ready, set, blog.

what are these blogs on those interwebs i kept hearing about? surely there isn't a place for this girl, a Jew from south florida living in the desert with her Cuban husband, baby Sloane, and one-eyed dachsund. how will I stand out, how can I get readers other than 1/20th of my facebook friends? what do i have to say that is different than every other well-educated, under-employed, thirty-something out there who can click a mouse on her macbook pro? this all leads to my overwhelming apprehension of starting this blog. i've been staring at this blogger template literally for months. i've had other domain names for years. why is today any different than the countless times i've sat at my lovely, decorator book-filled workspace willing myself to write-just WRITE-that first post? i'm really not sure. we've gotten into a routine over here on cambridge ave and honestly, today was pretty damn routine. cheers to a blog written from the soul half the time and the materialistic coveteur all the time, curated in my "perfectly imperfect" home and edited to reflect the best of the new grammar set that has become so familiar to us all in this online community. salud to a blog written while i execute a new multi-tasking: bouncing baby Sloane, refreshing pinterest and shopbop on google Chrome, listening to sadly age appropriate Mumford and Jack Johnson, and just type-type-typing. mazel tov to the thought that if I combine my mad writing skillz with the tiny bit of entrepreneurship i have in me, at the very least i can get ten people i've never met "in real life" to read this. now if you excuse me, i have to go put that mini-goal on a price tag looking piece of paper, modge-podge it with glitter and stick it with washi tape to my inspiration board-then promptly instragram it with hashtag #cute, sharing it on my twitter feed. THEN, ladies and gentleMAN (thanks for reading,GABE!), i can call myself a blogger.