Monday, December 31, 2007

Keep Telling Yourself That

New Year's Eve day and yet another four to eight inches of snow falls from the sky.

Other than getting stuck in upward-slanting driveway for solid half hour this morning -pushed up and out, eventually, by very strong neighbor - other than normally-35-minute commute taking 90 minutes, other than daughter's parting words at grandmother's house being "Love you, mom, don't die out there" (she said and then skipped off to play)...

Other than that, the snow is just so damn pretty.

From the warm sanctity of my office, can now watch it fall and appreciate its poetry. Thousands of tiny, drifting haikus. In fact, am inspired to offer end of year haiku myself:

Here I drift along
Crystallized spindles of snow
Watch me dance and spin

I don't really know where that came from..Mind you, no haikus came to mind during the commute. It was truly dreadful. But having arrived in one piece, cannot deny the fact that I love the snow. Must be my inner Yankee.

Of course, now will have to drive home in it as well...didn't quite think that part through...

Happy New Year!

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Ringing Out a (Non)Era

After emotional eleventh hour meeting, One Woman Book Club has decided to disband.

Yes, we realize we have not reviewed a single book.

Here's the thing: SO MANY bloggers are already doing this. Some are really quite good at it. Honestly, mere idea of OWBC is causing me competitive anxiety.

Purposefulness, need to say something relevant - and about someone else's work. To the world. (Or, at least, to tiny speck of the world that may stop by here.) It all smacks of organization.

Organization is nine-tenths of my life.

I actually like reading - a lot. Widely, randomly, leisurely. Murking up those waters with more organization?

Not that I don't want to talk about it. Of course I want to talk about it.

I know this game. Like many bookish folk, I do keep lists of my reading - '07 was a quality year: Bill Styron, Tim O'Brien, Arundhati Roy, Toni Morrison. My new best friend KV. Also the travel writing/memoir/American History that I apparently love. A record-breaking year at 25 completed.

That's right, 25. Not 100. Because I have a JOB.

Literary '08 is already taking shape:

First, have committed, at fourth grader's request, to read 7 book JKR series (yes, that series) she is about to begin book #2, I am on the hook to begin #1 shortly.

Then, same fourth grader - showing eerily familiar bookish tendencies - wishes to read together as many Great Stone Face Book Award nominees as possible before voting time. So far have completed one.

Biography of Cary Grant is whispering to me from bookshelf. Right there next to Papa Hemingway's. On my way, gentleman...

From here I will meander. Meandering goes hand in hand with reading. I highly recommend it.

So that's that. See you on the other side.

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Bow Chick a Wow Wow

As sung by someone else's five-year-old in pizza shop yesterday.

If you have seen trailer for silver screen debut of re-warmed 1950s singing chipmunks, you know why this little bit of soft porn jingled out of the child's mouth. Clearly, woman seated alone nearby had not seen the trailer.

Though she obviously recognized the melody's true origins. Hmm.

Fun to watch her face twist into increasingly horrified grimace as my own two grinned in innocent recognition. And repeated the line. With accompanying gestures from movie trailer.

Suppose I should have been embarrassed to some degree. Surely, my parental supervision of TV time came into question, as did that of five-year-old's mom and dad.

But I wasn't. And they didn't seem to be, either. What can you do?

I'll tell you what I can do. We're going to see the freaking movie today. Subverted, schmaltzy piece of film that it probably is, it smells of nostalgia. Can't get me enough nostalgia.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Winter Musicale, Part II: Oy...

Thanks to brilliance of administrators (or, more likely, fire code), grade school performances segmented into two separate events: Gingerbread Spectacular of yesterpost, and - for those of us whose children straddle lower and upper grades - a second celebration last night.

Second program primarily a showcase for extremely patient music teachers' weekly instruction efforts. Opportunity for parents to evaluate return on investment in instrument rentals and private lessons. Several parents may have freed up $29 in monthly budget by end of the night.

On the other hand, some truly moving numbers and several budding talents in the mix. Couldn't help but admire spunk and passion of band instructor.

(Admiration for band instructor a tiny bit distracting. Music men, you know. Je ne sais quoi.)

A valiant attempt, overall, to be festive and inclusive. And yet...

Having heard "Good King Wenceslas" played on every instrument, slightly edgy during FOURTH offering by chorus.

