A shout out to those of you who sent messages to me requesting proof of life. Woot!! It is very VERY surprising to me that ANYONE reads this blog, let alone takes the time to send me an email saying that they enjoy reading it and would like to read more. I am so very flattered when I get such kind messages.
Also, I feel rotten.
READER: "I happened to notice that you aren't doing your job of entertaining me. When do you suppose you will get back to it?"
ME: "I am MONUMENTALLY averse to responsibilities and obligations, and the minute I start to feel like something is expected of me, I start barfing all over the place."
The sincerity of these inquiries, rolling in at a steady pace of one or two a month for three years, completely disarms me. While they give me a live-affirming boost (because I am inevitably in the middle of referee-ing some blood-curdling custody battle that is converting my soul into a gerbil pellet), these pleasant messages make me feel guilty, and I wonder myself why I am not paying attention to "the blog" (I still feel like a jackhole even referring to this thing). But then I have to remind myself: This is just a hobby. I wonder if you know how blogs work? I don't get paid. Was that not clear?
Please don't take that the wrong way. I know what you meant when you wrote to me asking where I had gone off to. What a totally unmerited blessing to have enthusiastic readers – many of you have never even met me! But, then I started to think, who ARE you? I mean, we're on the same page here, I hope. We're all fully aware that I'm no one special, right? I hope it's not the case that a friend of a friend of a friend of a gay guy forwarded this to you and you think I have credentials or something. I am not, just to be clear: (1) important, (2) knowledgeable, or (3) famous, in any shape or fashion. I pay $15 a year for a domain name, and here you are reading this. I apologize if there has been some sort of misunderstanding. I hope that by now you recognize that I don't know anything about outer space or Alanis Morissette's marital status, and that I don't date Brian Urlacher – even though, in spite of all of your emotional support, not a one of you lazy fuckhats, who I guess can't afford to buy books, has come through with his address or even told me what bar he hangs out at. Shame on you.
So even though for all you know I'm serving 25 to life, I still can have a blog. I know. It doesn't seem right, mostly to me. But it is fun for me to write totally wrong things about Chick-Fil-A and Iceland knowing that people actually read this for some reason. Some people even feel compelled to send me very serious messages to "school me" or debate "facts" or refute claims that I've made (primarily re: D.B. Sweeney). Half of what I write in this blog is a clarification that the other half of this blog is total bullshit. Then again, when was the last time you heard anyone talking about D.B. Sweeney? Personally, I think I'm doing him a favor.
Someone from Europe posted a comment addressing me as: "Poor Dumb Polak [sic] Girl." To this person, all I can say is, "POOR YOU!!! I am REALLY sorry!!! Why are you reading a blog that you hate? Are you being held hostage at a Dark Site? Are they making you listen to a lot of Taylor Swift? If you have free will, and access to the internet, why in the hell are you reading THIS? Order yourself 'The Hunger Games' trilogy! It's totally awesome!"
Since the last time I wrote, some things did contribute to my slacking off on the blog: I moved three times. I had a boyfriend. Then I didn't have a boyfriend. I had a JOB. I couldn't find a pencil.
About the boyfriend – right around the time I met him, I ran a blog post up the flag pole about anal-sex. Of course he was not a fan. I have 9,000 other posts involving NO anal sex whatsoever. I can aver that 99.9% of this blog is NOT about anal sex, but after a year and a half, my boyfriend still had only gotten around to reading the butt-sex post, which was clearly purposely ridiculous (even though it was 100% true). He did read the post in which he is featured as offering to let me wipe my sweaty face on his shirt at a concert, and he liked that one, perhaps because I had portrayed events exactly as they had occurred, or because I captured his sense of humor accurately (because I DO literally write down things people say WHEN they are saying them, and some people don't mind that, while others, understandably, find it REALLY STRANGE). He did NOT find it strange, and that is because he is a narcissist of the highest order (i.e., his narcissism is so stealth that he honestly believes that he is the opposite of one, and being a lesser narcissist myself, it took me over a year to even BEGIN to pick up on hints about it), so of course he liked to read about himself.
Even some non-narcissists don't mind reading about themselves from another person's point of view. But most people really DO NOT like it. They might THINK they would like it. Lots of people say, "Are you gonna write about this!!!" And I say, "Yes, but you won't like it." And sure enough, the blog post goes up, and 14 minutes later I receive a tactful email from my friend saying how her aunt is on Facebook and if she clicks through she'll see my blog and know that [friend I wrote about] is "Skippy" [in X blog post] and "could you please remove Skippy from the story, or if you wouldn't mind, just remove the post altogether, and I really do like your blog, but just not when I am in it, you know, because of my aunt."
Aunts are just the worst. I can say that, because I am one.
