Because I’m thinking it’s becoming a need.
No joke. Gmail has barely worked all week. I open it and it says I’m not there. It won’t send my emails. Then sometimes it does work. But only for a bit. It’s like it’s napping 94% of the time. I’ll get emails to my phone that won’t show up in my inbox for hours. I can’t even discuss the Gchat issues, because that make me want to cry. But hai, it stops mid-sentence and kicks me out. Or sometimes the person I’m talking too. For some odd reason, it rarely kicks us both out at once. WTF is that about? It also is randomly sending me emails. Gchat is sending me emails. Why? I don’t know. But it is. Of current conversations that I’M STILL HAVING!! Emails that I have opened six times, but it’s convinced it’s still a new email to be read.
Facebook isn’t any better. It’s only sending status update emails when it feels like it. Which is very convenient. I’d like to try that. I’ll only feed my children when it’s convenient for me. I’ll only put gas in my car when I feel like it. I’ll only pay my bills every 13th month. It sends me things at odd hours. I got something yesterday that was a note from someone from FOUR DAYS AGO. Um, hi, I’ve already been on FB and replied to that and the person already responded and then I responded again. I’m betting I’ll get those sent to me this weekend.
And Twitter….oh special little Twitter. I have seen the fail whale more times this week, then in the last three months alone. You get on one second and then the next second you aren’t on. It lets you send tweets sometimes and others it’s loading for 5 minutes and somehow your tweet didn’t get posted. I’ve taken to copying every tweet before I hit publish, just because I get tired of re-writing them. It sends DM’s hours later and sometimes four of the same one. It sends them out of order too, so you feel like you’re having a conversation backwards an upside down.
It’s like the Internet is failing. It needs to get it’s shit together. I’m tired of this. And yes, it’s all about me. Ha.
I’m about to purchase these things I think I remember….stamps? I’ll need to buy paper too. Where does one buy paper and stamps? Anyone remember?
Also, are carrier pigeons still around? Know where I can get one of those? Do we have to go back to cans and string? Do you think cans and string would make it to Oregon and California?
But, for serious? My two best friends live in different states. This? Is how I communicate with them. This is how I communicate with all of my friends. The Internet is my lifeline. It needs to step up it’s game. Now.
I’ve been doing this a long time. Two and a half years this go round, two years the first time. I took an 18 month break in between. (Which had absolutely nothing to do with this community and everything to do with my family issues in the moment.) That is pretty much ancient in blogger years. I’ve watched a ton of amazing bloggers shut down. I’ve seen people just disappear. I’ve made friends, lost friends. I’ve been treated like I don’t exist, I’ve treated others that way I’m sure and I know I said somethings over the years that I wish I could take back.
This is a big community. A great big, amazingly awesome community. It also has it’s downfalls. Just like anything, I suppose.
I have, in the past week, read six different posts about people who feel left out. People who were saying they don’t get included. People saying that they don’t get comments, that they don’t get invited to events, that there is no way for them to have the friendships that some of us do. On Twitter, it’s the ever popular emu attitude: no one talks to me, no one responds to me, no one is reading my post. I guess, I’ll just go because I’m not really here.
Can I be honest here for a second? It’s driving me freaking insane. I am tired of it. Seriously, I’ve seen all of this in the past week.
I want to scream at people, this is not High School. This community is what you make of it. You find your people, if you are genuine and patient and friendly. It does not necessarily come easy. You surly can’t expect it to happen.
But the jealous, poor pitiful me, I am so unpopular and nobody likes me posts are annoying. It reminds me of that song, nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I’ll go eat worms. My five year old likes to sing that song…mostly to taunt her big sister. She’s generally holding out a worm as she sings it.
Those posts were annoying five years ago and they are still annoying today. Maybe it was BlogHer selling out of tickets last week, that has made all of that talk start. Maybe it’s something else. I’m not really sure. I don’t think all of us should not be allowed to talk about BlogHer though, because other people don’t like it.
It’s made me pull back a bit this week. It, along with some other things have made me a little gun shy. Gave me a bit of writer’s block. I think the reason is because I’m wanting to say some things that may make me very unpopular. It’s okay. I don’t mind. I am tired of being nice and ignoring it.
