Monthly Archives: February 2009

I have an imaginary friend named Dooce

I’ve developed a huge internet crush on Heather Armstrong, based on her blog Dooce, which I’ve been reading daily for about a year. Recently, I’ve started going through the archives and just being immersed in her. And I love her! I love her the way you love a character in a book, ie Bridget Jones, and wish that said character could be your friend. So you get a bit obsessed with the author, but the author, while probably brilliant and clever and charming, is not the same as ficto-person. You settle for smoking Silk Cut.

But Heather is real, not imaginary. And only a year and a half older than me. And sometimes visits San Francisco. And she’s funny and snarky and creative and clever and sweet and judgmental. If I were in the habit of thinking up imaginary friends to fill my emotional voids, then she. would. be. IT.

I am despondent on days when she does not post. Because our relationship is so one-sided, I’m really dependent upon her to tell me some form of helloes. I don’t get to start the conversation from my end. And while I guess I could send her an e-mail, she must get at least 8 requests per day to be Suzie or Beth or Todd’s new best friend. I’m definitely better than any person who might happen to be named Suzie, but I can’t imagine Heather agrees to adopt new pen pals.

Although frankly, how would that work if she did?
Ok, so I lied when I said I couldn’t imagine it.  Because I can.  And it would be weird:

Maggie to Dooce:
Dear Heather,
I adore you. <List of reasons, ad nauseum>. I wish that you would be my friend. If you got to know me, I think you’d find that I’m kinda funny and charming, too. Be my friend?

Dooce to Maggie:
I’m a sucker for a friend request. I’m in. You have an odd penchant for weasels and I like that.

Maggie to Dooce:
Yay! I’m so stoked! I will commence being your friend right now! But, um, this e-mail correspondence seems to be petering out, so… right. We’ll do more friend stuff later, yeah?

Dooce to Maggie:
Hell to the yes. Right back atcha. Look me up if you’re ever in Utah.

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Filed under these are the days of my lives

Do You Wanna Ride in my Toyota Boy?

A strange thing has happened:  my Toyota Echo was stolen and I simply don’t have a car any more.  I had one.  And now I don’t.
This past weekend, I picked up a check from Progressive, in essence, having sold the non-existent car to my insurance company.  In a really disappointing turn of responsibility, I’ve decided to hand the check over to some credit cards and make a real concerted effort to do some debt reduction.
So I don’t have a car, and I don’t have a prospect for a new car, and I also don’t have a pair of Tiffany earrings or a trip to Greece.

That Toyota Echo was the first car I bought myself.  Mom and Dad did give me $3000 for the deposit, but after that I forked over the $255 every month for 5 years.  I cried in the process of agreeing to make the purchase, as I was terrified of the commitment.  At 22 years old, 5 years of payments seemed like a very long time.  But I did it.  I even finished a few months early.

I keep thinking of the poor little Echo trying to make friends with the mean, scary cars in the ghetto.  Or maybe the Echo has just been totally mangled and all of his important parts have been removed, leaving a sad little shell.  And what did they to my Dave Matthews sticker?

This car mostly got me to and from Whole Foods, or the West Oakland BART station.  It takes me to my weekly session of UGH, otherwise known as my cello lesson.  Jessica and I drove it to Las Vegas once and another time to San Luis Obispo.

But when I start thinking of car memories, they generally go farther back… to Red Car and to Gordy.  Both of those cars were 10 to 15 years old when they came into my life and they both died in my posession.  Both of them were the types of cars to just crap out while I was driving them, leaving me frantically trying to restart as I edged through the toll plaza or down the main drag of my college town.  Thus, was I motivated to buy myself a brand new car and never suffer the tragedy of car death again.  So some cars die and others are kidnapped.

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Filed under Momentousness

happy heart day

I have always found Valentine’s Day to be rather dreary, as a long standing non-Valentine holder.  I generally make efforts to acknowledge my single girl friends and sometimes send cards or give flowers and stuff.  But that was all just a ploy to stifle the pitiful little sorrows of my lonely heart.

Sniff.  sniff.  weep.

And this year, I am not single and I don’t live on Planet Suck, and I get to be with this wonderful person every day that I’m just so perpetually grateful to be around.  I thought that having Valentine’s Day once I got to be in this place would be this perfectly romantic episode.  But in the days leading up to it, I found that I wasn’t that excited.  We already say that we love each other a bunch of times, every day. We always hold hands.  We go out for nice dinners together.  We snuggle on the couch.  We linger in bed every chance that we can get.  So cliched, but really, every day is Valentine’s Day.

I may have to either go have a sentimental sob to myself now, or heave a little.

It must be said, though:  my sweet boy is great.  I am amazed that I get to be with him, and that he wants to be with me.  I love how he is so unfunny sometimes when he’s actually trying to be funny, and then just how funny he really is other times.  I love that he’s astonishingly clever and knows all kinds of everything and if he doesn’t know, will do immediate research to find out.  But he is always saying that I know everything, probably because I could say who Jennifer Aniston is dating at any given moment.  I love that he is obsessed with working out and gets terrifically invested in his efforts, because it is impressive and inspiring, and he’s got a truly lovely body.  I love that he falls asleep wrapped around me at night, even though it makes me swelteringly hot.  I love that he will just decide what we should do or have for dinner.  I love telling him how handsome he is and how perfect and just that I love him as much as I can.

