Today I am going to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
For the first time.
Last week there was a tweet. It was about things I had not ever done. Watched A Charlie Brown Christmas. Ridden a horse. Bought a lottery ticket.Â And eaten a PB&J.
There was shock. There were gasps.
And then this arrived.
People are always quick to tell you when people who work in PR get it wrong. I mean, just last week I was sharing a bad pitch with you. One that came in and said…”Good day, Ali. I was looking at your site xxxx, and I think it’s excellent.”
Oh really? You love my site xxx? Amazing! I’m super flattered. I work hard writing xxx.Â
Seriously, though. I get a lot of bad pitches. I get a lot of copied and pasted emails that I know have been sent to 100 other Canadian mom bloggers. I get a lot of Dear Editor of Cheaper Then Therapys. I get a lot of DEAR AUTHORs. I get a lot of Dear Abigails. No really, I do. Here’s the thing, though. It’s really not hard to do right by bloggers. It just takes a little bit of thinking outside the box and a little bit more time and energy. I mean, I get that it’s easier to throw together a mass email and send it out to every blogger out there and hope that you get a few bites. But wouldn’t it be better to read a little bit more, dig a little bit deeper, develop relationships, pitch to people you love?
I can tell you right nowâ€”this was PR at its very best. Alana didn’t ask me for anything. She didn’t request that I pimp anything new about Kraft peanut butter on my site. She didn’t even send me a press release. Here’s what she did. She read my tweet; she sent this box to me. I haven’t been able to stop smiling. I have told at least 20 people about it. And here I am, writing about it today. Telling some more people about it. And you know why? BECAUSE I WANT TO.
You know what else I want to do?
I want to fill this book.
Because there are other things.
Iâ€™d like to learn to say hello in 50 languages.
Iâ€™d like to walk the red carpet at the Oscars with Emily.
Iâ€™d like to learn to use a sewing machine.
Iâ€™d like to ride an elephant.
I’d like to have a family portrait taken.
I’d like to rid the world of leggings-as-pants.
Iâ€™d like to see my ab muscles.
Iâ€™d like to own a really, really expensive pair of shoes.
Iâ€™d like to watch a meteor shower.
I’d like to have a feature story published in a magazine.
Iâ€™d like to learn to play golf.
I’d like to live in the same place as my sister. And my brother. And my other brother.
I’d like to spend a month dressed as Betty Draper.
Iâ€™d like to watch every Academy Award winning best picture.
Iâ€™d like to stand on the field at Lambeau Field.
I’d like to be in a flash mob. Thriller, obviously.
Iâ€™d like to play the piano again.
I’d like to live off the grid.
I’d like to take a religion class.
Iâ€™d like to learn web design.
One day Iâ€™d like to own an Alfa Romeo.
Iâ€™d like to see Auschwitz.
Iâ€™d like to sit on a jury.
Iâ€™d like to sleep in a castle.
Iâ€™d like to get a tattoo.
Iâ€™d like to own a perfect-fitting bra.
I’d like to recover my kitchen chairs.
Iâ€™d like to visit the Cotswolds in England.
Iâ€™d like to be a contestant on a game show.
Iâ€™d like to go back to school.
Iâ€™d like to attend a royal wedding.
Iâ€™d like to tan on Anguilla.
Iâ€™d like to watch turtles hatch.
I’d like to live in NYC.
I’d like to love running. Or even *like* running.
Iâ€™d like to be at both the Cannes and Sundance film festivals in the same year.
Iâ€™d like to attend the Groundhog Day ceremonies in Punxsutawney.
Iâ€™d like to drinkÂ GuinnessÂ in Ireland.
Iâ€™d like to make pasta from scratch.
Iâ€™d like to have a menu item named after me.
Iâ€™d like to learn to appreciate wine.
Iâ€™d like to see Italy.
Today I’m having a PB&J.Â