Lloyd Dobler

My social media feed is blowing up with pretty much everyone but me promoting the living shit out of something. How ironic is it that I have a degree in Merchandising Management but I really despise trying to sell anything? There is nothing I believe in strongly enough I have ever come across in my life that has made me balls-to-the-wall, gung-ho about promoting it for others to buy/buy into/help me sell/make me want to wear a t-shirt advertising it/get tattooed on my butt cheek. I don't care who tells me their best friend who was a doctor/lawyer/engineer quit their lucrative career to sell {insert item for sale here} and is literally wiping their ass with hundred dollar bills they make so much bank.  I am telling you, I DO NOT CARE.

Remember Lloyd Dobler in the movie "Say Anything"? He pretty much sums it up.

"I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that."

I have mad respect for my friends who find their zen being on conference calls and listening to the presidents of their companies get sales boners over world domination of their product. Holy shit, you're featured in Oprah Magazine and made it to her "My Favorite Things" list?? My God that's almost as cool as Kim and Kanye naming their baby after you!! Pretty sure that's as bad-ass as being referred to as the 11th commandment----Thou shalt buy my shit as it has the power to make your pores smaller than a baby/your ass as tight as a constipated Olympic gymnast/your fiesta party dip creamier than milk fresh from a cow teat.

I will buy your magic cream. I will marvel at how ripped your abs are. I will serve your "Heaven In My Mouth" spinach dip and give you props. But please, for the love of all that is good, Baby Jesus, and all the Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs in the world, don't ask me about joining your team to sell it, deal?

I am so super happy you reached Triple Violet Moonstar Level. Taste the rainbow, bitch! You earned a trip for the first inaugural trip to teach a livestream of your fitness class from the MOON?? Neil Armstrong the HELL out of that cardio! You've been awarded a herd of pink unicorns to pull your sleigh full of team members to your national convention in Vegas? Yippee ki yay, motherfucker! I am so proud of you. Pinkie swear.

I know, I know,  you're going to tell me I'm "crazy for not taking advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity as the company's growth skyrockets at the speed of light". That fast, huh? Is there some reinvention of the wheel that's happening here I'm unaware of? Don't I LIKE money? Don't I crave success? Don't I like pink unicorns??????

I like money. Success is truly a personal definition. For example today my success lies in the fact that I remembered to switch the laundry to the dryer before it smelled like sour milk. Tomorrow my success might solely be dependent on me changing my underwear. And hell yes, pink unicorns are my JAM. But to participate in your prescribed path to success I will have to network and call people on the phone and sit through conference calls while I sprain my optic nerve from rolling my eyes and go to meetings where people cheer like televangelists and have to post shit on my Facebook page about how much said product has enhanced/changed/rebirthed my soul every damn day. Maybe you didn't read the fine print in the contract for a friendship with me.

I HATE talking on the phone. I'd rather go to the gyno, oral surgeon, and get a mammogram every day for a year than have to physically CALL people. #truestory

I like working out. But sometimes I like naps and not giving a shit. The latter is mostly true as of late.
If I drink enough water, don't drink a bottle of wine before bed, and get a decent night's sleep my skin looks pretty good for this middle-aged mom. Sorry but there is no magic cream, serum, patch, goo, mask, or face taser that is going to magically make me wake up and make me look like I'm 25 again. Trust me honey, I have tried them ALL. Heredity, hydration, and using a hell of a lot of sunscreen are what's up.

I own every kind of seasoning, sauce, stone bake wear, sterling silver, nylon carryall tote, organic  foot cream, Tupperware, face and body potion, and conflict free plastic bangle made from repurposed Trapper Keepers which every sale of buys a third world teenager an iPhone 3 that only texts in Japanese and plays "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley on repeat. If I run out, I know where to find you.

I am known for saying exactly what people think but maybe are too afraid to say. I enjoy cursing and scathing sarcasm. A whole God damn lot. I can refer to my kids as demon spawn but then marvel at their academic success the next day. I LOVE when people enjoy my sense of humor. But guess what's gonna happen if my social media is jammed with "check out Molly's biceps/positivity/placenta face mask/colon blow flat tummy tea"? I will no longer be the Molly you know and either love or hate. That's not worth money or pink unicorns or even 12-pack abs to me.

You do you, I'll do me. And right now, it's time for a cardio-free nap.