Obligations. Big bloggers. Small bloggers. Popular. Interesting words that seem to be thrown around a lot lately. Especially in the past week or so. Loralee wrote an amazing post on the subject at BlogHer this week. It’s well worth the read. Her previous one was on jealousy, which I found even more interesting. Truly the comments over there are enlightening.
Personally, I think that people expect too much. You start a blog, you comment elsewhere, you hope people comment on your blog. You start a Twitter account and chat with people, but somehow they still don’t come and read your blog. I can’t tell you why. I can tell you that you can’t expect it to happen. You can’t force it to happen. You can’t force online friendships. If you try, you just come off as whiny and annoying.
I have been accused of being elitist this week. I’ve lost a friendship, because I wasn’t willing to let something go that I felt wasn’t okay. I’ve also been made to feel guilty, for basically being me. Each of those things, by a different person. I guess I could take it really personally. Some would. Mostly it made me wonder about what peoples expectations of me were. It made me wonder who feels I’m obligated to do things, because I have tons of ‘friends’ online. It made me wonder, if people feel that I owe them something, then imagine how many people someone like Her Bad Mother or Redneck Mommy or say Dooce have thinking that they are somehow owed.
I don’t know that I have any answers for that. I can however, tell you what I know.
Making friends online? Takes time. Just like in real life. Because guess what? This is real life. You will click with some people, you won’t with others. Some will think that they “know” you, because of what you share online. That doesn’t necessarily make it true.
I blog because I love to write. I love the online community that I’ve found. I adore the friends that I’ve made. I love commenting, I love comments.
I comment on “popular” blogs. I comment when I want too. I don’t when I don’t. I comment when I have something to say. I comment on some, because I’ve been reading them forever. I do not expect a return comment. If some of them read my words over here, that is great. Do I tweet at people who never tweet back at me, yes. I do. I tweet at people who don’t follow me. I’m okay with it. I only say something, if I have something to say. I also happen to be very wordy.
I also comment on blogs that no one else reads….yet. I only read people, if I want too. I read some blogs that I never comment on. I sometimes comment on blogs that I don’t have in my reader.
I have trouble keeping up with my reader. I have friends on Twitter whose blogs I don’t read. I have trouble reading what my friends write, much less being able to physically read every blog written by someone who comments or tweets at me. It is not possible.
I have a lot of online friends. I have a lot of online acquaintances. There is a difference.
I have friends who I could text, email or call at anytime. However some of those people? I can go weeks without talking too. My friend Kari and I can literally go weeks without talking. However, I’ll be sharing a bed with her at BlogHer in August. She is someone I’d call to help me hide a body, if the need every came up. It’s just life. She’s busy, I’m busy. I know where she is though, if I needed her.
I have two friends, best friends, who I talk to all the dang time. They mean the world too me. I don’t know what I’d do without them. I would do just about anything for them. The fact that we happened to meet online, stopped mattering long ago. It took me a long time to find them though.
I am going to BlogHer this summer because I want to see my friends. A lot of people say they think BlogHer is so clique. I was there last year, I didn’t see that. What I saw was people spending time with their friends. I went up to many big name bloggers and said hi. Every single one of them was nice too me. I introduced myself to many people who had no idea who I was. I was thrilled when some people did know who I was.
The people who came home and complained? I truly feel that they expected too much. They also expected people to not want to spend time with their friends and only spend time meeting new people. It’s never going to be that way. Some of us will only see our friends this one weekend a year. Think about that for a second before you take it all so personally.
I was nice to every single person who came up and talked too me. I still spent the majority of time with my friends. But hey, I made new friends while there too.
I use Twitter to talk to my friends. I would not expect anyone else to use Twitter in any way, than how they want too.
Just because you come here and read my words, doesn’t mean you know me. You know parts of me, yes. I share more than some people do. It still doesn’t mean you should expect me to do anything, except be a decent human being. It also doesn’t mean that you can come and tell me what to do, or how to be online. I’m a Taurus. I don’t like being told what to do. If we are friends, or you comment often, I love hearing your opinion. But the random people who show up and like to tell me what I should be doing? Are not okay. It’s just not okay.
