“I heartily salute you and your robotically adjustable vagina.” ~ dooce
On March 31, 2009, Visceral and I attended a book reading by the incredibly funny Heather B. Armstrong. Better known as the blog author, Dooce. The experience makes it to the top of my list of favorite events I’ve attended. It may or may not have anything to do with the fact that if I were a lesbian, I’d totally have sexual relations with that woman. Yes, I inhaled.
When Stones first introduced me to dooce.com, I immediately subscribed to her feed, and impatiently waited everyday to see a new entry, or a new picture on her no-holds-barred blog. I must admit to you that I’ve allowed Heather Armstrong to steal my soul. More than once. The daily conversations between Stones and I (online and through various text messages) included little mentions about the blog, and how awesome she made everything sound. This is borderline fangirl. Okay, I lied. We’re total fangirls, and proud of it!
When I first read about her book tour back in January, I almost jumped out of my seat and screamed. She was coming to Seattle and there was NO WAY IN HELL we were going to miss it. I just had to meet the woman who takes pictures of her dog with various objects displayed on his head (including, but not limited to, a bra, spaghetti, and a positive home pregnancy test), and then posts them online for the whole word to see. I wish my cats were as obedient so I can make mad cash off of them too. Ungrateful little shits.
Dooce read some entries from her recently released book titled It Sucked and Then I Cried: How I Had a Baby, a Breakdown, and a Much Needed Margarita and let me tell you, I wanted to cry. Laughing that hard hurts, okay! I mean, watch the videos from the reading and tell me you didn’t feel like you were about to crack a rib.
During the reading of that book, it was hard to control the urgency to get out of my seat, walk up on stage, press my face to her pregnant belly, and tell her unborn child that her mama was the funniest person in the world at that moment. She poked fun at herself in such a manner that only made me want to be her bff, and let me tell you, IF I COULD, I’D SHOW UP AT HER DOOR WITH A BOX OF CHOCOLATES. Stones and I weren’t the only ones mentally preparing themselves to do just that, either. The crowd was so diverse. Young, and old. Men, and women. Random people asking other fangirls, “So, why is everyone here? Who’s going to be on stage?”
DON’T THEY KNOW?
Dooce, you guys! Heather B. Armstrong. LADY EXTRAORDINAIRE.
What I love most is her honesty, humble attitude, and terrific expressions while she was up on stage. As she stood up there in front of (I’m guessing) at least a couple hundred people telling a story about her vagina and reconvening “The Procedure”, I thought about how lucky I was to be able to meet this woman in person. Even if it was just for a couple minutes while she signed two of my books and I stood there like a bumbling idiot.
I was too busy trying desperately to not rub her pregnant belly (which she hates) and lick her face (which she may or may not have actually liked). When it was all over, I was elated.
Being a single girl, with no children, Heather shed some light (with a few loose wires) for me on the whole idea of marriage, and raising a family. Although, there was a passage in her book that completely freaked me the hell out:
For nine months I grew a human being inside my belly and then pushed it out my vagina. Afterward I fed it with my boob. Biology is so fucking weird.
Now, I know it’s crazy to think I can relate to someone who’s had a kid, and is now pregnant again because I’ve never been pregnant, but I’ve done my share of helping to raise babies, and a lot of my friends have kids. I know a little bit of what it’s like to have to wake up 5 minutes after you’ve JUST fallen asleep to take care of a screaming poop machine.. I know what it feels like to have a 4 month-old make you want to gouge your own eyes out because you just can’t figure out what the baby WANTS. I’m not saying that I know EXACTLY what it’s like to have a child of your own, and I’m nowhere near prepared (mentally OR physically) to start a family, but I’d like to think I kind of know what’s to be expected. Keywords: “like to think”, which is just a connotation for, I have no idea what to fucking expect.
That passage alone curled my toes in an effort to somehow not get pregnant at that very moment just by reading her book. I may have to tell my parents that my brother might have to provide them with grandchildren until I get through this book without running to a doctor, forcing him to tie my tubes, or prescribe me some stronger birth control pills.
Waiting in a line that curled around various bookshelves, Stones and I were still giddy with excitement that soon enough, we’d be THIS CLOSE to Heather.
It was a night out, and a much needed break from routine for both Stones, and myself. The fact that we were able to take a few hours, and spend them meticulously planning the kidnapping of someone we both like (and would totally marry if we could), made that night even better.