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Wednesday, September 20, 2006

On blogging

"No road is long with good company." ~Turkish Proverb

There was a very serious conversation. During which, I said in complete seriousness – perhaps with a sigh, because how could she not know – "Scar is Mufasa's brother. Scar has a gaggle of hyenas that follow him. Scar wants to be the King, but instead Simba becomes the king. So Scar kills Mufasa" so on and so forth, until I busted out in a fit of (Pilsner induced) laughter.

Beyond the earnest talk of what exactly Pumba is (a warthog if you're wondering), there was the usual gossip (you know you do it too), whether or not I should take Robbie's last name or leave it as is (you know that my boys kick ass), and well blogging (which, you know you do it too).

I've met a lot of other bloggers and it's something that I no longer find odd nor do I think that one of them has an intricate plan to off me, including – but not limited to – shoving me in a wood chipper a la Fargo. Most of those, whom I have met, are now my "real friends." Far too often, I put my foot in my mouth and say "well my real friends" etc. But they understand what I mean. The line has been blurred far too many times on my part as to my 'real' life and my 'blogging' life. It's just my life and nothing strikes me as weird about it and yet for some reason I shy away from discussing it with…well…my 'real friends' because I fear what they might think of me and the situation in general. It was difficult enough explaining to coworkers and others why I suddenly fancied San Jose as a vacation destination. Details were needed and yet I could give none. Basically when it comes to discussing blogging, I become elusive as hell and I've run out of excuses for how I know "My friend Joe" from some small ass obscure town of which only residents of that state are aware. It's awkward; mostly because saying that I 'know' someone from the internet, sounds so odd. And I'm odd enough as it is, we really need not throw in that I find meeting people that I don't know, somewhat...gasp...enjoyable.

During marathon babysitting last weekend (which, I'm really not complaining, I adore the kids I babysat for last week, even when they scream loudly in my ear, because the microwave isn't performing as quickly as they would like), one family asked about the other family I babysit for – what they did, how I met them - and as usual I hemmed and hawed and possibly likened the parents to a novelist and food critic. I shit you not. Thankfully it was left at that, and no mention of the lovely email I sent them stating that I would love to babysit their unborn child (at the time) and I know where they live. Which is fucking weird. But we're totally past that and it's hysterical now, but to tell that to a 'regular' person makes me look like I should be wearing a white straight jacket type contraption and/or strapped to a table until my valium kicks in.

There's also the age old persona question. Am I being real or fake? Is my name really Heather? Do I really drink that much and spend that much on alcohol? Real. Yes. And no. I was speaking with another blogger and he alluded to me being of a 'higher echelon' than him, because of my constant talk of wine, Kate Spade or Coach and Martha's Vineyard. Which, HA! Really, do I come off as that pretentious? I'm sitting here typing this in a pair of five year old black gap pants that are way too big and tomorrow I might rock the skirt I bought for my 8th grade graduation. Because hello world! I am so very, very cheap. I buy expensive bags on sale and only because they will last for-fucking-ever. Other than that, I still think that Old Navy is the best place ever. Though yes, I am pretentious about the make up because it goes on my face. My. Face. I suppose I'm harping on that, because I'm always taken aback by what people think of me. Beyond me possibly being pretentious, I am like this – neurotic, narcissistic, annoying, drunk, wholly unfunny, and liberal – in real life. I talk a lot of shit, I say fuck way too much and I call my mother Peg, but mostly in public to get her over the cacophony of 'MOM' being yelled out in Nieman Marcus. Kidding, I meant Saks.

Anyway, there was my drinking companion. If you met Lizzie in real life, she's become your drinking companion as well. Fuck, if you met 99.9% of the bloggers I've met in real life, you'd be moved to lick them and pinch their cheeks as well. They are just that spectacular. And hopefully one day I'll be a little less timid about saying how I met them: Especially when speaking of the bloggers that encourage me to get drunk and then proceed to steal condiments from cheap ass bars.


Seriously, wtf? Who the hell steals sugar? I suppose it's for her little starbucks problem, but really sweetie, I have a full box of splenda at home that you can have. My gift to you.

16 Comments:

Blogger Lizzie said...

Stop spreading lies about me on the internet! I honestly have no idea how that thing of sugar ended up in my bag... or the ketchup... or the mustard. I think the guy that begged you to take his picture but then made you promise not to put it on the internet put those them in there. Speaking of, you should post his pic. Hopefully he's a republican congressman or something and we can ruin his career. yeah!

9:34 PM  
Blogger Heather B. said...

Wait, lies? What lies? That you've never seen the Lion King or that you steal condiments from the Front Page?

;-)

9:42 PM  
Anonymous lorie said...

