When he pulled up Tales From the Running Mama he said, “Oh, a mom blog,” like it was a booger or something.  He scrolled down two measly clicks and then sat back in his chair and half-motioned toward the screen. “You don’t even have your own domain.” 

Oh. The. Nerve.  Did he not see those little fake Polaroids with the boys names on them that I made on Picnik?  Did he have any idea how long it took me to get them to slant in opposite directions? 

“You are dumb.” “What do you suggest?” I said.  He sighed as if he were done slumming with my unsophisticated blog.  He handed me his pamphlet but said I could probably set up what I needed myself.  That was a really good thing because his prices were extortionary.   

Maybe I got bullied by a 23 year old geek, but whatevs.  I went home, bought a domain on Godaddy, and my friend Jarrod got it going on WordPress.  I sprung for a nice theme, cuz I’m classy like that.  For the last two weeks I have been hacking my way through widgets and plug-ins, and mooching expertise from my friends and tweeps.  (I heart you Michele Lashley and @sarahmarkley.)

Having a sweet website covers a multitude of personal flaws.  It makes me feel cool even though I’m writing this post in my sweatpants while drinking chocolate milk from a blue Take-and-Toss cup.  The next time I open my car door while still singing to Kidz Bop, I won’t feel like an idiot, because I am Andi Hawkins, dot com.