WHERE THE HELL ARE ALL MY COMMENTERS???
Not that I’ve ever had that many in the first place, but I’m peeved. I’m feeling neglected. I’m missing you. Why are you not leaving me comments? Because I’m boring? I suck? I don’t make you want to say, “Piper, you are so pathetic. You are a mother. You should not be jumping around in a thong leotard. YOU ARE 40 FOR GOD’S SAKE.” Because I would even take that shit. Actually, I like it when you give me hell.
I’m that person.
What the fuck do I have to do to get you to talk to me??
Bribes? Promises of baked goods? Gift cards to Target? My own father doesn’t even comment on my blog anymore.
Big Hands, if you are reading this, I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU. If you don’t start commenting, you’d better start sending me twenty-dollar bills in cards. That’s your only other option.
No matter you people, I know you are lurking out there somewhere (I SEE THE READING STATS, YOU KNOW) and you can just stay in your comfortable, anonymous bubble and I will keep writing and just pretend I am writing to myself.
My good friend Heather sent me this in an email a week or so ago and I thought I would share since she made sure to tell me it took her at least three hours to make because she is technologically challenged:
[singlepic id=1505 w=720 h=640 float=center]
She apologized for not being a very good friend lately – in a time when she figures I need my friends the most. Heather, I love you. I still text or call you almost every day and I can be the one who bugs you. I’m OK with being that half of the relationship. But your fancy picture collage means so much. And I’m thinking it is supposed to represent our friendship, but there are a few things that confuse me.
* in the picture with two ladies, are you supposed to be the bigger bitch, or is that me???
* and when I do have fucked up ideas it takes you waayyyy longer than 10 minutes to get here to participate. I know you have kids and a husband and a job and all that, but…GOD. Hurry the fuck up.
* in the picture with Barbie looking at Ken’s lack of junk…I don’t know. Yes, that’s funny. But is that representing you or me? Or should I say Brad or George?? Because I can assure you that Brad is HUNG LIKE A BIG BUDWEISER CLYDESDALE. (maybe this will encourage him to comment on this post) And I’m assuming that George is too, because HELLO, HE’S GREEK. Or does being Greek just make you hairy??
* and yes, sometimes I do write drunk. I probably write better that way. Too bad hangovers suck and too bad I can’t drink during the day because I have children swirling around me and it inhibits my ability to remember where they are or make them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It would also be a little pathetic. More pathetic than whining about my lack of commenters.
THANK YOU, HEATHER, FOR YOUR FRIENDSHIP TRIBUTE. You are a darling dear.