Updated October 2010

First the bad news: 

I am a cranky, self-absorbed, fiftysomething/recovering alcoholic/transplanted-Seattleite-turned-California-Girl ... and I write about it in relentless, mind-numbing detail on the Internet. 

And now the good news:  

I am a cranky, self-absorbed, fiftysomething/recovering alcoholic/transplanted-Seattleite-turned-California-Girl ... and I write about it in relentless, mind-numbing detail on the Internet.

Good news? Or bad? It all depends on your point of view, I guess ... and on your taste in Internet journals.

If you're already acquainted with Internet journals, then I probably don't have to say much else by way of introduction. On the other hand, if you're one of those people who typed the word "footnotes" into a search engine hoping for some last-minute help with your term paper, then I should probably clarify a few things right off the bat:

  • This isn't a blog. It's an Internet journal. There's a difference.

  • No, I didn't invent Internet journaling. (Unless you're from Time Magazine ... in which case, YES! I DID invent Internet journaling! Call me!)  I'm not the only person who does this.  There are at least a bazillion and a half other Internet Journalers out there.  (And by the time you finish reading this, there will be a bazillion and a half more.)  We don't think there's anything weird or icky or shameful about the things we write. Neither should you for reading them.

  • Yes, my parents read me.

  • Like all good trashy Internet reading, *FootNotes* is a hybrid of observation and perception ... detail and overview ... disclosure and omission. In other words: I don't tell you everything. I don't think I have to tell you everything. And not everything I DO tell you is 100% factual, 100% of the time. Birds didn't really sit outside the window of my apartment and talk to me, for instance. Matt Lauer wasn't really uninvited to my wedding. I never really spit into my former boss' coffee. (Thought about it? Yes. Did it? Nope.)  Here in *FootNotesLand* there is literal account of fact ... and then there is gentle manipulation of fact for the sake of art. I'll give you credit for being able to tell the difference.

  • Yes, my children read me.

  • If you know me in real life -- if we ever dissected a frog together in Ms. Wilson's tenth grade Biology class, for instance  --  by all means please feel free to read *FootNotes.* I am perfectly comfortable having you read my journal. 

  • The daily journal portion of *FootNotes* started in June 1998. In addition, there are a lot of older journals and diaries archived here, some of them dating as far back as 1970.  Originally these were paper journals, written during junior high/high school, college and the early Momhood Years, which I transcribed into HTML and uploaded to the archives. In fact, that's sort of how *FootNotes* got started in the first place: I needed a place to archive all of these thirty-year-old journals. When I ran out of old stuff to upload, I figured I'd better start writing some new stuff.

  • No, my ex-husband doesn't read me. He still thinks the computer is a big typewriter.

  • As far as possible, I try to respect the privacy of the people I write about.  (Just ask my pal Bottlenekk Raoul.)  I try to be especially careful when I'm writing about 1.) people who don't know I'm writing about them, 2.) people who know I'm writing about them but who have made it clear that they aren't totally comfy with the idea, and 3.) people who may still be in possession of incriminating Polaroids. Everybody else is on their own.

  • I'm as proud of *FootNotes* as I am of any other accomplishment in my life. This includes my children, my sobriety, my nauseatingly happy marriage to a man I met in an AOL chat room ... all of which are documented in relentless mind-numbing detail on *FootNotes.*

    (I've even had my occasional moments of glory.)

  • Yes, my boss reads me.

  • I don't mind a little feedback occasionally.  (Except for spelling corrections: I hate spelling corrections. Or unsolicited advice.  Or e-mail forwards.  Or hate mail  ...  unless it's really intelligent and well-written hate mail, which it almost never is  ...  or ANY e-mail requiring a timely response from me, basically, because I am absolutely terrible at responding to my e-mail, immediately or otherwise.)  Aside from these minor exceptions, however, I really do enjoy hearing from readers.

    Especially if they are from Time Magazine.

Having said all that ... welcome to *FootNotes.* Feel free to look around the place. Try on my earrings. Borrow my shampoo. Rummage around in the refrigerator. (I think there's a little Asiago *fat-free soy cheese-product* left.)  And then come back again tomorrow and allow me to regale you with incredibly fascinating tales of recovery, romance and uncomfortable shoes.

One day at a time.

here's the real deal

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