Let’s talk a little bit about social media, shall we?

Mom, I’m going to get into the Twitter conversation now, so go ahead and turn off your computer. Wait…you don’t have a computer. Put down the paper with the blog posts I printed for you.

I have been working in social media for almost seven months now; which pretty much makes me an expert. It’s like that whole dog years thing, but don’t ask me to do the math.

My job is the best job in the world. Just ask me and I’ll tell you. Only, please don’t ask me when my husband is around because he isn’t living his dream of being a mean math teacher and I am sitting on the sofa with my feet propped up on the coffee table, reading the thoughts of brilliant people all across the web, occasionally stopping to hug my kids or pet the dog. This is a day at my office.

But this really isn’t about my job or how I make my husband jealous. This is about how I got here. This is for anyone who doubts the power of Twitter.

Just over a year ago, a childhood friend of mine held a conference here in Columbus for pet bloggers. Have you ever heard of BlogPaws? You should have heard about it. Well, unless you hate puppies and kittens…in which case you need to 1) Have your head examined and 2) Stay away from my children. You and your mean, hateful soul.

Though I occasionally write about my pets, I’m not really a pet blogger. Nor am I a mommy blogger, a tech blogger or any other niche blogger, but that’s another post entirely; title to be “Who the Heck AM I?” My point is that I didn’t know anyone at the conference. I talked to a few people in the lobby and I mingled with some folks in the bar, but I didn’t want to barge in on conversations between people who had wanted to meet each other for years.

Other than my childhood friend, who was kind of busy running the whole thing, the only other person I was remotely familiar with, and that I knew would be there, was the woman who would be giving the keynote speech, Elisa Camahort Page. Elisa is one of the founders and the C.O.O. of BlogHer, Inc. If you are a blogger, you already know that. She’s kind of a big deal.

I had never met Elisa, but I am a member the BlogHer ad network. That makes me kind of like Elisa’s honorary kin. Yee haw! I sent out a tweet saying, @ElisaC I can’t wait to meet you and hear your keynote speech. Well, it said something like that. You can’t really go back and search old tweets with great consistency. (Side note: This sometimes makes my job difficult and I would appreciate if one of you smart people would hurry up and develop something for that.)

After quite a few more tweets, I met Elisa. We had lunch together, I cried during her keynote speech (see above comments regarding puppies and kittens) and sat with her during a cocktail party that evening. I soaked in her brilliance. Then I went home.

Would I have met Elisa without Twitter? Probably. But, before I ever shook her hand, the ice had been broken. She knew what I looked like, she knew bits of my personality and she knew my sense of humor. I knew she was wicked smart, that she was a vegan and that she loved the theater. I was less intimidated meeting someone with whom I had already had numerous “conversations”.

And, a few months after that, when I took to Twitter and mentioned that I was looking for part-time work, saying something like, Looking for additional part-time job. My work history is in the now-defunct mortgage biz, I have a huge gap on my resume and I work in a school kitchen. Call me.

Guess who did?

Elisa.

The amazing C.O.O. of the largest community of women who blog (25+ million unique visitors a month – Nielson NetRatings) is now my boss and, for certain, I wouldn’t have the job without Twitter, because I never would have considered reaching out to BlogHer. Not a chance.

Instead, I put myself out there for the world to see. Okay, maybe not the world, but for my 2500 followers. So, it’s more like I put myself out there for a small, rural town. But, wow, are these townspeople awesome.

So, see…I am kind of a social media expert. I know that you have to be in this space in today’s culture, that you should let your personality come through in your tweets and that you need to put your desires out there. If there is something you want, just ask for it. You never know who is listening.

And, you never know…you just might get exactly what you’ve been dreaming of.

Follow

Email

Back in January I bought a couple of Groupons. One for 18 weeks of boot camp (did I tell you that I’ve GAINED two pounds?) and one for sclerotherapy.

What’s that fellas and kids under 35? You don’t know what sclerotherapy is? Well, it’s when a doctor injects a solution into your blood vessels to eliminate spider veins.

