As regular readers of this blog know, Facebook has started a club dedicated entirely to celebrating my acute narcissism. I use the word ‘acute’ because it sounds kind of like how I feel about myself, which of course adds credibility to Facebook’s observations. Oh, well. I’m totally over Facebook. I don’t want to hear another word about Facebook. As far as I’m concerned, Facebook is SO last Thursday.
But being as cool as I am -- and hey, drink in that profile pic, baby -- means I receive a TON of fan mail. Seriously. Every day the Mail Delivery Professional hauls a ginormous bag of letters up to my house, throws a brick through the window, curses me in Farsi, then hauls the bag back to the truck and drives down the block to put a couple of envelopes in our slot in the community box.
Why he does the first three things heaven only knows. It could have something to do with that time I sort of left a loaded mousetrap in my box because I was pretty sure the androgynous python breeder up the street was sneaking peaks at my “Piano Teachers Unleashed” magazine. You want to see me in that centerfold, Dale, you gotta subscribe like everyone else.
So now I’m pretty sure Haziz the Mail Delivery Professional farts on all the perfume card inserts. But I rub them on myself anyway. Otherwise, the Mail Delivery Professionals win.
Given that my secretary is largely a figment of my imagination (it’s my dog, Sadie, only as my imaginary secretary she has opposable thumbs and can tell callers, “I’m sorry. DeNae is dead. You’ll have to sue her estate to collect on that gym membership.”) I have fallen dreadfully behind on answering my mail.
And I would never want any of my twelve real followers to feel neglected, not to mention the -- hang on, gotta count-- 63 fake followers I conjured up back when Motherboard quit following me and sent me into a narcissistic tailspin where, for a good 24 hours, I actually thought about someone besides myself, a long dark day I don’t soon wish to repeat, thankyouverymuch.
So, in my typically efficient way, I’m going to answer my mail right here! I know! It’s like Arbor Day and Scoliosis Checkup Week all rolled into one! I can’t wait to see what I have to say to me, er, I mean, to YOU, my totally real and completely not made up letter writing pals!
Let’s start with this one from Mary of Limewash, Wyoming:
“I’ve been reading your blog for some time now (going on 20 minutes) and you’ve inspired me to become a blogger, too. I have already written several novels, have won the Nobel Prize in ‘Being Better At Everything Than Everyone in the Whole Wide World Especially DeNae’, and am currently dating a guy who looks a lot like that Hugh Jackman dude everybody was slobbering over in your last post. But I’m having a hard time breaking into the blogging industry. What advice would you give a beginning blogger like me? By the way, Facebook sucks.”
Well, Mary, while your observations regarding Facebook’s unusual gravitational field are tremendously insightful, you make no mention of your ability to upload videos of your cat dressed in a blue Snuggie and performing scenes from “Hairspray”, which, I’m sorry to inform you, means you don’t really have what it takes to make it as a blogger. Get used to rejection, Mary. These are the big leagues.
How about this one from Maximilliana, the Queen of the Maoris:
“Your blog mostly seems to be a bunch of stories about all the stupid things you do, or the stupid things other people do while you laugh at them, or the stupid things sheep do. Tell me, do you have an ounce of common sense? Because near as I can figure, if brains were party favors, yours would be the snot-filled kazoo.”
Oh, like you’re the first person to tell me THAT, Maximilliana.
Here’s one from Goldie of Grumpy Trees, Utah:
“You keep saying that Facebook is Satan’s Memo Pad. But all my little friends are pestering me to write on their walls and communicate with them and stuff. How should I respond to this diabolical peer pressure?”
Um, Goldie, do you not read the introductory paragraphs? Have I not made it clear that the mere mention of Facebook causes me to break out in B-level profanity, something for which I’ve taken no small amount of heat right here on this very blog? What the hell are you asking me Facebook questions for? Sheesh. Good thing you aren’t my sister or I’d give you such a wedgie.
Here are a couple of letters from Hek of Roosamok, Australia:
“Are you jealous that my abbreviated name, with which I identify myself on my blog and also when I comment on everyone else’s posts sounds kind of swear-wordy and biblical but really isn’t, so I get away with saying it, like, all the time, unlike you, who can’t even say it on your own personal blog without someone getting completely uptight and knicker-twisted?”
Yes. I am.
“Ha! I knew it! Anyway, here’s my other question: In a recent interview did New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd really ask Biz Stone, the unfortunately named 35 year-old founder of “Twitter”, whether there was anything in his childhood that led him to want to destroy civilization as we know it?”
As a matter of fact, she did. Which means as soon as I’m finished here, I’m nominating Maureen Dowd as Pope.
And, finally, this question from Svetlana of Freezeyerkiester, Minnesota:
“Did you really just use ‘ginormous’ in a sente --"
Well, looks like that’s all the mail we have time for –
“Because I thought you hated --"
Thank you all for writi—
“I mean, didn’t you say --"
Have a great—
ALL RIGHT!! I confess! I like the word ‘ginormous’, OK? Satisfied, Svetlana? Our relationship is very complicated right now and I’d appreciate a little privacy while we work through some things.
I mostly liked that word because it was rebellious, edgy, sort of the Robert Downey, Jr. of words. When it came out of rehab and got all respectable and put in dictionaries and stuff, well, it just wasn’t as sexy to me any more.
As a serious writer like Sylvester Stallone I know I should be ashamed of my regular use of ‘ginormous’, but I promise it’s only recreational. It does NOT interfere with my work. I’ve never missed a deadline or lost a Pulitzer nomination because of ‘ginormous’. In fact, I believe it enhances my writing and makes me great fun at parties.
Criminy, this is exactly why I don’t answer my mail more regularly. Sassy-mouthed letter writers. I’m going to grab myself a ginormous diet Coke, fire up Facebook, and see if I can fine tune my swearing skills.
And you know what? The first wall I’m writing on is Hel’s!