I’m sorry I haven’t been posting lately. Where have you been Erin? you’re saying to yourselves. The 4 or 5 of you. I know, I know. I’ve deserted my blog because I’m trying to write a book. It’s super time consuming, on top of everything else I’m doing, so I just can’t devote time to writing here every day. And you’re so dissapointed! I know.
Just kidding. But it would have been a completely valid excuse for deserting one of the things that I find really enjoyable – which is to write about my completely humiliating moments for the entire world, and by that I mean the 4 or 5 of you, to see.
I’m totally not even close to writing anything minus a short blurb on facebook, which I’m having a difficult relationship with right now. Like my Bravo obsession, facebook is becoming unhealthy to me. When you scroll so long that you scroll back to the last post that you saw three days ago, I believe you are kicking the soft habit of facebook into a full blown addiction. Sure I can go on and on about wanting to keep up with my friends, and seeing the pictures of their children, and knowing when someone is going through a difficult time, but God’s honest, last year I was in Osh Kosh B’Gosh and spotted someone familiar and ducked behind the overalls to avoid personal contact, because I realized, although they were yes, a facebook friend, I perhaps didn’t know them well enough to have a short conversation in Osh Kosh B’Gosh. I mean, that would mean we would most likely have to move beyond the weather and into specifics – real personal details like where they were living and how were there kids – and didn’t I know that already because of facebook?
Most of the time, I find myself thinking “Oh, I would love to see the pictures from so and so’s wedding!” and then realize that I might know someone from the wedding, and then think – wait, do I also know that person, and then suddenly I realize I’m 42 pictures in to a friend of a friend of a friends vacation in Aruba – and although they both look lovely in the water, I have no basis for looking at their vacation pictures. How did I get there? Who knows. So does this mean I have to get out? I don’t know. What would I do then, when I’m already watching TV and reading a book and holding my cell phone in my hand? How could I live in a world where I’m not committing myself to 2 to three forms of technology at any given time? Maybe then I could write a book? Or clean the house? Or maybe Banana would eat something other than green beans from a can or frozen pizza. You can see it. I’m wearing an apron, I’ve just finished cooking something organic and wonderful – my house is sparkling clean, the birds are chirping outside my window – perhaps I’m throwing bread to them as clean up the dishes, and the mailman sees me in the window and shouts “Good morning Madame Laplante!” (Side note, in my fantasy, I’m super French. Not just half Canadian French. And even if I’m not, people call me Madame. I don’t have to be married, or French. Just super classy. Which I also am in my fantasy) I picture myself looking a lot like Juliette Binoche in Chocolat. I actually sometimes picture myself opening a coffee shop of some sort, even though I don’t know how to make much beyond an actual cup of coffee, and I picture Banana greeting the guests. She speaks French too. Here’s me, hanging up the sign. I know it LOOKS like Juliette, but you all haven’t seen me with my new haircut. Its grown out a bit, and I look fabulous:
Anyway, in real life, Banana has just brushed off a grilled cheese, and the only time I ever have been called Madame was in the 9th grade, when the principal came to our classroom to ask if “This was anyone’s leather jacket”. As I was raising my hand to admit that in fact, I do have incredibly bad taste and am sporting suede that’s been outside in the rain too many times jackets that look like a form of pleather, I realized my mistake. Why? Because as my hand went up, the always maxi pad fell out of the pocket, and landed at the foot of my teacher, who was standing in front of the class, and said “Madame Laplante?”
I was reminded of this story when I was perusing through a friend of a friend of a friend’s graduation pictures from a high school that looked relatively like mine. Exactly.