Last week I realized my site was gone.
Sent to the graveyard of neglected blogs.
I contacted my hosting company, Bluehost, who said, “Sorry you missed a payment and your blog is gone-gone. Like, we totally put it on a row boat, set it on fire, and pushed it out to sea.”
Upon hearing that my blog was dead, a calmness washed over me.
I wasn’t angry or sad–I was mostly stunned.
I’ve had this blog for at least 12 years (I’m too lazy to see when I started it) and losing it felt like a little piece of me drifting into the ether. It is the digital record of my early days as a single, emotionally loud twenty-something assistant living in Los Angeles who moved to Austin to become a writer. It chronicles my slow evolution from working three part-time jobs seven days a week to becoming a working professional to meeting my partner (who I’ve now been with for 8 1/2 years) to writing a movie with him to becoming a full-time writer. The blog is also my repository of pop culture ramblings, (more…)
Grandma: “How is your blah doing?”
Me: “My what?”
Grandma: “You know, that thing you write on? How is it spelled? B-L-A-H?”
Me: “Oh, you mean my blog?”
Grandma: “A what?”
Me: “A blog! Like ‘log’ with a ‘b’.”
Grandma: “A blog?!”
Grandma: “What the hell is that?”
She had a very excellent point. What the hell is a blog and why is not called blah?
My mother and grandmother’s behavior has been very ‘blah’-worthy as of lately.
Blahworthy being code word for slowly turning into The Beales.
But instead of dramatic New England accents and dozens of cats looking for attention, we have Jewish nagging and my Grandma’s boyfriend, Lionel- a crusty old man in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s and looking for attention.
It’s all started with my Grandmother’s horrible back pain. Being the stoic Depression-born woman that she is, Grandma was in complete denial about it. She walked buckled over in pain, near the point of throwing up, but refused to take any medicine. Wait- (more…)
Every once in awhile I get a giant bug in my ass to change my blog.
Much like changing your hair color once a boyfriend breaks up with you, I’m constantly anxious to shake things up a bit when I’m feeling complacent.
In the past, this anxiety typically builds and builds until one night I’m pacing the living room, drinking wine out of a juice box, and watching the same episodes of Arrested Development over and over for inspiration. Then I usually get distracted by something else and end up making only minute changes to my blog or dropping the idea all together.
However, this time I can’t shake the desire to make a change. It’s been months in the making and now has reached a point where if I don’t make a change, I fear that I’ll begin resenting my blog and shooting it disdainful glances when I wake up in the morning.
This may all sound a little over-dramatic, but I’m sure many of you can relate to wanting the aesthetic of a product of yours looking snazzy. Outside of looking more (more…)
It was while watching a grown woman brush the hair of a ventriloquist dummy that I realized I may have an obsession with blogging. The show was My Strange Addiction and the episode was about a sassy and pretty (in a “I write messages to myself on the mirror in lipstick” sort-of-way) young lady who has no life outside of caring for her “babies”- a.k.a. nine ventriloquist dummies that she carries around in a suitcase. Her friends and family are concerned that she is spending way too much time with her inanimate buddies and slowly becoming disconnected from the human race. Like most people in denial, she tells them that they just don’t understand and that she is happy with her life. The young woman states, “My babies let me say things I can’t get away with in real life,” so Ms. Fruitcake roams the streets with a puppet stuffed on her fist looking for people to berate. She can hide from the world behind her mask made of felt and googly eyes.
I too may hide behind a mask of felt and googly (more…)