Here’s the thing I guess I’m going to end this long rambly post with. We are all adults. Adults with lives offline. Spouses, children, jobs, responsibilities. You can’t expect this to be people’s only life. Those few people, who get paid enough to call this their job, are few and far between. It still doesn’t mean they are obligated in some way to each person who reads their words. Blogging by in large is still a hobby.
This community is great. I don’t know where I’d be without it. I’ve spent a lot of years in it. But it is what you make of it. It is not High School. It’s not. Those who act like it is, need to realize it is them who believes it is. It is them who makes it feel that way.
any more relaxed and she’d be dead, he says to me the other night. My brother called me a few nights ago to ask if he was hearing what he thought he was hearing, that my step-mother was kicking him out of the house. She’d said she couldn’t relax with him and the dog there. Mostly she blamed it on the dog. The dog she claims she is uncomfortable around. It’s a four month old puppy. She just can’t stand the noise it makes when it walks. (Which is funny, since her dog clicks on the hardwood floors every time she walks, because they never cut her nails.) She can’t relax. Blah, blah, blah, bullshit.
Mostly, she just doesn’t want him living there anymore. Six months or so ago, when his company started doing poorly, they cut his pay and hours in half. They fired 60% of their staff, so my brother was just happy to still have a job. He had to give up his apartment though and move in with my dad and step-mother. First time he’s lived with them in twelve years, since he was sixteen years old. It wasn’t like he was living their for free, he was paying rent. More than I knew even. Anyway, now he has found some buddies to live with and he’ll be moving out this weekend. The house he’ll be moving into is a mile from his job instead of a 40 minute drive. His company has picked up, he is working tons of hours again. This will be better for him.
I’m livid. Not because of just this. Because of everything. Because it’s just another thing added to the long list of things that suck about them. I’m livid, because they did this to him. I am used to being a low class citizen in their world. I learned at a very, very young age, that my place in the family, came after the fish. I could give you a million examples, but it pains me to write any of them down. They have moments of treating him like that too, but mostly he ranks right above the dog. This is just too much. My dad probably knew this was coming and didn’t even bother to warn him. To give him a heads up. To say, hey son, you may want to start looking for a new place to live. Nope, he wasn’t even home with this conversation happened. She cornered my brother a few days ago. My dad is the biggest freaking wussy in the world. I doubt the man takes a crap without her approving it.
I’m used to being called a bitch, she said to him. He didn’t even call her one. You know what? The word fits. It is her. She’s used to being called one, because she is one. He didn’t even say the Valium and wine line, although it cracked me up when he told me about it. It’s true. She’s an alcoholic. She drinks a bottle of wine a night. At least. She’s a verbally abusive drunk. Then she passes out. It’s what she does.
I’m angry. I’m so freaking angry. Nothing I could do or say would change anything. They’ve already written me off. I am too much like my mother according to my step-mom. Truly, that’s BS. I am much more like my dad, than my mom. Really she doesn’t like me, because I’m a girl. Because I was the oldest and I’m a girl, so I’m a threat. Doesn’t matter that I was a week over six years old when we met. She’s never liked me. Treated me like crap ever since then, while acting all fake and caring in front of other people.
They don’t care what happens in my life. I only talk to my dad once every say six weeks. He only calls me from work. He NEVER calls me from home. The only exception to that is Christmas. I am normally worth one call a year from home. They don’t know my kids. They’ve only met Harrison once. Hell last year, I took my kids to see them, the day after I’d had a miscarriage. They were fine when I was there. When I got home, neither of them called me for three months. Didn’t call to see that we’d made it home okay. Not to say, hey we had fun with the kids. Not even to check on me. I normally call my dad after 6 weeks or so if he hasn’t called me. That time I didn’t. I was depressed and I truly just wanted to see how long it would take him to call me. It took three months.
Even though I technically have a father, he doen’t really exist for me. He is alive and lives in Northern California. But I don’t really have a dad. I have grown used to this. I hate it, but I am used to it. This was just another blow for my brother though, one more thing to show him, that he sadly doesn’t either.
