{{{Shir}}}

This week's Modern Love column in the Times is even more ridiculous than most. [link] A little girl writes "I love Sarvis" on the bathroom wall of an elementary school, and Sarvis's mother reacts with, essentially, "No you don't! You can't possibly love Sarvis as much as I do!"

Hil, that was super creepy!

Sarvis's mother reacts with, essentially, "No you don't! You can't possibly love Sarvis as much as I do!"

That's....creepy and weird. But at least the article is something that 25-year-old Sarvis can print out and take to his therapist.

I'm thankful that, while my mom DID fuck me up, she didn't write about how she did it, and then publish it in the New York Goddamn Times.

Small favors, man. Small favors.

I want to believe that she was trying to be funny, but that was creepy. Hope she changed his name.

Okay, that is psychotic and creepy. Jeez.

Even if she didn't change his name, it's written under her name, so anyone who knows them would know who it's about.

No, I tell you, it's a GOOD thing for poor oddly-named-kid that the article was published; that way, in 20-some years he won't have to try to convince his therapist how utterly fucked up his mom is; he can just hand over the article and say "Read this. And then tell me: 50 mg, or 100?"

Thanks, all. I really don't know what else to say - I can't say I'm after the hugs (oh, fuck that - I'm always after the hugs. I mean that I'm not after the attention).

Since I spent most of the day memory-laning, I was in a fairly good mood. Hey, how could I not be? She was such an awesome person, and we had great time. I also spent a lot of time reading her lj. I had a whole thing against blogs and a "if I'm gonna learn something meaningful about your life, missy, it better be coming from you in person or a phone call, not from me lurking your blog" attitude, so it's not the easiest thing on me. I like set boundaries, and not crossing them, especially when it comes to privacy and stepping on others' feet. But I'm drifting.

So I spent a kindda mellow, good memories of her day, and every once in a while there's a "oh, we should totally do this and that next time we'll meet!" thought. And then I remember she's dead. Which strangely enough, doesn't send me rain-forest-killing the next box of tissues, and I can handle that grief easy.

It's the part when the memories are over/fading which hurts the most, and knowing there won't be any new ones to fill that void, and the helplessness that I feel because of it.

She was a white hat, indeed.

Shir, I'm so sorry for the loss and the hurt and the pain, but at the same time, I'm really happy that you have so many good memories of her.

As far as that NYTimes article, ewwwwwww. I mean, I've rarely read such naked, articulated envy. This part:

(I pictured one of them, no doubt a double agent, saying, “Sarvis, do you know what it says in the girls’ bathroom?” and turning her 18-inch hips just so for the very first time, or taking a try at batting her lashes.

Seriously creeped me out. Because while there are a lot of eight year old girls who are overexposed to the rampant sexuality in advertising and culture in general, not all of them are and to be projecting that sort of attitude on to them in one broad stroke is just...

ewwwwww...

(((Shir)))

Hang in there -- and go hang with your friends. It is the good thing to do.

and I had no internet until 1:30. I was going into withdrawal