Send Me a Postcard, Drop Me a Line

I am a bad friend.

Sure, I have my moments. If you’re my friend and someone is mean to you, I will 100% make up cruel and crazy rumors about them without you even asking me to. If you’re feeling sad, I will stare at you uncomfortably and then suggest that we work through our feelings by eating them. If you’ve just had a baby, I will only compare it to my kitten a few hundred times instead of a few thousand, which is what I would do if you were just an acquaintance.


Your baby slept through the night? I don’t mean to brag, but General Eisenmeower slept all day and he’s still going strong.

But it’s not all slander, emotional eating and putting cats before children around here. Every rose has its thorn and the thorn in my friendships is that no matter how great I think you are, no matter how much I truly, truly love and appreciate you…

I do not want to talk to you.

I am terrible at communicating with my friends. This is particularly infuriating for them because I literally have a degree in communication. I am a professional communicator, paying for my house and my food with money I made, you know, communicating. I’ll communicate the hell out of you. Unless you’re my friend.

Mediums I’m Using to Actively Ignore My Dearest Friends RIGHT NOW

  1. Snapchat messages
  2. Tweets
  3. Instagram posts
  4. Facebook posts
  5. Facebook messages
  6. Pinterest messages
  7. Text messages
  8. Phone calls
  9. Emails
  10. Postal letters

I feel horrible about this. I’m very fond of these people. They’ve done nothing but love and support me, and allowed me to say mean things about their enemies and compare my cats to their children. I want them to know that I’m interested in their lives and their thoughts, and that I care about them.

But look at that list. That’s ten ways where people can talk to me at any hour of any day, and that’s overwhelming for a wannabe hermit such as myself. I love my friends but it kind of feels like they’re hunting me. Nowhere is safe.


Why do I even own a phone? All I want is to be able to Google stuff quickly.

And it’s not going to end well, either. The way I see it, there are only six possible outcomes and they all lead to tragedy.

Possible Outcomes

  1. I don’t reply to anyone and each of my friends thinks we’re having a fight. And then when I still don’t reply to their messages about whether we’re having a fight, they assume we are and that I cut them  out of my life so they return the favor. So then I have no friends.
  2. I don’t reply to anyone and everyone gives up on trying to talk to me and then slowly forgets about my very existence. So then I have no friends and no one remembers me at parties.
  3. I don’t reply to anyone and everyone assumes I’m dead. Only I’m not dead. At least I’m pretty sure I’m not dead, but if everyone else has decided you’re dead, who are you to say otherwise? So then I have no friends and I’m dead.
  4. I reply to some people but not others, and the ones I don’t reply to feel snubbed and form a mob and come after me and burn my house down while I’m in it. So then I have some friends but it doesn’t matter, because I’m dead. Actually dead.
  5. I reply to everyone on each platform and then they reply to me. This is called “having a conversation,” but now I’m doing it on ten different mediums and I can’t just abandon it halfway through because that’s rude and I’m even more overwhelmed. So now I have friends, but I resent them.
  6. I reply to everyone and say, “Please only contact me this one way because all of these other ways are freaking me out and I’m not giving you the attention you deserve as someone I love and respect.” But the method I pick to funnel all communication through isn’t the cool method, and all my friends abandon me for being so lame. So then I have no friends and I’m lame.

See? There’s really no good outcome. Maybe I just haven’t found the right method of communication for me.

Do you guys know anything about carrier pigeons?


So majestic.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

You’re not going to believe this, but I used to be socially awkward. It’s true. I used to be so self-conscious of everything I did that I could barely function in polite society. Parties were hell. Small talk was the stuff of nightmares. Forget networking — I couldn’t say my name without choking on my own spit.

Oh, hang on. Did I say I used to be awkward? Oh, this is so embarrassing. What a terrible typo. What I meant was that I am currently, at this very moment, flailing around feeling weird about everything. It’s how I am and I’m never going to change. My obituary will read, “Stephanie died as she lived. In extreme discomfort, not knowing what to do with her hands.”

It took 10 minutes to get this shot of me feeling awkward about my hands because I felt too awkward and didn't know what to do with my hands.

It took 10 minutes to get this shot of me feeling awkward about my hands because I felt too awkward and didn’t know what to do with my hands.

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I’m Tense and Nervous and I Can’t Relax

People are always telling me how brave I am.

“Wow, Stephanie,” they say after I tell them about how I don’t believe in ghosts, or about the time there was an intruder in my home, or about the recurring nightmares I have about turning into a tree. “You’re sooo brave.” Sometimes they use a weird sarcastic tone, but I can tell they’re very impressed. I’m going to let you in on a little secret, though.

I’m not brave.

I am scared of every. single. thing.

Except for the things in this photo.

Everything in this photo, for example.

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Forget You and Forget Her, Too

I have a friend who everyone loves.

Or hates.

She has a polarizing personality, but whether people worship the ground she walks on or hate her stinking guts, they remember her years and years after she’s left their lives forever. I know this because I regularly take very scientific polls on the matter.

I should probably stop starting questions by telling every detail of the incidents I want to see if they remember.

I should probably stop starting questions by telling every detail of the incidents I want to see if they remember.

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Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word

I’m feeling bad right now because I haven’t posted anything here in weeks. MONTHS, MAYBE.

I know it doesn’t really matter. Nothing was riding on this. No one was staging a hunger strike to get me to write, or holding people hostage, or sending me threatening notes. It’s not a big deal, or even a little deal. In fact, the word deal should not be brought into it at all. Nevertheless, it’s hard to look my blog in the i’s, especially since it turned five in September and I wasn’t even there for it.

Only 13 more years until it's out of the house!

Only 13 more years until it’s out of the house!

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