Because writing about nothing convinces people that you're actually doing something

Well, it took exactly 1 minute and 45 seconds to become yet another unread, useless personal blog on the internet. Less time than it takes me to complain each time I get stopped by a red light, with hopefully a more productive output by this particular waste of time. There are apparently 1440 minutes in a day so that would be about 720 random blogs that I could start to publicly document the uninteresting and mundane events of my life. A life that, until recently, would probably have been envied by...a few. And yes, I actually had to use the calculator function on google to divide 1440 by 2, because math is not the only thing that I didn't actually learn in school. I also can't tell a convincing lie and I'm an overly cautious driver. More on those things later.

I started this blog because my parents, like most people's parents, think I have some hidden talent that's wasting away somewhere buried alive in my midwestern life of a part time housewife. My mom actually suggested, "why don't you start a blog or something. Lots of people do that now". First I was surprised that blogs had become common vocab for the over 45 parental set, and then I was surprised that my life was so uninteresting that it had come to that. I agree that the retelling of my day of, " baking scones and dishwashing at a tea room for 7 hours" might have pushed her over the edge a bit (considering that she is still paying off my student debt from college). But to suggest a blog seems like the final straws of desperation to get me to actually do something interesting with my life. Probably because getting married and getting pregnant haven't been congratulatory occupations for women since the late 1800's, at least not in the modern, cosmopolitan society. Those things are only praiseworthy when you balance them with a career in nuclear physics and being on the board of a charitable organization.

To be fair this life I lead started out correctly. I went to a reputable private University, triple majored in useless information, got a job in management first time up at bat, married a respectable, nice man (good looking but not so handsome that people will talk crap behind my back), and am pregnant with our first child exactly one year after marriage with no speed bumps on the road to fertility. Then suddenly I realized that everyone else with a middle class upbringing had done the exact same thing. The brilliant shooting star child was still a star, but a star among millions in the sky. She wasn't even shining the brightest or the biggest. Still as my dad says, " some are born stars, and some are born black holes" (and that is very loosely translated from the original spanish version which includes more colorful word choice). So here I am a star with a blog. Hah. So much for the show at the planetarium, I'm not even featured. I'm the tiny speck with a long identification number 16 digits long instead of an actual constellation name. And I'm going to write on this blog regularly to prove only one point. Not everyone gets to be special just because they have something to say. We all have something to say, and most of it is interesting, but we don't get to make a living out of being interesting. Once my argument is won and my average rating proven, my mom might let me go back to being ordinary and intellectually contributing little to society. Then again, she's turned out to be more tech savvy than I thought so she might be reading this and will be calling soon to rant on why this is still a waste of time, not what she meant by taking initiative, and to leave her out of any future online nonsense. We shall see.