I think almost any gal who’s started a blog over the last few years has flirted with the fantasy of becoming “The Next Pioneer Woman.”
I am under no such illusions.
There are some similarities between PW and me. When she refers to a trip into the “Big City,” she means the city where I live. Black Heels & Tractor Wheels reads a lot like my own (unwritten) love story — if you subtract cows, Chicago, Mike, linguini with clam sauce and pretty much everything else that makes it endearing and hilarious.
But that’s where the similarities end.
PW is, as we all know, very photogenic. She has a lovely, sweet voice that I’m sure is incapable of bellowing threats at her children or shrieking obscenities when she stubs her toe on a door jamb.
I, on the other hand? Surly. Lazy. Misanthropic. Crass.
Sweetness and light? Not so much.
But on this fifth anniversary of my twenty-ninth birthday, I am happy to report that I’ve forged a special, er… relationship with Pioneer Woman.
We have a great give-and-take. She gives me an Amazon Giftcard and I take a ridiculously giddy thrill in becoming a bonafide search term on her website.
(Please don’t tell me I’m pathetic. You already know how morose I was about my ill-fated brush with Joni Webb. And this actually came with money attached, so I think I have a right to be coasting on good-feelings for a couple days.)
In October 2010, I managed to eke out a “W” on PW’s Word Nerd Quiz. And got a massive hit of Amazon crack to feed my book/tech addiction.
Then last night, I happened upon PW’s Big Fat Movie Line Quiz. Although it had been open for more than an hour already (her quizzes are usually speed drills and I only won the Word Nerd because I knew every one of the answers without having to look up anything), I gave it a whirl. Because you know how much I adore movies.
And I’ll be darned. More Amazon crack.
Happy Birthday to me!
If I had a job, I’d probably be quitting to play blog sweeps full-time. But even if I never win another thing, I am now “immortalized” on the PW website.
Does it make me a creepy blog stalker if I think that’s kinda cool? As long as I don’t write her and ask for a lock of hair to weave into mine or a calf-nut to pray over or something else weird? Because I promise: I won’t do that.
PW, I swear my admiration is purely un-creepy and nonthreatening. I promise, I’m a very normal person.
Dark, yes. Disturbed, yes.
Surly, lazy, misanthropic, and crass? Okay, fine.
But mostly normal other than those completely harmless flaws.
Normal. I swear.
P.S. Okay, who am I really kidding here anyway?