The Over-Educated Nympho

It’s time to overhaul my website. If I want to be a professional writer, it helps if I look like a professional writer. (Oooh, I want my cool glasses back! Then I’d really look like a professional writer!) Which means my site needs to look as professional as possible. Especially if that helps ward off the perverts who think shit like this will get me to jump into bed with them.

One of the things I want to do is find a totally slammin’ character illustration of Vix the Over-Educated Nympho to post in the header of my homepage. Who better to ask than the many talented readers who visit my site every day? I’ve received so many emails from you telling me about your own dreams as an aspiring photographer, writer, screenwriter, dancer, singer, entrepreneur–and that is awesome. So I figure that we could help each other out, aspiring writer to aspiring artist. Let’s get beyond this “aspiring” bullshit.

So those of you who are handy with markers and Photoshop, please submit an illustration by August 1st. I’ll select one winner and then we’ll collaborate to develop the illustration from sketch to pure awesomeness. Once everything is set, it will become part of my official logo and it will appear when I launch my new site design. And if the illustration is really wet-yourself awesome, then it may eventually become, well, you know.. more. I can’t say what exactly because I don’t know myself, but I’ve got my eye focused hard on potential.

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I have been packing and freaking out and whining and packing some more. My friend Barbie totally called me out on my eminent panic attack and insisted on coming over to help. My little brother (who is freakishly big and strong, so weird to see him turn from a total goob into someone kinda hot) drove in tonight and helped as well. At this time tomorrow I’ll be in my new grown-up apartment, the one I want to make a nice place to live, not just somewhere to crash and store all my crap.

When I moved one year ago it was triumphant but a little sad because I was moving on account of a break-up. This time there is nothing tainting the move. Today when I went to sign my lease I finally felt that moment of glory I had been expecting so many times before this, the one of pride when the leasing agent asks “are you the only one signing the lease?” For the first time I said “Yes. Just me.” No roommate, no boyfriend, no mother as a guarantor. Just me.

Now as I look at my living room filled with stacks of boxes, I think about how far I’ve come since I moved into this apartment. As Stockton reminded me, it will be a glorious moment when I finally sit down in my new apartment on my first night alone and take it all in, with a glass of red wine and a bag of Oreos sitting on a box in front of me. Although I still don’t know what I want, I’m in a much better place now than I was one year ago, and you know for damn sure I’ll be drinking to that on Sunday night.