A little fuzzy on logic of teaching my child to sing "Shalom Chaverim" and "Dona Nobis Pacem." No foreign language program in curriculum. Pretty certain she had no idea what she was saying.

Kids didn't really pull off left-leaning anti-war ditty, disguised as song about "peace", slipped in right before sing-along. Punchy eleven-year-olds hopped up on candy canes maybe not best messengers for cloaked political agendas.

Couldn't help but wonder at reality of my own childhood holiday shows. Always believed that something grand was taking place, whether or not my parents agreed. Can only hope that this phenomenon perpetually repeats itself.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

The Meaning of "Xmas"

Attended youngest child's "Winter Musical" last night in school gymnasium.

Theme of show a concoction of popular TV-based obsessions, centered around a dilapidated gingerbread house. Cast of characters: homeowners, sweet-toothed forest critters, construction crew and, of course, zany heartthrob host, key to boosting ratings.

Watched with mixture of bemusement and sorrow as my child sang her way through ultra-contemporary, totally unknown songs about yumminess and remorse. Took a handful of pictures of her - dressed all in brown, smiling brightly beneath her fox ears and painted whiskers.

Hope they come out - frequently blocked by gigantic raccoon head worn by tall child in front row.

Fought back annoying remembrance of child bedecked in lovely traditional Christmas dress in store dressing room a mere six weeks ago. Purchased for wear at just this occasion.

Should have known better.

To credit of teachers and staff, show was a fine example of their creative enthusiasm and commitment to children. Still, this is the kind of material we are left with when we cannot have angels or shepherds.

Occasionally tempted to yank children from public system and redeposit in private school. Temptation dampened, however, by their otherwise apparent thriving in current environment. 12-1 student/teacher ratio a big plus. Very much in favor of Artist-in-Residence program.

Oh, and practicality of school bus pick up. At the end of the driveway.

Responsibility of instilling spiritual awareness apparently remains on shoulders of parents.

Drat. Will have to take that more seriously.

Retracting prior claim to holiday music overdose.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Seven days to go 'til the Big Day. Tottering dangerously close to the edge of pain threshold.

It's not the shopping. Not the wrapping, baking, planning, mailing. Not the nearly impossible search for places to hide gifts from Santa.

It's the music.

I love holiday music. Love it. When I say I love it, I mean every rendition of Sleigh Ride. All the chestnuts roasting on all the open fires.

Luther. Harry. Dean. Wham!.

All the silken-voiced divas, those mistresses of Mr. Claus, purring their way to rings and duplexes. I love them all.

Except somehow, this year, I find myself...getting a bit...sick of them.

I must be coming down with something. This is completely unheard of. And wrong.

It's just wrong.

With one week to go, it's much too late to walk away. So will keep decking the halls, jingling the bells, whatever it takes to make it through to the other side.

Going back in...cover me.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Dilemmas Dilemmas Dilemmas

Dilemma #1: So pretty much immediately after publishing last post, my computer died.

This is not good. I was just getting in the swing of things. This is crucial readership-building time... Plus, I finished Julia Child and have ohsomuch to say about it!

Will get myself to a Geek Squadery as soon as possible. The weekend is coming!

Well, OK it's only Tuesday...but it is coming eventually. And it seems the weekend is prime posting time for me.

Dilemma #2: Have been approached by M to consider starting up a book club, which I am certainly willing to do. Believe D has expressed interest in participating as well? The trouble: how will it work, what to read, how to solicit members?

Not particularly overwhelmed with the "how to" stuff at this time, but have been trying to research what to read. This has always presented a quandary for me - selecting reading material. Thought there might be some rather concise lists of recommendation floating around out there in cyber world.

Yah. There are. About twenty trillion. Holy moly...and me without a functioning computer to continue my research.

OK, that is actually only TWO dilemmas, but am working on borrowed time and "borrowed" Internet connection. So what can I say? Just trying to keep the infant blog from going dark for too long!

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Babel in Toyland

Speaking of games, it came to my attention the other day that my kids have never played the board game Operation.

How can that be? I asked myself. I am all about the classics!

Determined that this would be the final gift of the season to procure. Headed to the toy store.

May I never, ever set foot in a toy store again. Never ever is too soon.

Store was organized - and I use the term organized extremely loosely - into these kind of categorical bunches. Barbie land. Pretend Tool world. Robotic Beast corner. Not that anything was labelled.