So anyway, the day after I wrote it, the boyfriend (who wasn't my boyfriend yet) forwarded the post about us going to see MGMT to some of his friends under the guise of showing them that he had gone out with a girl who… I really don't know what message he was trying to convey… that he went on a date with a girl who writes down conversations verbatim and then plugs them into the internet? That he went out with a girl who goes home from a date and stays up all night transcribing it? Is that something you want your friends to know? Did he like it? I can tell you that most people do NOT like being the subject of, or even casually mentioned in, one of my blog posts, so why this guy got a kick out of it and passed it on to his family and friends, well, I should have seen the red flag. Maybe I thought he respected my "craft," but who am I kidding. This isn't a craft. It's a BLOG. A dirty, filthy, blowjob-laden BLOG, with no value whatsoever. I liked this guy a lot, and although I don't believe that he meant to dissuade me from writing, when he tendered his opinion that I didn't need to write "things like that," I felt tsk'ed, so I stopped writing. I loved him and I didn't want to embarrass him or hurt his feelings. I didn't want to write things about my mother that made it seem like I don't love my mother, because I DO love my mother. But he got me to thinking that if I had a kid, well... I shouldn't be allowed to have kids and also have a blog. I was starting to regret the things I'd written, mostly because I was getting a very strong vibe that the person I loved had it in his head that I would be a terrible mother.
And a regrettable girlfriend
It's not totally unforgivable that he wasn't keyed up to be dating a girl who wrote about that time she took pills and begged someone to fuck her up the ass. Twice. That makes sense. But that ship has sailed. I wrote it. It's out there. I can't take it back. And according to eBlogger, which shows which posts are being read AND the cities where people are reading them, that ONE post has gotten as many hits as the footage of the Snooki-face-punch. And for some reason, the people of Iceland, perhaps ALL of them, based on the number of hits from unique IP addresses, are really curious about anal sex. Now, this had really nothing to do with what I'd written. This was about how search engines work, and people search for whatever they search for. It just so happened that after a couple of weeks, you could type "anal sex" into Google, and UP came MY blog.
That's not really what I was going for. Not at all. I'm sorry, Iceland. I really am, but I can't be one of the top 3 sites that come up associated with... well, sex of any kind. I mean, it's not flattering. I wrote it. I know that. But it wasn't intended to define me or destroy all of my personal relationships.
But it did.
Because he took to the concert post, I mentioned him in the brutally honest butt-sex post. I thought I was dating a guy who was cool with me having a blog. I think he thought he was cool with me having a blog. But it wasn't worth it to me to push it. I couldn't figure out how to be a nice girlfriend and a weirdo blog-writer at the same time, so I stopped posting... and worked really hard at being a girlfriend. As surprising as this may sound, given all the flattering things I've disclosed about myself, my best wasn't so good. I was a less-than-satisfactory girlfriend, as it was related to me in the end. Too bad, so sad.
But at the time, discontinuing broadcasting the escapades of my youth wasn't a hard decision to make. While I had strangers who had no problem with the things I wrote, I had real-life people who were expressing that my blog was "distasteful." My boyfriend's brother's girlfriend (now wife), who I did not meet until over a year later, on the very day that my boyfriend's brother proposed to her, turned out to be supremely cool. But long before my meeting her, she read the non-blowjob-themed post about my date with her now-brother-in-law at the MGMT concert. I don't know if she read any other posts, or if someone gave her a Cliff's Notes version of the blog, but my boyfriend related to me her concise review of WindyCityChick.com, which was: "She sure likes to give blowjobs."
Oh.
My.
Then, that same week, my father unexpectedly, and surely inadvertently, made a reference to a non-raw portion of an incredibly raw post, indicating that, even though there is no reason in the world for my parents to know that I have a blog, they DO know that I have a blog. And they read it. Ack!!!!
Even though my blog is mostly NOT about sex at all, but about me being an idiot when I was in my 20s, it seems like my blog is just about blowjobs and anal sex, and the only people reading it and admitting to it are my dad and my ex-boyfriend's sister-in-law. So, my own blog has been grossing me out for the past three years. I kind of wish burqas were in fashion, because I'd like to wear one for the rest of my life just to avoid having to look my father in the eye.
When I thought about my boyfriend, his brother's wife, or my dad reading any of this, I felt sick. On the other hand, I really LIKED writing it, and I genuinely missed doing it; so I continued to write, but I couldn't bring myself to post anything.
But there are yet more reasons why I stopped writing:
Against the advice of some caring readers who encouraged me to stop lawyering and start writing more, I became a partner at a law firm, which is the best way in the WORLD to have loads of free time! But before I got myself into a 6.5-day-a-week, trials-back-to-back position, I had to find the job, interview for the job, and survive night sweats and pants-shitting terror over the idea of a potential employer or client entering my name into Google and finding out that I am a blowjob addict with a public forum. So I took the whole thing down.
Three years have passed. I am single. I quit my job. I had a series of "adventures" (I was homeless). I became a middle school English teacher in Nashville (which makes even the NAME of this blog a lie). There are plenty of things I'd like to write about to catch you up on all the excitement, but I think it goes without saying that being a teacher and having a blog like mine is TOTALLY UNCONSCIONABLE. Kids today don't know much about the internet, so it'll probably be fine. But just in case, I've been wearing a fake mustache and a cape to class every day with the hope that my students, co-workers, and superiors won't recognize me in my normal blogger form, which by now should be very clear in your mind: a girl with cocaine-caked nostrils gagging on a dick.
Hi, Dad! :)
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