Feb 4, 2009
I'm not coming back. It's not me, it's you. Incidentally, I've found someone new, even though we haven't been intimate yet because he respects our relationship and where it's going. UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE. His name is Wordpress, and we're so in love!
You can reach my new blog through my website URL: www.sn0tty.com
Or through my Wordpress URL: sn0tty.wordpress.com
Bye, Blogger--and thanks for all the fish!
Feb 3, 2009
I'm getting a little tired of writing "Oh em gee! Congratulations on your engagement! I'm so happy for you two!" on everybody's Facebook pages. I'm not being uncharitable. I'm just being a bitch.
Yesterday, my friend Carly got engaged--ohemgee! congrats! so happy!--and she is the TWELFTH PERSON I know who's been asked The Big One this past year. That's twelve happy couples, most of them getting married in 2009 or 2010. Statistically speaking, half of these couples will be divorced within five years, but I like to think these twelve will make it, and twelve *other* couples--people from Australia, Florida, Mars--will ultimately fail. I won't win any points wishing divorce upon people (or Martians), but I'm fairly certain folks wished for my inevitable divorce, which was the best thing that ever happened to my ex-husband. It was good for me, too, but terrifying; I'd never been alone before. Through my sobbing I heard a thousand trumpets heralding his departure, so I figured that was a good sign.
NO, I AM NOT JEALOUS OF MY FRIENDS. NUH-UH. AM NOT. A little.
We can't afford toilet paper, much less a wedding; we're so broke, we can't afford to dream about a different kind of life. Lately, I've started making handwritten lists of activities I used to do, food I used to eat, things I used to buy; it's provocative like a love letter, wistful like a lost love. It's like a Hope Chest: the 'I sure fucking HOPE we can do these things again someday' Hope Chest. So, a wedding is a no-go. Plus, it's still early--if I know my boyfriend, I'd say we're at about half-time in the Big Game, maybe even a time-out in the third quarter. I don't know why I'm using football references; I guess so he won't understand what I'm talking about.
I don't object to marriage, or any of these specific couples getting married--OMG! w00t! happy!--I'm just astounded by the timing. If there ever was an onslaught of marital bliss, a veritable avalanche of shindiggery, a slew of receptions from which to do regrettable things, THIS IS IT. Couldn't they have staggered their collective happiness into something easier for me to emotionally and financially handle? Yeah, that's right, you couples should have been thinking about my needs--HOW DARE YOU. The audacity of your inherent happiness offends me, sir, it surely does. What? I SAID GOOD DAY, SIR.
It's hard enough to come up with funds for a wedding shower gift, bachelorette party debauchery, wedding gift, the inevitable baby shower gift that comes a year later--but twelve times over? I CAN'T EVEN COUNT THAT HIGH. That being said, congratulations to all of my newly-betrothed friends. Oh! Em! Gee! I am just so happy for you all. I hope you enjoy your wedding gifts of stolen single-ply toilet paper and hastily-handwritten wishlists. If you're lucky, I'll throw in a dream for free. Maybe this one:
I had a dream last night that I was Britney Spears, performing a song at The Showbox in downtown Seattle, with back-up dancers who turned out to be drag queens. Is this a sign that my life is finally in the shitter? Or was it a cosmic message about a possible future career as a drag queen back-up dancer? Don't knock it; I'll pretty much do anything at this point.
Feb 1, 2009
It's always the people I hate the most that come back to this blog, time and time again. Oh, not YOU... but, you know, The Others. The uber-devout with their unkind, not-very-Christian emails; the narrow-minded gay-bashers, who reveal to me their Doomsday prophecies of Hell and Damnation (where I'm headed, too, apparently); the bigoted conservatives who scream about Obama the Muslim, Obama the Terrorist, as though I personally voted him into office without anyone else's help; people I've never met who've called me a negro, a whore, a heathen, a shitty parent, a sinner, a bad writer, a bad role model, a bad female; women who let me know I'm a traitor to other women--for what reasons, they won't say; wymyn who tell me I'm not pro-choice enough, who say I need a louder voice; people who give a shit about my opinion on divorce, as though my opinion really matters; men who imply, suggest, or otherwise demand I blow them, fuck them, fuck their wives, their girlfriends, or sometimes, just to fuck off; old acquaintances who feel my political, religious, or social opinions somehow affect their daily lives; family, friends, and strangers having different opinions about a piece I wrote, some feeling they have the right to demand changes or re-writes because they're unhappy about my level of honesty. And then there's the religious right-to-lifers, people who take care of their families as diligently as they insult me about my stance on abortion. Guess what? I'm not just pro-choice: I'm PRO-ABORTION. I think everyone should have at least four! Stick that in your rotting birth canals and smoke it.
This is just the tip of the blogging iceberg. Yes, I know it's part of the game, but it's wearing me down; I know this weekend was hard, but that was all my fault. I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of defensive linebacker comments, nor was I ready for the rush of hate mail awaiting me later--and for what? All so they could tell me how wrong, horrible, awful, misguided, angry, idiotic, stupid, and wrong, wrong, WRONG I was about everything, ever. These were all written in defensive, judgmental, condescending tones, letting me know how defensive, judgmental, and condescending I am--to which I respond: HELLO, MIRROR. There are so many people who come here to lurk and specifically disagree with me, or who just plain hate me. I don't need the approval of those people, but I would like them to go away. Wishful thinking? Probably. I guess I'm in the Denial stage of my blogging grief.
I didn't start this blog to be hated. I just wanted to make people laugh and have a place to practice some writing, not host a website for jerky people I would never hang out with in real life--why am I facilitating the comments and emails of people I can't fucking stand? When over half of my energy is dedicated to putting out fires because of this blog, instead of creating good content, it makes me wonder: what the fuck am I doing here? I've already asked what the fuck they're doing here, but the answer is usually 'because you're wrong and I'm here to set you right.' Take your well-meaning intentions and play out your dramatic bullshit on the people who expect it: your children. While you're in here setting me straight, they're out there, doing drugs and dating girls like me. If only you'd been more diligent in converting them, and not just Yours Truly.
I feel like I'm going in the wrong direction here. I'm truly sad about it, but not completely out of the game. I just need to re-group and start anew with some confidence. I'm a tough girl, but I can only take so much unwavering hatred from people. Sometimes I feel like the Ann Coulter of whatever the opposite of Ann Coulter is. What's on the other side of evil? Mother Teresa, or
Comments--from people I love (a big shout-out to my regular peeps) and from people I can only describe as AIDS-worthy fuckoffs (you know who you are, YES. YOU.)--are closed for now. I need to figure out how to handle this, and then handle it. Until then, I will blog about boring, vomitous things, like The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Oscar nominations, my ass.