Friday, March 5, 2010

Is That An Open Book You're Reading?

I recently read an article in one of my girly magazines about people who post way too much information on Facebook. They broke down the kind of “status updaters” and yeah, I saw myself in a few of the categories. But one thing that really sunk was the statement that it’s usually the shy folk who feel emboldened by the anonymity of Facebook (huh??), that they can say things online that they wouldn’t normally say in person. As if putting it out there to an “invisible” audience is a lot easier than putting it out there to someone staring you in the face. Yeah, I can see the reality there…you CAN say things on MySpace or Facebook because, unless you get direct feedback (via comments), you can believe your statement is accepted by anyone reading it in the exact connotation in which you wrote it. If you think it’s a bon mot, everyone else does too, right? Yeah, unless they comment otherwise. Then there’s that whole thing about no comments, or negative comments…ugh. What’s worse?

Then I thought about my own Facebook profile. I have 20 photo albums. Each photo album has 20 - 100 images. You look at my photos, you get to see me all through the years, what kind of guys I like, what my daughters got for Christmas…the freaky relatives I had a hundred years ago. The things that I find funny. My friends. My activities.  It’s an intimidating wallet photo flip-out thingy. You old people know what I’m talking about. Before iPhones, iPods, and Facebook, we had wallet photo flip-out thingies where the photo got stuck to the plastic if it was in there too long and THEN what were you gonna do? Get a new plastic flip-out wallet thingy.

My interests page is overflowing with things I love to do. Short of saying “I’m into kinky sex” (am I? you may never know…) or my deepest, darkest secrets or fears, I pretty much list everything that spins my bottle.

My flair board exemplifies my beliefs, my humor, my desires, my interests. There is everything from culture to spirituality to shoes to sex to sarcasm to literary quotes to Gerard Butler.

My wall posts open me up to the world…what I’m saying to my friends, why I’m happy or not happy because my horoscope says so, what kind of little virtual feel-good gifts I like to send and receive.

I have music and book tabs on Facebook telling anyone who cares to know exactly what type of music moves my soul and how; you can see just about every book I’ve read from childhood on, and the books I want to read…you can see the nourishment I have provided my mind and spirit for decades…what has shaped me or will shape me.

…it’s ALL right there for everyone to see. My coworkers, my parents, my friends, associates. The only reason some Sherpa in Tibet doesn’t know anything about me is because of my privacy settings. I do at least contain my narcissistic enthusiasm to those who have actually said they want to by my FB friends.

My blog here is just another outlet for WYSIWYG…What You See Is What You Get. When I say these are random notes from my mind, I mean that seriously. There is no formula for these blogs. They are literally based on what I feel like sharing at the moment. Whether profound or sublime, this is the shit going on in my head. And I clearly have no problem sharing it with the world.

The ironic part of all of this is that, while anyone who does care enough to really delve into my Facebook profile or read and think about my blogs could actually get to understand me as a person, I’m sure that I’m pretty much the only one who peruses said spaces that intently. I put it all out there in case you want to know…but who ARE you? YOU are a fantasy, an unknown – unless you post a comment. YOU are anyone and no one. YOU are me. I have a standing joke that “I’m 98% My Readership.” I completely get that. I AM the 79 out of 90 profile views on this blog. It’s not lost on me.

And, yet, here I am again, ready to spill more beans, in the hopes of what? That someone out there cares? Actually enjoys reading this? Is actually interested enough in me as a human being to take the time and look at snapshots of my life, think about the words broiling in my mind? First and foremost, I write and post and create for me. I amuse myself. I’ll never quite be without laughter in my life because I’ll always be nearby to fling a good joke. Yet, at the same time, I enjoy being an “open book,” I have no qualms about letting ANYONE know about WHO I AM.  I like me. You might too if you give me a chance. That’s what this is all about really, isn’t it? Searching for acceptance. I like being open because it doesn’t leave a lot of surprises. I’m seriously flawed. And seriously wonderful. Most of that comes out here in cyberspace. More intimate details, good and bad, are saved for real human interaction, as even I believe in some level of restraint and caution.

And, believe it or not, another reason I put all this stuff out here...good and because if what I have to say, what I've experienced or what I feel makes just one person smile, feel not-so-alone or a little less crazy...that's what this is all about for me. If it helps even one person, I'm happy.  Yes, even if that one person is me. 

