To: People who write me asking me to post more

Fr: The chick who has two blogs, a full time job, and a life

RE: Ways to annoy me

Dear Annoying Blog Commenter Gentle Reader,
So? Hi. Thanks for reading my blog. It’s very flattering that you like my writing so much. So flattering that I am going to ask you to do me a favor… Could you please take your comments asking me to post more and shove them up your extremely annoying and obviously unused asshole keep them to yourself?

See, here’s the thing… I have a job. A pretty demanding job where I have to deal with monkeyfuckers comedians actors monkeyfuckers all day long. The job isn’t requiring 80+ hours a week like last year, but it much more taxing on my creativity. Which means that I am having a harder time coming up with the “funny” to post to my blog(s). I like to tell people that I have great big thoughts, it’s just really hard to get them out the little tiny door in my brain.

I also have a hobby that takes up quite a bit of my time. I really love my hobby, so much so that I created a second blog devoted to it. I post there mostly about my hobby and somewhat about my life. I post there mostly now, to be honest.

That’s where you come in. You found my blog somehow, most likely by my appearance on another very famous blog, and took to heart my flippant suggestion to get your own damn blog. And you did. Good for you! You’re a new blogger now, you go!

While you’re going you might want to try and find blog commenter etiquette. Because twice in as many weeks you have commented on my blog that you want me to post more. And twice in as many weeks I have restrained myself from writing you back and telling you to get a fucking life. There’s nothing like sitting groggily down at the computer, barely awake, coffee in hand and finding some jackass comment in your email telling you to entertain them. The only person who is allowed to ask me to entertain them is my boyfriend, and he’s usually naked when that happens.

Which brings me to the long and windy point of this memo: I blog for me. And only for me. I am aware that other people read what I write, but writing isn’t my job. More specifically, writing to entertain you is not my job. Stop asking. It makes me cranky and then I don’t want to write at all, because I am totally stubborn like that. And petty.

I’m not your damn monkey, fucker. Anyway, thanks for being such a fan!

Love ya! Mean it!

I really want him to win, people.  And I need your help. The contest ends tomorrow 12-24-2006 CST.

Vote for Michael here.  Scroll down about 2/3 of the page, the button is on the right hand side.

I’m having a contest on slowknitter for a yarn giveaway for voting for him.  If you’re into that you can go there and leave a note in my comments to be entered to win some yarn.

Thanks everyone!  You are awesome.

Other phone calls are equally life changing. At the time, though, you simply don’t know that your life is going to change forever with that one phone call. You have no idea that one simple phone call will open the door to a world more beautiful, more full, more real than the one you live in now.

One phone call.

It leads to an evening of talking, of opening yourself to possibility. It leads to a kiss.

And a second phone call. A second date. And the idea that you might really like this guy.

Another phone call, this time from farther away.

And you stand in the driveway, closing the phone as you say good night. You stand there on a cold Christmas night listening to the snow as it starts to fall. Every year since you’ve been on your own you’ve stood outside alone on Christmas Eve listening to a peaceful silence. This year you say thank you. And you make a wish.

Another call and the dawn of a new year. You’re fighting now. A cold and your fear. You’re not sure if your Christmas wish is going to come true after all.

More calls. More kindnesses. Almost always there is laughter in those calls.

Months pass, and everyday a call comes. Even if you’ve seen him just a few hours before.

You’re together now in an elevator. And you very quietly say “I Love You”. It slipped out. You didn’t mean to say it, but you did. He didn’t hear you, or he’s pretending he didn’t hear you. Either way you feel like you dodged a bullet.

But.

You meant it.

More calls. This time from farther away. You meet somewhere beautiful and hot. He’s tired, but he’s always happy to see you. And you miss him when you go home.

You call everyday.

Somewhere in between all those calls you realize you’re changing. Lines you drew in the sand have disappeared. So many of the walls you’ve built to protect yourself have slipped away. Rather than fight you just change your mind. You’re beginning to see the whole rather than just your part in it.

A year has passed. It’s the hardest year for you yet. It’s also the happiest. A card comes with the words you’ve been wanting to hear. And then he says it to you. You knew he felt that way. But now. Now you really know.

Another late silent Christmas Eve. You’re outside again, alone in your little ritual. He’s coming in a few days. You are happy.

More phone calls. You can talk on the phone like you talk in person. Hours can go by just laughing. He’s only eight miles away, but you still want to hear his voice before you go to sleep.

