I’m sitting here at my computer listening to my jams, when David Bowie suddenly decides it is time for me to dance. So of course I’m all like, Check out my Fly Girl shimmy, yo.—because it’s freakin’ David Bowie, right? I’m in the process of transitioning to my most advanced moves, when all of a sudden Little White Dog—who, by the way, is a TOTAL asshole—freaks out and runs to the other room like he’s being chased by a syringe-toting veterinarian.

Then I’m all like, WTF Little White Dog? You perform your Capoeira-ass ninja moves every time I walk in the goddamn door, but once in a blue moon the dance gods speak through me, and you act like I’ve been possessed by Elaine from Seinfeld. How do you think that makes me feel? You are a cold-hearted bastard, Little White Dog, but you shall never contain my inner dancer. Never.

Mom, your dance moves are freaking me out.

1. Cooking spray is not an effective alternative to furniture polish.
2. If you dream that Rerun from What’s Happening has a side business as a yacht captain/puppy salesman, you probably had one too many Oreos the night before.
3. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches make lousy throw pillows.
4. The gunk living up inside your electric toothbrush probably isn’t black mold, but it’s not supposed to be there.
5. Using hair as a napkin is unproductive and might attract dogs.
6. Darting outside to get the mail in your PJs and zit cream is a gamble not worth taking.
7. Chewing 17 pieces of gum in a row is surprisingly unsatisfying.
8. Pets need to be fed every day even if you don’t feel like it.
9. Moving your dead plants indoors during a freeze to alleviate your guilt won’t bring them back to life.
10. If your spouse purchases the extended warranty for your new laptop, it doesn’t mean he can’t trust you around technology. It means he can’t trust you around gravity.

Exactly 14 years ago this month I started my own business. Like most things in my small universe, it wasn’t a very graceful transition.

This was before the term “entrepreneur” made it onto the collective radar. Most people just thought I was nuts. “What about health insurance? How are you going to get clients? What happens if all the work dries up?” I could see I needed to add “hire new cheerleading squad” to my list of things to do—right behind “buy computer” and “research bean recipes.”

Those first few years were equal parts exhilaration and terror. The great unknown had taken a fast train to the pit of my stomach and remained parked in that gastric rail station until about 2003.

They say the five year mark is an important waypoint along the road to recovery from disease, addiction, and heartbreak. It’s no wonder then, that my dedication to the business had become a sick obsession that occasionally brought me to tears. Eventually though, I found my stride, and around year five things began to change. Before I knew it, I had morphed into a creature who could sit in silence for 16 hours a day—although unlike a monk, my silence wasn’t so much a spiritual quest as it was a singleminded obsession with not becoming a hobo.*

My Desk, circa right now

I’ve finally gotten to the place where slow times don’t freak me out so much. I know I must savor them because work never comes at convenient intervals, but rather as a sudden onslaught of deadlines wrapped in paper coffee cups and take-out menus.

The very day I announced the date of the next #BlogathonATX, I received requests to bid on three new design projects. Rather than panic, I simply stocked up on antacids, put the therapist on retainer, and dusted off the keyboard. I am open for business.

Now let’s see… Are we in the mood for Indian or Thai…?

*In certain contexts, the terms “silence” and “incessant drone of Law & Order reruns” are interchangeable.

In yet another feeble stab at bettering myself, I decided to try to meditate this morning. (And by “meditate,” I mean “drink coffee without checking email.”) So I’m sitting there for about 25 seconds, when my brain starts talking to me. (My brain is a piece of crap and doesn’t support my attempts at self-improvement.) This is more or less how the conversation went:

Brain: Hey. Hey, you. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me. I know you hear me.

Me: I’m not listening, I’m not listening, la-la-la-la-la…

Brain: What’cha doin’?

Me: STFU, I’m trying to meditate here.

Brain: I’m bored. I’ll bet I can get you to think about doughnuts…right…NOW.

Me: Go to hell.

Brain: Hey, this is fun! Now we’re going to think about giraffes and their long-ass necks. Do you ever wonder what it would be like if they had to swallow pills? Like, if a giraffe had a headache and had to swallow an aspirin, how exactly would that work?*

Me: Shut up.

Brain: No, really—would he put the aspirin under his perversely long tongue? And then he’d have to bend all the way over to get some water, and the pill would fall out. Poor giraffes.

Me: Seriously, shut up.

Brain: You really suck at meditating.

Me: I hate you.

Brain: Mmm… doughnuts…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*I spend an inordinate amount of time
wondering if animals get headaches.
Don’t ask.

I don’t believe in god (or God), and I’m pretty down on religion too. I’m Jewish by birth, but that’s not so much a faith as it is an excuse to eat kugel and go to therapy. As far as religions go, Judaism isn’t the worst. (Although going to Hebrew school instead of participating in normal after school activities puts it in the running for “Religion Most Likely to Ensure You’re the Last One Picked for Kickball.”)

I’m a little uncomfortable with Atheism; its members are almost as devout and insufferable as their religious counterparts. I don’t understand people who have a strong belief in disbelief. (I think that’s called Occam’s Razor. Or is it St. Elmo’s Fire? I always get those confused.) I really can’t fault the atheists though—it sucks being the most reviled people on the planet. Oh wait – no – that’s the Muslims. Never mind.*

I’m not a big fan of Agnosticism—it sounds more like an excuse than an identity. As far as I can tell, it’s a lot like kissing your sister. And not in a good way. That said, I do see its merit as a way of avoiding bar fights and conversations with libertarians.

I’m far too broke and lazy for Humanism, and while Nontheism is in the running, it doesn’t have quite the razzle-dazzle of “One Who Will Eventually be Burned at the Stake.” “The Cult of Weenie” has a nice ring to it, but the double entendre might confuse people into thinking I’m a Pagan, which has its own merits but seems highly unsanitary.

I come in peace. You come in pieces.

Naturalism seems like a good fit, but if I call myself a naturalist, people might think I’m a nudist or a park ranger. (For the record, my bear knowledge is limited to the following: There are three types of bears—the type you’re supposed to confront, the type you should run from, and the type that doesn’t give a shit about your strategy and will maul you on principle alone.)

As all searches do, my quest for a name invariably led to Google (a higher power I pray to regularly). Here are a few suggestions under the heading of “Nontheism:”

• Skepticism won’t work because I drink decaf and believe my mother when she tells me I’m gifted.
• Ignosticism is out because I don’t understand the definition on Wikipedia. Also, I’m pretty sure it’s not a real word.
• Rationalism sounds good in theory, but if anyone checks my medical records or high school yearbook, I’ll be kicked out of the club.
• Secularism is too political, and if there’s anything more annoying than religion and bears, it’s politics. And Snooki.

I used to become irate when discussing religion, but I’m trying to have a calmer approach these days. Don’t get me wrong—I will Kung fu your ass if you give me that patronizing look that says, “Well bless your heart, you just don’t know what it’s like to love the lord.”  I also don’t know what it’s like to eat baby raccoons or lick the UPS man (although I’ve tried). Poor me.

Baby raccoons are not kosher.

Things I do believe in:

• Gravity
• Dinosaurs
• Cable TV
• High fructose corn syrup
• Science-y stuff
• Poodles
• Birth control
• Aliens
• Spanx

So, what’s in a name? Apparently, a lot. Until a better one comes along, I’ll just continue referring to myself as the friendly atheist with a fondness for slimming undergarments and kugel. It could be worse.

*Note: I love Muslims. Some of my close friends are Muslim, and they have a good sense of humor. Please do not declare a Fatwah on me. This post was written in the spirit of fun and goodwill toward all people. Except for Mormons.