Also no understandable rhyme or reason as to which category intersected with another. One minute you're discreetly checking out GI Joe's physique, then realize you are being watched unfavorably by woman in neighboring plastic grocery section. It all just kind of happens.

Customers are apparently expected to just wander around the oubliette, discovering new lands.

What happened to aisles? Have we done away with aisles?

Found my blasted game. Not exactly front and center in game world, since it lacks relevant DVD component of "cool" games.

Cavity Sam hasn't aged a bit, despite countless procedures. He has come down with a new ailment - Brain Freeze. A simple ice cream cone extraction from the skull fetches a couple hundred dollars. Seems to me a skilled surgeon used to score about ten bucks back in the day. Operation inflation.

Left with my purchase, dazed.

Friday, December 7, 2007

Fun and Games

Have been playing this really fun game with myself all week called Leap Over The Garage Motion Sensors Onto The Icy Driveway In Two Inch Heels.

Calling it LegaMose IceTwinch for short. Kinda catchy, eh?

Remote control bit the dust for some mysterious reason. Changed the battery which accomplished nothing. Played around with the little sensor doohickeys. Nothin'.

So next week will simultaneously play LegaMose IceTwinch and Call Out the Garage Door People. We'll go with COGDiP for that one. That should be a really fun game and also a really long one - kind of like Monopoly without the game pieces - as certainly it will entail some scheduling nightmare like "we'll be there between sunrise and sunset."

LegaMose IceTwinch made me wax nostalgic for other fun games discovered this past year. (December is a time for waxing nostalgic, what with New Year's Eve right around the corner.) Remember, for instance, returning from vacation in July to play Haul Our Dirty Stuff to the Scary Laundromat For The Rest Of The Summer (Hods to Slots) as our washing machine decided to take its own little vaca. That was a blast. Maytag repairman must be a lot freaking busier than that actor guy lets on, because it was nearly impossible to get his tail end out here.

Then we played Wow It's Really Dark In Here (WIRDH, pronounced "word") for a week or so... an inevitable one, instigated by great intentions to install a few dimmer switches. Great intentions thwarted by whack electrical wiring installed during construction of home.

I know it's whack, because I have played Replace All the Stupid Burned Out Light Bulbs (which I simply call the Stupid Light Bulb Game) more times than indicated will be necessary on the light bulb packages.

If any good has come from this, I have learned acceptance. As in, I accept the fact that sooner or later I will not be able to simply wait out the dishwasher that occasionally refuses to turn on, and will have to actually have it looked at. I accept the fact that the dryer is the same age as the washer and will eventually demand its day in the spotlight.

My hope is that LegaMose IceTwinch will not end with a broken ankle, because I haven't finished my shopping, so do not have time to learn any new games. Games are for reindeer. Not people with shopping to finish.

Monday, December 3, 2007

'Tis The Season...

Last night had makings of quintessential winter evening. Snow falling softly outside, casting its quiet promise of closing schools today...Tree sparkling...Corny contemporary holiday special on TV. Children up past bedtime eating popcorn. Fireworks exploding in the sky.

...say what?

We thought the booms meant hunters at first - too close for comfort hunters, skulking in the darkness, firing at whatever is open season right now. Byproduct of living so far from civilization, recognition of occasional sound of shotguns firing in the distance.

But this was really close. And it's dark out - hunters don't hunt in the dark, do they?

Then we saw the showers of color in sky over neighbor's house.

This particular neighbor, we have nicknamed him The Answer. As in: whatever crazy, noisy, unbelievable thing you see happening out the window, whatever time of day or night, when you find yourself asking "Who is doing that?" The answer is always the same.

It's him.

So we enjoyed a good fifteen display from the warmth of the sofa. Never a dull moment with that one.

Sunday, December 2, 2007

Rich To Us

Have just come back in from assembly and mounting of twinkling snowmen in front yard, bringing with me frozen fingers and strange sense of accomplishment.

Twinkling snowmen, though there are many of them, are dwarf-like. They are bound to be the laughingstock of my Wysteria Lane-ish neighborhood, competing with the likes of fully-lit lamp posts and hula hoop-sized mounted wreaths.

But did I mention, they twinkle?

