Dear (Love) Notes to Self Blog,
I apologize for being away so long. I have promised you many of my life stories and I will absolutely deliver, but you see, I have finally admitted a long standing addiction to the internet and I’ve been trying to quit. (No. Not cold turkey. That’s all kinds of crazy…) But writing you, dear Blog, requires time on the Internet, which I now realize has stolen so much time out of my life.
When I’m not on the Internet, I’m free to spend quality time with my children, cook healthy, delicious meals for them, clean my house, and massage my husband’s feet. It also gives me the opportunity to focus on my career and exercise and volunteer —
What’s that, you say?
Well, no, not exactly. I haven’t actually done any of these things yet. But I totally plan —
Well, no. Most of these things I have no interest in. Except the kids part and the volunteering, but I am entitled to dreams of being a better person, right? Anyway, as I was saying —
Gah! Stop interrupting me! If you must know, YES. I have been on the Internet. But only to catch up on Grey’s Anatomy because it’s on during the Office and 30 Rock. I am not responsible for network TV shenanigans. I am a victim. We all are. Network TV is wrong in a million different ways – TV execs just want to torture us the rest of the week by putting all the good shows on Thursday. But I’m trying to cope as best I can and watching them later on abc.com.
And watching You Tube clips with spoofs of “All The Single Ladies” with my kids is completely justified. Yes, even the fat guy. They need to be exposed to freak shows early so I can tell them its okay to laugh at a fat man dancing in a leotard on the internet, but in real life they need to run away. Really fast. It’s called QT.
And Facebook!? I haven’t updated my status in TWO whole days! TWO! So I’m making progress. That I posted my face morphing into Katherine Heigl’s last night doesn’t even count because it isn’t a status. It’s an update or something. It doesn’t even count. And plus, if MyHeritage.com says I’m an 87% match to Izzy, I’m not just going to let that go. I mean, compliments like that don’t come along everyday. What? No. Okay. No human has ever said I look like her, but computers are smarter than humans and the computer says so so leave me the fuck alone on that one, kay?
Sure, I read other blogs. They’re good! Some make me laugh so hard I cry. Especially this one, which I guess isn’t a traditional blog, but is a site I never tire of. AHHAHAHAHA. Oh, oh, oh, let me catch my breath…the tears are still rolling down my — God, you are such a jealous little blog. Get over yourself. I could probably name a lot of other blogs that are awesome – you will find many of them on your right side bar. No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m just saying, you’re in really good company. And it isn’t my fault you don’t win awards because even if you got nominated – no offense – you wouldn’t win, because I don’t spend enough time making blogger friends and plus I wouldn’t even vote for us because — No! Don’t cry! What I meant was, I would vote for us, but then I’d probably vote for some other ones like 5 times, and – I’m not helping myself here. The thing is, I’m not even supposed to read other blogs anymore because I have an addiction and I do not have a Dr. Drew and blogging celebrities to sober up with. So I have to do this on my own, and I’m going for low internet dosages. And I swear I’ll ignore my Google Reader at least 1 out of 8 times today. Can we be friends again? Please?!
Wow! You’re pulling out all the stops now, aren’t you?! I tell you something honestly and then you throw it in my face? I mean, well, so yes. A little. I do have another blog, but you know she is just a friend. I had her before I even conceived you!! I write about my kids there. It’s totally innocent! And they’ve done a lot of stuff lately that I had to write down, because that blog is my little family’s history and I’m the historian. And if they have a huge gaping hole in October 2009, they’re going to think I was living a double life and had a family somewhere else or something, so yeah, I guess I spent some time there too, but you know how much I love you! That blog is like a sister to me. You’re the love of my life. Really. Don’t be mad. Seriously. I love you! C’mon, don’t be like this.
I’m in recovery! Don’t I deserve just a little compassion, considering the hours I’ve blown writing entries on you? Not to mention the emotional exhaustion and the atrophying of all muscles not directly involved in thinking or typing? I used to be buff as hell and strong enough to lift two gallons of milk at the same time. Now I’ve gotten all crookedy and bendy and hunched over writing on my small, unergonomic MacBook. I’ve sacrificed for you!! When is it time for ME?
OH NO YOU DID ENT! Of course I made time for Oprah. I mean, for fuck’s sake, she had Mike Tyson on crying the whole hour and then there was the whole incest update that I didn’t really want to watch, but I mean, how can you not look? Oh, and that Oprah’s favorite families episode? So good. Except for the Osmond’s part, but I fast forwarded through all that. Oprah is therapy. Not entertainment. Why am I even justifying this to you? We’ve been over this before. Oprah is off limits.
Oh, so now you’re ignoring me? Fine. Fine. Well, it might interest you to know that I’m going out to lunch with Kirsten tomorrow. Our first date in two years. And I got off the Yaz. My doctor put me on another one and it’s too soon to tell if my husband and I will be having sex this week, but I’m not as hungry all the time so I may not be nicknamed “Porky” by December. And my Big Boobed Sister just had a birthday. So she is getting older and boob saggage has to be just around the corner, right? (Happy birthday, sis!) Oh, and today I’m going to a “bead party” today to save Ugandan women at the house of my ex-best friend that kicked me out of her wedding. Well, yes. I said yes because it’s for Ugandan women and everybody knows I’m a bleeding heart liberal and you know I can never say no to any charity that benefits women or children. Even if it means I have to buy beaded jewelry and that I have gone to her house twice in the last six months, breaking my once-every-year rule.
Okay, okay? So are you going to be here when I get back? I promise I’ll be back soon. Its just…when my kids pretend to be the mom and they make me be the kid, they want to play on the computer and say “in five minutes I’ll come play with you. Mommy has work to do!” and it makes me feel guilty. So then I try to to get them back and make them feel guilty and just start chanting “MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY!” until their ears bleed and then we stop playing because it isn’t that fun and we don’t like each other. So I have some work to do.
So when they go to bed, I’ll come back and snuggle with you. If I’m not having sex with their dad.
Love you always,