Missed the previous installments? Here are Part One Part Two, and Part Three.
*****
Chag: Ok, folks. Here's the moment you've all been waiting for. I hope her ego's not too badly bruised. Ladies and gentlemen, here's Tanis!
Everybody duck!
Tanis: Thanks, Chag. I want you to know you would make a fine hoser if you ever decide to move north. I mean, anyone who loves hair bands the way you do would fit right in where I live.
Liz, you were one of the very first blogs I ever read and I was thrilled when you popped my comment box cherry. I'm glad you stuck with me through the cheesy puns and bloggy growing pains and embraced me in your ginormous bosom of blog love. If you hadn't, I never would have met... your mother. She's one cool chick.
Another thing I'm thankful for? Being able to picture you in a Wonder Woman costume whenever you morph into the Etiquette Bitch. Otherwise, you'd scare me. And then you'd have to hold me.
Wait. I'm starting to see a glint of brilliance in that plan...
Kristen's Motherhood Uncensored was the very first blog I read when I was hip deep in fresh grief. She made me laugh and cry and then she made me want to try writing my own blog.
Because you know, I was sure I could do it better.
Kristen, I understand how you could have a problem with the length of my posts. It must be difficult for you to read a post that consists of more than one sentence. After all, you often confuse a tweet for a blog post.
But it's kind of laughable to take heat over the boob talk from the woman who calls herself the Mominatrix and writes about her pretty petaled cooter more than any other woman on the net.
Thanks for blazing that trail for me, though. I'm totally taking notes. Wink.
There is no person on Earth I'd rather have talk about my Sugar Bush than Her Bad Mother. She is one of my dearest friends after all. She has to be for all the times she's tried to stick her tongue down my throat.
Catherine inspires me as a parent. I mean, the woman trained her daughter to pee in a cup. That earns a shiny gold star in my book. Heck, I was just happy when my son would finally hit the cheerios in the toilet. I never even thought to use the family dishes to inspire potty training. Catherine is always teaching me to think outside the box.
And Catherine, don't worry, I'm working on that pillow I promised you. It'll be something Bush Owners everywhere will covet.
SciFi Dad, I generally never regret writing and publishing any of my posts. That was before one of my favourite daddy bloggers tosses my words at my feet and makes me realize I may need to start wearing adult diapers at any moment. I am now realizing the value of discretion.
Thanks for that SciFi Dad. Expect that autographed pic in the mail at any time as a thanks.
I found Will on the net after googling 'large hairy Alabama boys' and I'm glad I did. He's morphed into one of my closest internet friends and someone whose opinion I cherish. He's got an evil streak I admire and a talent with Photoshop that I like to abuse. But dude, the mental image of you sitting at home in your maid outfit stroking yourself with a feather duster as you blog will haunt me forever. Thanks for that, Will. You're a peach.
I find I'm having a hard time coming up with anything witty to say about Will because I'm too distracted with the knowledge you practice your Kama Sutra moves with your Lego Collection. Your wife is a lucky, lucky woman. Just as I am lucky to call you my friend. Not every gal can say she has a friend with a mind of a ninja and the body of a manatee.
But seriously dude. Lay off the Legos. It won't end well. For anyone.
Megan, I find it amusing that you call me cheap and easy when you practically throw yourself at the feet of every daddy blogger around. You bat your pretty eyelashes and quip your quick-witted barbs and you are totally stealing my act.
Stop it, beyotch. This mommy doesn't like to share all her bloggy boys.
I adore you Megan and I'm glad I discovered you in the blogging world this year. You are fun, smart and hot as hell. I'll totally make out with you if we ever meet. Just leave the video camera at home because you NEVER shut up while you film things and the sound of your constant chatter kind of ruins the effect.
Just so ya know.
Tania, I'm still stumped over the fact you did not see my boobs. How in the hell did that happen? I mean our bathroom had a giant hole in the wall and you kept trying to peek in whenever I had to go pee. (Just so you all know, she's a closet pervert, dear internets.) How did you miss the glint of my sparkly nipple rings when they were practically on display for three solid days? Weird.
Then again, maybe you did see my bewbs and you just don't remember it. You were rather intoxicated. All I really remember from our stint as roomies is the lovely sounds of you yakking into the porcelain throne and then moaning for me to bring you a blanket as you shivered the night away on the bathroom floor.
Perhaps that is the real reason you and I get along so well. It's not because I secretly use you for your doggy expertise. No, it's because in your heart you are as classless and redneck as I am.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
I've got to be careful about what I say about Sam. She's taller than I am and meaner. She could rip a strip off my hide and would smile as she did it. She is my type of lady. A pitbull trapped inside a sexpot's body.
But her constant fascination with my boobs is rather odd since she herself is sporting a set of guns that any Playboy Bunny would covet. Not to mention her hair makes Jessica Simpson's look like Britney's bad weave. Sam has it going on.
For a chick who frequently likes to shoot milk from her breasts just to see how far she can spray.
Sam, you are a dear friend and a brilliant site designer and a hilarious craft critic and my life is richer for having you in it. Especially after you gave me that wicked vibrator recommendation.
Like Chag, I consider Katie a good friend. However, unlike Chag I'm not scared of trash talking Bumper. (I'll refrain from pointing out that Chag being afraid of Katie is like a Rottweiler being afraid of a teacup Poodle. However, to each their own... )
When Bumper speaks, I listen. I mean, I try to listen. I have to make sure to bend down really low and cup my hands around my ears to catch the sound of her dwarfish voice as she practically shouts up at me. She's a wee one, my Bumper. Which makes it really easy to ignore her when she irritates me. All I have to do is look straight ahead and I'll miss her completely.
Katie likes to talk about my boobs, because let's face it, she has none of her own. That's okay. I was once in her shoes. When I was about ten years old. Besides, I have no problem showing mine off to her. Lord knows I think she's seen them more times than... well, the mailman at the very least.
Katie, I love you. You are a dear friend whom I cherish. I just wish you had never told me that baseboards are supposed to be washed because now I spend even MORE time on my hands and knees.
I wouldn't have thought that possible before meeting you.
And finally Chag, thank you so much for putting this together. I have worshiped you from afar, secretly following your blog while hanging on your every word. Many times I thought of introducing myself, but I was a little intimidated by your clever posts and your girlish love of Ben Folds.
You are my musical Jedi master, and I've come to value your friendship very much. You play my song requests on your weekly Twitter radio show and you never publicly mock me for my craptastic taste in music.
Even if you do swing a bat at my head to beat your musical knowledge into me. It's just too bad you have to jump up so high to reach my skull.
I will always love and admire you.
Despite the fact you steadfastly and wrongly refuse to consider Heart a hair band.
