Even if you won’t be going to BlogHer this year, you need to know these things about me. They’re things I know about myself that you may be ashamed to find out and think I DON’T know them, but you’re afraid to tell me.

But really, I know these things about me, and you should know I know.

0. I look like that —-> Snark-faced most of the time, even if it’s only in my head.

1. I laugh loudly – I’m trying really hard to tone down my laughs, but when an 8 year old boy (I’m looking at you, @lski) makes comments that I laugh loudly, I realized it was a problem. I don’t think I talk too loud, but when I find something funny, even 1/2-way funny, I belt out the cackles. I’ll do my very best to keep it down around NYC so as to not draw more attention to myself.

2. I snore – Sorry to my roomies @poobou and @3princessmama, but when you have tonsils the size of golf balls like mine, you tend to snore like a drunk trucker. I’ll wear Breathe Right strips. Speaking of those Breathe Right strips, they need to incorporate the blackhead pore cleaners into those things.

3. My boobs are not as big as they appear – I stuff my bra with air pockets. They make for some good cleavage, but without those puppies, my saggy puppies are just sad.

4. I feel alone in a group – I may be a social butterfly, but when there are 10+ people standing or sitting around in a conversation, I feel lost. It’s probably my anxiety creeping up making me think everyone hates me, so I’m trying to do better. So, if you see me start to fidget and my eyes glaze over, reach over and punch me in the stomach. There’s enough padding there so you won’t hurt your hand. Also, I get mini anxiety attacks when I’m not being heard.

5. I want to hug you – Yes, I’m a hugger. Yes, I may want to kiss you, too. I’ve been told I’m good at both. I want you to come talk to me. No, I’m not saying I’m going to NOT come up to you, but if you see me, and I don’t see you, you MUST come up and talk to me. Please. Unless I’m taking a poo. Then please pretend you don’t know who I am and wait until I’m out of the potty.

Now that you know these things about me, whether we meet in NYC or some other time, please commit all of these things to memory. There may be a quiz.

If you already know me, what else do people need to know about me that I haven’t fully explained.

Go on, share with the people.

This is how me and my people roll.

These are (some of) the people of my internets. They are gorgeous, smart, hilarious, friendly, loved, creative, and lovely.

These ladies will be at BlogHer ’10. It will be epic.

Mishi, Lotus, Piper all making out together.

My Piper is going through a tough time. Still.

I, along with my people, are doing what we can to support Piper.

PLEASE go see how you can help, too.

Donate $10 to help Piper and enter to win something fabulous. You know, like an iPod Touch, pretty pictures, a personalized stamper. Cool stuff from cool people. There’s always the chance that you could win the opportunity to paint Avitable’s nut sack (not yet on the list of prizes, but for the right price, I’m sure it could be).

The guilt is probably worse that the physical pain.

I’ve said a few times that I frucked up my knee trying to start the Couch to 5K running/walking program, and now I’ve found out I have to have an MRI done on it to see if I need surgery.

Yeah.

Exercise is stupid. And painful. And I miss it. I miss the 4 times I got to walk/exercise in the morning where I felt confident in myself and my ability to actually accomplish a goal that I set out to achieve. After the 4 times of getting up and sweaty, I actually felt a difference in myself. After being pretty much inactive for the last 15 years, starting this was my time to get back into my fighting weight and bust some fat ass.

What I’m learning now as I sit on the recliner for the 12th hour of the day as Patrick finishes the dishes from the last 2 days, is that I should have started even easier into the program. Even with it starting as easy as it could have started (90 sec walk, 60 sec run, repeat for 20 min), I should have taken it even easier by just walking for the first week. You know, cause people who get to be my size and my lack of movement need even more limitations.

*le sigh*

So that’s what has put me where I am now: on the recliner, knee propped, icing 20 min an hour unable to be the wife, mother, and housekeeper I need to be.

The official instructions from the doc: “Act like you’re lazy” which, hello? is something I’ve wished to hear for the last 33 years of my life. But when it comes down to the actuality of the situation and all that it means, it completely blows.

It sucks that I can’t push a vacuum to clean my floors.

It sucks that I can’t stand at my kitchen sink and load or unload the dishwasher.

It sucks that I can’t carry loads of laundry, move them, then fold them.

It sucks that I can’t make it to the grocery store to buy food then fix it for my family.

I never ever NEVER thought I’d think these things would suck. Ever. Never.

The absolute worst thing about injuring my knee: I won’t be able to travel to Anissa’s house next week to help her and her family.

It KILLS me. I am wrecked, gutted, flat out sad that I can’t follow through on my promise to help my friend.

I know there’s nothing more I could have done.

Except for take care of my self for the last 15 years. If I had done that, I’d be driving to Atlanta on Sunday.

Instead, I’m waiting to hear from the MRI scheduler to find out when I’ll go in to be photographed from the inside out.

It will cost my family hundreds of dollars.

If I have to have surgery (which, if I have to have the MRI, it’s pretty much a given that I’ll have to have surgery), it will cost my family even more money, and time, and frustrations, and canceled plans.

I can’t compare my injury to anything anyone else has had to go through, but I still have guilt over my part in what is happening to everyone around me.

Anissa and Peter are amazing. Forgiving. Understanding. Loving.

Patrick is beyond loving. Beyond caring. Beyond understanding. He’s been a single parent and housewife when he gets home after work. He’s amazing.

Thank you.

And now, while I sit on the internet 12+ hours a day as rest my bum knee, I need to learn how to make latkes, blintzes, and knishes.

shit … the tears again …