• I have no discipline – I can’t tell you how many projects I’ve started over the years that have not come to completion. In my mind the last time I really worked at something I consider disciplined was when I worked out six days a week for six months without missing. That was ten years ago. Ten years before that I sat in my basement and mastered a Joe Satriani piece entitled Day at the Beach on the guitar. That’s it. I have ADD which is great for creativity but not with staying on task. Somehow I was able to just make this a must every day. I missed most of my flossing, but I never missed writing. No idea how I did it. Am I a superhero? Sure. Why not?

• I never thought I could write every day (with decent content) – Before this I only wrote if I had something I pondered for a few days and I was absolutely certain was going to be well-received. As a result of this strategy, I almost never produced. I waited for home runs which rarely came. After day seven in January I had run out of home runs. Nothing had happened that particular day and I was screwed. Within a few months I realized I was developing improv chops. Since my average day is pretty boring and I don’t have great stories from my past I focused on finding the humor and emotion in everyday life. While not easy, after 365 straight reps, the muscle is now well-developed.

• Readers relate to honesty – Frankly, I always considered myself a humorist. I am funny. That’s my thing. But when I started this year I was into a new relationship, but still healing from my divorce. I had a lot of anger, sadness, fear and shame that was bubbling to the surface. While terrifying to me, I decided to take the plunge and write about these feelings without the need to pepper them with jokes. Comedy often did come up naturally, but it wasn’t something I manually added to make the posts more readable. What happened was that my comments increased significantly. Readers seemed to appreciate the raw honesty and I believe people felt more connected to me and the work.

•  Engagement is the key – I have always wanted to build a community with this blog. The only way I know how to do this (since I write about myself) was to engage the readers. Even though I’m still over 400 comments behind, my goal is to reply to every single comment. I don’t do this because it will “get” me more loyalty, although it does often do that. I remember seeing Ozzy Osbourne once talking about his fans and he almost started crying saying how grateful he is to have people that want to listen to his music. I’m not half as talented as him, but I feel the same. The fact that someone wants to read my stuff still blows me away. So, thank you!

• Put my head down and write – I have long since retired the idea of being famous from a blog. My posts won’t go viral. My readership increases by a handful every day. That’s it. No shortcuts. And I’ve learned so much of life is just hard-work. And that’s the good news. Hard work beats out talent almost every time. With hard work I can hit singles and doubles every day. I’ll leave the home runs to the book I’d like to pen. Other than that, it’s just a matter of getting up early and making the donuts.

Well, that’s it. I also learned you sickos love posts about genitals, farts, sadness, shame, anything where I end up embarrassing myself, and videos where I don’t realize I’m making a joke until after I’ve made it and then laugh hysterically at my own wit. Okay, maybe not the last one.

This will be my first speaking event where I address bloggers. I’m grateful to have been asked and over the past few months have tried to create a worthwhile presentation/discussion for attendees. My topic is about taking risks with your writing and trusting in your abilities.

When I was at BlogHer I was in a half-day seminar with thirty women. During one exercise we lined up on spectrum where one end represented “confusion” and the other end “clarity.” We were asked where we believe we are with our blog content. I just assumed everyone was confident about their writing and so I made my way over to the “clarity” side. Well, it was just me and two other women. The rest of the group was at the “confusion” side.

I felt like an egotistical dick. Who was I to feel confident about my crap? But I did feel confident – not egotistical, but comfortable. I’m not a good writer. I know this. I need to learn more about writing. But, I am clear about what I want this blog to be, and I feel damned competent.  My blog has always been about three things – humor, honesty, and vulnerability. While it started out as humor-only site I quickly realized I was not going to be able to hit joke  home runs  every day. I needed to expand my offering if I was to create any regular content. Jokes take too long to perfectly craft.  Over time I started to add in stuff (non-funny, mostly) about my day.

When I started experimenting with non-funny content, I was in the middle of a divorce. I had many feelings, mostly sadness and anger, that were  constant.  I wrote about these experiences. Even though I would pepper each post with jokes, it was primarily a confessional of what was going on in my life.

