This is a test of the “Oh my GOD I’m about to go all Half Latina on some hosting company ass if this thing does not start loading already” system. This is only a test. If this were an actual post, I’d be talking about how sad I am that my son now has a Man Voice because wasn’t it just yesterday that he was my little baby boy?
Because there really are only two possible explanations.
Last Sunday I received an email from a published author who I will not name because chances are you’ve never heard of him and my little blog probably gets a ton more traffic than his website does, and I don’t feel like sharing it with him.
The email was short, sweet and to the point.
“ You have one of the worst, most pathetic — and most poorly written — blogs on the Net. Aren’t you completely embarassed? Or are you just … stupid?
My first reaction was something like “Embarrassed has TWO R’s you raging asshole!” Then, I started to freak out because why in the hell was this supposed “professional” taking time out of his obviously very fulfilled, rich life to email little old me to say such things? WHY?
I could be wrong, but I think he was trying to hurt my feelings.
Or maybe The Gun Fingers sent him over the edge and he was like “I have to tell this stupid bitch that her site is pathetic or I will not be able to go on living!”
What he said didn’t hurt my feelings because I’ve always said that I don’t think I’m a a good writer and that my blog sucks. But, I can’t for the life of me understand why a “professional” writer who has written books would feel COMPELLED to send such an email to little ol’ me.
It’s almost as baffling as people who send me emails telling me that I’m fat because I EAT TOO MUCH JUNK FOOD!!111!!! As if I’ve not written repeatedly about my issues with food and not being able to stop shoving it in my mouth.
Speaking of shoving food in my mouth!
On Sunday PigHunter was all “I’m going to take you out to lunch! But! Only if you agree to go to the restaurant to which we have a Buy One Lunch Get One Free card!” Because I have absolutely no shame when it comes to The Coupons, I was all “sounds great to me! Let’s go!”
So, we headed off in our rental car (because we still do not have a settlement, nor do we yet have the police report which means that yes! We are still paying for that rental car out of our own pocket!) to Spaghetti Eddies where we would partake in a meal that would taste twice as good as it actually was because a meal always tastes better when it’s free!
We arrived just 15 minutes too late to try their fabulous brunch, so we began to look over the lunch menu. There were things that I wanted in the worst way that were breaded and covered in cheese, but when the waitress came to take our order, I shocked myself by saying “I’ll just have the grilled chicken with tomato sauce and vegetables, please.”
Tony, being the Awesome Weight Loss Support Buddy that he is was all “That’s all you’re getting? No pasta? No bread? I thought you wanted artichoke pizza?” And I was all “Well, I DO want those things, but I also am trying really hard to make better choices so that I can be a thin person again! I am thinking like a Thin Person, baby!”
And I was really proud of myself too… until they brought the food out and I saw my fucking plate of broccoli and chicken.
Suddenly, I was filled with rage, anger and a little thing I like to call “Squish The Foam”. You may be in disbelief that a person could feel “rage and anger” over a plate of chicken and broccoli, but that is because you probably have a healthy relationship with food in which your happiness is not tied into every fucking piece of food you put into your mouth.
“I want to take this plate and throw it against the wall!” I said to Tony.
“Why?”
“Because it’s just like 3 strips of chicken and stupid ass broccoli and I want what you have. Pasta! Feta cheese! Bread!”
I could see the worried look on his face, because when mama aint happy with what she ordered aint nobody happy.
It took me a few minutes to get a grip. THIS is why I’m fat, people. Because eating healthy KILLS ME INSIDE. Because vegetable do not give me the same satisfaction as a plate of buttered up pasta with various cheeses and bread.
I started to eat the vegetables and in all fairness to them, they were delicious. I tried concentrating on the flavor and how good they were for me and not on how seriously I wanted to murder the nutritious plate of food that sat so beautifully prepared before me.
After a few minutes, I felt full. FROM BROCOLLI! And chicken! And I also felt good about myself for having made a [mommy voice] Good Choice [/mommy voice].