Yes, that’s right. I bought a Groupon for cosmetic surgery and I’m telling you about it on my blog. Who loves self-deprecation? *Stands up* *Waves hand*

But, people, this is ME we’re talking about. I can’t just go in and use my Groupon for vein surgery without getting a pre-operative ultrasound that shows I have honest-to-goodness venous insufficiency. That’s a fancy way of saying my blood pumps the wrong way.

Left untreated, the burning pain I feel in my legs (that I always assumed was nerve pain) would get worse and I would likely end up with some bulging, varicose veins…which would really kind of put a damper on swim suit season.

So before I can have the sclerotherapy, I have to get vein ablations in both legs. Today I go in for my left leg and next week, my right.

Clearly, you can see the good in this situation right? No? Well, let me tell you!

I am preemptively striking against bulging veins (good), the pain and burning in my legs will improve (good), then I can have sclerotherapy to get rid of the spider veins I’ve had since high school (good) and I’m pretty sure they’re going to give me Morphine (better).

The downside? A week of wearing a thigh-high compression stocking in 90 degree heat.

So, while I’m lying in front of a fan and sleeping off some medicine you should head over to my post about Gatorade Moms where BlogHer is giving one of my readers a $100.00 gift card to Dick’s Sporting Goods!

If you win, could you pick me up some cute compression capris?

Follow

Email

Fifteen years ago, I had a mid-life crisis at the ripe old age of 24.  I had just got engaged and I had a great job, and dudes, I drove a Ford Taurus.  Things should have been rosy.

The crisis came just two weeks after my engagement when I turned 25.  I hated turning 25.  Something about turning a quarter of a century made me feel as if I couldn’t act like a kid anymore.

But you know what?  I found that wasn’t the case at all.  I still ride roller coasters, I am trying to get my co-workers to join me in the creation of a skipping club and yesterday I wore my hair in pigtails.  Okay, it was just because my daughter said I was too old to wear pigtails and I live to embarrass her…but, still, I totally wore them.

If I had known then what I know now I would have embraced 25.  Shoot, I would have made out with 25.  And, like a friend of mine always says, had I known what would happen to my body I would have walked around in a bikini everywhere I went.

Next week I turn 40 and I’ve been feeling another mid-life crisis coming on.  Only this is a real mid-life crisis, because now I’m actually mid-life.  That’s mid-life, if I’m lucky. This crisis isn’t about whether I can act like a kid, but about the fact that 15 years ago I was turning 25 and that 15 years from now I will be turning 55.  FIFTY-FIVE.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  You know…if YOU are 55.

I really shouldn’t mind because my life is in a great place right now.  Three days before my 40th birthday, I start working full-time at a job I love.  Some people can’t say that their entire lives and I’m only halfway through mine.  Remember, that’s if I’m lucky.

My health is good.  If you don’t count insomnia and 40 extra pounds.  Really.  Don’t count it.

I have a great family, live in a good neighborhood, have two sweet dogs, have fantastic friends and am part of amazing communities at the kids’ school and our church.  I am blessed.

But turning 40 really stinks and I’m going to whine about it until I’m blue in the face.

Because, clearly, age and maturity are two very different things.

Follow

Email

Tomorrow is your birthday.  It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that you’ve been in my life for less than a decade, because it feels like you’ve been around forever.  Most people say that they can’t believe how time flies, but with you things tend to move at a slower pace.

We have been through a lot together, you and I.  I won’t lie; you’re the reason I have an intimate relationship with anti-anxiety meds and sleep aides.  You are the reason I throw my hands in the air on a daily basis, look up and say, “Lord, have mercy on me.”

I had a hard time learning to love you.  I was scared to love you.  I didn’t think you were going to stick around very long and I didn’t want to get hurt.  I’m glad I let my guard down.  It was the best thing I ever did and I learned that, when in doubt, you should follow your heart.

You bring adventure to my life because I never know what you’re going to say or what you’re going to do.  Even when we’re out running errands together, I feel like I’m living on the edge.  At least I never have to worry about life being dull.

But, I don’t just love you because you keep me on my toes.  I love you because you are strong, smart, funny and so stinkin’ cute.  I love that you aren’t perfect, because it reminds me that no one is.

Happy 9th birthday, Boo.  Mommy loves you.

Follow

Email