She came, she saw, she made us laugh uproariously. She talked about pregnancy, boobs and her vagina.
You had to be there. It made sense in context. Well, it was funny in context.
She is Heather B. Armstrong. A/K/A DOOCE!
And today a photographer's coming to my house to take a picture to accompany the article they're writing about DOOCE! and local bloggers. TO MY HOUSE! TO TAKE A PHOTO!
Reader, I am sweating bullets. Well, that's partly because I just got back from working out, and still haven't showered. I came here because I'm so nervous I need a word of support from my people. ME! and DOOCE!
I did get a photo of DOOCE! and I together, but it's so horrendously bad I won't share it. The person taking the photo paid no attention to how ludicrous it looked, with me leaning in at the edge of the photo, looking as though I'd sneaked into a picture someone was taking just of Heather. He knew nothing at all about CENTERING photographs.
Hopefully the photo taken today will turn out better, though it won't be of me and DOOCE! together. She's probably already flown home by now.
I bought two copies of the book and had Heather sign them. Once the agony of the photo's over I'll hold a giveaway. Of the book by DOOCE!
My house is a mess. A MESS! I don't know where she'll take the photo. I originally thought maybe on my front porch, but it's literally at freezing outside. I'd be okay with braving it, but will she?
So, I'm cleaning the first floor of the house. She'll have the choice of photographing me in the family room (more of a wreck) or the living room (less so). Or, again, outside.
I have 3.5 hours to clean the house, take a shower and make myself presentable, and be nervous.