Growing up I thought if I was funny people would think I was cool. And yes, if you’re funny, people like you. Girls will dig you. But I thought if I shared my pain and sadness and anger, you’d see I was a big screw up and run away. Ironically, making a lot of jokes will almost guarantee that people will not feel close to you. I have best friends with whom I never shared anything  substantive. It took a lot of years to face pain that I’ve avoided myself. By learning how to courageously tell my loved ones about my struggle, they have felt closer to me and we have connected at a deeper level. The same has happened with my readers. So now when I write I always start with one question.

Do I have the courage today to write about what’s really going on?

Then, a second question.

What is really going on?

I realized the other day that I never have written about fear. I rant constantly about anger, sadness and shame, but never about fear. And the truth is that I’m terrified of many things. Scared that my girlfriend will leave me (like my wife did). Scared that I won’t ever make the money I want to make at my day job (or get fired). Scared that my readers will leave over time.

Fear is the hardest thing for me to address. Ironically, fear is a deep, connecting experiences. When I have exposed my shadows, this has done more to increase readership than the dad dick stories I’ve penned. I am insanely proud of those stories, by the way. I do have a mom vagina story that I need to write, too, but it’s not about my mom’s vagina. It’s about vagina advice my mother gave me. Oh yes. It’s good.

When I address everyone this Friday, even though I’m doing twenty-five minutes, I can really sum it up in two sentences.

Write the truth like you wouldn’t notice if your entire audience left. And, if they do leave, keep writing as a new audience will funnel in for the second show.

photo credit: Garrett Crawford via photopin cc

Being on top of Google was when I started obsessing about traffic. Even though my blog was only a few months old I was receiving an insane amount of visitors. If I slipped to #2 that day my traffic would go down by a third.  Since I had no control over what Google was doing I would feel good if I had a certain amount of traffic – then I would feel awful if I had a day with low numbers.

Once I got booted off Google’s first page, I took to Twitter. Having just surpassed 25k followers, I can tell you that I’m pretty happy with that number. I’d like it to be 250k, but that’s because my ego tells me that more equals better. It actually does equal more opportunity, but I’m grateful for the readers I have today. Seriously – if you tweet me, I almost always tweet back. I so dig you guys.

After all the ups and downs I now rarely look at my traffic or Twitter count. Both are  far beyond my control. I just have to keep my head down and write. That’s what I do best.

However – even though I preach to “ignore pageviews, SEO, Twitter followers, Facebook likes,” I have a secret shame. Yes, I largely ignore all of the above.

BUT I LIVE AND DIE BY THE NUMBER OF COMMENTS I RECEIVE.

Yesterday, for example, I thought I wrote a great post. Only two people commented. Now, it’s Labor Day. People ain’t reading my blog. They’re too busy bitching about having to spend time in the backyard with in-laws and well-done burgers. Also, maybe that content didn’t resonate as well with my readers (but how could it have not? I wrote it!). Or maybe people are just sick of reading my stuff every day and needed a break.

Who knows? Who cares?

I do.

The challenge with blog comments is that you can’t ignore them unless you never visit your own site. They’re right there, front and center. Plus, I like to respond to comments when I can. If there are few (like yesterday), I’m mildly devastated.

I’m going to be speaking at AimingLow’s Non-Con this October and plan to do a few minutes on “ignore number of comments” to bloggers. But I’m a big fraud, because I can’t ignore them.

I haven’t yet been able to view the number and not have an emotional reaction.

Yes, I see that hundreds of  people read the post. But only three commented! I’m a failure!

Look, I’m human and insecure. I need approval. I’m a blogger for chrissakes. I’m working on not associating comments with self-esteem. But I’m not there yet.

Many other bloggers struggle with this, too. There’s a joke – “How do you get a blogger to stop writing? Stop commenting.” Okay, it’s not a good joke and I just made it up. But it’s true enough.

So here’s what I’m  going to ask you to do – continue to comment/not comment as usual.  I need to learn that comments are beyond my control. Like my glue addiction.

