This is not Alexa, this is Chris, and I write at Surviving Myself.
What's perfect about me posting here today is that I'm actually going to meet Alexa tonight. It should be fun until she notices that I'm actually an 87 year-old woman named Samantha who sometimes has a body odor problem. Which I imagine she'll notice right away.
Of course I'm kidding about that last part, my name really is Chris.
Tonight is sure to be a mixture of fun, and awkwardness, because meeting bloggers is always like that. It's the only time in your life that you'll be meting a person for the first time ever, and they already know pretty much everything about you.
When you start to bring up a funny story from the past they sit there and say, "Oh right, I remember that" and that forces you to either 1) think of something you haven't posted about or 2) drink a lot more. The best option is really a combination of both of those choices, because then not only are you telling something new, but whatever they say in return you'll think is awesome, because you're wasted.
Not that I'm worried about meeting Alexa, after all it seems like she's funny and outgoing, so everything should be good. Plus she lives in Cleveland, which automatically gives native Pittsburghers like myself an opportunity to make fun of the Browns.
The only odd thing is that because I'm posting for Alexa, she's already seen my thoughts here, so she's probably getting all these fantastic new stories ready to wow me with, and I'll be sitting at dinner tonight like an idiot asking her if she's heard the hilarious tale about my dog (I am a Pun Master!) for the 14th time. So quick, someone give me a story. Preferably involving dirty underwear.
Don't ask why.