This is rough and I’m sure it makes no sense. I’m not even going to edit it. Today, I am make no sense and I’m a bit rough around the edges. I’m angry. Mostly though, I’m sad for my little brother. He’s only getting shit right now and he deserves better. He deserves the world. I’d give it to him if I could, but I can’t. And that makes me angry.
When someone tells me, I got so jittery from a cup of tea this morning, I don’t know how in the world you can drink that much coffee, I have the urge to smack them. I dare anyone to sleep as little as I sleep and survive with no coffee. Back up off my coffee habit.
When the same dam person then tells me that I should drink Kirkland coffee from Costco, as it is the same thing as Starbucks and I could save so much money if I bought that instead, I want to run them over with my car. WTF! Why in the world should anyone care what I spend my own goddam money on?
Two and a half hours of sleep, makes Issa a very mean violent mess. That will be all.
ps. I meant to say this yesterday, but didn’t find the time. (Stupid mistakes a bookkeeper did for my husbands company, that I’ve spent the better part of a week fixing.) My Aunt Bernice came out of surgery. It wasn’t as bad as the doctor thought. The cancer was fully encapsulated in both breasts, so they removed the cancer and they left her breasts. No chemo, no radiation needed. Am so relieved and so, so very happy for her. Thank you all for your good thoughs for her.
She says this to me last night, like it’s supposed to mean something to me. Like it should somehow be comforting. Have faith. My mom knows better, but she says it anyway.
It doesn’t comfort me. In reality, it annoys me.
I don’t. I don’t have faith. I don’t see how saying that in a situation is very helpful. I don’t see why bad things keep happening to good people. How I’m supposed to have faith that it will just somehow turn out okay. How I’m supposed to believe that there is some grander plan. How I’m not supposed to just think that it all sucks and life is unfair.
Why can criminals and crackheads have babies that they will just abuse and neglect and eventually leave broken for someone else to deal with, but good, honest, hard working, caring people can’t seem to have a baby to save their life?
How does praying for something, like people surviving the earthquake in Haiti make any difference? Isn’t it more effective to give money, to give blood, to try and help in some way? Is praying better than sending money for food? Does it feed starving kids? Does it make people stop bleeding or able to climb out of the wreckage? No. It doesn’t. THIS, what my friend Stacey is doing, is something that helps. Something that makes a difference. It may seem small, it may even be small in comparison to the whole picture, but it makes more sense to me that just having faith.
How is it some grander plan, for Heather and Mike to have lost Maddie? They are amazing people. Great people who deserved better. They deserve that baby girl they had last week, so much so. She is a great gift to the world. Beautiful baby Annie. However, they deserved Maddie too. Annie deserved Maddie too. They are good people, who deserved both of those baby girls. THIS, their foundation in Maddie’s name is something concrete that helps.
How does faith help? How does prayer help? Why do people say it like it should help? Doing, acting, helping in concrete ways helps more in my eyes.
How am I supposed to have faith, when Anissa had a major stroke, after spending years fighting with everything in her to save Peyton? It’s not fair. It’s not something that makes sense to me.
Have faith? I’m supposed to have faith that my life will one day make sense? That somehow I will someday find it okay that the only man I’ve ever loved, the man I still love, no longer loves me?
I’m supposed to have faith when my great auntie, the one I told you about earlier this week has to have a double mastectomy on Monday? How is that fair? How is any of it fair? How does having faith help any of that? 92 years old and she should have to deal with this too? It’s not fair. It’s not right. I have no faith. I don’t believe that she did anything to deserve this. I don’t believe that it’s some greater plan.
I do believe in her. I came to that conclusion last night. I don’t have faith. But I believe in my Aunt Bernice. I believe she is strong and stable and one of the greatest women I’ve ever known in my life. I know she will be okay, because she plans on being okay. Because she plans on spoiling her two newest great-grand-children when they are born in March. Because she plans on going on a Disney cruise in Spring 2012. Because she’s stubborn enough for me to believe she will make it. I believe in her. That’s all I’ve got to hold onto in that situation.
