A quick blog, to be followed by a long blog

Hey All! I had nooooooooooooooo idea that your comments weren't being posted on our blog. I just figured that either no one read the blogs, or the blogs were so un-thought provoking that no one cared to comment on them. It turns out I was wrong. We were being followed by hundreds of peeps. (Ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating, but there is a one in one hundred) Unfortunately,the posts were being vetted through ShoeTopia's old e-mail, so now they are lost in cyberspace forever. Sigh. Fortunately, my one, er, I mean one of our fans mentioned his comment, which I couldn't find, so I just figured that I was blog-impaired and asked my brother where the post, um, I mean hundreds of posts were, and that's when he discovered the problem. So there you go! Problem solved. So please, feel free to post with the knowledge that your comments will be read by hundreds, or even thousands of peeps. (Since the posts were going to cyberspace, I have no idea how many were reading. So why not think big?)

The Making of ShoeTopia, or How I Learned to Take My Meds and Stop Worrying

I know, I know, I still haven't finished my Twitter Blog and I'm already starting something else. And considering the fact that my last blog prior to the Twit Tweeting was in January, this is a big deal for me. (All other blogs in between were posted by my brother, who chided me for not blogging.) But my high school roommate inspired me to write about my anxiety. Not because it may help others who suffer from anxiety and the likes to seek help, but because my anxiety accounted for some pretty hilarious stories -- all at my expense, of course. And those of you who know me, or at least read me, know that I can't tell a short story, not just because I am long-winded, but also because I believe that everything is connected. A series of events has led me to the place where I am today -- co-owner and manager of this fabulous shoe store. I credit a great deal of it to my anxiety.

And now, the rest of the story...

I will never forget the time I was describing my condition to my friend Carol, which prompted her to ask, "What's a panic attack?" And all I could think of was how fortunate she was not to have ever experienced one,or even had any idea of what one was. People have different physical symptoms -- shortness of breath, tensing of muscles, racing heartbeat, nausea, etc., but I imagine what goes on in every one's brain during an attack is pretty much along the lines of, "This is the worst thing that could ever have happened in my life and if I don't die as a result, I will wish I had, rather than to live through the hell that will surely torment me for the rest of my life as a result of __________ [fill in the blank]. I used to have at least one panic attack a day.

TO BE CONTINUED

Am I a Twit for not Tweeting?

One day I was checking our ShoeTopia email, and noticed I had a list of messages of people who were following us on Twitter. While I knew enough to know that being followed on Twitter was not some weird stalking thing, I couldn't figure out how all of the sudden we had these Twitter emails from what was growing to be a a rather large "flock" of people. Well my brother Danny set up an account for us and didn't tell me. Typical of brothers, isn't it? So then I panicked. All I knew about Twitter was that they were short messages people sent to one another over their phone, but I wasn't sure what the difference was between that and texting. At any rate, anyone who knows me knows I can't say, write, type, communicate, etc. succinctly. For example, a normal person would say, "I picked up the mail today." Me? I talk more like this:

Ok, so I was on my way in today and I was in a really really good mood because it was sunny out and so I went to the post office because I was hoping to get the invoice from Jeffrey Campbell since they always forget to send it until the day before it's due, and anyway I opened the door for this woman who was coming out and she sidestepped me and opened the other door, and said, very indignantly, "You don't have to hold the door open for ME," like I was being rude or something and I was so shocked I didn't know how to respond so I smiled and kind of laughed nervously and said, "Okay," and she said derisively, "O.K."
Can you believe that? And I thought, here I was in this perfectly pleasant mood and this total stranger completely ruined my day. So anyway, what was I telling you?

I mean,really, how could someone like me ever be able to Twitter?

I decided to look it up on Wikipedia (See, I'm not totally clueless. I know about Wikipedia. My brother posted us on that too.) Twitter is a "short-message-service" like a "micro-blog." And normally, I tell you, I would have stopped reading right there.
To be continued...
[...since I can't communicate in "short bursts" and it's taken me an hour and I haven't really gotten to the gist of the story. Sigh.]