The First Candle

Last week, this website very quietly turned one.

You know how it is with one-year-olds: The crankiness, the wild pooping, the temper tantrums, the general swath of destruction in the contrail. Since the site began, I am down five inches of hair and up one hurricane, eight pounds, and one nephew I’ve visited exactly twice. If we expand the ViewMaster to the past two years so as to encompass the entirety of my stint here in the swamp, the count includes one automobile accident, several hundred nervous breakdowns, and a downed space shuttle. Florida’s been great, wish you were here.

I am, as you might imagine, the very image of forward motion. Last year at this time, I was utterly boyfriendless, trapped a job I hated, drove a car that peed on me, was nowhere near conducting a full-time writing career, and completely in debt. But just look at me today: Now I’m also in intensive psychotherapy for clinical depression!

Yes, this has been a year of progress. I now know exactly how many Krispy Kremes may be safely consumed within an hour (four), finally admitted to myself and a small poster of Jimmy Buffett that I do not like margaritas, and discovered that I detest Oprah Winfrey even more than originally thought. Don’t even try to tell me I’m not a better person for stomping through this, the Year of the Blonde.

The traditional gift for a one-year anniversary is paper! Please send large checks to: blondechampange@hotmail.com, or simply leave a comment containing your bank routing number.