You're Never Weird On The Internet (Almost) [sampler]

[Dear Wattpad reader] + [Introduction]

Dear Wattpad reader—

HOLY CRAP, you are currently about to read an excerpt of my memoir?!!? (Is this what it's like to feel popular? What a pleasant feeling!)

Let me give you a sense of what you can expect from this excerpt. So you can theoretically get jazzed to read it. No pressure, Felicia . . . Panic attack . . . Where's my Xanax? . . . I don't take Xanax . . . Googles side effects of Xanax . . . Clicks on related WebMD article about anxiety disorders . . . Second panic attack . . . What am I doing here again?! Telling people about what's in my book excerpt, right:

Embarrassing diary entries? CHECK.

Tumblr-style photos with sassy but relatable chyrons? CHECK.

Confessions about my childhood I never wanted anyone to know but have to talk about because there are all those pages to fill with words and stuff? CHECK.

A slice of my life as a digital misfit? DOUBLE TRIPLE INFINITY CHECK.

I owe my whole career to technology. From homeschooled outcast to Hollywood actress to entrepreneur, all along the way the internet gave me ways to embrace who I am so I didn't have to feel as alone in this world about my weirdness.

I mean, I still feel alone and weird sometimes, but it helps to be able to connect with other people online who feel weird, too. Bonus: I can do it all from behind my computer screen so I don't have to LOOK at anyone! Or comb my hair. Or wear pants. TMI? Yeah, that's in the book too.

Anyway, I hope my story illustrates why it's an amazing time to be alive. For all of us.

(Please read the excerpt. I want to keep this popular feeling going. Because it really is quite pleasant.)

XOXOX

Felicia

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[Introduction]

Whereby I introduce myself to people who have no idea who the hell I am, but have found themselves in possession of this book. Welcome, stranger!

I recently experienced the perfect summary of my career at a Build-A-Bear store inside a suburban mall in Lancaster, California.

Okay, sure, a single adult woman in her thirties with no children might not necessarily pick that as the first place to kill an hour of her life. But I'd never been inside one before, and I'd already spent twenty minutes outside like a creepster, watching actual legitimate customers (mostly toddlers) go inside and, like modern-day demigods, craft the companion of their dreams. At a certain point, after eating two Auntie Anne's pretzels, I decided to throw off the societal yoke of judgment.

Get in there, Felicia! Build yourself a stuffed friend. No one's around to witness your weakness!

So I entered, told the saleswoman I was browsing for "a nephew," and proceeded to spend forty-five minutes trying to decide what design to get. My mom wasn't there, so I could take as long as I wanted. Unfortunately.

There was a six-legged octopus that almost took my heart, but after much agonizing, I settled on a stuffed Santa Claus. Because it was July, and a stuffed old man doll seemed more ironic. (The hipster attitude helped get me over the shame that I was buying a STUFFED ANIMAL FOR MYSELF.)

I moved on to the accessories aisle to dress my Santa. And proceeded to have a small panic attack. Because my impulse was to dress him in a flouncy pink tutu, but it was a small town and I didn't know if it would offend the saleswoman to make Santa a cross-dresser. But then I thought a liberal stance on the issue might, in a small way, help promote transgender rights in the area . . . when I turned to see four hip girls standing at the end of the aisle. Staring at me.