I write Chick Lit, and NO, that’s not Chiclet as in the gum!

Monday finds me diligently scouring my weekend-warped and blasted brain trying to think of an inexpensive way for internet marketing help since not many are reading this Chick Lit Blog O’ Mine, and it’s lost loquaciously and sadly in the Blogosphere.

So here I am at the local junior college querying for help at the Help Desk, trying to find someone CHEAP and pithy and uber-savvy on the internet, whether it be an eager pimple-faced knock-kneed 19-yr-old boy or a 30-something computer software designer, preferably male.

The guy at the Help Desk IS someone who looks like he could help.

Here’s how the convoluted, rather cumbersome conversation went:

Hi, what is your question, ma’am? This young spry skinny pseudo 20-something-year-old asks me. He pushes up his wire-rimmed glasses.

There’s a woman standing there already, whom he is in the midst of helping. I kind of look at her apologetically, not wanting to bust in line ahead of her. We trade wan smiles.

Yes, hi, how are you? I need to find someone – possibly young and technology oriented - who can help me with my blog, someone who knows internet marketing, like, um, how to help me make money on the internet, you know, who knows how to navigate the net pretty well. You know? I say.

The women standing next to me smirks.

What for? What precisely are you trying to do? He says.

Oh I need help with that, too! The woman next to me says, understanding exactly what I am so sadly trying to convey.

Sure, she understands but HE does not seem to get it.

Hello? I just SAID I am trying to find someone to HELP ME. But I say to him:

Well, I know that I'm just a middle-aged woman who doesn’t know all the right terminology, but I have this blog, you see, and I am trying to get traffic to my blog. Nobody’s reading it, you see, except for the random mix of sympathetic friends I’ve sent my URL to…so, um, I just need help.

The woman standing next to me, let’s call her Abigail Everheart, laughs out loud. I’m middle aged too! She exclaims.

I throw her a smile.

What kind of blog is it? He asks, and while we're at it, let's call him Worley E. Wormwood.

Oh, um, I write Chick Lit.

Worley E. Wormwood gives me a blank stare.

Oh I love Chick Lit! Abigail Everheart says. How wonderful!

Chiclet? What’s THAT? Worley's eyes immediately glaze over. I’ve seen this look before. It’s usually what I get once I tell someone what I used to do for a living, which is analogous to boredom-ensued careers such as tax preparer, undertaker, and the like. But at the moment I am a Jobless Wonder and I don’t have to tell people what I do anymore so their eyes don't glaze over, like a wandering-eyed deer in headlights.

There’s a semblance of how I perceive myself: overweight, under-employed, over-educated, middle-aged, quirky, bizarre, idiotic when it comes to a zillion things, including technology, the computer, and the internet. In this mixed bag of what-I-don’t-understand or relate to also includes men, specifically young men aged 12 through 29 years old, except if I’m making out with them IF THEY ARE OF AGE. For those of age, our libidos DO seem to match, but that’s altogether another story.

Abigail Everheart laughs again and I laugh with her.

It’s literature for women, you know, like those films your girlfriend might make you see. I explain to him.

But I don’t have a girlfriend, he says. Chiclet? Worley E. Wormwood repeats.

Okay, well have you ever seen a movie with Meg Ryan? Or seen the movie Bridget Jones’s Diary – romantic comedy stuff?

Oh yeah, right. But his eyes glaze over AGAIN.

We're not getting anywhere here.

So this is how the rest of my day’s been. It’s such a Monday. And it's dragging on whimsically distressed.

I did happen to exchange phone numbers with Abigail Everheart. But Worley E. Wormwood and I have NADA in common, and he was never able to help me.

Maybe it’s time for Fantasy Job Monday, in which I dream about what I’d rather be doing.

Well I am blogging and I do like to do this. I’m just not getting the traffic I’d like. Maybe that will change soon. I certainly hope so. Maybe I'll send Abigail Everheart this Chick Lit blog URL!