The funny thing is, I believe in god. I do. I don’t however, believe that god is some big guy in a chair, dictating what we all do and what happens to each of us. I believe in free will way too much to buy that. I believe that something happens after you die. I don’t however, know what that is. Do I believe in heaven and hell? No, not really. But I don’t believe that you are dead and that’s it. I believe in angels. Might seem silly, but I do.
Besides that though, I don’t know what I believe in. Just blindly having faith that it will be okay? Not something I can do. I will worry every single second between now and next Monday afternoon, when I hear that she came out of surgery okay. Because that is all I can do. That and let her know that I love her. That my kids and I adore her and love her, today and forever.
Have faith, she tells me….well sorry, but I don’t. I can’t. It’s just not that easy for me.
by Issa, my blog title has crazy in it for a reason.
I do most of my grocery shopping at a Super Target, not to far from my house. Mostly, because I don’t like having to go to three stores. It has a full grocery store in it and that makes me happy. Also, I am lazy.
I was waiting in line at the pharmacy. It being Sunday around noon, there was about five people in front of me in line. I wait with the kids for a good fifteen minutes. Right as it was almost my turn a guy comes up, walks right past everyone in line and goes directly to the pharmacist. I just shook my head in disbelief. The woman behind me started to say something, but I can guarantee you this guy wasn’t paying attention. By then their were about six people behind me in line.
I wish I was one of those people who thought of the great one line to say to people, in the moment. I’m not. I’m the, think of a great line at 2am the following morning, when the time for saying it to anybody but Logan, is long gone. I wanted to call the man names, that’s for sure. I DM’ed Liz that I wanted to call the man a fucktard, but it occurred to me that I didn’t want Harrison to learn to say that, not so close to the holidays. It wasn’t even that he took up time, because he was done in a few minutes. It’s that people feel so entitled to cut in front of a line full of people. Because god forbid he needs his medications more that the rest of us.
I wish I’d told him to be careful, that I was picking up my crazy meds and I hadn’t had any yet. It’d of been a lie though. Mostly, I wanted him to not be a fucktard. To somehow magically learn at probably fifty years old that he is not the only human being on the face of the planet. That the sun does not rise and set out of his ass. I said nothing.
I continue shopping knowing I am forgetting things, but I can’t seem to find my list. I am feeling stabby and can’t even remember what Logan wanted to make for dinner. I argue with Bailey about why I’m not buying Rice Krispy treats, fruit snacks and cookies. She can pick one. Then I explain to her why I’m not even looking at Halloween costumes in freaking September. I debate giving Harrison to the kind woman in the isle, when he starts screaming at me, since I took away his pacifier. Instead, I give back the pacifier.
I then leave and go to where I was going to pick up sandwiches for lunch only to stand in a line of 35 people. I know it was Sunday at lunchtime, but I’ve never been there when it was this packed. It wouldn’t have bothered me normally, but I was already feeling grouchy. I’m pretty sure I yelled at my kid for looking at me. Mom of the year, I am not.
Get home and the first thing Logan says is Iss, where’s the charcoal? It was on the list. I wave the list at him, I’d just found it sitting on the kitchen counter. You mean this list?
I then realize that I’m missing peppers, onions and avocados, which were all ingredients we needed for dinner. I decide we are likely having grilled cheese again for dinner, because there is no way I am going back to any store today.
Logan unpacks the last few bags as I go change Harrison’s diaper. He comes in to the bedroom and shows me a DVD. Why’d you get this, he asks? He’s laughing at me. I’d be laughing at me too. He’s holding up The House Bunny. Click on it, if you want. It’s safe for work. However it’s a movie about a play-boy bunny, not a Disney flick.
BAILEY, I yell. What mama, she asks? What is this? How did we get home with this? You bought it for me, she says. I asked you if I could have the Barbie movie and you said yes, so I handed it to the lady.
I did. I told her she could have the Barbie movie. I thought she meant the new Barbie movie. Barbie dwells with the unicorn trolls in the universe of duh. (Yes, I’m sure that’s the name of the new Barbie movie.) I just never looked at the actual movie. I’m sure the check out lady thought I was insane to buy my five year old the Play Boy Bunny movie. In the moment, I’d been trying to get Harrison to relinquish control of my phone so I could DM Liz again. I hadn’t even looked at the movie I purchased.