So, let’s just do a random thing here…I’m going to just start typing a bunch of truths about myself and see what comes out:

  1. Most of the people on my Facebook page from school scared the shit out of me back then. They were the popular crowd, I was the angsty loner. I friend-requested a lot of people from back then just to see what would happen.  Some never accepted the friend request. Others did. What happened is I found out a few of them actually like me. I was surprised when I posted something and ­ – wait for it – they posted something NICE back. I found out they were just as fucked up and scared in school as I was. That they were and are flawed and imperfect too. In a nutshell, they were no better than me then, and they’re no better than me now. We all have our scars…some physical, some emotional. I spent a lot of years scared to death to ever face these people…I avoided my 20th high school reunion because I cared too much that they still wouldn’t accept me. I finally came to realize it’s not so much that they didn’t accept me then…it’s just that I didn’t allow myself to be accepted. So, here I am, all grown up, friends with some of the very people I thought didn’t know I even existed.
  2. One thing you don’t see a lot of on FB or here for that matter is that I can rage with the best of em. It’s the Irish Redhead in me. And the fact that I grew up in a dysfunctional family (who the hell didn’t) where the only line of communication was yelling doesn’t help. It’s a cycle I strive every day to break. And, yep, I go to counseling to try to fix all the little broken parts that I grew up believing were unfixable.
  3. I walk into a room, even with people who know me, and I STILL worry that I don’t look right, people don’t like me, I’m going to say something stupid, I’m not smart enough, not pretty enough, blah blah blah. But I do it anyway. I walk right in, sit down and realize that it’s impossible for 100% of the world’s population to like me, that the few who do aren’t crazy, that I’m gonna piss some people off most of the time, and I’m gonna make most people smile some of the time. Part of me is always surprised when someone says something nice about me and another part of me is like, “Yeah? DUH!” Oh, yeah, I also realize that when I walk into a room, most of the people don’t even notice, let alone give a crap. They’re too worried about their own self-doubts, problems and fears.
  4. It’s really hard for me to not cuss while driving. (Well, let's face's really hard for me to not cuss anywhere). People are just STUPID in cars. Me included. That’s when I have to apologize to God about back-talking his other kids but they annoy me anyway so I stick out my tongue and then say sorry again. Grr. It’s especially not good if I forget the kids are in the car. Oops. Mommy words, not little girl words. * sigh *
  5. I am in love with someone who doesn’t reciprocate and every day I have to let him go. That's just the way it is.
  6. I love sunflowers and daisies. Roses are overrated.
  7. I’ve never been proposed to. Married twice. Never proposed to. Odd, that.
  8. Kiss my neck and I will do anything you want. A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G.
  9. I conversely love and hate my body. It’s WAY not perfect, but ­ maybe it’s because I’m almost 42 and I realize nature takes it’s course ­ I am pretty ok with what I’m looking like. I work out, eat fairly healthy, don’t drink (cuz, let’s face it…if I drink, I’m not only going to gain weight, I’m going to die. Let’s just leave it at that). I am not thrilled but not disgusted either. I have worked hard to get into the acceptable shape I’m in, and I like it. I like not being twenty-something and TOTALLY body-conscious. It’s like being in my 40’s kind of gives me a bit of a break…not that I’m saying because I’m 41 it’s ok to go to hell in a hand-basket, but I’m finally just loving being in my own skin. Cellulite, wrinkles and all. I’m not smokin’ hot – hey, I don’t like my c-section mommy tummy much, my thighs have ALWAYS been big, and, let’s face it, my butt will NEVER be small, but it’s all ok. Because I LOVE my feminine curves. I’ve got a great set of boobs that don’t droop (AND they’re real even)… a small waist.. .and hips made for dancing to latin rhythms. And I can count on my hands and feet and maybe yours the number of guys I know who like ‘em too. A lot.
  10. I do hate my nose. I’m looking more and more like Gloria Estefan every day. What the hell? Not that Gloria’s not nice looking, but I don’t like her nose. Or mine.
  11. I told my ex-husband for three years…maybe more…to just leave…go get a girlfriend and realize I’m not the only bitch in the world. He finally did. And then I was surprised that, for once in our relationship, he actually did something I asked? Why couldn’t he have been that ambitious when the house needed to be painted?