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Filed under The David

Two to the Fifth

Today is Jessica’s birthday.
Ever since I started doing things like turning 20, Jessica always did it first.  For that, I will be ever grateful.  It’s not so weird to be 24 or 29 or 31 when your soul mate does it first.  As panicky and weird as I have gotten over a birthday, I can only imagine that it would have a certain kind of awful if I didn’t have the knowledge that it was ok and normal, because that’s how old Jessica is.

And today she is 32.  I always have this sense of gratitude on her birthday and rather wish that I could wax nostalgic on her actual birth.  But thanks, all the same, to Crazy Janey and Jimbo who made it all possible.  And to the brothers, who used to feel like halfway to my own brothers, for being a part of that person.


I don’t know how a person like me got a friend like her, but I’m awfully glad that I did.  She’s the best sort of person possible.  She is patient and listens to people.  I get jealous, in fact, of just how well she can listen to absolutely dullards.  She is adorably (possibly freakishly) in love with her cats.  She has a wonderful fashion sense, appreciative of the right flavors of quirk, vintage, and classiness.  And she changes and evolves so that it’s almost kind of like having a whole new friend, who you immediately love from the word Go.  A new friend who suddenly likes miso.

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Filed under Girl land, Special happy things

Hey baby hey baby hey

David’s sister had a baby girl yesterday, Elizabeth Joy.

To be fair, David’s sister’s husband sent an e-mail with the subject Elizabeth Joy!

Some people interpret this to mean that they had a baby girl, named her Elizabeth, and then felt joy.

Other people may surmise that Elizabeth has a middle name and it may be Joy.

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Filed under Special happy things


I kid that I have more man tendencies than I should, me being a girl.  I’m no butch, but I do do some things that really remind me of how guys function.

I think babies are boring.  I want to think that they’re cute.  But they just don’t DO anything.
I have a high tolerance for messiness and untidiness.
I like to have answers.

Last night, my dearest friend admitted some personal stew in her pot that was making her sadly.  And I opened my mouth and unleashed a torrent of blather about why it was all really fine.  I can’t even remember what it was I was trying to say, because I think it was all nonsense.  Or just noises to try and solve it all up, shove it in a box, and put it on the top shelf of the closet under an old blanket.  When maybe I could have just said that I was sorry.  Or to tell me if it develops further.  Or that it’s ok to feel worried.

I like pink and purple and I buy unreasonable high heeled shoes that are too hurty to wear and I like flowers for no reason.  But I just had a very shameful manly moment and I might need to regroup my girl goodness to recover.

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Filed under Girl land

Remembering Greenville

At this moment, I have 447 friends on Facebook.  Which feels a bit like I’m on my way to Tila Tequila, considering I only have about 5 actual friends.

Among these acquaintances are a good number of connections from my pre-high school era.  When I was 4, my family moved to Greenville, North Carolina where my dad would be working for the pharmaceutical company Borroughs-Wellcome.  We lived there, at 201 Courtney Place, until January of 1992 at which time I was half way through the 9th grade.  I lived a whole childhood there.  I had friends.  I had the cool, pretty, skinny girls that I was jealous of.  I had crushes on boys named Ben and Peter.

I was completely heartbroken to leave.  My group of girl friends through me a surprise sleep over party.  It was supposed to just be a sleepover with Anne and I remember planning to not stay over night because I was just so miserable and crying constantly that I didn’t want to go to her house at all.  But I got there and all of my friends jumped out and scared the crap out of me.  And I did cry, but it was one of the sweetest things ever.  They were such good friends, but I was so young when we left, and I mostly didn’t keep in touch.
In retrospect, though, I’m glad I didn’t stay there.  It was definitely The South and it was small town, tobacco country.  I have come to appreciate being from somewhere a bit more metropolitan, although take that with a grain of salt when talking about Clinton, NJ.  But in high school and college, I was an hour away from New York City, not 3 hours away from Raleigh.  There are some bad connotations with the hair of Jersey Girls, but I have to say, I think some of the fashion sense of that 80’s era in that North Carolina land was much, much worse.  Many things about that place were just more close minded.  It’s hard to imagine what might have become of me if I had stayed there, but so many of those kids are still in Greenville, or are very close by, that I don’t think I’d have made it to San Francisco.  And if nothing else, I am quite happy that my path got me here.

So I’ve become “friends” with some of these kids on Facebook and in the past few days, someone posted a bunch of pictures from middle school and high school.  There’s one of about 20 kids grouped in someone’s living room and it’s titled The Night Before We All Left For College.  And I just can’t believe that I wasn’t there, that that was almost my life, but then it wasn’t.

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Filed under Vintage