Evil Ego Maven
Well, well, well.
I bet some people didn't think I would post today. I bet some people were thinking I'd shirk my new lifestyle adjustment and not bother with this daily writing stuff.
I bet those same people would be utterly floored if I said the reason I'm blogging so late is because I was busy walking my daily 2.3km with Shadow, the cocker spaniel. There's another lifestyle adjustment I made sure to uphold. Damn, I'm an amazing person. I've blogged and exercised every day this year! Pat me on the back, because I deserve it!
Before training brain and bod, I was buying, and then playing, Rock Band 2.
Yes. I realize we just got Rock Band 1 last week.
Yes. I realize it looks like I have a problem. Thanks for noticing.
No. I don't have a problem. You have the problem. Now get off my back and go point your finger elsewhere. Nobody needs your bad attitude around here. If I weren't trying to uphold yet another one of my lifestyle adjustments I would be judging your need to accuse me of addiction issues.
... Alright, I'll admit it. I do really enjoy that game, and not in an entirely healthy way. The music is fun, sure, but there's something more to it. Something deep inside of me that comes alive when I stick the mic in my hand and make my scrawny little punk persona do some diva wailing on the screen. An embarrassing truth comes bubbling to the surface every time the crowd cheers: I've always wanted to be famous.
There: I've said it. Now I shall blush, but no one will see it because I am behind a keyboard and monitor. Thank goodness for the interwebs.
Back when I was a complete loser nobody in school, I used to sit in my little corner of the cafeteria and, when people weren't throwing crusts at me, I would admire the beautiful ones. The popular ones. The girls with perfect bodies and great hair. The boys with chiseled looks and, well, great hair. They laughed, they flirted and they mostly stuck to themselves. They sat high and mighty at their table while the guys made the gals laugh at the gals pretended to eat their lunches but in actuality took no more than two bites because they didn't want to get fat and be cast from the golden circle.
Outcasts like myself both admired and loathed the people at that table. They were looked up to yet could pretty much do whatever they wanted to those who didn't hang out with them. Sort of like... rock stars. Once a band gets a few number one hits under their spiked leather belt, they can trash hotel rooms, tell off reporters and throw things at roadies with few repercussions. That's more power than any human being should have.
Well, except me.
I recently commented on XUP's blog and said I'm a nice person. I may have lied a little bit. See, there are two Mavens and only one of them fits that bill.
Nice Maven loves her simple, stay-at-home life. She loves the quiet life, if one can call three boys in a house "quiet". She enjoys the company of good friends. She dreams of a modest career that allows her to work from her home office and see her children off the bus every day. She helps women and babies learn to breastfeed successfully and accepts no money. She smiles at puppies, even if they pee on her shoes.
Nice Maven is, well, nice. She's sweet and thoughtful and wouldn't hurt a fly.
Then there's my darker side. The one I keep hidden away in the cellar (well, basement. We don't really have a cellar, per se, but that sounded way cooler), in a straight jacket and Hannibal Lecter mask so she doesn't eat babies and puppies for breakfast. And this Maven is a force to be reckoned with; with all those safety devices in place she still manages to work her twisted thoughts into Nice Maven's mind.
Clarice.... er, I mean, Nice Maven. Come in and sit for a while, is what Evil Ego Maven will say from the other side of her Plexiglas cell. Then she'll ask me all sorts of questions about a barn and some bleating sheep and childhood memories and what-have-you. It's very creepy and makes absolutely no sense, as I grew up in the suburbs with a dog and pet rat, but whatever. The point is, she figures out ways to disturb the peace, and before long she comes up with some interesting thoughts.
Nice Maven, do you remember when all those kids used to pick on you? They thought you were such a geek, didn't they? They made you cry, did they not? What would you tell them about yourself now, Maven? Would you tell them about how you're still a nobody in your little house and your piddly career? That you never made anything out of yourself? That you're still invisible?
That's about the time when I tell Evil Ego Maven that asking me a string of questions is very annoying and could she please get to the point because I'm busy trying to scrub the permanent marker off a toilet seat.
The point is, Maven, that it would be so much better if you put your energy into being rich and famous. Those little junior high brats would be dumbfounded to see you interviewed by Oprah because you made her latest book club selection. They would eat their hearts at not having the opportunity to drop your name around the water cooler as someone they used to be friends with. You could go on book signing tours! Make the cover of magazines! Be a celebrity! Imagine how nice it would be to snub the snubbers of years gone by as you pass them on the street. Then you could go home and roll around naked in your money...
And, you know, she does have a point. The rolling around naked in money sounds gross, but I'm oddly inclined to try it at least once if given the chance. But the rest of it: the book tours, the signings, the interviews, the traveling, and even the snubbing, sounds like work.
And work is icky.
I have enough to do just scrubbing toilet seats. I don't have time to be famous. I'll leave that to people with drive and motivation. Besides, my life is pretty great as it is. I'm not a nobody. I'm the freaking Maven. And I've risen from the ashes of those dreaded school days as someone who, let's face it, can hold her own in a room full of people these days. I would throw those crusts right back, and maybe some spit. Besides, I know how to play roshambo now. I looked it up. That makes me scary.
I will play Rock Band and pretend to be popular. And maybe I'll secretly revel in the slow but steady climb of "followers" on my blog. It's a small ego trip, without all the effort. Evil Ego Maven can stay in her cell and grin at me through the cannibal mask. I'll feed her animal-shaped - or maybe people-shaped? - crackers in between songs and blog posts.
