I woke up with an idea. I’ll write a “blook”—a blog that reads like book and I’ll release each chapter on my blog as I write it. (Somehow I don’t think I’m the first to think of this.)
Then I looked up “blook” and realized that it means the exact opposite of what I want to do. A “blook” is actually a printed book based on a blog. How confusing. But since I still like the idea and the word “blook” I’m going with it anyway. I considered spelling it backwards but “koolb” sounds like a brand of cigarettes that pedophiles smoked in the 70s.
The overzealous writer in me promises to post something every single day until the blook is complete. This means that you can expect to read something new on a very sporadic basis with giant gaps between chapters that are sometimes as long as two or more months. Putting the completion date for this blook somewhere around 2085. I will be 107 and since this blook is mostly about me I should probably just tell you how it ends now. I die before I finish it.
Until then, you can read the Introduction to my first blook, “I Can’t Stop Talking” right now.
(Of course, if you’re a publisher who wants to give me lots of money, I can have the whole thing done in a week and half. But I’ll need 500 Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups and a nanny with a mild peanut allergy. I don’t need her dipping into my stash.)
The Case of the Disappearing Upper Lip
I always thought I had a full upper lip. My whole life I paraded around thinking that if everything went awry with my day or my outfit my upper lip would be there to pull it all together. Like, people would say: “Oh, it’s fine! Just look at those beautiful lips!”
I’d always look down at thin-lipped girls and think: Poor thing. It must be so hard to have such an inadequate facial feature.
Then a few years ago I saw myself on video and was like: What the fuck!? Where’s my upper lip?! It seemed that the sexy pout I prided myself on had just disappeared. Or maybe it was never there! I was all teeth—like Fire Marshall Bill! (Some of you probably don’t get that reference because you were born when I was in high school or college or while I was brushing my teeth this morning. And I hate you for that. You probably have beautiful full lips too.) You might be wondering how I feel about my lower lip. It has moderate pout and I’m comfortable with that. Because, let’s be honest, when it comes to the pouty look it’s the upper lip that really carries the team.
To this day I’m not sure why I thought my upper lip was so full. I was never known as “the girl with the full upper lip.” And no one ever said to me, “Wow! Those are some really sexy lips you have there.” Maybe it was my grandmother’s fault. She always stressed the importance of holding my head high, and at that angle in a mirror your lips look fabulous. In fact, since the video incident, whenever I’m in public and suddenly find myself getting self-conscience about my deflated lip, I hold my head high and puff my upper lip out like it’s swollen from a recent bee attack. Unfortunately, this creates a new problem when everyone starts offering me tissues to stop an impending nosebleed or an EpiPen for my obvious bee allergy.
But I guess that’s what this blook is about—all the disappearing-lip moments in my life. You know, those times when life cocks the what-the-fuck!? gun and shoots holes in everything you thought was true. Like did you know that people actually drink iced tea in the winter? Another one I blame on my grandma. It wasn’t until a very embarrassing moment in my tweens when I discovered that I was raised in a family of beverage bigots.
I talk about my grandmother a lot in this blook since I spent most of my childhood secondhand smoking her Vantage cigarettes and getting life lessons from her as we played five-card draw poker and watched The Golden Girls.
So if small upper lips and chain smoking, gambling grandmas don’t scare you and you’re still reading this blook, I’m assuming that you’re probably my mother…or one of my mother’s friends… or someone from my past who’s dying to know if I’ve finally realized that I have a scrawny upper lip. Whoever you are, I’m glad you’re still with me. You can read, Chapter 1: My Childhood Summed Up Through a Bunch of Weird and Somewhat Offensive Shit I Was Told Before I was 12 now!