So, you know Dooce (and, as I once memorably read somewhere, if you don’t, you’re my mother, so please call me, I want to talk to you). Well, I read Dooce and once I got a reply to an email from her and I kept it in my inbox for ages even though I normally delete email so fast that I find myself rooting around in deleted items for flight confirmations. I’ve never been a fan of anyone before (no interest in musicians, no particular interest in authors, only their output, little interest in the private lives of actors or other random famous people), but I am now. It is disconcerting.
Anyhow, a while ago, she said that she had seen herself as one of the five top bloggers in the Observer and she was pleased. I deduced that, what with living in Salt Lake City and that, she did not have a copy of the Observer in her sweaty little paw as I did. So, I decided to send her my copy of the Observer magazine in an attempt to win her heart. This is the kind of thing fans do.
Mr. Waffle and I went to the post office together (the family that posts together stays together or something like that). We had the following conversation.
Mr. Waffle: What’s this?
Me (embarrassed): It’s the Observer for Dooce [insert explanation re bloggers article] – she said she was interested.
Him : That’s nice, she emailed and asked if you’d post it and you’re sending it to her.
Me (failing to explain that I’ve only ever had the one email and, in fact, this is an entirely unsolicited and, perhaps, slightly creepy act of goodwill); Mmm.
Post office lady weighing the envelope: That will be 9 euros.
Me and him (yelping): 9 Euros!
Post office lady (apologetically): It’s a non-standard size.
Him: Could we sellotape over the edge?
Her: Well, you used to be able to do that but now they don’t accept that, it’s the European norm.
Me: Could we buy a standard size envelope here?
Her (apologetically) : No, the envelopes we have on sale are not standard European size.[I am not making this up].
My lovely husband: Feck it, we’ll send it anyway, go on, I’ll pay for it.
All I can say is, I hope that when I find out her address and we go to visit her in Salt Lake City, she will put us all up. Do you think that she’s scared?
Apparently I’m your mother – what do you ned to talk about?
Seriously, I had a quick(ish) look at Dooce’s blog. ohmigod – a blog that supports a family of 3 and 2 dogs – talk about making one re-evaluate one’s career choices!
Oooh, you scary blog-fan, you. Actually, I love Dooce too, though I’m becoming slightly bored with the deco photos. Not so the dog photos, though.
I mailed a chocolate advent calendar to one of my favorite bloggers, just because. She sent a very nice thank-you email but I still wonder if she thinks I’m a freak. But I guess I’m OK with being a freak because who couldn’t use more chocolate. (I’d send some to you as well but, well, living in Belgium you probably don’t need any more.)
You did get all the Newspapers I sent you didn’t you? 🙂
i enjoy dooce’s blog enormously as well (almost as much as i enjoy yours tho) – as for stalking her, should that thought even cross her mind, it will immediately be erased by the enormous pleasure and gratitude of having the hard copy of that article! 9 euros well spent i say!
C, prepare to waste a great deal more time.
Charlotte – the dogs? I am fed up to the back teeth with the dogs and I bet that Coco would bite my children.
B, nice thought though.
Cha0tic, is it you sending the Daily Mail? Joke, JOKE.
Gala, how kind. I love flattery.
It’s been a while since I’ve commented, though of course I’ve still been around. If you remember me, I’m the one who lived in Las Vegas and then moved to Charleston, South Carolina. Anyway, another job move for my husband has brought us back to our home town of Salt Lake City. Since you love Dooce so much, I just had to comment about the funny ways our lives have intersected (geographically, anyway).
Dooce’s first home here in Salt Lake was directly across the street from the home I grew up in. In fact, the reason I started reading her blog way back when was because I had googled something which directed me to her site, and of course when I saw that she was in my home town I started reading and looking at her photos. When I saw one of the photos she had taken from her front door, imagine my surprise: “Hey! That’s my house! Dooce, you live across from my house!” Of course at the time I was brand new to the whole Dooce thing and I had no idea how “big” she was, so I sent her a chatty email saying “Hi, you live across from my childhood home, how are things in the neighborhood, do the so-and-so’s still live there? etc.” Obviously I never got an email back–so consider yourself very lucky that you did! 🙂
Secondly: unbelievably, when Heather and her family moved into their new home (just blocks away from the old one), imagine my surprise when I saw those pictures: “Hey! That’s my cousins’ grandparents’ house!” (My cousins grandparents on their father’s side, while we share maternal grandparents–try to keep up.) I had learned enough to not email her this time, though–figured she’d take that as complete stalking–imagine me saying that not only do I know where both of her houses have been, but I’ve spent a great deal of my life in each of them. Ha.
To sum up, if you ever do make it to Salt Lake City, I don’t know if Heather would actually put you up, but I certainly would, and I’d be more than happy to offer a dooce.com celebrity tour–it would showcase not only the two homes, but the Starbucks she frequents, the grocery store she favors, and the lovely golf course where they take their dogs walking. No, I’m really not a stalker. I just can’t help recognizing the places she talks about so frequently, when I’ve spent most of my life in the same neighborhood.
(Hope it’s obvious to all that, while all of this is 100% true, it’s also very tongue-in-cheek–I wouldn’t violate anyone’s privacy so grossly.)
Kara, how exciting, I knew, if I tried hard enough, I could track her down! I bet she’s really scared now.