Email

I was actually going to write a post about the comments I’m inevitably going to get now that I’m pregnant from people who think that my website should be a place for them to live out their wild and drunken fantasies, people who have come here and said before that marriage and moving to Utah and life itself has tamed me, people who are frustrated that I don’t talk about lesbian sex anymore, and I made up this comment earlier today and sent it to a friend in an email:

“Dooce, babe, I’m sorry but you’ve totally lost it. I remember when you were a hip young thing in LA rubbing elbows with celebrities and getting drunk and shit. You’ve totally lost your edge. It can’t be marriage, because I’m married and I’m still the coolest person ever. I’m totally bored with you now. Bye, bye.”

You know the comments, they’ve been left here before. And they never leave a valid email address or website, or use their real name.

And then someone today left this gem, anonymous and with no email address, almost WORD FOR WORD like the one I made up. Amazing!

“Congrats, but I must say – I’ve found I’m pretty much done with this site. Nothing personal, but we’re a long way from the shit talkin, booze drinking, running into stars, getting fired from her job, Dooce. Now it’s just puppies, babies, and Martha Stewart. Hello LifetimeTV. Don’t say, ‘well don’t read it then!’ Because I won’t – it’s just that it was at one time exciting, hip and cutting edge. I wish you the best Dooce and Blurb, but I think it’s time I sailed into the sunset. Yeah I know, you’re saying ‘good riddence.'”

The thing is, I’m totally not saying good riddance. I’m saying, BELIEVE ME, MOTHERFUCKER, YOU DON’T WANT TO MESS WITH HORMONAL PREGNANT LADY.