Updated: I think we all learned a very valuable lesson here; if you link to someone directly that person will end up finding your post. Even if it is innocuous and you’re speaking of someone with only the highest regard that person will find it and might not think of it the same way. I fucking hate blog drama. I mean it can be entertaining as hell but I, personally, don’t want to be involved. That said I don’t want to deal with people hurting my feelings because I look at blogging as my fun and safe space and I really just don’t want bullshit for myself or for anyone else. It’s really that simple. So Maria and I are fine and lovely and I’m sure she has great taste in footwear. See? Look. Love. Awww:
here was a paragraph here in which I attempted to express how starstruck by Heather B. I was, but didn’t do it adequately, as it seems to have given others the impression that I was saying something negative about her. That was NOT my intention. In this case, she is my Dooce, and I am her The Bloggess. I would never post anything negative about another blogger, ever, and definitely not the one that I adore the most. Heather B., I am extremely, extremely sorry. I didn’t mean to lump you in with the ‘mean girls’ – I meant that you are such a big fuckin’ deal to me that I couldn’t work up the nerve to say hello, not that you gave off any sort of…anything bad at all, because you didn’t. You still are a very big deal to me. Hence this replacement paragraph. I am so embarrassed and I hope you’ll accept my apology.
I am still going on vacation (have you ever done three conferences in three weeks in three different cities? The fucking pain, y’all) because I have to see my mother and my best friend and people who in real life would say “Oh my God, Heather Barmore?! You want stories about Heather Barmore?? Oooh shit! Pull up a chair and relax a little because I have some stories for you”.
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I’m going on vacation next week. Saturday to be precise. And my god, I do have some impeccable timing for I seem to be a mean bitch and now that I’ve heard it from several different people, it’s practically certifiable. I’m thinking that this gem takes the prize for the most absurd thing about me. That is until someone calls me a right wing neo-con who loves ribs:
I didn’t work up the balls to go over and say hello to Heather B. She had, like, this force field around her that I thought I’d run smack into if I came too close. I was just not important enough to penetrate it I don’t think. And I’m pretty sure she gave me the death stare a few times. Although it could have been all in my head or in retaliation for the creepy, longing googly eyes I was probably giving her the entire weekend. *sigh* Next year. Maybe. Probably not. I’m not worthy.
Just wow. I’m going to drag my pretentious ass through NOLA and then to Martha’s Vineyard.
I’ll leave you with this conversation from this evening after tossing beads from a balcony on Bourbon Street:
Him: What’s your name?
Me: Heather
Him: Heather?!?! That’s a white girl’s name. I’ve never heard of a sister named Heather. Where are you from?
Me: Um, Upstate NY…
Him: Oh, Upstate NY, that’s where all those rich people live.
And gee, Louisiana, you’ve been swell. Thank you for aiding my self esteem. How much do I owe you for the free beer and random men who decided to flash me?
Yeah but no
“History teaches us that men and nations behave wisely once they have exhausted all other alternatives.” ~Abba Eban
This is one of those things I just have to get off my chest. Those almost inexplicable things that pull and tug and are always at the tip of your tongue and so you feel compelled to stand on your balcony and scream your feelings to the world. Sadly, only 14 people will walk down my street yet 140 people (let us pray) will read these words and most likely feel the same amount of undeinable and excruciating pain that I feel.
Deep breaths
I watch a lot of reality television. Since the dawn of the Bunim/Murray days. That said there are three people on the planet who I would have to kick in the kneecaps in exchange for the agony they put me through each and every week; thus leaving me without the will to live. In no particular order:
Kenley from Project Runway: How shall we extricate that stick from your ass?
Rachel Zoe: It IS bananas. And it DOES make me want to die. But YOU make me want to die every time you open your mouth or where sunglasses inside. Why do you do that, Rachel? To hurt me? It’s working.
Speidi: You both are those kids who ate glue in kindergarten. You probably ate lead paint as well. Your current state is just a manifestation of being poisoned as a child. Stop talking. Just stand there and be blindingly blond with that vacant “WUH?” look and collect your paychecks. No, no. Shhh. Quiet time.