When I first moved to San Diego, I was making a nice living, and I bought a lot of silly gadgets for no other reason than that I like gadgets. One of my favorite purchases was a Roomba, a little robot vacuum cleaner that works wonderfully on my laminate floors in my 400-square-foot apartment.

I love this thing. I have a cat, and she and I both shed plenty of dark hair. I just turn this little guy loose, and he catches all the dust bunnies while I work.

Lately, he’s developed a cough. More of a moan, really. I’m fearful that my Roomba is on his way out.

As a freelance copywriter, a Roomba is not essential equipment, but the little rattle that my laptop is making right now is quite worrisome. What if my laptop goes out? I have a backup system, but who can afford $1200 for a new one right now? And my BlackBerry is giving me trouble of late with the trackball.

I have to keep all my essential equipment in tiptop shape all the time, since I can’t afford any types of catastrophe. I’m a one-woman shop with one (raspy) computer, one (sticky button) cell phone, one (cranky, outdated) all-in-one printer.  I can’t afford to replace them.

Fingers crossed here.

I’m officially training now for my second marathon on June 1, 2008, with the lofty goal of coming in under 5 hours.

I train with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training crew, and I need to do my part in raising money. I plan to add a permanent link to my right column here, plus I may add a page where you can keep up with the adventures of a pudgy marathoner. In the meantime, I’d love your support.

As an added bonus to clicking on the following link, you get to see a ridiculous picture of me as I crossed the finish line at the Carlsbad half marathon.

http://www.active.com/donate/tntsdh/beth

Thanks for your support. They do good work.

Last night I was reclining in a bubble bath, drinking a delightful concoction of Absolut Mandrin and cranberry juice over ice in a pint glass from Arrogant Bastard Ale.

I was fascinated by the label:

A copywriter somewhere wrote this copy. It’s genius. It’s flawless. Every apostrophe is perfect. I realized as I read this pint glass that I could never be talented enough to write for Arrogant Bastard Ale. The copywriter had an extreme understanding of the tone the company wanted to convey. S/he developed the perfect cadence of words. S/he understood the audience much better than I could. S/he made a label that makes people want to share the blurb with their friends because they’d all get a chuckle.

When I’m writing about energy service professionals or online registration companies or neuroscience nursing conferences, no one will chuckle over my words. Perhaps I’m persuasive sometimes, and maybe I’m helpful other times. But very rarely will one send my copy to a college buddy with a note that says, “Dude, check this s**t out.” And the copywriter at Arrogant Bastard Ale has achieved that level of writing.

Before the bath last night, I frequently told clients I could write for any audience. I’ll have to amend that.

I’m almost to the point of actually paying a professional photographer whatever the heck he wants to take a professional shot of me for my newsletter, bios, etc. This is driving me crazy.

The videographer at the video shoot the other day took some pics while we were getting things set up. He told me it was to test the lighting. He just sent me a few shots, and I’m tempted to use one for the professional shot.

Am I closer?

The “please don’t” look…

The rosy-glow senior graduation pic I never took…

The “chatting with the ladies from ‘The View’” look…

Want to know more of the headshot saga? Read on….

The very first headshot post, where I admit my photo phobia

The original headshot post, where I reveal my request for help to my ex-boyfriend was the last straw in our relationship

The updated headshot post, where I give up and create a cartoon

Early this morning I was driving home when the phone rang.

“I just wanted to make sure we were still on for 8:30 this morning,” said my client.

“Absolutely,” I said. “I’m on my way into the office.”

I answered her honestly, but I felt a little funny. My office is in my living room. It’s precisely 15 percent of my 400-square-foot apartment near downtown San Diego. I know the numbers because I just measured for the home-office deduction on my taxes.

I never hide the fact that I have a home office. My clients have heard my cat meow at my feet, and they’ve had to wait a second for me to answer the door when a neighbor drops by. These days no one seems to care if one works from home. But I’d still enjoy an official office sometimes.

Yesterday I stopped by my post office box for a moment, and I ran across the sign in this picture.  In suite 205-E, a writer has an office. And outside Trader Joe’s Grocery Store, she has this sign. I keep envisioning a sign here at Avenue Z. Would I just stick one in the window, right under the Christmas cards I haven’t taken down yet? How about a nice yard sign with a stake?