About Me

My sidebar has no About Me thingy other than crazy is as crazy does.

Which, after all, is all there is to say.

I guess I figure if you read enough posts, you'll know all about me.

Ha. Not to hold anyone hostage or anything.

I blog to work my shit out. I blog for the reassuring Amen Sista comments.

I blog to hear you are not alone. I blog to hear thank god I am not alone.

I tell myself that followers and comments don't really matter. BULLSHIT.

But I have 2 of those counter things on my sidebar.

I tell myself it's cool to see the hits from other parts of the world or neat to track who's reading.

whatever

It's a damn popularity contest.

No matter how you cut it, blogging is a look at me endeavor.

Even if you don't like being looked at.

I don't particularly like being looked at. At least not in the physical world.

But I'll confess. I love comments and I love followers. big secret

A friend asked me a while back if I was on Facebook. I said are you kidding me? No way! Facebook makes me feel like I'm walking around without my clothes on.

He thought that was pretty funny given how...ummm...nekkid I am here on my blog.

I don't know. Facebook and Twitter are just not the same as blogland.

Another friend said if you go on Facebook, your blog will take off.

Memes I still don't know what that word means are a great way to spread the blog love in a multiple partner kind of way. I tried it for a while, but I just felt cheap. I prefer protection. Cybercondoms. I've never been a not unless I'm in love kinda girl, but when it comes down to it I'd rather keep my intimate bloggy fluids to myself.

I mean if I like you and you like me, I'm all for the overshare.

But there's nothing casual about Just Eat It.

I also know that if I go for the numbers, I'll edit my words.

And then this blog will cease serving it's purpose.

It's not a popularity contest. I mean not REALLY.

And I've never been a let's go shopping kind of girl. I don't think I could get a hundred followers even if I tried.

I tell myself I'm above seeking out approval and validation.

I left that shit behind 2 husbands ago.

I don't want to censor myself here. I do enough of that in the flesh.

I can't call the flesh-life real-life cause my posts are the real me.

It's where I put out my strength and weakness and fear and hope for almost anyone to see.

Which is why it's kinda funny that I did this.

I did it mostly out of curiosity. bullshit.

I have the best followers in the blogosphere. They give great comment.

They are wonderful, lovely, interesting people who leave wonderful, lovely, interesting comments.

And I follow them too. I worry about them. I cheer for them. I actually love them.

They're really smart and batshit crazy just like me.

There are also handful of face to face people who read my blog.

Most of them are family members.

Or having sex with family members. Or want to have sex with family members.

So when they say you should write a book I tell myself they have an agenda.

I wanted a more objective opinion.

So I justified my quest for approval with the URL iwillfuckingtearyouapart.

Can't get more objective than that.

And if I got torn apart it would serve me right for begging.

I'm not a writer. Maybe I'm a storyteller. Maybe. I'm mostly just a chick who found a really good way to work her shit out. And it turns out that sometimes I can make people laugh or cry or feel outrage or get goose bumps with my story-telling written words.

And that makes us all feel less alone.

I cannot tell stories with my mouth.

I'm the one who screws up the punchline and generally spazzes out if confronted by the spoken word.

I don't even LIKE talking.

Still, I submitted.

And received this.

And to be perfectly honest, I was tickled fucking pink.

I called my New York Times reviewed husband right away.

I feel so stupid being so excited I feel like such an idiot but I'm really happy I'm such an idiot but it's a really good review and they don't like ANYONE.

It was my Sally Fields moment. I tortured my kids with it for the entire evening.

I didn't tell anyone else. Cause I don't like talking about myself. It's taken a week to figure out how to put it out there in a comfy way.

A widget on my sidebar? Not without an explanation.

But the explanation would be so much more look at me than I'm comfortable with.

I've never been good at taking compliments. I just get embarrassed.

Ask Bruce. It drives him crazy.
But you know what? I get all tingly when I read Madame's review.

And being her IFLY devirginizer? Wow.

I love that this blog was powerful enough make that black-leather clad lady throw down her whip and beg for more.

I love that I could satisfy her so. It makes me feel a little dirty.

But I'll keep my crazy colors and morphing fonts thankyouverymuch.

I can't imagine my blog in black and white anymore than I can imagine my house in black and white.

My ego said Bruce, maybe someone will read the review and offer me a book deal every blogger's dream. Then maybe I'll get a movie deal. Meryl Streep can play me and Stanley Tucci can play you.

We had a good chuckle over that one.

This blog is my About Me