I can only imagine how ridiculous this must sound to anyone reading, but for me, it’s those (crazy) little moments that are going to define my success on this journey to lose weight. I’m learning that it’s not the end of the flipping world if I don’t get extra caramel on my iced latte, or if I skip the pasta and go with the vegetables instead.
It should be so simple, but for me, it’s just not. I would have thought by the time I was ripping multiple gray hairs from scalp every morning I would have these things figured out and mastered, but alas, I do not.
But I promise my self, my children and my husband that I will try every day to do better and to do my best because this isn’t about fitting in a size 7 anymore. This is about living for as long as possible so I can watch my children grow up and have babies.
(And maybe, quite possibly this is also now about living for as long as I possibly can so that I can continue to write and publish one of the most pathetic and poorly written blogs on the Net, just to annoy the ever living piss out of Mr.Published Author Man.)
Yeah, baby
My parents are going to Palm Springs for a few days and my mouth is watering from the excitement I feel at having the house to ourselves.
It feels just as exciting as it did when I was 18, engaged and still living at home when my parents decided to go on vacation for a week! And I couldn’t go because I had a job! And me and Fiancé Pig Hunter could have “picnics” without fear of my mom or dad driving up and catching us partaking of one another’s “all beef and tuna sandwiches”.
I want to text message all of my 3 friends and be like “OMG, mom n dad r leaving 4 2 days!! Party at their house! P.S bring a 40!!”
But really, I’m just excited that for two entire days I can read TMZ without my mom looking over my shoulder going on and on about what a waste of time it is to read about celebrities and their drugs and their sex and their SIN!
I’m also happy that for 2 days I will not have to listen to my mother’s thinly veiled insults that are neither thin nor veiled.
Example-
Me: I hate it when he says things like that, but he learned them from me, he acts just like me.
My Mom: I know. That kid wants to be just like you….Unfortunately.
Don’t feel too sad for me though, my mother does love me, she just doesn’t like me very much. But more on that later as there is already a post in which I try to define my relationship with my mother sitting in “draft mode.”
I can only imagine that my parents are just as excited to be getting away for a few days because 5 very loud Mexicans have invaded their personal space and I’m sure they would love nothing more than to do things like “Pray” in peace. (That’s RIGHT they’re going to spend their time alone in that beautiful hotel room PRAYING because, just like YOUR parents, my parents do not have sex!)
And that is why you will not hear me complaining about my parents, because as annoying as they can be, the five of US are more annoying. Also, it was very kind and generous of them to offer their house to us. I am truly grateful. So, out of respect for the kindness, I will not from talk about them in a negative way—with ONE exception.
I WILL write about one of my mother’s disgusting habits. Like, wiping the kitchen counter tops with the SAME dish rag she had just wiped the steak juice off of the WOODEN cutting board with and then throwing that same dish rag in the washer with a load of clothes I had just put in that contained articles of clothing that TOUCH MY VAGINAL AREA.
(And it wasn’t even a “hot water” wash either, people. I honestly didn’t think people who weren’t my Grandma actually did stuff like that.)
Anyway.
The Parents are gone and I can’t decide what I want to do first. Have The Legal and Jesus Approved Sex? Or drink some wine in the garage (because I wouldn’t even dare to bring Devil Water inside of this house, for fear of being struck down by The Lord Himself.)
I think I’m going with The Sex.
My Fingers are Too Tired To Type a Title.
There was a time where I would use this blog to vent every frustration, to work through every fear, every emotion. Whenever I was feeling sad, I’d sit down and write through it, sometimes sobbing the entire time I was typing away at the keyboard. I’d feel better almost immediately after writing it, and almost always regret having written it 5 minutes after hitting “publish.”
Writing was therapeutic for me. It has been since I was a little girl. There’s just something about writing through a particular emotion that I have always found comforting. When I suffered a severe depression in 2003, I learned that while writing through my depression was a valuable tool, I needed professional help as well. So, I went and got me a psychiatrist, a therapist and various prescription drugs (which I no longer take.)
