[about the author]
i actually like speaking in front of large crowds. freakish,
i work crossword puzzles in ink.
i am the american nigella lawson. or maybe the american eddie
izzard. can't decide, really.
i would be a really good mom, but i'm cool with being a really
i am sometimes more perceptive than i would like to be.
i am fiercely loyal. sometimes, stupidly so.
i never play dumb. never.
i am way too hard on myself.
i am a change agent.
i sometimes cross that fine line between assertive and aggressive.
i am not afraid to tell people that i love them.
i am militantly pro-choice.
i am pro-adoption.
i know a little bit about alot of things.
i typically enjoy the company of men more than women.
i am capable of being really mean and nasty, but i fight it.
i am a lifelong cubs fan. do not laugh.
i have been known to hold a grudge.
i have hips.
i am not my sister.
i am lousy at forgiving myself.
i am an indoor kind of gal.
i am a bargain shopper. to the point of obsession.
i am 32 flavors. and then some.
it's still monday somewhere, right?
i'm sure i should offer you a million excuses for why i've been gone. so, here's a lame attempt at said million:
1. i was busy trying to figure out which stories to submit for publication. man, that's fun to say. publication. oh yeah.
2. i was devestated by the end of friends, due to my close personal ties to the cast, and took to my bed, inconsolable.
3. i've been working on a new site design. with a real url and everything. soon, kids, very very soon.
okay, three...that's almost a million, right?
truth is, i actually did write something for you guys back on that monday. then i read it and had a startling revelation: i didn't want to post it. why not? it was too personal.
after all the stuff i've put up here on these pages?!
yep. too personal.
so, then i spent about a week wrestling with it, trying to figure out how i could tell the story, say what i wanted to say, without it being too personal.
i've never been any good at the rewrites, let me tell ya.
so, then, after wrestling with it, it became sort of a matter of principle. like this monkey on my back. like, "oh yeah?! we'll just see about that. i can so rewrite this damn thing, just you watch."
but, uh, no. no go on the rewrite.
then, after finally admitting defeat, i sat down to write something completely different and had the horrifying realization that i didn't have anything to write about.
which can't be true. i mean, i still haven't told you guys about a lot of stuff. like my trip to the proctologist back in my twenties that resulted in a colonoscopy. seriously, it's a very funny story [ed. note: dooce isn't the only one with poop stories.].
or the time i lived with the "irish brady bunch" and learned to drink guiness.
or how i'm learning some hard life lessons right now about growing up, and growing apart, and coming to grips with the fact that, sometimes, you just don't have anything in common with your friends anymore. and what a sad realization that is.
or how you can be fighting your hardest against it, but it doesn't really matter how hard you kick and scream, sometimes you fall for someone, even though, on paper, it's clearly about the worst idea ever. and you just can't tell them, for about 300 different reasons. and what a sad realization that is, too.
writing is just another muscle. when you exercise it, it gets stronger. and when you don't, it atrophies. the fact that i have a million stories to tell and can't tell you a single one today is testament to the fact that i'm back on the ten-pound weights for a bit.
ten-pound weights or no, i'm glad to be back. i missed you crazy kids. and, i promise to never ever ever leave you again.
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