It's not me, it's you. Internet.

Over the past couple days, a site I read religiously got a fair amount of attention for a post regarding pregnancy, maternity, body image, many subjects that every woman can relate to and therefore spout off about until the cows come home. I commented, someone disagreed, someone else agreed, I commented again, there was more dissent and some incalled-for critique and then I just said Fuck It. It wasn't worth it. I tried to make a point, it was sort of misconstrued, so I tried to clarify a little and make another point, then the whole thread unraveled and I didn't even know these people I was talking to and it was an entirely unsatisfying exercise.

This medium, the internet, it's taken the place of telephones, coffee shops, clubs, friends, families. And sometimes it's just a complete fucking pain in the ass. Some of you that read this site - I know you. In real life. And some of you have been reading here and I've been reading your words long enough to get a very good feel for who you are, but then there are some floaters out there. Some people drop in, drive-by, if you will, give unsolicated advice and then wander off to the next flashing sparkly thing. I don't fault these people, you people - if it's you, for these blips on my radar. It's what happens out here, but it's not satisfying to you or me, is it? Don't you want to know what my expression was, as I read your words?

I mean, there are only so many fill-ins for real face-to-face communication. The whole *fill in what you're doing between the stars* substitute for shrugging, frowning, rolling your eyes, all those important actions you need to really see to make a point and see if your point was made. Then there are the acronyms for laughing, laughing hard, laughing SO freaking hard. But really, are you laughing? I have no idea. And then, when I say something important, I need to see if you're nodding - if you touch my arm and lean in to follow up with your own excited agreement. Or if you lean back and look out the window, arms crossed, mind far away...

Well right now, the internet is not providing me this service. I was more pissed that I couldn't actually converse with these people, because I respected what they had to say, even in their dissent. I just wanted them to see my earnest furrowed brow, or my smirk when I was being a smart ass. And I didn't want to have to spell it all out between a couple *'s.

Note: My brother is cracking up right now, I promise. He's reading this and going, "Well, Prissy, how about stepping away from the damn computer?" Okay. I will. The kids and I are going to Pat and Heather's to watch some football and shrug and frown and cheesey smile at each other...