I also learned that when you’re open with your thoughts, your emotions, your fears, your mental illness, people will use that shit against you. They will twist your words, they will mock you, they will call you names and so on and so forth. Now, I’m not a sensitive person. I’ve developed pretty thick skin over the years. I’ve had to in order to survive in my family. We’re a pretty brutal bunch and it’s not uncommon to be teased about everything from my weight, to my overly protective nature, to the way that I dress. I have learned to laugh at myself and to even take it a step further and be self deprecating every chance that I get. I’ve also learned that when complete strangers say nasty things, it’s more about them and their insecurities than it is about me. But, not always— I certainly give people a hell of a lot of material to use against me.
I have recently found myself extremely guarded about what I post online. I think it was good for me to pull back a little. However, I think that I’ve taken it to the opposite extreme. I’ve been avoiding writing about anything that involves my “feelings” or “the sadness that I feel deep within my soul because the life as I knew it has been completely turned upside down and my husband is depressed and not helping at all to get us out of this situation and I am the only one obsessively looking for a house we can afford and trying to get a better job and saving money and why isn’t he helping me? Does he want to live with my parents forever?” and instead writing about things like van heaven! And bean dip! Because hahaha! No one can use bean dip against you. (Except, they totally can, because did you know that the reason we don’t own a house is because I spend all of my husband’s money on BEAN DIP! 8 dollars a day to be exact!)
I recently confessed to Liz that I find it hard to write the way I used to, because I feel more guarded and protective of my feelings. She said something that I think about almost every day.
“You have to speak your truth.”
And she’s right. She’s right because I have hundreds of saved emails from women who have written to me to tell me how much they can relate to the things that I write. I’ve had women tell me very personal things that have made me weep because I know how they feel and NO ONE should feel that way about themselves. I have emails dating back to 2005, because those emails have meant the world to me and sometimes, when I’m having a really bad day, I’ll go back and read them. I feel so grateful to every single person who has taken the time out of their lives to send me an email telling me their stories, or offering their moral support, or giving me advice, or telling me their praying for me and my family.
I am sorry if you’ve sent me one of those emails and never received a response from me. Truly sorry, because as many excuses as I could give you for not responding, there really isn’t an acceptable excuse for it at all.
I’m not even sure where I’m going with all of this because what I was TRYING to say is that I want to find a healthy balance in which I write about things that are important to me (like my weight “issues” and my “feelings” ) and at the same time hold some things back because, really, The Internet doesn’t need to know everything.
One of the reasons that I love having this blog is that I can go back and read about things that my boys said and did four years ago. Things that I probably would have forgot about had it not been for this blog. I love reading how I felt when I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant with my daughter, or when Tony told me he wanted to “put a cup on my ass.”
The truth is my life is pretty shitty right now and I am sad most of the time. Not depressed, sad. That doesn’t mean that I am unable to find “joy” in my life, it just means that sometimes, I get sad. I’ve avoided writing much since moving in here with my mom because I’m really working hard on holding my true feelings prisoner inside of my head and pretending that “I’m FINE!” because if I say how I really feel or let that shit out, I don’t think I would ever stop crying. So, I save my tears for my pillow at night and put one foot in front of the other with a pretty little smile during the day.
PigHunter isn’t doing well either and has chosen to isolate himself from me and go to bed early instead of helping me get the hell out of my parents house. I try not to get upset with him, because I know he’s depressed and feeling like he’s failed his family. (because contrary to Popular Assholes on the Internet Opinion- he DOES share some blame in this situation, but I don’t air that stuff here because he’s a good man, an incredibly good father and I love him.) The truth is, we’ve both failed and this has been a huge wake up call for me. Most days I straddle the line of wanting to shake him and say “YES,YOU SCREWED UP, BUT SO DID I AND WE CAN MAKE THIS BETTER! HELP ME MAKE THIS BETTER!” and wanting to just squeeze him so tight and weep and tell him how proud I am for everything he’s done for this family and how it isn’t the end of the world, but the beginning of a new life for us.
The good news is that, with the exception of Gabby at bed time, the kids are as happy as they’ve ever been here at Grandpa and Grandma’s house. They can swim in the pool! Or play video games all night with their uncle! And the only chore they have is to clean up Bandit’s poop! It’s like an extended vacation! I was really worried about Ethan, because he was so devastated about leaving the only house he’s ever known, but he loves it here and I couldn’t be happier about that.