Several neighbors passed by while I was out there. Neighbors in possession of fresh-cut trees. Neighbors with large families to visit and parties to throw. Neighbors who, I'm certain, get a good kick out of me and my little snowmen and my garland-strewn, unpowered lamp post.

Back inside, my children eagerly inquire if the twinkling snowmen are ready, if they are twinkling yet? No, not until dusk, I tell them.

Mom has gone a little automatic timer crazy this year. Dusk has become quite a flurry of excitement for the three of us. Tree and mantle and staircase - and now, twinkling snowmen - come to life all at once. We ooh together. The glow around them is so warm for those few moments, I can almost touch it.

Life has been tricky these past few years: lots of loss, lots of adjustments. Not a lot of twinkling on the outside. Not a lot of twinkling on the inside, either.

But we're a tough little bunch, the three of us, and we're bouncing back. We have a lot to be happy about: warm beds. Plenty of food. A strong probability that Santa will stop by to bring a little something.

And we have each other - a fact that I am known to occasionally lament as Too Much of a Good Thing (particularly when bedtime is at hand) - but one that makes all the difference in the grand scheme of things.

And we are starting to twinkle again - inside and outside.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Christmas Tree Hugger

Unable to sleep last night due to additional sets of elbows and knees, not to mention gymnastic limbs, piled into my bed. Nothing like a good sharp jab in the eye at 1 a.m.

Decide to try the couch. Moved the couch on Sunday to make way for ultra-realistic 9-foot Scotch Pine Christmas tree. Turn on lights, of course, believing this will induce dreamlike state of tranquility.

Tree is magnificent: perfectly proportioned, gloriously tall. Glistening long needles reflect pre-strung white lights, effecting both sparkle and shimmer.

Perfection drives home fact that "realistic" means not real. No needles on the floor. No piney scent.

Pad down to car in garage to fetch evergreen candle purchased last night. Lie on couch, gazing at magnificent ultra-realistic fake tree while deeply sniffing unlit candle.

Helping a little.

Try to conjure up memories of Christmas trees from childhood. Only memory emerging is of year Dad caught me smoking in bathroom. Grounded me for life on way to tree lot.

Set candle on table and get up to fuss with ornaments. Uneven depth perception, due to late hour and lack of eyeglasses, causes me to stumble into tree, rocking it up onto two of its four spindly plastic feet. Fortunately able to catch and return to upright position. Avert major disaster but suffer loss of red and gold Christmas ball.

Christmas casualty count stands at one.

Dustbust collateral damage. Recall youthful commitment to never compromise the spirit of Christmas with fake tree and Christmas balls.

Turn off tree lights and resign to oldest child's vacated bed. Fall asleep bathed in blue light from (also blue) aluminum tree on nightstand.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

A Few Of My Favorite Things

One of the select objectives I actually had in mind when I shuffled into Blogland was to share thoughts on books I read. Kind of a One Woman Book Club. Hope was that eventually someone else would have something to say about it...maybe that I am a brilliant literary critic, or even that I am so off the mark I do not deserve to touch the paper on which (insert author's name) has immortalized his genius.

Safe to say that I don't command quite the same breadth of audience as, oh let's just use an example, Oprah Winfrey. So for now will tuck current reading selection into my profile. If the two of you (am I up to two people yet?) are burning to know what's on my nightstand, that's where it will be.

Having said that, realized as I updated this morning that have not said one word about Mr. Wolff's tome, This Boy's Life, which I finished a few days ago.

Well I have exactly one word to say about it. I give it a big fat "Whatever." Synopsis: boy grows up in dysfunctional environment. Subjected to bullying authority figures. Acted out as a result. Maybe that was shocking in the 50s of his youth, but today we call that NORMAL. It was a yawn.

So last night chose my new read: My Life In France. The tale of Julia Child, living in Paris post World War II, learning to cook gourmet French cuisine.

Yep, that pretty much covers all the bases for me.

Seems to have been co-authored, a polite way of saying ghost written. Give the woman a break, she was 91.

Hope this woman's life was more intriguing than the boy's.

Friday, November 23, 2007

Contact High

Night has fallen on Black Friday, ushering in yet another season of joyful mayhem.

Truthfully, this has always been one of my favorite days of the year. And yes, I generally partake in the 4 a.m. reveille and yes, I was out in the crush this year as well - although not until almost noon.

