New office

My name is Tamara and this is my personal blog. I have been blogging about my life since February of 2004, first as the “T” of T and A where I wrote with my roommate at the time, Allie, then in February of 2006, I went solo and Awkwardly Social was born. The site chronicles from when I was a single, depressed grad student, to a not single but still depressed worker bee with a boyfriend, to when I got dumped on a Monday morning, to when I met my husband, to when we couldn’t get pregnant the “old fashioned” way, to when I was pregnant and sort of boring, to now as I effortlessly transform into one of those egg shaped women reminiscent of Wall-E, AKA a mom blogger.  It’s been a wild decade.

I make my living as a producer.  For reality television.  I seriously love it.  It took me kind of a long time to get here with a lot of work that involved answering phones and making calls for people where I would go, “Hello, so and so, I have so and so on the line,” and then I punch a button and say, “So and so, you’re on with so and so.”  And they would awkwardly fumble around trying to figure out if so and so was really on the phone, and I would wish I was doing something other than being an assistant.  And now I am.   Anyway, that brings me to this next part: (This is very important so PAY ATTENTION!) I don’t talk about my employer or my co-workers, because I respect the fact that they might not want to be associated with the opinions and ideas I express here.

Here’s a longer break down with links if you want to jump around and not read my entire archives: I grew up in a small town in Arizona. I am pretty surprised I survived that with minimal damage. I went to college in a couple of places, starting in Minnesota and ending in Arizona.  Then I went to grad school at USC and got my M.F.A.  I’m still sort of considering going to law school.  What can I say?  I’m an education junkie.

In 2004, I met this guy named Louie, we fell in love, we moved in together, we got a dog. I had no idea what I was doing, and thankfully, I got my ass dumped. Lula, the best dog in all the land, and I moved into a tiny apartment where we spent a lot of time dealing with each other’s hair. It was a dark couple of months. But! There was an incredible thing that happened on Easter Sunday of 2008, I had dinner at a friend’s house. My friend invited this guy over. We sat next to each other until we were the last two people there. I gave him my number. He didn’t call for an entire month. Then he did. And we went on a date. And then he went away. But he flew back for one night and we went on another date. And then finally he came back for good. And we’ve been together ever since. I’m in love.  On these pages I call him Mr. F or S.  We got married in the Beverly Hills Courthouse with a hired witness on September 9th, 2010.  It was perfect. We live in Los Angeles with our babies, Mosie and Manny.  I don’t know how I got so lucky, don’t pinch me, I’d rather not wake up.

Other exciting things you might not know about me: I like signs, cooking, cheapish wine, reading, people watching, listening to bad music, listening to good music, singing karaoke, irony, schadenfreude, my talented friends, Los Angeles, feeling indignant, writing, watching bad movies, popcorn, hot dogs, El Cholo, the desert, the mountains, the Caribbean Sea, margaritas, champagne, tres leches cake, Stilton cheese, picking at scabs, cats, dogs, puppies, kittens, sick days, rainy days, Griffith Park, science fiction, hot coffee with vanilla non-dairy creamer, lists, and the way old books smell.

If you like what you read here, tell me about it. I sometimes close comments on entries because of the spam robots, so if you have something to say about an old post and I’ve closed the comments, the best thing to do is e-mail me. My e-mail address is tkblaich at gmail dot com. I check my e-mail 300,000 times a day. Usually there are only messages about my credit cards being due and that makes me cry, so your e-mail will probably at least be better than that. Unless you’re mean. Don’t be mean. I recently made most of my archives private and have started password protecting a fair amount of my posts. For reasons. It’s not about you, unless you are a person who somehow finds joy in being mean about what I write, which I doubt. If you want the password for a post, drop me a note telling me who you are and I’ll be happy to give you a password.

If I’ve said something about you using your real name and that makes you nervous and/or hate me, please let me know. I don’t want you to be nervous and/or hate me. I am nervous and self-hating enough for all of us.

And finally, I think you have a nice face and you look great today.