Now, if you feel that you need to tell me how sexy insecurity, vulnerability, humor and honesty is – I will absolutely encourage that behavior. I’m the whole package, ladies.

photo credit: wili_hybrid via photo pin cc

I am cursed.  Cursed I tell ye!

Well, not really.  But I do have this weird body thing.  I’m wired up to always have extreme energy.  I tap my foot constantly, talk fast, and generally act like a spaz.  Call it ADD or whatever.  The bummer is that I can’t take traditional meds for this because my body is also wired for addiction.  Taking amphetamines isn’t a good idea.  Same reason why I can’t drink, use drugs, or do caffeine.  I kind of love it too much.

There are non-stimulant medicines, but they work just slightly.  So that leaves a bunch of other stuff I must do in order to get rid of this excess energy.

If I don’t get rid of the energy it comes out in all sorts of weird ways.  I can get really angry at things that are meaningless.  Just this afternoon I was pretty much yelling at my girlfriend because she didn’t take every piece of advice I had for her on a job interview.  I clearly know exactly what she should be doing.  Why isn’t she blindly accepting all of my genius?  Doesn’t it sound fun to date me?

But, like a stoner after a bongload from the Graffix two-footer, had I run a few miles there’s no way I would have the energy or the inclination to shame my girlfriend.  I would have purged all that energy out.

Also, I am not one of those guys that just lives to exercise.  I’m being a little unfair, as I do ride my bike 20 miles each day (to and from work).  While this sounds like a lot of cardio, and it is a decent amount, it’s really not enough for me.  I’m still a little bit of a spaz afterwards.  However, I don’t understand guys who can’t wait to get to the gym!  But it’s a good idea to lift a few weights and run a mile or two.  The science is in on exercise.

For the first time in forever, tomorrow after I get home I’m heading to the gym to do a quick 45 minute strength workout.  Will I bust out of my shirt like Lou Ferrigno?  You know I will.

Aside from exhausting my body, what else can I do?  Two things come to mind.  Yoga and meditation.  These are both integrative experiences to bring the attention to the present of the body and mind.  However, I don’t do these either.  But I’m going to do a seven minute meditation tonight.  I’m looking for a yoga thing via Groupon or something so I can try it out.  Not sure which one is best for me.  Hopefully not the one where everyone farts during baby-pose.

Here’s my formula for being a normal, non-shithead:

Healthy eating + cardio/weights + therapist + intimate connections with people + medicine + integrated activity (yoga, etc.) + honesty and vulnerability on this blog = Healthy D.J.

Oh, and when I make fun of your comments below, I’m not being a shithead.  You deserve it.

photo credit:  The Eggplant  via  photo pin  cc

Now, mind you, by me sharing what I’m about to share, I am terrified you’re going to think I’m the biggest narcissistic douche on the planet.  But I assure you, I’m not.  I have a therapist that will attest to my relative well-being.

But I haven’t revealed something  embarrassing  and vulnerable in awhile.

I bike to work every day.  If you’re a regular reader you know all about this.  It burns a few calories, is fun for my dog (she rides in a backpack), and I get to see the beach and lake in Chicago.  I usually listen to podcasts and music on the way in.  It’s about a forty-five minute ride.

Once every so often, I turn off the sound halfway through.  Today was one of those days.

This morning, on my bicycle, I interviewed myself, in my head, for twenty five minutes.

No joshing.

I’d like to start by saying, this is not exactly an ego trip.  I’ve been interviewed a few times in real life and I never even go back and listen/watch them.  Not because I’m too cool to do so, but that it’s way too embarrassing.  Plus, I think I always sound like a goof.  I don’t actively seek out interviews, and it’s not my dream to be on  The Tonight Show.

But, truth be told, I do find myself damned interesting.  In this self-interviews I ask myself how I got started writing, and how I watched comedians growing up instead of sports on television.  I talk about how my readers seem to resonate with honesty, vulnerability and humor.  I talk about how building a base of readers takes a long time, but I’m putting in the effort and writing every day.

I ask myself what goals I have, and I sheepishly say, “Well, one day I’d like to do this full-time, but that’s years down the road.  Maybe write a book, who knows?”