Your job doesn’t let you spend as much time with him as you would like. The day it ends he gets a phone call that will take him away for a few months. It’s always that way.

Your calls to each other describe the days. You meet again somewhere beautiful and hot. You miss him more this time.

He’s home now and you’re back at work. The hours aren’t as brutal. You still spend hours on the phone talking. And laughing.

Another call comes and he’s gone again, this time to some place cold. He calls every afternoon, after he’s woken up from a hard night of work. Those calls are the highlight of your day. You make him some things to keep his head and hands warm. And his heart.

You have more time to think between those phone calls.

You realize that you have become softer now, more vulnerable. Your life went in a new direction. Your capacity to give, to forgive, to laugh, to share your dreams and your fears has grown in ways you never imagined. You have become a better person by falling in love with him.

This Christmas Eve will be different. As you stand outside in the cold and quiet night you will again listen to the silence. And you will again say thank you. The difference is this year there won’t be wishes.

Instead, you will go inside where it’s warm and bright. He’s waiting there for you to come to bed. You will step inside and turn off the lights. You will curl up beside him and snuggle into the warmth and comfort of this man, and you will know.

You will know that picking up the phone that day led you to what you had been looking for all along.

You won’t need to make any more wishes. He is already here.

“Yeah. And she found it while I was one the phone with her. Thankfully I deleted the link to Hairburner before she could see it.”

“Your mom is so nosy”

“You’re telling me. That lady has been finding and reading my diaries since I was old enough to write in one.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, I went on my site statistics while she was on there and recorded her IP address. Then I told her to get off the site because her Christmas present was on there.”

“Did she get off the site?”

“No, but she said she did. Then I told her that I could see that she was still on and that my site meter would tell me when she visited. I also told her I was going to ban her IP address so she couldn’t get on”

“She lied to you?”

“Yeah, but I lied to her too. I’m not going to ban her.”

“I think it says something that both of our mothers have some boundary issues”

“You think?”

“Yeah, but if we put the two of them in a locked room my money’s on your mom”

“You can’t bet against your own mother!”

“No seriously. Your mom would have my mom crying in less than three minutes.”

“I agree. But you still can’t bet against your own mom!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m reserving the right to bet on my own mother. We can’t both bet on her to make your mom cry.”

“I’m going to hell.”

“I know baby. I’m saving you a seat.”

Me: Hey Mom, I’m calling about Dad’s Xmas present.

Mom: I thought you were buying him the watch he wanted. (A 15 dollar Casio digital watch to replace the one that died after 20 years of service.)

Me: I did, and it’s on the way to your house. But that’s going to be from J. What else does he want?

Mom: He told me he wants a new wallet. His old one is falling apart.

Me: He told you that? Are you sure? Because I’m totally not falling for that again.

(My mom decides that she doesn’t like the way his wallet looks about every three years- right around the time the wallet gets perfectly round and worn in and comfortable to sit on. And then she tries to get me to buy him a new one)

Mom: No. He TOLD me he wants a new wallet.

Me: (totally not buying it) Put Pop on the phone

Pop: Hey kiddo

Me: Hey Pop. What do you want for Xmas? Mom said you wanted a new wallet.

Pop: I thought you were getting me that watch. I never told her that. I don’t need a new wallet. This one is just worn in the way I like it.

Me: Yeah, that’s what I thought. Is there anything else you might like to have?

Pop: What?

Me: (louder) Is there anything else you might like to have?

Pop: Uh…no. I don’t need anything else.

Me: Are you sure?

Pop: What?

Me: (louder) How about some liquor?

Pop: Oh, I don’t need that.

Me: Hookers?

Pop: What?

Me: (louder) Slippers?

Pop: I said I don’t need liquor!

Me: (louder) For your feet!

Pop: Now why the hell would I need liquor for my feet??!!??

Me: Hahahahahahaha. (loud) Slippers Dad! Slippers! Are you wearing your hearing aid?

Pop: Oh! Haha. No, I don’t need any of those either. I don’t like to put the phone next to the hearing aid. Let me think about what else I might want.

Me: Okay Pop. Think about it. Put Mom back on.

Mom: He TOLD me he wanted a new wallet. He just forgot.

Me: I’m not getting him a wallet. Think of something else.

Family. Gotta love em because it’s totally illegal to sell them on ebay.