On parental guilt and waxing one's arsehole

So here's the thing. I am really, really bad at returning emails. My inbox has emails from somewhere in the middle of last year that I've not replied to. Some of them are ones which I look at and think, "Damn, I really should reply to that" and then I go surf YouTube or Facebook or something else of vital importance which keeps me from replying. Others are there simply to make me feel guilty and remind me of what a crappy friend/sister/daughter/workmate I am . Most of them will eventually get replied to (whenever the fuck I feel like it, okay?) and some of them will just be deleted because they have gone past their guilt-by date.

The fact that I write this blog is starting to cramp my lack of emailing style, because my Mom seems to think that if I have time to write things here, I should have time to email her.

Hmmmm.

In theory, she's right. In practice...ummm...if I reply to one email, then people generally (who are not as crap as I am at replying) write back, and then they want me to write back AGAIN, and then I have to let it stew in my inbox, and then it's just this vicious circle of me having to keep sending emails. Did I not just say that I totally SUCK at replying to emails? It's kinda like the whole texting cycle on a mobile phone. FER CRIPES SAKE, people, PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE. It's more expensive, more annoying, and more painful to me wee little thumbs to be sending six text messages about banal, irritating details of your/my life, okay? Just call me, tell me your issues, and hang up. Ten seconds and it's OVER. Same with emails. Got a lot to say? CALL ME. Skype me. Whatever. Just don't make me feel guilty as hell for not replying to another email which starts with, "What? You're so busy blogging you don't have time to email me anymore?!" (Although in my Mom's case, this would be in ALL CAPS BECAUSE SHE HAS NOT WORKED OUT THAT CAPS = YELLING IN EMAIL SPEAK.)

So what's my excuse for not replying to my Mom's phone messages? Yeah, no. I've got no excuse for that one. She wins, I should be calling and returning calls more often. SORRY MOM.

My excuse this week? I spent a glorious 3 days in the company of NN and The Sicilian, driving our way across Victoria to visit NN's most delightful parents and exploring her home town. (A real post about that, and photos to come).

When I got back, DH wanted to know if I had spent the entire three days talking about "girly stuff." Between you and me, he's just a (lovable but) perverted dirty old man, so he really was asking for hot sexy details about my friends. Sadly for him, I had to admit that while we did spend 3 solid days laughing and talking and giggling and in general acting like 16 year old girls on a road trip (complete with copious amounts of junk food and screams of, "OMG! Are you SEEEE-rious?!") , the discussion about the importance of waxing one's butt crack did not come until we were about 30 minutes outside of Melbourne, on the way home.

Who knew that there were women in the world who worry about what the inside of their butt crack looks like?