I haven't heard from Rosie...yet. But if you guys keep trying, and I keep writing, hoping, praying, believing, it's bound to happen. Squeaky wheel gets the grease, remember.
I miss her old blog. Days of deep posts from hidden places in her mind, written like lyrics, thoughts in bunches typed on the page. The press thought she was trying to be poetic. They have trouble with reading comprehension, apparently.
The interaction and unlimited comments are long gone. Too many people found out Rosie O'Donnell kept a blog. Too many letters to respond to. Too many people in need, begging for her to fix what ails them, whether it be money or emotional trauma. How exactly did she become the Dear Abby of the internet? Too many haters and gay-bashers came in, ruined that too. I don't get hate. Seems such a waste of energy and emotion.
Selfishly, I miss when so few knew and we could keep her to ourselves. Seemed so much less stalkery to visit her page several times a day than it does now. Annie, Canadian Girl Heidi, Biscuit, Sarah Lee you girls remember those days, don't you? She is how we met. She brought me friends from far away places I may have never met otherwise. I should be thankful for that in itself.
Ross and ANT were threads of her love quilt, where I met many more of you. That really should be sufficient. I have oodles of love from so many people. Those guys are our Kevin Bacon, our six-degrees, minus five, to Rosie O'Donnell.
That selfish side of me wants more, as always. I am not in it for fortune or fame. I don't want my name in lights. I don't want to be the center of attention... unless when it comes to my family, then, yes, I am the baby and I DESERVE the extra coddling. But really, I just want to write and see the words unravel on a stage, and hear the roar of laughter from the audience. Part of me believes that would be payment enough. The folks at the electric and gas companies beg to differ. I bet they wouldn't let me trade in laughter as payment for a bill. Blood sucking bastards, clearly have no sense of humor, whatsoever.
Sometimes when I write a post that I think is funny, I feel cheated that I can't hear and see your reaction. I know when I've set my mother's kitchen on fire, or pissed my pants, or chased after Mr. Lane with my milk-filled breasts as if they were Super Soakers, that there was a smile or laughter somewhere far away from me. Just knowing ought to be enough. Don't know why it isn't.
One person connecting through those words on their own screen, it's pretty cool. I wonder if your dog or cat, husband or wife, son or daughter is looking at you funny when you are laughing at a computer screen. I know mine do when I read yours. The posts that received a big comment response over the years, finally made it to the sidebar. On your right, you'll see "Reader's Choice" links. If you've been here for the last four years, you probably already read them. If you are new here, and need a laugh, well look no further.
Besides finding ways to
The parade float fiasco should have been enough penance served, but somehow, I found myself at the teen center during the fall festival fund raiser, roasting 400 hot dogs last week. Who does that? I also was the
My sister Angie and I made plans for next week. I seriously can't wait for that. Since I moved here, I haven't seen my family much at all. Gas prices vs. food and utility prices vs. spending time with loved ones, such a fucked up choice to be forced to make.
Great Scott, Phil and I are working on a project together. Once it is ready for your eyes, I'll link you up. I believe they are launching the site on November 15th. I love any collaboration I can get my hands on. It's exercise for the brain.
I think that about sums up what's been going on in my neck of the woods. I'll be by your blogs to catch up with all of you while I kick back and enjoy this quiet weekend.