  12. I’m ashamed of my car. It’s embarrassing. It’s falling apart, literally. The visors fall off when I turn corners, the paint looks like my car belongs in a leper colony…my radio was stolen 4 years ago and I never replaced it because I didn’t feel like donating to the Thievery Fund again, my key won’t open the trunk and there are pieces of my car that I discover missing on a regular basis. Who needs weather-stripping anyway. Oh, yeah…ME!! My trunk is manky because it leaked during the last rainstorms. I feel inadequate – less than – when I drive around. Hey, I live in Orange County, CA . 10th graders drive Mercedes around here. * sigh * It’s times like this when I have to be grateful it RUNS. Especially when I drive next to some guy standing on the corner begging for money. Then I love my little car. 
  13. Why is it that I can simultaneously feel like the world is coming to an end and that life is perfect? All at the same time. Sometimes I feel downright schizophrenic.
  14. I’m going through financial shit that scares the crap out of me. I am scared to open my mail. Bankruptcy here I come. But at least my house is (almost) saved from the chopping block. That’s GOOD.  My mortgage got paid, my car has gasoline, my kids have food and clothing and guess what…I just went through a divorce and a bunch of life-altering crap that put me in this financial mess. And I’m ok. I’m here. I’m alive. I SURVIVED IT. And, oh yeah…the hard times WON’T last forever. I feel like there’s light at the end of this tunnel…and this isn’t actually a tunnel…it’s just life and shit happens and then good times happen. It’s the way life rolls.
  15. I believe that you can have more than one soulmate in your lifetime. And that there are different types of soulmates. And that just because you might be soulmates doesn’t automatically mean you can be together. Ohhhh, there’s that kooky caveat, the little bastard. I’ve also discovered that sometimes those people leave, and sometimes they come back. And if they do, it might still not be in the capacity you believed it to be. But they’re in your life nonetheless.
  16. I’m a better mother for having a full-time job. There. I said it.
  17. Music is my lifeblood. I still make compilations for people ­ like in high school, I used to make tapes for my boyfriend of all the songs that made me think of him. But now I’ve expanded to friends and family…songs that inspire me and I want to share with people, etc. My iLike music on Facebook is populated with those types of playlists.  To me, it’s an easy way to tell someone how you feel. It’s just sometimes the emotion of combined melody and lyrics created by someone else put your feelings into perspective a lot better than the crap that falls out of your mouth.
  18. Speaking of communication, I communicate best through writing. I stumble over my words when I try to talk. Kind of like what I talked about above in #3 and #17. Besides, when you say something, you can’t take it back. At least when you write you have a chance to edit before committing. Of course, there’s that whole legal ramification of the written word. So I think and write carefully. Anything you see here in this blog passed my own internal inspection test. That may surprise some people, I know. Writing is also a tool for me to work stuff out that is jumbled in my head. I write to make sense of things, to put things in order. To help me speak the words when the time comes...
  19. I do like hot, passionate, adventurous sex that makes me sweat. Then again, who doesn’t.  On the flipside, I don’t do casual sex. Been there, done that and today I choose wisely. Call me old-fashioned and laugh at me. I have my reasons. One of them being that I just prefer to share that with someone who cares about me, not just someone who wants to bang the hell out of me and move on. Wow, I do believe that’s called self-respect. And, before you say to yourself, “She says that because she can’t get any” slap yourself for being judgmental AND stupid. Like I said, I have my reasons. None of them include “because no one wants to fuck her.”
  20. I believe in the magic of the universe, that God has a plan for me…that when I rely on God, life runs smoothly, but that I also have the power to create in my life the things I want (or don’t want). It’s a fine line between God and self…finding balance is finding happiness.


    1. Welllll, that one word can speak volumes. Let's see...on a multiple choice test it might look something like this:
      a. That was WAY too long AND boring.
      b. WAY TMI lady
      c. You're one crazy bitch
      d. That was effing brilliant.

      I choose d, Bob.

    2. Scares me how much I identify with you, altho with some variations and about 15 years on you. (For me it's the back of the neck - preferably while I'm washing dishes and with my hair up) I wrote a FB Note with my thoughts on FB, you might want to read it some time. Reading your blog makes me wonder why I don't share my thoughts and writing. Hmm, maybe I'll begin... In the meantime, I'll keep reading your stuff. - Jane B.


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