Everyone Is Staring at Me
A friend emailed me this link from Slate, where I'm quoted in an article about the Oprah letter. (Scroll down.) Someone at Slate reads my blog!
Talk about surreal. Here I've been prattling away for months, with no idea anyone other than my twelve most loyal friends was particularly interested in what I had to say. I do know that strangers find my blog, because my stat counter reports searches like:
AM Homes new book (I Google this one too... can't wait!)
cloistered naked mommies (I still have nightmares about this one)
pink rain boots (shopping I guess?)
Nicole Aragi (agent shopping I guess?)
Ryne Sandberg wife affair (This one intrigued me!)
Gary Hall penis (This one... NO COMMENT)
my naked neighbor (I get this one almost daily)
But these people are usually disappointed in the contents of my blog and leave quickly.
But Slate. SLATE! Now I feel as if I'm in the fishbowl! Look at her... she could stand to lose ten pounds... well, SOMEONE'S forgotten to take her Xanax... and that crappy purple sweatshirt? what's she thinking for God's sake?... duct tape, where's the duct tape so we can tape her fingers together and get her to SHUT UP....
I was at a great little bookstore in Mill Valley the other day, The Depot, being photographed signing books. (Yes, they had the books already and the people at the store were SO NICE.) And as I was walking through the cafe carrying the stack of books, the photographer with his gigantic camera trailing me, I realized that to a person, everyone waiting for their bagels and chai and lattes and whatnot... stopped. What they were doing. To STARE.
It's like that dream where you get up and brush your teeth and eat breakfast and pack your backpack and walk to school and then in the middle of homeroom you realize... YOU FORGOT TO PUT ON YOUR CLOTHES.
It's really, really weird.
I had this feeling once before, when I got blogged by Buzzgirl. At that time (though you can't see everyone's supportive comments since I switched to Haloscan) we determined that this blog does not, in fact, make my butt look big. (WHEW!)
But I had no idea someone at Slate was reading me. I don't have nice enough shoes to be blogging in front of Slate.
Well, I'm off to drop the kids at school.
I'll double check to be sure I remembered my clothes.
Talk about surreal. Here I've been prattling away for months, with no idea anyone other than my twelve most loyal friends was particularly interested in what I had to say. I do know that strangers find my blog, because my stat counter reports searches like:
AM Homes new book (I Google this one too... can't wait!)
cloistered naked mommies (I still have nightmares about this one)
pink rain boots (shopping I guess?)
Nicole Aragi (agent shopping I guess?)
Ryne Sandberg wife affair (This one intrigued me!)
Gary Hall penis (This one... NO COMMENT)
my naked neighbor (I get this one almost daily)
But these people are usually disappointed in the contents of my blog and leave quickly.
But Slate. SLATE! Now I feel as if I'm in the fishbowl! Look at her... she could stand to lose ten pounds... well, SOMEONE'S forgotten to take her Xanax... and that crappy purple sweatshirt? what's she thinking for God's sake?... duct tape, where's the duct tape so we can tape her fingers together and get her to SHUT UP....
I was at a great little bookstore in Mill Valley the other day, The Depot, being photographed signing books. (Yes, they had the books already and the people at the store were SO NICE.) And as I was walking through the cafe carrying the stack of books, the photographer with his gigantic camera trailing me, I realized that to a person, everyone waiting for their bagels and chai and lattes and whatnot... stopped. What they were doing. To STARE.
It's like that dream where you get up and brush your teeth and eat breakfast and pack your backpack and walk to school and then in the middle of homeroom you realize... YOU FORGOT TO PUT ON YOUR CLOTHES.
It's really, really weird.
I had this feeling once before, when I got blogged by Buzzgirl. At that time (though you can't see everyone's supportive comments since I switched to Haloscan) we determined that this blog does not, in fact, make my butt look big. (WHEW!)
But I had no idea someone at Slate was reading me. I don't have nice enough shoes to be blogging in front of Slate.
Well, I'm off to drop the kids at school.
I'll double check to be sure I remembered my clothes.
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