I even ask myself, “Where do you get your ideas.”  And then…  Then I fucking answer.

But again, I swear this isn’t about me looking like a big shot.  I just love the idea of talking about myself.  To myself.  In a weird way it’s kind of a meditation to learn more about myself.  A process to ask questions that I have to answer.

I would just like to say that I really have no desire to become famous or anything like that.  If I can just keep writing and you keep reading, that’s enough for me.  I think.  No, wait.  I’m lying.  I would love to become well-known.  Ugh, honesty is tough.

So, whether I’m a narcissist or just a guy with dreams of making a living off his blog, I’d love to feel less alone on this one.  Please tell me you pretended it was you instead of Kate Middleton, or that you sing into your hairbrush, or that when you’re cooking you imagine you’re on  Top Chef  or something.  I’m sort of catering to the chicks on those example.  Guys, find an appropriate fantasy for you.

Now, I’m going to drown out some of this shame with a Fresca.

Whenever I’m afraid to share something because I’m ashamed is exactly the time to do it.

I’m mostly afraid to share hard truth.  This was how I lived up until a few years ago – I was always a very nice, outgoing person, but one that was terrified for you to see my imperfection.  Because I thought it meant I was defective.  And even though we’re all somewhat defective, as is the human condition, I thought I could be doing just a little better if I really tried.

• I could make more money
• Be more fit and muscular
• Better satisfy my girlfriend/wife (yes, that way, and every other way)
• Take care of my home and pets better
• Get a better, more satisfying job

And since I lived in the world of “you could do better if you really tried” I was always ashamed of my present situation.  Which means I couldn’t handle it, and I was too scared that you couldn’t either.  That you would run if you knew just how little I truly accomplished.

This, not surprisingly, is probably where I developed my ability to entertain through humor.  I found that if you’re truly funny, which is somewhat rare, people will accept you.  Also, they will be kept at a distance, but it’s a safe distance.

Okay, enough psychobabble.  Truth – I don’t want to share these photos as I’m at my fattest.  While not evident on these pictures, the face is fatter that I’d like it to be.

So, despite this insane fear as I-know-you-don’t-really-give-a-shit, here are some headshots taken from my good friend Liz Markel at Tipping Point Photography.

Oh, and by the way, these are headshots for my literary debut as contributing editor for Urban Gentleman Magazine.  I wrote three stories, and even avoided using choice  expletives.

And while I don’t believe we can heal others with our positive thoughts, or in crystals or guardian angels, I do believe in meeting someone at the right time that can border on magic.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know that I  invited a reader to fly up and spend Thanksgiving with me and my family.

Then, over New Years, I visited her in Atlanta, and even had a small ThoughtsFromParis reader party!

Since then Jessica and I have made future plans to spend time in February in Chicago.  Then, in the spring we’re heading to a wedding out in San Francisco.  So, this is moving along nicely.  We speak every day, and we really focus on talking about honesty, insecurity, and needs.

And dating me is not a bed of roses.  I’m awesome at being self-absorbed, distant, critical, and non-compassionate.  I also seem to make women cry.  I’m in therapy though.  Working on it.

But despite whether I’m a dickhead in the relationship or not, she and I have to stay together.  Why?

We both have weird fixations on shed cat whiskers.

I wrote a tweet last July about how I ate a cat whisker.  I found it on the kitchen counter, and I had never seen one around before, so I thought it would be funny to eat it.  It was funny.  At least to me.

As I was telling Jessica this story recently, she went dead silent on the phone.  Here’s what happened next.

I, too, have a weird thing with cat whiskers.

Explain!

I used to collect them and put them in a bag.

(alarmed)  Uh, why?

I thought you were supposed to keep them.

(more alarmed)  For what?

I don’t know.  I never really thought about it.

What did you do with them?

I brought them into the vet during a regular checkup, and pulled out the bag.  The vet said, “Why did you bring those in here?”  I said, “I thought I was supposed to keep them.”  He looked at me funny and told me to throw them away.

You’re obviously making this up to goof on me for eating one.

