Secret identity

I'm just going to say it: Bruce Jenner's story and struggle resonated with me. And in light of Rachel Dolezal’s revelation she’s always identified as black, I feel inspired and moved to come out, and reveal the truth about who I feel I really am in my heart and soul since I was born.

I can now say this with pride: I identify as rich.

I relate to the rich experience. As long as I can remember, I’ve spent money when, where and as much as I’ve wanted, never concerned about running out or if more will come to replace it. I've gone to great lengths to change my appearance and behavior to look rich.

For example, I enjoy sushi immensely. And really, do people who aren’t rich drop a c-note on raw fish and sticky rice for dinner nearly as often as I do? Of course they don't. No sane person does.

Would a non-rich person take their car to the dealer to be repaired, knowing full well they'll pay at least twice what they'd pay at an authorized independent mechanic? I have my car serviced exclusively at the dealer. I have for years. My rich inner self wouldn't have it any other way.

I’ve operated for years on the philosophy that “if I spend it it will come.” This approach been particularly evident on my visits to Las Vegas. Speaking of which, there are dozens of low-price hotels there, but instead, I choose to stay at the Venetian or Bellagio. I realize what one night costs at these establishments is probably three nights at a significantly lesser hotel like the Tropicana or Flamingo. But I feel like need a shower for even mentioning those other hotels.

It's a reaction the rich often have.

Identifying as rich hasn’t been an easy road. Sometimes the bank, credit card companies and my kids’ piggy bank try to convince me I’m really not rich by birth. Well sure, not on the outside.

On the inside, I'm all champagne dreams and caviar wishes.

Someday I hope society will accept me for who I am and not judge. But until then, I’m willing to suffer the indignities that come with identifying as rich: waiting for the valet. Trying to get change for a hundred. Wearing socks more than once.

Thank you for your understanding and support as I introduce my rich personality to the world.

If you need me, I’ll be at the sushi bar.

Taking the e-asy way out

I fully intended to have a new post up tonight. And like we've all come to expect, especially me, it was going to be witty yet insightful, terse yet pithy, lengthy but well written. But here's the deal: after the past five days I'm feeling more beat up than Tyler Durden.

Not only is my back killing me from my lovely and unexpected auto accident last Wednesday that I told you about here, but I'm also exhausted from four days sleeping on grass, standing in line, walking in halls and sitting in chairs at Comic Con.

I'm not complaining about the Con. It was teenage fun.

I am complaining about the car accident. That sucked.

Anyway, if you've been online anytime in the last couple years, you've probably noticed the explosion in Your e-cards and someecards. These are cards you make online and have added to a library for all the world to use.

I've custom made a lot of them for various posts on here, and I've also used existing ones.

Anyway, since I'm falling asleep in my soup, I'm putting up a few I like for your enjoyment.

By the way, I'm fully prepared for the lecture I'll get from my friend Rich over at Round Seventeen about taking the easy way out on this post.

I just hope he doesn't wake me when he calls and yells at me.

The 101st Post

If you know anything about me, you know I'm one of the least disciplined writers around. Even if you didn't know anything about me, you could probably tell that from the infrequency of posts to this blog.

I'm easily, very easily, distracted when I finally make the hair-pulling, angst-ridden decision to actually sit down and write something. Shiny objects. New episode of Dexter. Cold pizza in the fridge. Run to the newsstand (to see what other writers are writing). Catching up on phone calls. Changing batteries in the smoke detectors. Folding laundry. Gassing up the car.

Pretty much anything really.

Since I'm pretty sure no one expected me to get this far, least of all me, I imagine the fact I've completed a 100 posts to this blog won't be a big deal to many people.

Like my friend Rich, who's written over 366 posts since starting his blog. Or my friend, former office wife and partner in snark Janice, who's written over 312 posts since she started her blog.

Here's the difference: they're both disciplined writers who set out with a goal to accomplish a certain number of posts in a certain amount of time.

I know, crazy talk right?

But damned if they didn't. And if that's not crazy enough, now that they've both reached their goal, to the pleasure of myself and the rest of their readers, they're going to continue on with their angry, brave, humorous, insightful, intelligent, revealing, fun to read, fun to talk about blogs.

Truthfully, I'm kind of happy with my little accomplishment here. But I do realize that if I ever hope to catch up with them I'd better get writing.

Right after I get some coffee.