with it, Mom!)

I think I have to back up just one more time, and I swear I won’t go all the way to 1964.  Only to April of 2012.

I got my hair cut.  This doesn’t seem like a blog-worthy thing to bring up but bear with me.  My hair has been long and straight for quite awhile now.  I went to my stylist and wanted something really different and I told her to make me fabulous.  I have to live up to my tagline, ya know?  So she did a radically different cut and a new color.

Shortly after I got home from the salon, I was online reading one of my message boards.  There was a post about mom-hair.  Evidently, the only thing worse than mom-hair is mom-jeans.  And I thought of my new cut and said “OHMYGOD, I HAVE MOM HAIR!”

I cried so hard, my Jordache dark-wash denim-look elastic-waist jeans were spotted with tears.  It was terrible.

I promptly went to my bathroom and tried a bunch of things to un-momify it, and eventually dug the curlers out of the vanity in a last desperate attempt.  And I liked the result.

My bathroom is verdant, isn’t it?

It might still be mom-hair for all I know but I love it so and that’s all that matters.  Every morning, I get out of the shower, put some curly-hair gel product in there from the array of 1,237 bottles I happen to have lying around, and then I blow-dry it for about 2 minutes and put the curlers in.  I leave them in until I get to work.  When I stop for coffee, I practically dare people to say something.  YOU DON’T WANT TO FUCK WITH A WOMAN IN CURLERS WHO HASN’T HAD HER COFFEE, MISTER.

Since I’m already out and about in curlers, rushing to get to work, I’m just a forgetful-moment away from wearing them into my office building.  In fact, the other day, I got all the way to the front door and realized I hadn’t taken them out.  I scanned for security cameras and didn’t see any, breathed a quick sigh of relief, and then ran back to my minivan to remedy the situation.  Close call, but I found a great new place to commit a crime.  If I’m looking for such a place, that is.  (That was another tangent.  I’m not going to apologize.)

We’ve already established I’m rockin’ the curlers, so that makes me think of Jenny Lawson, The Bloggess.  Go check her out if you’re one of the two people on the planet who don’t know her – she is hilarious.  See her signature photo there on her blog?  That’s why this post is about her.  But it doesn’t stop there.  See way back up in the beginning of this post when I talked about rushing out the door?  That was about my compulsive need to be on time.  I hate being late.  I have severe social anxiety about being late (among other things).  I am so punctual that people set their watches by me, and it only takes 2 prescriptions to keep that shit under control.

THAT’S why this post is about Jenny Lawson – between the curlers and the anxiety, we’re practically twins.  Only I can’t claim any connection whatsoever to taxidermy, so there’s that.  Although if you do need more evidence, I wore my cowboy boots tonight and Jenny is from Texas.

I’m not sucking up, I swear.  I tried that once before with Dooce and it got me absolutely nowhere.  I was sure I’d be rich and famous, but no.  So I have no expectations here.  None at all.

Well, that’s not entirely true – I did buy Jenny’s book so I think she owes me something.  I think she can give me the time of day, right?  Is that too much to ask???  If she gives me the time of day, I would respectfully request 3:11, and I’d definitely prefer PM to AM,  because I’m kind of weird about numbers.  Let’s just say I wouldn’t even want 8:02; not in a million years.

The truth is that Jenny has already done more for me than most of you.  She retweeted me once regarding a post I wrote and for a few hours, I was famous on the Internet.  I put in my two weeks notice at work and everything, but then I had to go crawling back.  I figure that I’d better keep my job unless she agrees to retweet me every few hours, which seems like a lot to ask since I already asked for 3:11 PM.

I suppose when you get right down to it, this post isn’t about anything.  Or maybe it’s about the fact that it could be our quirkiness that holds us all together, and that’s OK.

But it’s definitely not about taxidermy because that would just be weird.

~~~~~~~~~

PS:  The Little Sally Walker post is one of my highest traffic posts.

PPS:  Jenny, if you read this, I really don’t think you owe me anything, but if you are inclined to retweet me every few hours, let me know ’cause this work gig is wearing me down.   Still – if you’d like to share a hotel room at BlogHer 13, let me know and I’ll share my curlers with you, and maybe my Xanax.  Maybe.