Getting back on track

Hi, Internets! Are you still there? Are you wondering if I'm still here? Well, I am... barely.

For everyone that's stuck around and still believes in the empty promises Little Ms. Notetaker's been doling out about how she's going to get back in the habit of posting, thank you. You are what is good about the Internets. Well, you and Indian Thriller! But I probably love you more.

So much to fill you in on. Here's me in a nutshell, the play came and went, and I had a tough time letting it go. Work got crazy and then crazier, and has now settled. I learned I'm going to become Aunt Notetaker, and I'm thrilled to pieces. And let's see, what else. Oh, I'm in a relationship, and it's good, and it's healthy, and he likes me, and I like me, and more importantly I like him, a lot. So much so that I do crazy things, like act all schmoopy and girlie, and tell him about the blog because I want to be vulnerable with him, and I feel like he won't use that against me. See, healthy I tell you.

But here's something I've learned, note to self: when you decide to open up the book of you to the boy you're trying to impress, remember that he will read all of the chapters, and then remember the content of those chapters.

This vulnerability hit me smack dab in the face like a one-two punch the other night. First, I was talking about my monthly cycle, like you do, and he confirmed it with, "so, the sun's coming out." Ack! Seventh grade me was mortified. And later, I can't even remember what we were talking about, but he busted out with a, "kind of like how you like to sleep on your bed with no sheets." My secret single behavior... exposed. I screamed, covered my mouth, and turned bright red, in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

Yep. That's what I've learned is what happens when you're vulnerable. But I don't want to be any other way. It's quite reassuring to know that I'm not being judged for my quirks, in fact I think I'm liked even more because of them. So, Mr. McMichael, when you read this, please don't think that I want you to stop reading, because I don't. Ever.

I thought raspy voice made you a good phone operator

Note to self: When you lose your voice. And I mean completely lose your voice, it is never ever a good idea to pay your bills by phone.

A combination of post-nasal drip, coughing up phlegm, and yelling non-stop at an intense all-day volleyball tournament have caused me to lose my voice. We're talking beyond hoarse here. I am essentially just lip syncing right now. At best it's a strained whisper, with a syllable or two of dog whistling squeak, mixed in with an intermittent baritone vowel. It ain't pretty.

My bill for the Internets was due yesterday, and for those that don't remember, I still pay my bills the old-fashioned way, so rather than take my chances with the postal service, I decided I'd call customer service and pay it over the phone.

Wouldn't you know it, for some reason it didn't register any of the numbers I punched in my keypad, so my only option was voice recognition software.

Oh the little computerized operator was so patient with me, but I was in my own personal hell.

Computerized Operator (CO): What would you like to do?

LMNT: Pay my bill.

CO: Did you say, 'representative'?

LMNT: Nooooooooooo! [shrill squeal with manly untertones]

CO: What did you say?

LMNT: Pay my bill.

CO: Okay, pay your bill. Let's start with the nine-digit routing number followed by the ten-digit account code.

LMNT: Nooooooooooo! [thinking of the havoc this was going to wreak on my poor, poor vocal cords]

CO: You don't want to pay your bill? Okay, let's start over, what do you want to do?

Poke my eyeball out with a bic pen was surprisingly not an option that registered.

I heart the Internets

Hey, Internets! You can call off the search party, Little Miss Notetaker is still alive. Life took a turn for the crazy over the past month and I went radio silent. There are no excuses, so I'll spare you, but I will tell you that I truly missed you, thought of you often, and even picked up a couple of souvenirs for you, a couple of reasons why I love the Internets.

Reason #1: Inspiration.

A few years ago, the Link posted this little number mentioning a blog that she regularly stalked. One read and I was hooked, too. If I only had access to the Internets for five minutes everyday, I would spend nearly all of that time lurking at dooce.com. She is irreverent, hilarious, eloquent, and real. And wow, is she popular. Promoting her newly published book, she came out to Seattle and I grabbed a couple of girlfriends to go see her. It was a packed house--full of interesting people like devoted mommy bloggers, Alaskan super fans, and even people that like to craft genitalia out leather and fur and give them as gifts. I love her candor and am admittedly envious of her courage to say what she thinks--and make a living out of doing that.

Reason #2: Inspiration.

This is just pure fun. There is so much that is fantastic about it. Seriously, watch this video! I'm not sure if it's the fact that only five notes played on the synthesizer make it even sound remotely like Thriller, or the fact that they keep yelling "Killer," but I can't stop laughing. I do know that the "moves" that are choreographed around the 2:48 mark... yeah, I'm studying those.

Thank you to the Link, and Mr. McMichael for sharing the inspiration. And thank you, Internets, for just being so darn awesome.