Women want to be princesses, from Carrie Bradshaw to Cinderella. We want to be beautiful, dress the part, find The One, live happily ever after.

I said that the other night, back when we were going out on our shitty date. You looked so handsome—you always do—and in my stoner reverie, I called you my Prince Charming, though perhaps the better analogy would have been to call you the Jordan Catalano to my Angela Chase (minus the Rayanne Graff mess).

Remember that night about a year back when we went for a 12L ride with our Weed Husband? So much fun. So many laughs and good tunes, but my favorite memory was a single moment on the drive home. You looked so hot in your navy blue shirt, and I wanted to be in your arms, and at that very moment, you played my song, leaned over to kiss me (you have a great lean, even better than Jordan Catalano’s), and quoting Little A, you said, “You’re my favorite best friend.”

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I paid $2,000 for the highmom.com domain name. I’m not sure how stupid that was; I tend to vacillate between “What that fuck were you thinking” and “That’s not really that much.”

Anyway, I purchased the site from NameBright.com, and dropping that kind of cash on a site I’d never heard of made me uneasy. I kept wishing I had bought it from GoDaddy, finding comfort in its creepy name and sleazy commercials. (Hashtag brand recognition.)

But almost immediately after I purchase highmom, I realize I have no clue what I’m doing. (If this post were a Family Guy clip, we’d segue to the scene from “Don’t make me over,” which sadly doesn’t exist on YouTube. But it’s the one where Peter, Joe, Cleveland and Quagmire are on stage, in costume, before a crowd of prisoners, ready to play their first song just as Peter realizes they don’t know any.)

Anyway, Peter is me: lost, intimidated, overwhelmed. I don’t know what a name server is. I don’t know what my next steps are. This whole process scares me, and so I do the only thing I know how. Nothing.

I’d still be making payments on a nonexistent site were it not for Mr. D. He suggests I call the company, have them walk me through the steps. And how they do. The lucky customer service rep spends close to an hour answering all of my stupid questions. And they are stupid. (But whatever. I’ve learned your ability to grasp a concept is inversely proportional to the simplicity of the questions you ask about it.) Anyway, he explains things in such digestible detail that I finally understand I need to find a web hosting site.

So I call my friend who’s launching a new mobile company, has built websites, and all-around knows his shit. When he recommends DreamHost, I listen. And I eventually launch this blog.

DreamHost and NameBright are probably totally different services (or maybe they’re identical. Who knows. I certainly don’t.). Anyway, the only discernible difference I’ve noticed is in the customer service.

DreamHost offers 24/7 live chat, which is amazing until you start asking questions. Talking to them makes me feel like I’m getting my eyebrows waxed at a Korean nail salon. (“Ohhh, you very hairy. Very hairy. Want your lip done, too?”). Actual quotes from DreamHost’s customer service team include, “I don’t know what you’re talking about” and “I don’t know how to help you beyond the answers I’ve given.” I always exit the pop-up box feeling like the web development dummy that I am.

But then I call NameBright, whose representatives patiently navigate me through uncharted, digital waters. Maybe they’re just better at understanding their consumer. “She’s high? And a mom? She’s clearly sleepy and confused. Let’s take it easy on this one.”

Whatever the reason, I thank you, NameBright. I was wrong for ever doubting you.