I’m almost embarrassed to take that DVD back. I’m not sure what to do with it. Giving it to charity, doesn’t seem right either. I don’t think that would be helping anyone.
SO, in conclusion, these are all great reasons for why I shouldn’t ever, ever, ever have to go to the grocery store again.
Or at least great reasons for why I shouldn’t take children with me to the grocery store. Maybe I should limit myself to taking the older, helpful shopper child next time. Nah. I’m done. I quit.
Dang it, I need milk. Hmmm, I see a trip to the store in my near future.
Hold your head high, don’t ever let them define the light in your eyes. Love yourself, give them hell. You can take on this world. You can stand and be strong. And then fight like a girl. With style and grace, kick ass and take names. –Fight like a Girl by Bomshel
I have always joked about inventing troll be gone spray. In comments for years, I have joked about how we needed this. How awesome it would be to have some sort of spray that got rid of trolls. Problem is, this is the Internet. Obviously a spray isn’t going to cut it. Who’d want to spray their computer? Not me, that’s for sure.
I’d like to do the next best thing. I’d like to start an anti-troll movement. To let them all know that they are not welcome here. Not just here on my site, but on any of our sites. I’d like us to take back our space. To stand up and say, we are not going to let this happen anymore; we are not going to sit here and take your crap. You are not welcome anymore. Shoo.
It’s gone too far. Especially lately. It seems like every day someone who I love is being attacked for no good reason in their comments. I’ve done my share of troll taunting and attacking, this I will admit to. I despise my friends being attacked though. I’ve gone on the defensive more times than I can count. All it gets me, is more trolls attacking me. It has to stop.
I’ve tried the ignore tactic. Heck people, I moved my blog to WordPress, in hopes that would help, but I still got one on my post about my SIL. Yes, I deleted it. No, I didn’t respond first. It’s still not okay. Nothing about this is okay anymore. It was never okay, but it’s gotten really bad lately. Every day it seems someone is being attacked in their comments by trolls.
It used to be where they attacked because you talked about a certain subject. You discussed breast feeding, circumcision, c-sections, your views on the president, whatever. It still wasn’t okay, but it was generally people who were fanatics about that certain subject. Now, they’ll attack just to attack. Just to be trolls, just to see if they can bring you down.
I don’t attack people in their space. If I read something I don’t like, as long as it isn’t an attack on my friends, in their comments, I hit that bright red X at the top of the screen. How hard is that to do?
It seems like it is very hard for some people.
I want to do something about it. The problem is, I don’t know where to start, what to do exactly, but I know something needs to be done.
Obviously we can’t stop people from commenting. But we can stop dealing with them. We can all agree to delete and block and not respond to them, if we see them elsewhere.
That’s my idea anyway. What do you guys think? Are you in? Any ideas?
You write a post about silly nonsense, the first real post in a month and get told that you are a sheep and should kill yourself. By a person with no name, but none the less, some person who felt that was the right thing to say.
As bloggers, we are supposed to not care about this. We should get used to it. You have enough hits to your site, you are bound to get some trolls. We are supposed to harden our heart and not let the stupid comments bother us. As a seasoned writer in a public forum, I am supposed to just let this roll off my back. It doesn’t matter, it’s just some asshat troll. Delete and ignore. We’ve even come up with the blogging terminology to describe these people; the people who attack in comments, the people with no names.
But it does hurt and it does sting. Even after all these years of doing this, it bothers me. Intellectually it doesn’t bother me. But the heart and the brain don’t’ always feel the same way. You just don’t say that to someone. That is something that I can’t just brush off. The, you should kill yourself comment. The rest of it can be ignored, but that one stings. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I had a friend who did kill himself. In some ways it bothers me more when someone attacks a friend of mine, than when they attack me. I am always willing to defend a friend and luckily I didn’t have to say anything yesterday, as all of you were kind enough to defend me.