Instead of heading out with a friend, each of us armed with lists and plans and coveted items to secure, took my elementary school-aged daughters. A bit difficult to conduct oneself with any sense of purpose in the company of those two - especially since they are primary beneficiaries of said lists/plans. So here's what we did (and sorry if we annoyed you, serious shoppers):

Shook all the snow globes in all the stores.

Sat in all the massage chairs in Brookstone.

Fondled all the soft blankets and pillows (also mostly in Brookstone, a very big hit with us today).

Picked up lots of shiny things made of glass to show each other.

Took a really long time ordering from the menu at lunch.

Didn't buy much. Felt a bit like I was breaking some Christmas shopping laws, meandering around with these two. One rather huffy cashier even pointed our shameful behavior out to us, tsking my little girl for buying herself a stuffed dog. It was almost enough to make me put back the snow globe.

Didn't put it back, of course. The little Santa sleigh really flies when you wind it up.

They aren't always such delightful companions, but today they were just that. Think I'll keep them.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Thanksgiving

Not my intention to bore you with my every move and mood...but today, I must tell you, I am positively giddy.

Because it's snowing!

Pretty white tendrils are - well, starting to gather now and drive vertical rather than poetically drift in the sky - and making their debut a predictable two days before Thanksgiving.

New England, alas, is still New England.

Farewell, creepy unnatural warm fall weather!

Time to hibernate, harbingers of global warming crisis!

Well, there's still that whole skyrocketing cost of heating oil to contend with, but besides that...

Cue the holiday music!

Turn on the twinkly lights!

Time to be happy, dammit!

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Here's What Sucks About Divorce

My kids are with their Dad this weekend. This gave me a little morning time to sort laundry.

Buried under the overflow was a nylon drawstring backpack, still full: the overnight bag of my youngest.

Carried to school two Fridays ago and flung into the hamper, wholesale, the following Sunday night.

These kids could go a month without repeating an outfit - a fringe benefit of the divorce, sponsored by Mom's Guilt over all of this shuffling back and forth. Clearly there was nothing in that bag that had been missed.

Dumped it out on the pile. Last two items to land were her ToothTunes brush and orange sparkle toothpaste, which she loves.

Which I replaced two Mondays ago, forgoing lunch. But couldn't find orange sparkle toothpaste anywhere and so had to substitute vanilla mint. Which she hates.

That's what sucks about divorce.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Friend B

I threw the poor girl out there and then hit the ejector button. How rude.

Surprisingly normal, that one. Married. Kids. Pretty house. Solid employment. Despite all of this, she seems pretty content with life.

We manage to have dinner together roughly twice a year. Exchange invitations to (but do not attend) various bring-your-checkbook type gatherings.

I'm not a hundred percent sure she's saved herself from this Look-at-Me hash out here, but I suspect she's not interested. I could definitely be wrong, though. Sounds like an excuse to use the phone.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Luddites Anonymous

Just finished reading A Man Without a Country by Kurt Vonnegut, which he wrote when he was 82 freaking years old. Good lord.

Bought the book over the summer - it was on the "Great Beach Reads" table at B&N - and remember feeling so proud of myself for branching out beyond my typical "serious literature" choices. It's a teeny little thing, this book. Nice comfortable font. I glimpsed some sketchy-type things when I fanned through it. A perfect quick read and a break for my brain.

Well I didn't read it over the summer, just picked it up off my shelf last weekend. Motivation was about the same - attended a writing seminar in New York a few weeks ago and ever since I got back have been battling this mounting sense of total inadequacy and doom. Could barely muster the self-confidence to pick something out that I would feel worthy of reading.

Enter KV and his sliver of a book with its hokey cartoon self-portrait on the cover. Ease back in, that was my plan. He's science fiction guy. No problem.

I really don't get what this book was doing on the Beach Reads table. Would like to go back to the store and slap them. It's freaking brilliant. If I read this book while sitting on the beach, I'd probably stand up, walk right into the ocean and keep going. Anyway, I can't do it justice so I won't even try.

One of the sections I liked most, though, was about being a Luddite. This is a person who hates newfangled stuff. Derived from name of a certain Englishman in 1800s who routinely destroyed the machines intended to replace him at his work. KV said he "welcomed" the label.

Count me in! Am about the most technologically unsavvy person I know, and I like it that way. Maybe, MAYBE, will break down and get an mp3 player this winter. But what am I supposed to do with all my CDs? This, my begrudging presence in cyberspace, is hurting my head.