The other day I was in my room with Gabby and my dad called me. I asked him what he wanted and he said he wanted me to come and sit next to him. I got nervous, expecting another sermon on how all of this was happening because I had fallen away from God and if I would just get right with Him, things would start falling into place in my life.
But that’s not what happened. My dad hugged me and said “I love you, Mija.” And I said “I love you too, dad.” And then, he started to cry.
“Dad, don’t cry! Why are you crying?” I said, trying to fight back my own tears, because, “I’M FINE!”
“Because, I love you and I hate to see you hurting this way. I hate seeing you stressed out and constantly worried. You’re my daughter, I love you and I want the best for you and I am sorry that you’re going through all of this.”
Totally didn’t expect that. I wanted to cry, I wanted to just let it all go and tell him just how sad I really feel, but I didn’t, I held it in, except for a little tear that escaped and fell down my cheek while my dad openly wept for me.
He then started to pray for me in a way I’d not heard him pray before. Instead of asking God to “deal with me” for my sinful ways, he asked God to bestow his love and joy upon me. He asked God to show me his kindness and to take away all of my burdens and fears. I just sat there, not knowing what to say or do, fighting back tears because my dad could see through the facade and recognized how sad, nervous and stressed out I really am.
To see my dad break down like that was strangely comforting, to know that he loves me and worries for me.
I needed to know that and I definitely needed that prayer.
And what I really need now is to stop talking about this already and go back to holding it all inside because it’s much safer there and all of this crying makes me look even uglier than I already feel.
But! Before I go, I want to leave you with a little “treat.” (Yes, I am calling it a treat.) Remember a while back I had written another really long post and I told you about some tapes my mom found that contained recordings of 6 year old me singing songs about Jesus?. Well, my mom had those tapes put onto a CD and I just listened to it and now, I am going to share it with all of you, because I know you want to hear me singing songs about Jesus.
Enjoy.
It Would Make Me Very Happy if You Read This Post Out Loud in the Voice of Mary Hart.
Hi! How are you?
Good?
I hope so.
Me? I’m “fine!”
Thanks to some of you, I’m SO fine, that I’m using Gun Fingers everywhere I go.
Someone will ask me “How you holding up?” And I’ll go “just great!”
Pow! Pow!
Thanks a lot for that, Internet.
Oh, Thumbs Up, how I miss you.
Today I called a friend who I haven’t talked to in about 7 days, which doesn’t seem like a lot, but the speed at which crazy things are happening in my life, 7 days in my life is like an entire year in the life of someone whose life does not suck.
Or something like that.
When my friend answered the phone, I was all “Oh, I have something hilarious to tell you! Tony was in a car accident and totaled The Van! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
She was very quiet and said “Y, that’s not funny. It’s not funny at all.”
And I was all “I know it’s not, but! It’s either cry or laugh and I think it would be uncomfortable for both of us if I started to cry, so, Ha! Ha! Ha! Haaaaaaa!”
Yesterday we had to go get all of our personal belongings out of the van and release it to our insurance company so that they can take it to Van Heaven. ( I refuse to believe that my van is going to the junk yard. Van Heaven, people, it’s in Van Heaven.) As I was pulling things out, I started to cry, because for as ugly as that van was, I freaking LOVED that van.
Can I tell you the story of my van? Please? Because talking about it makes me feel better.
A few years back, my sister left her van with me when she went to NY. I fell in love with it. Sure, they’re ugly and people make fun of them, but dudes, you can open that side door up and let the kids pile in and to me? That was awesome.
When we decided that it was time to get a new car a few years back, I immediately made it known that I wanted an Ass-tro van.
“Really?” Tony asked, in a very disturbed tone.
“Yes, really.”
“What about a Suburban?”
“No. I want an Ass-tro van!”
“What about a, um, anything other than that big ugly van?!”
“No. I want an Ass-tro van!”
He did manage me to get me to agree to test drive a few suburban’s and other cars that I do not remember because I was obsessed with the dream of owning my very own van and therefore did not really pay attention to the stupid other cars that were not Ass-tro vans. However, none of those stupid other cars impressed me and so I was all “Let’s go back to the Chevy dealer and pick out ma’van!”
