Let me tell you something about Sweetney. Okay, a few things. You know how I am.
Internet friendships get a bad rap sometimes. They burn fast and bright, but are ultimately, kind of disposable, if you want them to be. Someone can be your bestest friend that you've ever bested one day -- and then suddenly it's been six months since you emailed them and Jesus, you can't just email them NOW because what are you going to say you've been DOING for the past six months? They read your blog. They know your email has probably been working at least 50% of that time and YOU SPECIFICALLY TWITTERED THAT YOU WERE DOING EXACTLY DIDDLY SQUAT ON MULTIPLE OCCASIONS so you can't even be like, "Oh, GEE, I've just been so busy! What with the...blog! And the...thing. With the place."
And it's not like you're mad at them or stopped caring or reading their blog or anything...it's just flat-out easier to neglect friendships based around the Verdana typeface. Particularly if you have the attention span of a gnat.
...look! I bought a new fruit basket at Target. It's just like the other fruit basket we have, except oval instead of round which will be better for bananas and...
Right. I may mostly only be talking about myself here, and my horrific flame-out track record with keeping in touch with Internet friends.
And then there's Sweetney. You know...we FIGHT. We've actually gotten FUCKING PISSED OFF AS ALL HELL at each other. We've both looked at the other person and informed her that dude, you are being a ridiculous jackass here, knock it off. And then the other person is like, yeah, you're right, I know. And we never, ever fail to make up, hug it out, lay down some sappy sentences over email to thank the other person for both 100% having our back and 100% not putting up with our shit.
And that's what makes it, honestly, one of the healthiest and most normal friendships I've made out here on the ol' series of tubes.
All this is to say, of course, that Sweetney scares the crap out of me and after trying to ignore her subtle and not-so-subtle hints about a baby shower ("A shower for a second baby?" I'd say, clutching my pearls and smoothing my gingham apron, "That's just NOT DONE, you know." And then she'd be all, "Fuck that! Fuck the rules! Let's have a baby shower and worship SATAN!"), she finally threatened to come to my house and yell at me in person if I didn't comply and offer up a registry.
And I don't want her to come to my house. The last time she was here we drank three bottles of wine and I fell off the couch.
So fine, she's throwing me a baby shower. For both Internet friends AND real-life friends AND really, anyone in the MD/DC/VA area who would like to come to the Sleep is for the Weak book signing on September 27th at Vinoteca in Washington, DC. She's hijacked the event for her own purpose. Which is: WITTLE ITTY BITTY CUTIE PRESHUS BAYBEEEE THINGS. She's got all the details on her site -- I'm posting about it here because she ordered me to, and again. The yelling. I fear it.
(That would be the link, since I know my stylesheet doesn't underline links and make them super-prominent or anything. You don't have to click if you don't want to. I'm just like, you know, whatever, baby gifts, no baby gifts, totally not expecting anything from anyone, oh God, this is embarassing, I bet Tracey did this JUST TO WITNESS THE DELICIOUS AWKWARD on my part. That whore.)
(Also, because Miss Manners is indeed one of those Imaginary Authority Figures whose rebuke I also fear mightily, let me say that the "registry" is really an Amazon wish list that Jason and I were mostly using as a shopping list for our own purposes, and up until a week ago it contained exactly four items. Then Tracey was all, dude, come ON, so that's how it went from containing the Ergo carrier and a box of diaper sacks to "Well, GEE, if you're buying lunch, I'll have a double turkey sandwich on rye, a large knockwurt, three bags of potato chips, a chocolate milk and two beers. You want one? Three beers.")
(Are you getting the sense that I do pretty much whatever Tracey tells me to do? Hmm. Perhaps "healthiest" is not the word for this friendship. However, I really do want some extra-cute socks for the baby.)
(Anyway, if you are local and will be around on September 27th, we would totally love and appreciate it if you came to the little book event thing. [Click here for the eVite.] You SO. DO. NOT. need to bring a baby gift -- just your lovely, fabulous-smelling presence will be enough, since I have this image of Tracey, Rita and I sitting there with the books and sad little Sharpie pens all by ourselves, and THEY can at least drink wine to cope with the mortification.)
(I will also be as big as a motherfucking brick house by then. You should come see, just for the freak SPECTACLE of the thing. Behold! The world's rolliest pregnant woman! Who continues to walk upright! The human Jenga tower! Smelling salts will be provided for our sensitive patrons!)