Apparently? I've been laboring under a misconception.
I didn't know this, but apparently girls? Are only allowed to blog about certain things:
Otherwise? People don't want to hear it. Not only do people not want to hear it? They get really, really angry about it.
I'm a fan of my kids, not a fan of my weight, generally a fan of my husband, and totally bff's with Jesus (largely because he loves me best and doesn't care that I say douchebag a lot).
It's not all I am.
Those things, in fact, are only a very small part of me. And people get all pissed when I say that because I SHOULD care more about my kids and my husband and Jesus! (And maybe my weight, if you want to get all technical about it.)
(Oh and I say pissed all the time in real life. So there.)
I do care...I care a lot. I care more than I could ever express in words. I just choose not to completely define myself in one of those small boxes.
And I'm really tired of people telling me I shouldn't.
I was thinking the other day about this blog and a lot of other crap that I really don't want to think about at 2am when I can't sleep and the question that kept coming into my mind was
Who are you writing for?
I started out, back in 2006, writing for myself. It was an exercise. A forced behavior. I would write every day and I would improve my writing and eventually I would publish a book.
Somewhere along the way? I forgot that. I started writing for other people and I started writing to make other people happy. My writing became very...careful. It still is.
I don't like it.
I'm tired of it.
To that end, here are some things you should know:
1) I have a filthy mouth. Seriously. Filthy. I clean it up when I absolutely have to. Otherwise? Sailors blush in my presence.
2) This one time? I fell off my porch? And my entire butt cheek got all bruised? And it was so amazing I took a picture of it? And then I opened up the picture on my dad's computer because I was visiting him and I was like, "Hey dad, come look at this!"? And my dad looked at it? And then I said, "Guess what that is? My butt!" and my dad was really horrified. You couldn't see any crack or anything, but still. That's probably just not right. Sorry dad.
3) I owe money. I hate owing money, but I do. In a few years, I won't (except for the stupid mortgage which I will probably have until I'm dead). But right now I do. It sucks but it's the truth.
4) I'm not always funny. I've said this about hinty billion times before but yet people are always surprised when I write something sad and/or serious. I'm not always funny. I'm just not. And I'm not going to try to be to make anyone else happy. Not anymore.
5) If you act like an assfaced whore? That's your business. If you act like an assfaced whore to me? I'm calling you out. I don't care if "that's just how you are". How you are? Sucks. Similarly, if I behave like an assfaced whore? I'll call myself out. I'm equal opportunity like that.
6) I sold out not long ago and don't feel even remotely bad about it. Hmm...let's see. Someone wants to give me cool free stuff and I get to write about it. And I shouldn't do this...why? Speaking of which...I have a really amazing giveaway going right now by Teak and Wicker and More who can service all your outdoor needs from patio furniture (which is gorgeous and you should check out)to solar lighting (which you can win! So go!).
7) My kids poop? It stinks. My husband's poop? Stinks worse. We aren't perfect and we don't pretend to be. My eyebrows are badly in need of grooming, I have to get gas in my car, and I make long, elaborate grocery lists which include not only the name and brand of product I want to purchase, but how much I want to spend on each item. I even calculate the tax because I am just that anal.
8) I use words like anal. On the internet.
9) I am tragically, painfully socially awkward. Painfully.
10) I'm tired. I'm really, really tired. All the time. But it's okay.
If you don't like it? It's still okay.