After the multiple comments and then the attacks on all of my friends, it almost seemed funny in some way. This person who so wanted to be known as the troll of the day. It seemed less personal after that, which was nice. But that one comment sits under my skin and eats at me. Because I wonder why someone would say such hateful things to a stranger. I wonder what I said to provoke him. Did my talking about Disneyland or my kids last day of school, provoke such a hateful response? Am I just an easy target?
It’s not me. I’ve been told that two dozen times, by people I adore. I know they are right, yet I still feel responsible.
I think in some way, they must be jealous. Jealous of our families, jealous of our friendships, jealous that they have no name. That must be really sad for them, to have no name. I doubt they’d walk up to a stranger on the street and spew such hatred, as they are apt to do online. I wonder what makes someone feel that this is okay? That the words they type are any different than the words they say aloud. Words have power, whether you type or say them. Maybe they don’t care, maybe I am such a horrible person and I deserve it. However, I doubt it, because I’ve never in real life, had someone attack me like this. You want to know why? Because I am a nice human being. I am kind to others, even people who don’t deserve it. I say please and thank you. I donate money and time to help the less fortunate. I don’t tailgate, nor flip off strangers who cut me off in traffic. I’ve never taken a thing in this world that did not belong to me. I am a hard worker and a responsible human being. I take good care of my children. I am a good person.
But they don’t see that. They don’t seem to care to see that. They don’t care that telling a depressed person to kill themselves is just plain wrong. He doesn’t care, because it doesn’t affect his life.
It bothers me, this lack of caring. The ability to spew filth and not care what you’ve put into the world. It makes me wonder about the world. And I don’t like that feeling.
This person, who taunted the blog world yesterday, doesn’t care about people. Doesn’t care about people’s feelings or emotions. Most likely it was a ploy for attention. There have been others before and there will be more after. Eventually they move on, because truly, why would you continue to read blogs written by parents, if you hate parents and children? (And hi, don’t you have parents, weren’t you once a child?)
It hurts me as much as it does, not really because of the 23 words this person said, but because I am still fragile. I am the first person to admit, I’ve had a hard ass month, which has come after a hard ass eight months, following a rough couple of years. I have my good moments and my not so good moments. Yesterday was the first time in a month when I hadn’t been depressed and this is what I get. Yesterday, by the way, was the four week mark. I lost the baby four weeks ago, last night.
I have been depressed and trying to be okay (and doing a dam good job of it) for a month. I’m fragile and I can’t handle this without talking about. I can’t ignore it like I should probably do. I can’t just let it go.
Which is why I’m writing this. Not because I want to give this person more attention. I have deleted and will continue to delete all of his comments. I am not going to link to his site, nor will I ever click on it again.
I am writing this, because I have to. I have to say all of this. I have to write that this isn’t okay. That I am not just some random stranger behind a computer screen. I am a person with feelings. I am a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend and dog owner. I am a good person.
I am taking a stand. I am saying to the world, to all the trolls out there, that this has gone on long enough. Go find a life and stay the hell out of mine. Leave my friends alone. No one cares what you have to say. Shoo.
DONE. I am done justifying what I spend my money on to people. I have had no less that four people (one online and three at the school) say to me, in the last three days no less, you go to Starbucks every day? Why yes, I do. And what the hell does it matter? That just seems like a waste of money, they’ve all said. Think of the things you could buy with that money. It adds up. Have you ever thought about that?
I’m sure it does add up. But I don’t care. And I really want to know why anyone would care? You want to know what I spend a week at Starbucks? $20 freaking dollars. Add that to the $20 my husband spends a week and you’ve got $40 dollars. Holy crap. $40. Breaking the bank there I guess.
Could I make my coffee at home? I’m sure I could. I am certainly capable, in fact I own an espresso machine.
What I want to know is, why the fuck is it anyone else business where I spend my money? I don’t buy expensive purses. I have one Coach purse that I use every single day, but I’ve had it for over four years. I don’t buy expensive shoes. In fact, I don’t really buy shoes for myself. I prefer the same pair of shoes that I’ve had for two years. Whenever I can, I wear flip-flops. I don’t buy expensive clothes. I do buy new clothes for my ever growing children, but hey, they can’t exactly walk around nekkid. Also, I live right near a great outlet mall.
