Please take me back, baby please.

Dear Blogger,

I know I haven't been around lately, baby. But don't hate on me, I've been workin' hard to buy you nice things. It's all for you in the end, you know that, baby right?

[insert the intro to Barry White's Can't Get Enough of Your Love here]

[turn down the lights real low]

[slip into something comfortable...]

Shhhhh. There now. Let me give you some of that quality time you deserve. Sit back, relax and let me take care of you.

Yours,
Megan

Dear Blogger,

I know we haven't really known each other that long, but I feel like I can tell you anything. The thing is, I feel like you don't really know me as well as I know you. I think it's time we got intimate.

So I've taken the liberty of chronicling a typical day in my incredibly interesting life for you.

Looking forward to your response.

*Smooch*
Hellafied

7 a.m. Wake. Hit snooze. Hit snooze. Hit snooze. Groan. Hit snooze.

8 a.m. Wave a sleepy good-bye to overly ambitious roommate, as I shuffle to the bathroom from bedroom.

8:15 a.m. Take things out of closet. Throw them simultaneously on bed and floor. Wade through mess and come out wearing blue pinstripe button down and grey wide leg pants. Add gold jewelry to achieve trademark element of "funk".

8:20 a.m. Decide ironing is too much trouble and instead multi-task with hair staightener. Am surprised by impeccable results.

8:35 a.m. Open refrigerator. Stare at row of salad dressings in between catching glimpses of the WGN traffic report.

8:40 a.m. Leave apartment. Stumble down stairs in curiously high slingbacks and unnessesary eight handbags.

8:40-8:55 a.m. Spend a harrowing 15 minutes on Lake Shore drive. Decide women drivers ARE idiots.

9:15 a.m. Arrive at work. See friend in parking lot and wave frantically. Realize it is not said friend. Hurry into building only slightly embrarrassed.

9:30 a.m. Boot up computer. Only 22 new emails. Exhale. Check Outlook Calendar. 11 a.m. conference call with Fairmont Hotel Catering Manager & Events Planner. Inhale.

9:31 a.m. Realize conference call falls at the same time as company meeting. Trade for lesser of two evils. Exhale.

10:00 a.m. Finish replying to last work-related email. Inbox down to 10. Check Hotmail.

10:10 a.m. Log on to Xanga. Check out my daily subscriptions while picking at Weight Watchers Double Chocolate Muffin. Scroll down to see two comments from new readers. Smile. Log on to Blogger. Laugh out loud at another one of Don Juan's hilarious posts. Check my sitemeter. Four views. Sigh.

10:50 a.m. Stroll casually into manager's office for conference call. Make call. Listen. Listen. Listen. Interject with intelligent and poignant remark. Listen. End call.

11:50 a.m. Lunchtime. Send email to office lunch buddies. No reply.

12:15 p.m. Eat lunch at desk like loser. Browse thesuperficial.com and buy.com. Order 1G SD Memory card for new digital camera. Feel smug sense of satisfaction for getting such a good deal.

12:55 p.m. Call BP about plans for "Party of the Century", quip about making t-shirts for the occasion. Decide grilling out is a must. End call.

1:15 p.m. Email Katie about plans for weekend. She replies once again with something about cake. Think briefly about putting my hands in cake batter and reply.

1:30 p.m. Find an accomplice to steal bottle of water with from the Marketing Focus Group in the Illinois Room. Giggle. Sneak away.

1:45 p.m. Have email argument with Dave about why he doesn't like potato salad. Reply, "I feel like I don't even know you at all anymore."

2:30 p.m. Marketing Manager comes around with big bag of chocolate covered macadamia nuts from a customer in Hawaii. Office jackals circle.

2:45 p.m. Receive email from freelancer inquiring as to if she can use me as a reference for future jobs. States, "I hate to ask this, but you have such an impressive sounding position." Think to myself arrogantly "Yeah, that's right."

2:55 p.m. Check Sidekick for messages. Horoscope for today says, "Don't think about it so much." Stew in contemplation for several minutes. Apply everything that has happened in my life in the past three years to that and then delete.

3:03 p.m. Post.

Timesharing my blog?

What's up with all the group contributing on Blogger? Am I just really that behind the eight ball? (Which, consequently, I have no idea what that means, but have wanted to use that expression since someone in a conference call used it last week.)

As a religious Xanga user, I've never rented my private blogspace out to anyone. Never wanted to. See this 3 in. x 3 in. square, motherfucker? Yeah, that's MINE.

So it's kind of surprising to see all of this sharing at playtime. Contributing bloggers. Split custody. I don't know about all this. I'm out of my element.

This vexes me. I'm terribly vexed.

27, swf, desperately seeking approval...

I'm told Blogger is where it's at these days. Considering I've never been one to hang out in the kiddie pool, I need to get in the action. Plus, this girl told me I'd up my traffic by like 85% if I started posting here. And, beginning way back in 1998 as a spritely freshman at the University of Iowa, I noticed while running to hide from Public Safety in the stairwell of our dorm, I do whatever she tells me.

Here's a little history.

I started blogging back when blogging what just a blip on the sonogram of popular culture as we know it today. I believe my first post was about my trip to Las Vegas for my 22nd birthday and all the Chippendale-induced hijinx that ensued. Since then, I've gone through about five different layouts on my Xanga site, about a hundred subscribers, a dozen too many drunken photos, one very huge heartbreak, and that same goddamn, douchebag Anonymous commenter that it seems we have all come to love. I guess some things are the same no matter where you go.

So, Blogger, let's get intimate.

I'm ready for that open relationship I've always wanted to have between two consentual blogs.

Let's do this.

*insert cheesy, 70's porn music here*