Why am I like this?

When I finally got around to pulling the trigger on going live with this little brain child, my approach was the same as it almost always is: dive in head-first without bothering to check the depth of the water.

The pseudonym that randomly popped into my head? Taken.

The name of the blog itself? Already out there in droves.

The concept? A tired old song we’ve heard before.

Adding a fresh post every week on Mondays? Here I am on a Sunday, typing away. I guess we’ll just call this one a bonus. You’re welcome.

On the most basic level, I enjoyed the six days where I felt proud for actually doing something that I said I’d do, but soon that joy was ripped out of me like the hairs on an unibrow that’s way past due for a wax. I thought I did a good job, that I was thinking outside the box. A simpleton bitch like me finding a blog site, signing up, and trying to teach myself how the whole thing works felt like an actual accomplishment. Until it didn’t.

I haven’t really shared my idea with anyone outside of my husband (who always seems to believe in me even when I don’t), my sister (who’s good for support but also for keeping it real), two of my oldest friends (who are just plain bitches that love the idea of my rants making their way out of the group chat and into the public eye), and of course, Google AI (who I had a few choice words for in that moment). Once the realization hit that the pseudonym I was so jazzed about was already in use by an established blogger- leaving me open for all kinds of shitty things up to and including legal troubles, in true Penny fashion, I immediately went into panic mode. As the room began to spin, I ran screaming to my sister to fill her in on my gigantic blunder before hitting my default setting in tough times: deciding to give up. My little experiment (what I’m calling it for now) was already dead in the water.

After calling myself a loser about 43 times in a span of maybe seven or eight minutes, I lit up a smoke and repeated one of my favorite cliches to myself. “I didn’t come this far to only come this far.” I continued on in deep conversation with myself. “Bitch, find a new name.” So that’s where I started- back at the beginning.

So far I believe I did a better job of trying to make sure the name wasn’t already out there. I bounced a few possibilities off my sister before landing on my selection. I changed my logos and pictures. I deleted the email account I created about an hour before everything came crashing down and made a new one. I then decided to take a breather to try to channel a more rational version of myself and put all of the ick in my head into the words you’re reading in this post. Later on, I’ll head to Instagram and possibly even TikTok to lock the handles down.

For now though, I gotta do something from which I often shy away: I need to slow down and think. I mean REALLY think. Organize my thoughts. Remember who the fuck I am. Make a real commitment to creating something for me and all of the unhinged, overworked, chronically fed-up broads like me to relate to and enjoy. Find that balance between showing myself some grace and some tough love. I really hate it when people easily count me out, so why am I so quick to do it to myself?