And it just so happened that they had the Perfect Van there waiting for me. White, with running boards, ski racks, power everything, privacy glass, etc and it was in perfect condition (only one year old.)
I’ll admit that at the time we bought that car, we were the worst negotiators in the history of negotiations and we did not get a good deal on the car (something that has haunted me for the past 6 years. Yes, SIX YEARS and we still had 13 payments left. See? I am not lying, we got screwed.) But, we were able to get the monthly payment that we wanted and so we signed the papers and drove off with Ma’Van that night.
And oh, how I loved that van.
In the 6 years that we’ve had it, I’ve not complained about it even once. I had nothing but pure love for that van. People find that hard to believe, because “it’s a van! And it’s ugly! Surely, you can’t love a giant, ugly van!”
But I did. I still do.
It was perfect for us. My boy’s needed me to pick up their friends from school? HOP RIGHT IN! Tony wanted to take the boys camping? Just pull out the back seat and everything fit! Unexpectedly pregnant with our third child? Not a problem! There’s room for 8 of us!
You wouldn’t believe the ridicule that I took for that van, and you would not believe how little I cared because screw you all, I chose it and I love it and you can all suck it hard.
I know that I sound like the biggest asshole in the world going on and on about a stupid van, but like I’ve said at least 2069 times in this post alone, I loved that van and was looking forward to hauling buttloads of kids around in it for at least another 5 years.
But now, it’s gone. Forever. And in just a few short days the insurance will offer us a settlement for it that will probably be just enough to pay it off and we will have to start all over with a car that I will hate with a passion because it is NOT MY VAN and it will NEVER BE MY VAN.
Now, if you don’t mind, would you please bow your head in a moment of silence for The Van?
Thank you.
NOT.
I always try to find the humor in situations. That’s what helps me through most days.
Laughing at myself, it’s “how I deal“.
But I can’t find anything funny about the fact that some woman didn’t look both ways before she pulled out onto a street that my husband happened to be driving on (with my daughter in the car) and that as hard as he tried to brake, he hit her and now our van has been declared a “total loss” and the difference between the amount we still owe and the amount of the blue book value is less than $3,000 and um, no one got the woman’s insurance information because she was injured and well, now we’re not only homeless, but also van-less and there’s just nothing funny about any of this.
I suppose I can take comfort in the fact that no one was killed, but not really because the woman was injured and Tony has a hard time walking and is in pain all day at work and my daughter is traumatized and afraid to ride in the car.
I suppose I’ll find the funny in this at some point, but right now, I can’t see it.
(Although, come to think of it “Hi! I’m Y and I’m homeless…AND van-less!” is kind of hilarious. Is it not?)
(Heyyyy)
I’ve recently developed a really embarrassing habit.
I have no idea why I have started doing this, or why I can’t seem to stop doing this, but I do know that I must be stopped because it’s embarrassing my children
I can’t stop giving people The Thumb’s Up. And I’m not talking about it in a joking manner. I’m talking about using it in actual, real life situations as a valid form of communication.
I’ve already busted out The Thumb twice today.
While at Starbucks, the barista asked me if it was ok that she put whipped cream on Gabby’s hot chocolate. Instead of saying “Yes, that’s fine!” I did this…
Then, while at my Weight Watchers meeting (More on THAT in just a bit) I threw a Big Thumbs Up combined with a wink to the lady who asked if I was happy with the program.
Maybe it’s not as big of a deal as I’m making it out to be, but in my experience, only Assholes use The Thumb’s Up gesture in real life conversations.
Well, assholes and The Fonz.
I suppose there are times in life when using a “thumb’s up” is necessary and/or acceptable. For instance, your husband asks you to help him back the moving truck into the yard by letting him know if he’s going to hit the tree. You stand behind the truck and when you realize he’s going to clear the tree just fine, you throw him a big ol’ thumb’s up to let him know that it’s all good and he can back that shit right up.
