Google Yourself

I googled myself and died a little on the inside for a number of reasons:

1. According to linkedin, there is another individual with my name. An amazing individual. A woman who has held executive merchandising and product positions in the following companies: Kate Spade, Burberry, Polo Ralph Lauren, Gap, Martha Stewart, Macy's. Hello classy professional lady who I now consider my alternate self.

2. However, I know this relationship between Glam-Winnie and me-Winnie can never exist. We are on opposite ends of the spectrum. She is in charge of buying fancy things. I am training to be a competitive eater. She has people calling her all the time for fashion advice. I have people calling me from passing cars because they think I'm a prostitute.

3. Depressed, I thought of ways to cheer myself up. Mainly reading my old columns and reminding myself that I am so clever and smart and pretty and brilliant and great and clever. Unfortunately, the only thing the "Pavalier Waily" had going for it (my archived columns) is lost in cyberspace. The "newspaper," and I use the term loosely, has updated its webpage. Since my archived page no longer exists, I am refusing to visit the site again.

4. Thus, Pavalier Waily, your website's daily visits count has lost my 200 daily visits.

5. No, I don't regret burning bridges when I left. Especially my swan song, where I insulted the editors, the quality of the paper, and its random choices for censorship. Whoops.

6. Haha! I was also apparently a cheerleader when I was in high school. Fab-u-lous.