Dear Pioneer Woman

I read an article about you in the New Yorker today.
The NEW FUCKING YORKER!
You know why?
Because you make a shit ton, a butt ton of money on your blog. Because last year you made a "solid" million on the blog alone, let's not count the money you made on your books and the movie rights to one of those books.
And I am...jealous.
And bewildered.
And my finger is cut to the bone and I am typing this leaving blood on my keyboard.

Well.
Oh, Pioneer Woman.

You are the envy of every woman in the world who sits at home in a tiny apartment and wishes that she, too, would meet the man of her dreams, a pioneer cowboy, a Marlboro Man who, with his brother, owns 27,000 acres of cattle land. A man whose ass you have photographed wearing Wranglers and chaps a million times and photoshopped with a huge degree of success. Who has had four babies with that man and whom you have also photoshopped with a huge degree of success as they sprang from your loins and onto the back of a horse to herd cattle. Who has made more money than I ever will simply from taking pictures (and photoshopped with a high degree of success) of your beagle dog named Charley. Or is it Charlie?

Whatever.

Oh, Pioneer Woman. You who never mention world events or racism or politics or religion. You who are self-deprecating but who never mentions sex by name or seems to have marital problems or uses profanity...well, actually, I don't read your blog although I HAVE! I have! I have read it! I have read enough to know that you are the perfect Blogging Woman in that you give women hope that they can turn their high heels into tractor wheels and that the beautiful cows you raise could be raised by them too, not to mention your children and that those cows will never be slaughtered in blogworld and that your children will never turn into surly teenagers who say, "I hate you!" in blogworld either and that you and Marlboro Man will ride off into the (photoshopped) sunset forever and ever on the back of a perfect (photoshopped) horse.

Oh. I am jealous.

Not of your life. Oh hell no. Not even though you have a Viking Range. I had one of those once. It sucked. Or of your TWO Bosch Dishwashers even though I have NO dishwasher except for Mr. Moon who sometimes washes the dishes. Or of your 27,000 acres of cow pasture or of your four beautiful children because I have 2.2 acres and can barely keep up with that and thank-you-very-much, I have raised my own four children already.

Or of your Marlboro Man either because I have my own man who can hunt deer and fish for fish and do carpentry and garden and who brings me flowers from the woods and offers to stitch up my wounds with fishing line (haha! as if I'd let him!) and who loves me even if I'm crazy and yes, honey, I have BEEN crazy. He's been there and he did not leave, even though he probably should have.

And no, I do not give away iPads or Kitchen Aids on my blog because I don't have any to spare but if I did, you know I would. If I had a billion readers a day and sold ads I would! I would! And no, I do not have contests which allow people to come and stay with me because I am a hermit and I am not social but I tell you this- if I wasn't a crazy agoraphobic hermit who has no social skills I would! I swear!

Oh, Pioneer Woman. Here is the fish my husband and my daughter caught in a gin-clear sinkhole yesterday:

Here they are in a frying pan:

Here is my brother and here is my husband, eating those fish:

Along with the salad and grits and stewed tomatoes and so forth I made for supper. It was an awesome supper.
Can you tell? Even though it was not photoshopped?

Honestly, lady, I'm not really jealous of you at all. Okay, I admit I wouldn't mind making money on my writing one bit. Not one darn bit.
But when it comes to lives? Ah, I wouldn't trade mine for yours for a second.
And besides- you're the mama of your babies and I'm the mama of mine and so it should be.

And you have your life and I have mine.

But yes, I'll admit.
The NEW FUCKING YORKER?

Ah. Well.

Not in this lifetime. Not for me.

And in my most generous heart of hearts, I wish you all the success the blogtrain will carry you to. You obviously have a much greater need than I do to succeed and you obviously don't sleep nearly as much as I do.

So bless your heart and hey! if you're ever giving away one of those dishwashers- I'll take it!

And let me know if you ever need any advice when one of your surly teenagers says, "I hate you!"
Okay?

And now I'm going to bed because tomorrow morning Mr. Moon and I are driving to North Carolina, hauling a trailer behind us. It's going to be awesome! I'm already packed!

Sweet dreams, O, Pioneer Woman! May you dream of book signings and designer high-heeled cowboy boots and new ways to cook steak. I'll be having my regular dreams of finding abandoned feral monkey babies and living in a house with the ghosts of the Titanic in the basement.

It's all good.

Some of us can just photoshop it into better goodness than others. And need less sleep. And don't have the need to get up on their high horse about shit like religion and politics and so forth.

Sigh.
Maybe I should learn to photoshop. Seriously.

Love...Ms. Moon