But when the Dish Network Technician tells you he’s all finished installing your service, TOTALLY NOT COOL to flip him the thumb while saying something totally not cool like “Right on, man..
I suppose that I have bigger things to be concerned with, like, you know, finding a place to live and um, losing the 30 pounds that I have put back on.
Of course, the finding a place to live is much more important than losing weight and so I’m spending much more time on Craigslist than I am on Weight Watchers, BUT, I am spending time (and money!) on Weight Watchers because over the past few months, I’ve let my weight once again spiral out of control and have put 32 pounds of the 70 that I had lost back on.
(Yes! I am spending my husband’s money on Weight Watchers! That makes you angry, doesn’t it? You’re outraged, aren’t you? Have you created an anonymous account to tell me to “get a job” yet? HAVE YOU? Well, don’t waste your time, because, I got a job. And? I may be getting another job that is actually kind of a dream job, so stop making your head explode by worrying about my life, ok? It’s all good. Alllllllll gooooooood.)
Long story short, I stopped taking care of myself. I stopped making healthy food choices, I stopped working out (except for an Aerobic Dance Class here and there), I pretty much stopped caring. Life got overwhelming and I caved to the pressure by taking it out on my body.
But, it wasn’t all sad and upsetting as one may think. Sure, I hated that I wasn’t fitting in my clothes, and I hated that I didn’t have to put my head down to make a double chin, but I also was enjoying the HELL out of not obsessing over what foods I was eating and going to the gym.
It was actually kind of scary just how little I cared.
I was tired of working so hard to lose weight, I was tired of watching every damn thing that I put in my mouth, I was tired of feeling guilty for having a cookie.
And I won’t lie, it was kind of fun turning into “Doug Heffernan” for a few months. (Yes, I actually rubbed my fat stomach and said “This is for the kids” on more than one occasion.) But, the truth is that being unhealthy is NOT funny. I may be all “ha! ha! none of my clothes fit me! and ha! ha! Look at my belly slap me in the face when I jump!” But deep down, I want to cry.
Because I don’t feel good.
When I finally decided that I needed to get serious about my health again, which was just last week, I decided that Weight Watchers was the way to go.
Hi, my name is Y and I am a have joined and quit and rejoined Weight Watchers at least 40 times.
I’m happy with my choice to once again count points and obsess over everything that I put into my mouth. I only (YES, I SAID ONLY) lost 3.6 pounds in my first week and that pisses me off (and the first person who says “at least you didn’t GAIN weight” gets my thumb up their ass, unless you like that sort of thing, then it’ll be my foot in your teeth.) but it just motivates me to try harder next week.
(And by “try harder” I mean “actually eat vegetables and not use all of my points on coffee and string cheese.”)
I’ve thought about whether I should document my progress/failures/but mostly progress (positive thinking!) in pictures again, but I’ve not made up my mind yet. I am not sure if that was actually more harmful than helpful for my progress. I do know that my pictures and my candor on my battle with this thing called The Fat has inspired and encouraged complete strangers on the internet to lose weight, so that’s one reason to do it, *cue song by Chicago* but I also know that there are some raging, throbbing assholes on the internet who have nothing better to do with their time then create flickr accounts to leave me asshole comments. In the end, I realize that no one really cares what I do, but that it’s a personal decision I have to make.
And I think that I should do it, but let’s be honest, it’s going to be really embarrassing to post a picture with the numbers “203” in the title after having posted a picture like this. (oh, how I miss you oh 170ish waist)
But hey, at least I’m being honest. And at least I’m trying to do something about it and I think that deserves one big old Fonzarelli Thumbs Up.
When did we turn into that gross “Older Couple” that your parents know but never invite over anymore because that ONE time I plucked his ear hair out with my nails at their dinner table.
You know you’ve been married for too long when you sneeze and immediately proclaim that “I just pissed my pants!” and your husband reaches into your underwear drawer without even blinking an eye and hands you a clean pair of underwear.
But then again, I don’t blink an eye when he bursts through front door after a hard day at work and declares that he will be in the bathroom for a while because “I NEED TO GO CLEAR THE POOP SHOOT CHUTE!”
And to think we still very much love to “Do It” with each other.
