I LOVE women. Don't get me wrong. I love men too. But as friends and confidantes I love smart, articulate, funny, compassionate women. And I have been blessed to know many in my life. Not that they are a dime a dozen, because God knows they're not. Today I was reading an interview with Heather Armstrong about her blog called dooce. And damn that woman impresses me. I have never met her or had any human contact with her (short of writing her a fan e-mail and yes, I am that much of a dweeb), but I am SURE if we met we would be friends. How lame does that sound?
Anyway, that's how this whole blog thing started for me (yes, you can blame Ms. Armstrong). While I was pregnant (and miserable) my friend Rebekah told me I should check out this blog called dooce. She thought I might find some solace in the fact that I was not the only pregnant woman in America that thought that being pregnant was NOT the greatest thing EVER. I must admit that I was skeptical at first. I held the view that blogs were narcissism disguised by a nice typeface (and sometimes not even that). But I overcame my prejudices and read the blog. And I laughed. Out loud. And again. And again. And then I was rolling on the floor and the corgis were looking at me like I was acting even more insane than usual. And then I was hooked. Both my husband and I are regular readers of Heather's blog. Josh used to work at 'The Red Herring' with her husband Jon (it is indeed a small world). We like to discuss Heather, Jon, Leta and Chuck as if they were soap opera characters. Our own little personal Sims game.
And if that were not enough reason to like her, she's also from a Southern family and her life is also consumed with the question of when she will poop next. A concern that I have become all too familiar with since Ben was born and my stomach was CUT APART to get him out. My plumbing has not been the same since.
But seriously, I have found the writings of Heather (and other funny women such as Ayun Halliday, Laurie Notaro or Susan Gilman) to get me through some days when I feel that I am the only crazy, medicated, overweight girl in this Martha Stewart world.
So cheers to smart women. If you know of some I can read, watch or meet, please pass on the goods. I promise to do the same. In the interim, I will keep reading dooce, look at the beautiful photographs she takes, and try not to hate Ms. Armstrong for being so damn skinny. In her defense, she does eat Pop Tarts, so she can't be all bad.
p.s. I totally stole the idea of writing Ben a letter from her. Well, okay, I steal from her on a daily basis. She will probably haul my ass into court.