I wish I was.

Scene

How could we not end up together.  Kismet!

Why?

Because I think people don’t know what the hell to think when they visit my site for the first time.

• Am I from Paris, France?
• Is this about a trip I took to France?

And let’s be honest, nobody cares about anything from France.  I mean, I get a few French visitors every week, but I don’t need any more smelly folks hanging around.

I don’t necessarily need a tagline that clarifies, “I’m not actually from France” or that my last name is Paris (it is), but I want people to know that this is a blog about humor, vulnerability, and honesty.  You know, girl stuff.

It needs to be short, and something that can fit under my title. The Bloggess has a great tagline. “Like Mother Teresa Only Better.”  Noa Gavin has “I’m Funnier Than Your Grandma.”  Both awesome.

So, what do you think, readers?  Write your suggestion below in the comments.  If you don’t help me, I’m going to have to figure it out myself.  And that just plain sucks.

Wow – I just read that back.  That's super-depressing.

Since this is a humor site, I have a pretty big hill to climb to take you from that place of darkness to levity.  I'm up for the challenge.  And I'll do it using a classic.

I actually only know three jokes (two are about Helen Keller), but this one is my absolute favorite joke of all time.

And it's even safe to tell children, so gather the kids around mom's netbook.

D.J.'s Greatest Joke He Knows (But Didn't Write)

How did the  mathematician solve his constipation problem?

He worked it out with a pencil.

I know – it's great.  I must have read that (yes, read) over 20 years ago, and it still holds up.

Feel better?  I thought so.

Now, back to denial.

In divorce, I've found that the most rampant use of denial is when I find myself obsessing over judgment of my ex-wife's behavior.  Since she continue to puzzle me with decisions that are seemingly inconsistent with rationality, I can spend a LOT of time thinking about how screwed up that is.

What's the payoff for me?  I feel better about myself!  â€At least I'm not that big of a bozo!” I shout at the dog.

I'm not trying to be purposely cruel speaking about my ex.  I'm certain if you asked her, she could create a laundry list of my crazy.  But this isn't her blog.

When I'm busy obsessing about the insanity of her actions, what am I really doing?  Well,   I'm sure my therapist would agree that I'm using judgment as a distraction from dealing with my own stuff.  I have grown to understand that my feelings are always true, but the thoughts and  judgments  about my feelings are often defense mechanisms to protect my own  dysfunction.

Denial – plain and simple.

So, when I find out that my wife is still keeping my last name, despite how angry that makes me, spending three days barking about it   is probably unhealthy.  Why do I obsess?  Because I take it as an attack – which it's not.  It's just weird ex behavior, and apparently that sort of thing is common in divorce.

So, for me, it's important to identify my own stuff which I'm denying.  Like the fact that the reason I get so angry is because I think this is something being done TO me.

The truth is, when I strip away my own ego, I don't really give a shit if she keeps my last name.  I mean, at least we still have a doctor with the last name Paris.   My best guess is she probably just likes the name.   Seems like a stupid reason to me, but whatever.   I ate a gigantic pickle last night for fun at 10:30pm.   We all do dumb stuff.

Okay, enough bashing my ex-wife, who, truth be told, is mostly a lovely person.  I spoke to her the other day we found ourselves crying together thinking about a pleasant memory.  It was a nice way to go out, and it very well may be the last real conversation we ever have.

Since I will eventually re-enter the dating world and start pursuing relationships and intimate connections, it's important to take a look back and see what was learned, and what needs to be changed.

Here's a short list of poor decisions I made during the courtship and marriage which may have caused its downfall.

Let's get started.

5 Things That May Have Contributed To My Divorce

1. Using Up All Romance In The Engagement – We were in Bali for a vacation, and I scheduled a helicopter to take us a remote beach, set up one of those picnics in the sand things where we were totally alone for an hour.  Plus, I told my then-girlfriend   that this was just a “small fun activity” that I had planned over a month ago, and that I didn't even really remember what it was.  Then, I waited until minute 59 to actually pull the ring out of my shorts and propose.  The problem is that I only had maybe one of those romantic gestures in me.  You can't go up from there.  It's all downhill.  Once I think I washed her hair when we took a shower together a few years later, but that was about as romantic as I got.
   