For “The (Blogala) Record”.
Ok.
A couple of things.
-I did not say “And I’m not just saying that because I got to pee on Stage 5 of the Warner Bros. lot where Julia Louis-Dreyfus might also pee between takes!” Liz said it in her post about the taping.
-I did not say that I was “inundated with free stuff”. I said that I am inundated with OFFERS for free stuff and that I have turned the offers down because I do NOT want my content to turn into a “today, I made ::insert name brand biscuits here:: for dinner and mmmmm they were delicious and hey! have you entered their recipe contest yet?” blog**. When I do write about any type of products on this blog, (which is hardly ever) it is because it is a product that I am in love with, ((OMG! Fabric Softener!) that I bought with my (husband’s hard earned) money and want the entire world to know about them(OMG! Oxiclean!). I also said that yes, I do have ads on my side bar and am not opposed to that in any way, but that’s because I do not have to change my content or write product reviews on the ads placed there.
-That said, if anyone ever starts handing out free Starbucks gift cards or Laker tickets, I’m ALL OVER THAT.
-Blogola? HAHA.
-Unfortunately, I did say “it was totally rad” in reference to my visit to the set of Old Adventures of New Christine. What can I say? I am a dork and you all know this.
-I sign all of my emails with “xoxo”.
-I did the interview with the cast of New Adventures of Old Christine because I thought it would be an great experience (hello? When you get a chance to talk with Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Wanda Sykes, you freaking TAKE IT.)
-I was not pressured to write anything that I didn’t want to write about my experience or the show itself. I wrote whatever I wanted to write and no one told me to do otherwise. I don’t deny that they used me to help promote the show. I mean, DUH, that was the whole point. But, no one told me that I had to write good things about the show or my experience.
-I hope my parents don’t read the WSJ. But if they do, um, today is going to be TOTALLY RAD!
And finally
-I finally gots me my own internet connection. Let the blogging resume!
**not that there’s anything wrong with that.
I always feel like somebody’s watching me
It is Wednesday night. Do you know what that means?
It means my parents are at church and I can play on their internet!
Technically, I have access to The Internet, but, not really.
I have yet to set up my computer in the room that we are staying in and my dsl modem (hells yeah I ordered my own DSL) will not arrive until May 16th . So, that means the only internet connection available is the one on my Mom’s computer, which means I can only use it when she’s not here, or when she’s talking on the phone in another room.
Excuse me for one minute.
Clear browsing history.
Clear cache.
Delete cookies.
Ok. What was I talking about again? Ah, yes, the fact that I am a wimp who doesn’t want my parents to know that I have a blog.
How old am I again?
I know it’s only a matter of time until they find it, because my mother finally learned how to use “google”.
Last night, she was all “I think I have a *insert infection that I am not willing to name in case she googles it again* and I’m going to google it!”
I’ll admit, I panicked a little and started to recall if I had ever written about *insert infection that I will not name*.
“Let me look it up for you!” I shouted as I practically knocked her down to get to the computer first.
If she ever googles “Aerobic Dancing” I’m so screwed.
I just had a conversation about this with my sister last week. She asked if I was ever going to tell my parents about this blog. She asked me if I was tired of “hiding.”
I don’t feel like I’m hiding. (as I’m clearing “browsing history” for the 15th time in 2 minutes while listening for a car pulling up in the driveway) For me, it’s more about feeling like I don’t have to tell them everything that I do in my life.
They would not approve.
They would be offended by the things that I write.
So, what benefit would it be to me or to them to tell them about it?
I know there are people reading this who don’t understand what the big deal is, but you don’t know my parents.
They are good people, but they have ZERO tolerance for anything that does not align with their beliefs.
I was 30 years old when my parents found out that I “drink devil water” (thank you for ratting me out, SON.) and OH MAN, you people do not understand what I had to listen to for days and even now, five years later.
Maybe I am hiding, but I think of it more as “choosing not to deal.”
Does your family know about your blog? If so, does it affect how/what you write? I know that if I KNEW my parents were reading, I’d certainly feel the need to censor myself.
And, honestly, is that what you want?
I don’t think that it is.