Caution: Meeting Dooce May Light Ass On Fire

I’ve been trolling the blogosphere for about eight months now, ever since I stumbled upon Dooce.com.  I’ve been itching for my own blog.  My own voice.  My own website.  I’ve spent countless hours reading blogs, learning different blog platforms, playing with design, basically doing anything I can do not to actually start writing and publishing on the internet for the world to see.  I would like to blame my procrastination on the fact that I wanted to become an “expert” on blogging before actually starting to blog, but the reality of it is that I’ve just been plain chicken.  Last Wednesday, though, that all changed.

I had read that Dooce would be setting up a book signing at a bar nearby.  I decided that I wanted to go.  And then I didn’t want to go.  And then I did.  I’m terrible at making decisions.  On the one hand, I could decide not to go and then I would get to stay home, as usual, and spend the evening making up reasons why I have not yet posted anything.  On the other hand, I could go and meet this woman who has made me laugh out loud at work on more than one occasion, and maybe something about meeting her would light a fire under my ass to go home and get to it already.  This internal debate lasted most of the day.  In the end, I decided to suck it up and go.  

We walked into the Soda Bar, a bar that looked more like an Antiques Roadshow Reject Auction than anything, complete with hundred-year-old wallpaper reminiscent of The Shining.  There were a few locals lurking near the bar for their $3 pints.  If you don’t know, a $3 pint is a really good price in this area of the U S and A.  No sign of Dooce.  I had already warned DB that I would need a little liquid courage before actually saying hello, so we got our own $3 pints and headed to the back where I was hoping the butterflies in my stomach would at least try to stop making me so nauseous.   

As soon as we entered there she was, in a small circle of people, all with their pints and their books, looking like they were having a grand old time.  DB kept telling me to get over there, that it was probably going to get crowded, and each time he mentioned it I took a bigger gulp of Stella.  I watched the line start to get longer and longer, and finally stood up to get in line.   It seemed like 10 years in that line.  I asked for a new pint before I had finished the first (need to be prepared!), made small talk with the woman behind me, and then it was my turn.

As she stood up to shake my hand, I was amazed at how tall she was!  More importantly though, I was amazed at how calm she was, and how genuinely flattered she looked that people had come to introduce themselves.  She really looked like she was having a good time, as did her husband, Jon.  I did notice that they had opted for bourbon rather than the pints, so that may have had something to do with it.  I wanted to tell her that I admired her for having the courage to be herself.  I wanted to say that she has inspired and motivated me to stop talking and start doing.  I didn’t say any of that.  I choked.  I mustered up enough courage to ask for a photo (see above – there is another but I don’t think she would appreciate me posting that one) and was able to get out some warbled combination of “Thank you for making me laugh, and I think what you’re doing is great.  Oh, and your daughter is absolutely stunning.”  I’m hoping I didn’t sound like too much of a douche.  

I’m glad I decided to go.  Not just because I met Dooce, not just because her and a few featured authors signed my copy of her book, not for the $3 pints, and not for the night out.  I’m glad I went because I realized that the only way to get this blog rolling, is to ACTUALLY GET IT ROLLING.  So thanks, Dooce, for lighting a fire under my ass to sit down and start blogging.  Oh, and the addition of “lovely” in your signature seemed extra special, even if you probably wrote the same in everyone’s.