I bet some people didn't think I would post today. I bet some people were thinking I'd shirk my new lifestyle adjustment and not bother with this daily writing stuff.
I bet those same people would be utterly floored if I said the reason I'm blogging so late is because I was busy walking my daily 2.3km with Shadow, the cocker spaniel. There's another lifestyle adjustment I made sure to uphold. Damn, I'm an amazing person. I've blogged and exercised every day this year! Pat me on the back, because I deserve it!
Before training brain and bod, I was buying, and then playing, Rock Band 2.
Yes. I realize we just got Rock Band 1 last week.
Yes. I realize it looks like I have a problem. Thanks for noticing.
No. I don't have a problem. You have the problem. Now get off my back and go point your finger elsewhere. Nobody needs your bad attitude around here. If I weren't trying to uphold yet another one of my lifestyle adjustments I would be judging your need to accuse me of addiction issues.
... Alright, I'll admit it. I do really enjoy that game, and not in an entirely healthy way. The music is fun, sure, but there's something more to it. Something deep inside of me that comes alive when I stick the mic in my hand and make my scrawny little punk persona do some diva wailing on the screen. An embarrassing truth comes bubbling to the surface every time the crowd cheers: I've always wanted to be famous.
There: I've said it. Now I shall blush, but no one will see it because I am behind a keyboard and monitor. Thank goodness for the interwebs.
Back when I was a complete loser nobody in school, I used to sit in my little corner of the cafeteria and, when people weren't throwing crusts at me, I would admire the beautiful ones. The popular ones. The girls with perfect bodies and great hair. The boys with chiseled looks and, well, great hair. They laughed, they flirted and they mostly stuck to themselves. They sat high and mighty at their table while the guys made the gals laugh at the gals pretended to eat their lunches but in actuality took no more than two bites because they didn't want to get fat and be cast from the golden circle.
Outcasts like myself both admired and loathed the people at that table. They were looked up to yet could pretty much do whatever they wanted to those who didn't hang out with them. Sort of like... rock stars. Once a band gets a few number one hits under their spiked leather belt, they can trash hotel rooms, tell off reporters and throw things at roadies with few repercussions. That's more power than any human being should have.
Well, except me.
I recently commented on XUP's blog and said I'm a nice person. I may have lied a little bit. See, there are two Mavens and only one of them fits that bill.
Nice Maven loves her simple, stay-at-home life. She loves the quiet life, if one can call three boys in a house "quiet". She enjoys the company of good friends. She dreams of a modest career that allows her to work from her home office and see her children off the bus every day. She helps women and babies learn to breastfeed successfully and accepts no money. She smiles at puppies, even if they pee on her shoes.
Nice Maven is, well, nice. She's sweet and thoughtful and wouldn't hurt a fly.
Then there's my darker side. The one I keep hidden away in the cellar (well, basement. We don't really have a cellar, per se, but that sounded way cooler), in a straight jacket and Hannibal Lecter mask so she doesn't eat babies and puppies for breakfast. And this Maven is a force to be reckoned with; with all those safety devices in place she still manages to work her twisted thoughts into Nice Maven's mind.
Clarice.... er, I mean, Nice Maven. Come in and sit for a while, is what Evil Ego Maven will say from the other side of her Plexiglas cell. Then she'll ask me all sorts of questions about a barn and some bleating sheep and childhood memories and what-have-you. It's very creepy and makes absolutely no sense, as I grew up in the suburbs with a dog and pet rat, but whatever. The point is, she figures out ways to disturb the peace, and before long she comes up with some interesting thoughts.
Nice Maven, do you remember when all those kids used to pick on you? They thought you were such a geek, didn't they? They made you cry, did they not? What would you tell them about yourself now, Maven? Would you tell them about how you're still a nobody in your little house and your piddly career? That you never made anything out of yourself? That you're still invisible?
That's about the time when I tell Evil Ego Maven that asking me a string of questions is very annoying and could she please get to the point because I'm busy trying to scrub the permanent marker off a toilet seat.
The point is, Maven, that it would be so much better if you put your energy into being rich and famous. Those little junior high brats would be dumbfounded to see you interviewed by Oprah because you made her latest book club selection. They would eat their hearts at not having the opportunity to drop your name around the water cooler as someone they used to be friends with. You could go on book signing tours! Make the cover of magazines! Be a celebrity! Imagine how nice it would be to snub the snubbers of years gone by as you pass them on the street. Then you could go home and roll around naked in your money...
And, you know, she does have a point. The rolling around naked in money sounds gross, but I'm oddly inclined to try it at least once if given the chance. But the rest of it: the book tours, the signings, the interviews, the traveling, and even the snubbing, sounds like work.
And work is icky.
I have enough to do just scrubbing toilet seats. I don't have time to be famous. I'll leave that to people with drive and motivation. Besides, my life is pretty great as it is. I'm not a nobody. I'm the freaking Maven. And I've risen from the ashes of those dreaded school days as someone who, let's face it, can hold her own in a room full of people these days. I would throw those crusts right back, and maybe some spit. Besides, I know how to play roshambo now. I looked it up. That makes me scary.
I will play Rock Band and pretend to be popular. And maybe I'll secretly revel in the slow but steady climb of "followers" on my blog. It's a small ego trip, without all the effort. Evil Ego Maven can stay in her cell and grin at me through the cannibal mask. I'll feed her animal-shaped - or maybe people-shaped? - crackers in between songs and blog posts.