Logan and I live within our means. We always have. We are smart about our money. We started out buying a condo, then we sold it and bought a house. We have savings, that we add money too every month. All three of our kids have a college fund. We have a house, two paid off cars (which we bought used) and absolutly no debt. If I can’t pay for something, or I know I won’t be able to pay it off at the end of the month, I don’t buy it. Plain and simple. Yes, we’ve been lucky. But I’ve been working my ass off since I was fourteen years old and I’ve always been good with money. Am I rich, hell no. I will most likely never be. But I can afford my freaking Venti Non-Fat Mocha with whip cream from Starbucks. Every day, forever, if I want too.
This irritates me. People judging me, telling me how I should live my life, irritates the fuck out of me. I don’t judge others for what they spend. I happen to know that one of the people who said what she said to me, drives a freaking top of the line huge ass SUV when she only has two kids. Another goes out to night clubs every weekend and drinks long island iced teas like they are water. That can’t be cheap. Either way, I don’t care, so why the heck do they?
First off let me just say that if one of you lived here and we had a play date, I’m sure it would be fine.
I? Am not a play date type of a mom. I am spoiled. This is what comes from your best friends having kids at the same times as you. Built in best friends, second generation style. No need for silly things like random play dates with parents you don’t know.
I should have known, should have remembered; that I’m not a play date person. I should have never said yes. This woman, whose demon spawn…I mean child, is in Baileys class, has been asking me to have a play date for a while. I don’t hang out at the school much. I mean, I volunteer, but I don’t spend the whole time my kid is in pre-school talking outside with the other mothers. Some of them do and that’s fine, I’m just not one of them. Because when my girls are in school, I tend to have very important things to do. Like blogging.
So, this woman had been asking me for a play date and kept telling me that our girls play together so nicely, so I finally agreed. We went over to her house on Friday afternoon.
First, her demon child kept hitting my kid. Oh she had a cookie today, was the mom’s response. Ok, because that is a great response to your kid whacking mine upside the head. Don’t bother to stop her from doing it a few more times. A child who has had a cookie, can’t ever be told to knock it off, I suppose.
Then she started talking, non-stop. The mom, not the kid. The kid is behind in speaking. Most likely because her mom talks incessantly. About absolutely nothing. No joke, she’d ask me a simple question; like, how old is your baby? Then she’d interrupt me two words in to tell me about some random story about her life. Because her kids were almost five months once and they… I don’t know, ate a lot? Then it led to a story about when she was a baby and then about her mom’s life. Also, every story somehow led to Scouts. I guess her son is in scouts. She must be the most annoying scout mom ever.
Small tangent here: I hate scouts. Every one of them, girl, boy, cub, whatever. What they stand for; their homophobic attitude; but mostly, I hate the cookies. I know, I may be the only person in the world who hates girl scout cookies, but I do. I despise that they are at every grocery store in the state right now, hawking those nasty cookies. Dude, if I wanted your cookies, I would have bought them from the 6 little girls in my neighborhood who each came by and rang my door bell early Sunday morning, for six weeks in a row. No, I don’t want your dam cookies, now let me in the god dam store. End tangent.
So, I heard about the scouts. Then she went and on about her Unity church and how amazing it is. How rainbows shoot out of every ones asses after they go there. Then how she just can’t believe we don’t go to church. We don’t go to church. Period. We don’t belong to a religion. Period. And what the heck is a Unity church anyway? Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t care if I know. If I was planning on choosing a religion it would be one of the ones in my family.
I started getting desperate, so I sent out this Tweet from the bathroom:
Somebody save me. I am in playdate hell. Can one of you DM me and i dont know be in labor or have ebola? Something. Please
Then nothing. Crickets. Chirp.
I waited, hoping someone would see it. But nope, nobody was on to see it. Then I sent a text to my BFF Kate, saying pretty much the same thing. She texted me back, I told you not to do play dates. You never listen.
Am looking for a new BFF by the way.
Eventually we left and as we did, Bailey says to me, Mommy why did we go there? I don’t even like that girl.
Great kid, just great. You couldn’t have told me that earlier? Play dates are not for the weak at heart and they are definitely not for me.
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