Suppose this is not an appropriate way to be, particularly since I'm not 82. And I do have kids who will likely be forced to embrace "progress" in order to thrive. Not sure how to get over it, but for their sake perhaps I should try.

But which dependency is more destructive - progress or humanity?

Friday, November 9, 2007

Human Contact Is So Last Season...

Created this blog several days ago and have logged in every day since to stare into its emptiness. Once or twice I hovered the cursor over "new post" and pulled back at the last second. Fear? Doubt? Regret?

Mostly, startled by unfamiliar surroundings. Your classic "I hope they like me" jitters. And then it dawned on me:

Girlfriend, nobody's there!

So opening confession: my motives for joining ranks of Blogland are not entirely pure. Desperation led me here. Seems this upstart self-expression movement, with its innocent little mug, has a ravenous thirst for attention, namely that belonging to my closest friends. And oh, they are paying it all right.

But what you may not know is that Attention, like fossil fuels, exists in a finite quantity. Each of us only has so much to spend. So we must budget it.

A little here, a lot there. Maybe we squirrel some away to spend on special occasions. Sometimes we all just have to phone it in to satisfy some niggling obligation - refilling a prescription or getting our teeth cleaned. Do it and get back to work.

My point: attention, as a commodity, is exhaustible. This is where a little concept called prioritization comes into play.

Have gotten off track, and I so did not want to open my sweet, innocent little bloggy-blog with a rant. Plenty of time for that later.

To explain: I grew up with three very close friends, each from a different part of my life, each very special to me in a unique way. We'll call them Friend A, Friend B, Friend C. This will offend them, but seeing as I do not rank any acknowledgement whatsoever in their electronic worlds, that's just too bad. And anyway, have decided not to tell them right away that I am here...

So. Friend A and I bonded over artistic pursuit, bad home situations, and a common thirst for education. Friend B was my partying pal - and we had ourselves a really good time back in the day. We loved boys and rock music, and most of all rock boys. Were never the wildest, but we held our own.

Friend C...Friend C for most of my life I have considered Home. No matter what other ridiculous identities we may have been trying on with other people, with each other we could totally be ourselves. Good or bad. So we talked about art, and books, and parents, and boys, and rock music. And we ate ice cream on Saturday night and watched the Golden Girls.

Fast forward to now...surely I am mature and intelligent enough to know that one cannot go on eating ice cream every Saturday night with friends for eternity. We are all grownups with lives. This is so not the problem.

Trouble began with the Internet.

Friend A currently sports something like a hundred bazillion "friends"-in electronic form-with whom she shares what I'm sure are quite meaningful give and take relationships. In fact, quite a few of them have earned the distinction of "dear/close friend." Huh! Of course, I haven't warranted so much as a phone call in probably 4 months.

Friend C actually was the person to introduce blog to me, a few years ago now, while she was having a real live conversation with me (!)...seemed a bit put out with the telling of her own anecdote, tossed in the statement "I wrote about it in my blog." As though I would understand that. Probably took three more instances like that before she realized I did NOT understand and sent me a link. And so I came to know.

Since then I have watched from the outside as what started, I thought, as coping mechanism for trying experience she was enduring, bloomed into the mammoth, attention-sucking, life-dominating BFF that I'm sure it now considers itself. Even if she is not quite at that point. We still talk occasionally, but that whole finite attention supply thing?

Hello, I'm Niggling Obligation. And you are?

It's all very harsh, I know. Quite possible that I am overreacting. Not like I haven't tried to understand and deal with the presence of this new...cripe, it's not even a the dead center of my friends' lives. Have also tried whining, withdrawing in disgust (TOTALLY UNNOTICED), and even faithful reading of their online selves in a sincere attempt to adapt. Even tried a few cheery remarks to show that I'm reading them and hey, great stuff! In the end, I find it all quite invasive and freaky and disturbing.

So here I am. Hey, maybe eventually someone will be out there. Someone who will tell me I am a freaking crybaby. Or who will say "Amen, sister! Speak it!" Heaven knows what I am going to write about. I promise you this: I will NOT be here every day (take that, NaBloPoMo!)

Who knows? It could be that you, coy little Internet, are the BFF I have always dreamed of. Do you like chocolate chip?