I keep wanting to write a thank-you to my blog friends. Something lovely and nuanced and deep about how you all have changed my life and made it richer and more fun.
Then I start and sound so stupid and trite. Or I begin telling stories and just can't stop.
Blog people just keep coming through for me. When I rip out my heart and spread it all across these pixels, you are right there to mop it up for me. And when I laugh, you laugh with me.
In 2007, I went to Chicago for BlogHer in a sad state. I could barely get through a day without sobbing. Strike that - I could not get through a day without sobbing.
But I went and met my blogging friends, and guess what? So many of them were broken that year, too.
I remember standing out on Navy Pier with Parentopia Devra and Goon Squad Sarah and just talking about nothing while we all stared out at beautiful Lake Michigan, which was shining like a turquoise bracelet.
Those moments comforted me then and through so many days since. Just those few minutes of fitting in fully and completely, of not having to explain a thing, of being able to be every inch me.
That's what I'm talking about. You people just being you help make it possible for me to be fully me.
Thank you.
07 October 2009
04 October 2009
Parents, What Say You?
I was on the Amtrak (again), this time on the West Coast, with all the races mixed up (thankfully).
The train got so crowded that it was standing room only.
Across from me, there was a girl of about age 10 or 11 who seemed oblivious to the conductor's repeated requests to remove personal items from the seat next to you so that everyone could sit down.
She had a purple backpack piled on the seat with a pillow, and both tray tables down filled with stuff, including a route map with a big hunk of yellow gum stuck to it.
The train loaded up and people were wandering back and forth, seeking a seat, any seat. Yet she still did not move her stuff. She fiddled with her MP3 player and tossed her hair around.
Finally a guy, exasperated, asked her "Is this seat taken?"
She answered in what seemed to me a super entitled and bratty tone.
"Oh, I'm not allowed to sit next to anyone," she said.
Me and the lady from Philly next to me looked at each other with bugged-out eyes.
"Oh, now I've heard everything," said Mrs. Philly.
I was wondering if someone should tell the conductor about the nerve of this brat. Just then, he came along.
"You just leave your stuff right there, honey," he said.
Then I started thinking that I might be the lunatic here. I realized that the girl's parents had probably made her swear that she would not sit next to anyone, fearing that the Dreaded Train Molester would harm their young'un.
So what say you, parents? Should the kid have stuck to her guns as she did, or should have she shown some flexibility and let someone sit next to her?
The train got so crowded that it was standing room only.
Across from me, there was a girl of about age 10 or 11 who seemed oblivious to the conductor's repeated requests to remove personal items from the seat next to you so that everyone could sit down.
She had a purple backpack piled on the seat with a pillow, and both tray tables down filled with stuff, including a route map with a big hunk of yellow gum stuck to it.
The train loaded up and people were wandering back and forth, seeking a seat, any seat. Yet she still did not move her stuff. She fiddled with her MP3 player and tossed her hair around.
Finally a guy, exasperated, asked her "Is this seat taken?"
She answered in what seemed to me a super entitled and bratty tone.
"Oh, I'm not allowed to sit next to anyone," she said.
Me and the lady from Philly next to me looked at each other with bugged-out eyes.
"Oh, now I've heard everything," said Mrs. Philly.
I was wondering if someone should tell the conductor about the nerve of this brat. Just then, he came along.
"You just leave your stuff right there, honey," he said.
Then I started thinking that I might be the lunatic here. I realized that the girl's parents had probably made her swear that she would not sit next to anyone, fearing that the Dreaded Train Molester would harm their young'un.
So what say you, parents? Should the kid have stuck to her guns as she did, or should have she shown some flexibility and let someone sit next to her?
02 October 2009
01 October 2009
On the bright side
I never write about work because I am afraid of getting Dooced. But I may get laid off any minute.
Looking on the bright side - if that happens, I have a couple dozen really ripping blog posts in me.
Meanwhile, I have to relay a true story I heard on the radio today:
Three generations of the same family's women had gone to the same gynecologist for as long as they had all needed a gynie doc. Finally, the old GYN retired and a really good looking young doctor took his place.
The daughter went first and came home and told the mom and grandma how great the new doctor was.
Then grandma went. She came home and was mad as hell. She said to the granddaughter "I thought you said that guy was nice! But I have never been so humiliated! I put my feet in the stirrups and he lifted up the sheet and said 'Fancy!' What does THAT mean?"
Digging a little deeper, the granddaughter found out that Grandma had been nervous about the appointment, so she used some of her granddaughter's feminine hygeine spray right before she left for the appointment.
"But Nana, I don't have any feminine hygeine spray," said the granddaughter. "Show me what you used."
Grandma had picked up the granddaughter's can of red glitter hairspray.
Fancy, indeed.
Looking on the bright side - if that happens, I have a couple dozen really ripping blog posts in me.
Meanwhile, I have to relay a true story I heard on the radio today:
Three generations of the same family's women had gone to the same gynecologist for as long as they had all needed a gynie doc. Finally, the old GYN retired and a really good looking young doctor took his place.
The daughter went first and came home and told the mom and grandma how great the new doctor was.
Then grandma went. She came home and was mad as hell. She said to the granddaughter "I thought you said that guy was nice! But I have never been so humiliated! I put my feet in the stirrups and he lifted up the sheet and said 'Fancy!' What does THAT mean?"
Digging a little deeper, the granddaughter found out that Grandma had been nervous about the appointment, so she used some of her granddaughter's feminine hygeine spray right before she left for the appointment.
"But Nana, I don't have any feminine hygeine spray," said the granddaughter. "Show me what you used."
Grandma had picked up the granddaughter's can of red glitter hairspray.
Fancy, indeed.
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