Dammit, why don't you live in Lynchburg? I mean, not really, because why would you want to live in Lynchburg, but really, I think you should live here so that you can entertain me in person. Because you are awesome. And I am a social misfit and could use more awesome people in my presence.

10:50 PM  
Anonymous MappyB said...

Ummm....hypothetically speaking...what if a short bar glass ended up in my bag after Saturday night's 8 hour drinking session? Hmm.....

2:36 AM  
Blogger Heather B. said...

lorie: some might disagree on just how awesome I am (read: seriously lacking) but thank you. Or you could come up to DC and shower me with wine. I like wine.

mappyb: umm, you should see my dream/love cup collection. It's a sight to behold. Those suckers fit perfectly into my little black clutch.

8:17 AM  
Blogger I-66 said...

If out with a fellow blogger and I encounter his/her or my non-blog friends, I always have to give/get clarification on how to handle the inevitable "how do you know..." question. I hate that question, especially when it's my mother asking about a girl, no matter whether I met her at a bar (because, oh my god, I'm drinking and meeting strangers), or at a party (because, oh my god, I'm drinking and meeting strangers in strange people's houses)... you get the idea.


And re: Lizzie - What precisely do you mean by little Starbucks problem?

8:51 AM  
Blogger I-66 said...

PS: Totally time for a Five Guys trip.

8:53 AM  
Anonymous MappyB said...

Mmm....did somebody say Five Guys? I wonder what time they open today. I'm home sick with bronchitis though - don't quite know if burger is the cure. But the vinegar might be. :)

9:26 AM  
Blogger Heather B. said...

i66: exactly. I once met a blogger's work colleauges and had no idea what to say. Of course he had already told them how he knew me, but still it was awkward.

MappyB: I actually haven't been to Five Guys in ages. It's crazy. Alright, I'm in.

10:57 AM  
Blogger brookem said...

hi heather b.
i have read your blog a couple times and this is the first time i've commented. just wanted to say hi and compliment you on your writing.
mind if i ask how you got people to find out you were "blogging?"....

12:30 PM  
Blogger Heather B. said...

brookem: Thank you very much.
It's actually all about the commenting. I comment on people's blogs regularly. Then one day via my comments on somone's blog, someone else, noticed my post, told the person I was writing about that I had written about them, and I got my first comments: http://heatherbarmore.blogspot.com/2005/08/red-diva.html

oh, back in the day.

12:55 PM  
Blogger Sarah said...

I have proof that bloggers are real people, and here it is:

I am a blogger who just randomly discovered your blog, and seriously, I realized I KNOW YOU in real life-- we were at Little Notch together. It was back in the day when my name was Farley.

Awesome.

2:15 PM  
Blogger Heather B. said...

sarah: further proof, that I did go to girl scout camp. These people don't believe me. When you were Farley and I was Mushu. Good times. Not to mention that I'll be rocking my SLU t-shirt later today.

small fucking world.

2:23 PM  
Blogger Kate said...

HB,
I am glad I'm not the only one who gets the crazy looks from my "real" friends when I talk about blogging. I know they don't understand it - I just wish they understood how great it is to finally have a creative outlet! I send them emails with links, and still - maybe one or two will read it (well, one reads regularly), but the people who read me regularly are strangers.

I met two bloggers in MN about a month ago, and.... They. Were. Awesome. So if answering the question "how do y'all meet" means answering "blogging!" then I'll take it, and whatever people think about Blogging? Be damned!

Keep up the blogging - I love to read you!

- KB

2:26 PM  
Blogger Mocha said...

First of all, I think I'd love to hang out with you on a regular basis just to tell people we met on the internet. Well, first in San Jose at a blogging convention. Secondly, Lizzie must come, too, because I myself have a Starbucks problem (12 Step, anyone?) as well as a Splenda one. But most bars don't even carry it so stealing the other stuff doesn't appeal to me.

Umm... A1 Steak Sauce is fun to steal.

Usually, I just say I met some writers for a get-together. It brings less strange looks. However, it's just easiest to lie. Lying is underrated. We should all do it more often.

And, you know me: I'll take the licking as opposed to the pinching. But I'll think on the pinching thing if you simply must.

5:11 PM  
Blogger lizziep901 said...

I think I love you.
No seriously. You are my new blogging BFF. Everytime I leave a restaurant, sugar packets and steak sauce MAGICALLY end up in my Kate Spade bag that I paid too much fucking money for but I refuse to buy the cheapies because they last about 2 fucking months and just piss me off and I love to blog and I love my blog "friends" but feel so stupid calling them my "friends" even though I love them more than I love my "real-life" friends sometimes. Oh....and if that wasn't enough to convince you? I AM A TOTAL LUSH. I need to check into the "Betty" but I'm not a quitter.

2:07 PM  

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