Whatever.

(Feel free to add the Valley Girl twang. I know I did in my head.)

So in case you were wondering, I am not dead in a ditch somewhere. But thanks for caring. Really, it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

A good twitter friend is planning on helping me get things up and running properly on Sunday, so I can finally get back to dazzling the world with my as-of-yet-undiscovered literary wit and perhaps woo my dream agent into selling the hell out of my don’t-call-it-a-memoir work in progress to a fantastically huge publishing house for a sick amount of money and a pinch-me-so-i-know-it’s-real advance.

Well, that’s the plan anyway. But reality is good, too.

(I’d link to “twitter” and my friend’s site, but….yeah. About that.)

For now, I’ll settle for my record bout of insomnia (I’ve been up since 7:30 a.m. on Thursday morning after four hours of sleep) waiting ever so patiently for Monday morning so I can get blood drawn to figure out if my thyroid, insulin, or that other thing are out of whack and causing said insomnia (‘cuz, for the record, I like to sleep). And of course there’s packing for that trip to Michigan I have to take in a week that is definitely NOT a vacation and only adding stress to the aforementioned trouble catching my precious zzzz’s.

I know you miss me and my drama. Hell, I miss writing about me and my drama. And my writing. And the reasons one should not blog after being awake for so long that one has now lost track of how many hours it’s been since one actually slept, solely based on the fact that slap-happy probably does not translate very well into blogger-eez.

So on that note, I‘m off to pass out. Hopefully I’ll wake up in time to become famous again on Sunday.

And don’t worry…Cat (the Rottie), and Finnigan (her 17-pound Terrier master) will be sure to share their kibble with Buttercup while I sleep. It’s gluten-free and tastes like chicken, so my little Celiac Princess will be safe and sound. After all, she knows how to lock up.

Well, right now…nothing. The blog design is boring, I only have two posts up (and counting), and I really haven’t shared much yet.

Give me time. I had a lot of laundry to do today and then spent ($$$) too much time at the grocery store and then cleaned and re-organized my refrigerator and then…well that’s when i finally sat down.

So let’s see. What would I want to know if I wasn’t me?

Ah hell, let’s just interview myself.

Me: So, tell me a bit about yourself.

A. Well, that’s a broad question. Care to get a bit more specific?

Me: Okaaaay…Why are you the Aspiring Mama?

A. That’s better. Well, I’ve been screwing around on the internet for a while with blogs that really weren’t going anywhere. And they weren’t going anywhere because I was blogging for the wrong reasons.
I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I was eight when I read my first Gordon Korman book and decided he was my hero. My plan was to be a published author by age 13. That didn’t happen. By an effing long shot.
By the time I started blogging, I had already done a decade in the newsroom and thought that if I mimicked this and copied that, I’d get this fantastic following in no time and have some super fantastic book offer just thrown at me based solely on my blog posts. Too bad my blogs weren’t truly representative of who I am sucked and got my nowhere even faster.
So I took a break. I pondered. I decided I wasn’t in high school anymore and didn’t want to straighten my kinky curls just to try and look like the other girls.
In the middle of the night, my mind woke me up with what I think is a sweet little play on words that represents my aspirations to become a successful writer while trying to balance the mother-load. And voila–Aspiring Mama was born.

Me: Thanks for the tangent. Next question–Who are you mimicking now? And why continue to blog if you still don’t have a super fantastic book deal?

A. I’m me now. No more attempts to be someone I’m not or bothering to whore myself out in an effort to get a seat at the cool blogger’s kids’ table at lunch anymore. And forget the super fantastic book deal.
I mean, no, don’t forget it, exactly. If a random agent stops by and thinks I deserve one, I am in no way saying I don’t want it. But I AM saying that it’s not the reason to blog anymore. I blog to share, to learn, to get my name out there. And if what I write is funny enough or witty enough to make you want to come back, then cool beans. But I’m saving my magical powers for my writing projects that I think will eventually earn me that super fantastic book deal.

Me: Get out much? Ever answer a question in less than a million words?

A. Well, there was this one time when…

Me: Never mind! Try describing yourself in five words.

A. Ummm…

Me: That’s one!

A. Fine!

Me: That’s two! Better get crackin’!

A. Kooky, independent, needy?

Me: Now we’re getting somewhere! Now tell me, is your glass empty or half-full?

A. Depends. What’s in it? Water? Or a mojito? Because if it’s a mojito, it is so half-empty.

Me: So you’re a smartass, eh?

A. Took you long enough to figure that one out, huh?

Me: Moving on…give me some basics. Name, rank, and serial number.

A. My name is Pauline. I’m 31. Married mother of one, whom I shall call The Toddler for now. What else? Mexican-American, oldest of five girls, dog-lover, baby-wearer, and totally reliant upon spell-check.

Me: So what have you written? What are you planning to write?

A. I’ve written tons of articles for newspapers I either worked for directly or freelanced for. I’ve filled six journals with my thoughts. And I’ve written for a few other blogs, including Bad Mommy Blogger. I’ve also written two children’s books I’m working on getting published.
As for what I plan to write…well, I’m working on a memoir about my efforts to lose the baby fat and a young adult novel about a Mexican teen with an eating disorder. The first one is sarcastic and funny. The second? Not so much. But I figure there are plenty who can relate.

Me: Anything else you’d like to share?

A. Tons, actually. But I need to get to bed. I’ve got a morning gymnastics date with The Toddler.

Me: What a coincidence.

A. Yeah, I know. Interview over.