   Lesson Learned?  Build UP the romance – next proposal, I'm going to just hide the ring in her birth control clamshell case (one of the sugar days, obviously).   I will be able to consistently best that one.

2. Bathing Too Much – I am a bath junkie.  When I met my wife, I was putting in a good three baths a week.  I'm such a bath whore, I don't even use them as a way to get clean.  It's pure recreation.  I still shower every morning, but nighttime is bathtime.  I load up with some food and a beverage, bring a book and my laptop, and slip into awesomeness.   One time my wife came home and saw that I was eating peel and eat shrimp and reading the latest Dean Koontz novel.   She became concerned for my sanity, especially when I tried to flush the shrimp shells down the toilet (I mean, it's right there!).
   

   Lesson Learned? If you're going to do stuff in the bath, let's limit it to washing, conditioning, and rinsing.   If you absolutely have to read, buy a copy of “How To Be Super Present With Your Gal” and show her what you're bringing into the bath.   Then pull out your copy of Penthouse you have stashed in the toilet tank after the door is locked.

3. Never Cooking – This one is about managing expectation.   I love to cook – it's super easy.   You just hit up an online recipe, read the reviews, and follow instruction.   That's all there is to it.   And I made the mistake of telling my wife before our first date, that this was a passion of mine.   In fact, it WAS our first date.   I prepared a meal and had her over.   The problem is, I'm insanely lazy once I've seen you naked.   I live alone now, and if I cook something impressive for myself once a month, that's a lot.   It's a ton of frozen pizzas and rotisserie chickens from the grocery.   So, it's not like I didn't cook for her – I just didn't cook much.   But a wife feels that you must not care enough about her if you're not cooking once in awhile.
   

   Lesson Learned? Pretend that you're interested in the idea of cooking, but that you're all thumbs, and really screw up a meal.   Douse a chicken and mushroom dish with tons of paprika.   Tell her you're sorry if it's not good.   It won't be.   Then, you won't be asked again to cook.

4. Not Reigning In The Farting – 'Nuff Said
   

   Lesson Learned?   Go see the gastroenterologist and sign up for their experimental treatment program.   Even if it involves a partial lobe lobotomy, it could be worth it.   Your marriage is at stake.

5. Eating A Skin Tag – I have this running joke that whenever a woman I know gives birth, I tell them to eat the placenta because I hear it gives you super-powers.   I'm not sure why, but that is funny to me.   Anyway, one day I was sitting naked at my wife's computer (which is totally normal behavior for a well-adjusted man, by the way), and she noticed something on my back.   She told me I had a “skin tag” and she would cut it off for me.   Since I was busy looking at the latest Cats That Look Like Hitler photo, I grunted, “Okay.”   My wife grabbed the kitchen shears, and cut the thing off.   As she is a   pet surgeon, I was not worried.   However, I noticed she didn't scrub in and I received no anesthetic or stitches.   Just a quick snip.   So, then she presented the removed skin tag to me – it was the size of a pencil eraser.   I played with it for a moment and rolled it around   my fingers.   Then, for a laugh, I plopped it in my mouth and swallowed.   I thought this was hilarious.   She was appalled.   I mean, she seriously freaked out.   Again, this was just skin, and I was probably fresh off a bath, so what's the big deal?   I can't just throw it down the garbage disposal!   That's not cool.
   

   Lesson Learned? Next time, just throw away all skin tags that are cut off my body.   When you eat things that are severed from your skin, as funny as you think it is, other people will believe that you're nuts.   Plus, from a taste level, it was maybe only a 3.

So this is a start.   Ladies, if you're reading and had any sort of attraction for me prior to reading this, I'm sure that has doubled.   I read recently in Seventeen that what girls want most in a man is honesty.   Well, there's some honestly.   Oh, here's some more honesty, now that I'm thinking about it – I have an En Vogue song on my iPod.   Actually, two.