I’ve been blogging since before I knew what I was doing had a formal name. If my memory hasn’t failed me, I started my first blog back in 2001-2002, respectively. A very good friend of mine at the time knew I loved writing and suggested I join her in posting on Livejournal. It was one of the best things I ever did.
The Internet has changed a lot since the early 2000’s, and blogging is no exception. For that matter, a lot about me has changed since then. I was about 13 at the time I started writing about my life online, so I have an extensive collection of blog posts that span the last 18 years of my life. Outside of a handful of my closest friends, I never publicly advertised the fact that I had a blog (heck, I don’t even promote this blog), so my posts have been seen by very few—until now.
Secrets. Quirks. Well concealed personal facts. We all have them.
For some people, these tidbits of information may be far too embarrassing, too reputation-bruising to share with their closest friends and family. They may go to great lengths to hide their idiosyncrasies from the world in hopes of them ceasing to exist simply by ignoring them. However, they may get caught in a perpetual cycle of bondage, finding themselves wearing masks and hiding the fullness of their being from the world.
For others, the act of consciously calling attention to their greatest fears, oddities and failures as a human being can be liberating. No longer is there a fear of someone finding out that you aren’t as squeaky clean and perfect as you try to appear. No one can “expose” you or your secrets because you’ve already sufficiently ruined your reputation all on your own. At least, I think this is how unfiltered self-disclosure works. I’ve never tried it, so I could have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about right now. It sounded pretty convincing though, huh?
First and foremost, I want to wish all of the mothers (and mother figures) out there a most beautiful Mother’s Day. I hope that everyone takes time out today to celebrate and reflect upon their own mother (be they biological, adoptive or otherwise) because I believe it is important to always acknowledge those who have made a contribution to our lives—however large or small that contribution might have been.
Secondly, I’d like to just say that as great as your mother may be, mine is like, waaay more awesome…no offense. Okay, so maybe I’m being a bit cheeky (What’s new?). All jokes aside, my mother is truly one of the best women I have ever known and I’m not even being biased due to sharing half of my DNA with her. Read More
Hi, everyone. This is a poorly thought out, spur of the moment post about my crippling, possibly irrational fear of being cheated on. It will be long, it will be candid and it will be mildly
entertaining embarrassing. Enjoy.
When I was a young girl, I genuinely believed I had everything all figured out. I’d be married by 25, with child by 26, and we’d all live happily ever after, amen. Boy, was I stupid as a kid! I will never understand why my mother allowed me to watch so many Disney movies growing up. I am convinced that those were the original Nigerian scams.
That being said, screw you, Cinderella and Snow White. You’re both liars and con artists peddling bulls—t to little kids. Jasmine and Ariel are both like, waayyy better than both of ya’ll, but somehow you two are always considered “the real princesses”. You and that sleeping beauty girl that nooobody ever remembers. You both just suck. Go. Away.
So there’s this guy…
Wow. I can’t even focus my thoughts enough to type what I’m trying to say. Get it together, girl.
Okay, let’s try this again. A few days ago, while I was simply minding my own business, this guy randomly entered my periphery. I honestly don’t know where he came from, which may sound really strange, but humor me for a moment.
Something peculiar happened when I first saw him. I instantly felt as though I needed to get to know him. Now before I go any further, let me just confirm that I personally find him to be gorgeous. Naturally, he’s quite enjoyable to look at, but his physical appearance genuinely had nothing to do with this initial attraction. In fact, I didn’t even realize how beautiful he was until I’d been “observing” him for awhile.
I say “observing” because I have no clue how else to put it. “Watching him” sounds creepy AF, like I’ve been conveniently lurking in the bushes outside of his house with binoculars every time he showers. That is definitely not the case. I can’t say that I “know him” either because I don’t; I only know of him.
I’ve had a lot of dreams and hopes in this life.
Some came true. Some didn’t.
Of what remains, I’ve mostly given up on ever attaining them. I say this not because I am a defeatist or “negative Nellie” (or negative Nell, in my case), but because I am too tired.
I feel as though I say this a lot these days—this, “I’m tired.” Of course, I never say it aloud because it isn’t something anyone would properly understand. I mean, if someone was ever around to hear me.
It’s official: I am no longer friends with my best friend. That being said, I am currently taking applications for a replacement. Serious inquiries only.
I have wanted to post about this scenario for awhile now because I know bestie breakups happen all the time. It’s something others can surely identify with, so I thought it might be helpful to share my own experience with it. However, something has always stopped me.
For one, I was afraid that I would get super caught up in my feelings and struggle to tell the story without it turning into an entire weekend long seminar on the pitfalls of becoming friends with socially unaware narcissists. I mean, I know my rants can be funny and entertaining to read at times, but (hopefully) you guys don’t have time like all that.
Secondly, I am a huge believer in the power of words. What you open your mouth to say had better be exactly what you want to experience because thoughts become things. What you think (and especially speak) about, you bring about. In telling you that my long-time friendship has been kicked to the curb like last week’s garbage, I knew I’d be driving the last nail into the coffin. I’d be lowering it into the ground—everything would be well and truly over.
I never, ever get sick. Yet when I do, it feels like the end of the world.
I feel like the dinosaurs must have felt when they saw the meteor coming.
I feel like how Friends fans must have felt when they realized the series was (finally!) coming to an end.
I feel like the girl who just texted her crush, “Do you like me like me?” only to get the response, “Who is this??”
I feel like how every Democrat felt when they realized Hillary didn’t win.
I feel like how every Democrat still feels when reminded that Hillary didn’t win.
I haven’t had the time (or desk space) to post since moving, so I thought my return post would be totally different.
I’m finally able to see the finish line. There are only three days left until I can move into my new home.
Gosh, it feels so weird.
Tonight will actually be my final night here in the condo, and I’m surprisingly sad about it. If you would have talked to me back in February when I first arrived out here and told me that I’d end up hating to leave this place, I would have laughed in your face. I remember my first week like it was yesterday: I absolutely hated this place lol. Everything felt foreign. And I don’t mean foreign like “Oh, everything is new and I’m not sure where anything is”, but foreign as if I’d spent my entire life on Pluto—alone.
It took me a ridiculous amount of time to get accustomed to living here, but I’m not entirely sure why. I have moved an absurd amount of times throughout my life, so one would think that I could swap states like it’s nothing. Normally, this would totally be the case. I’ve always jumped at the opportunity to check out a new city and have new adventures, so I thought this move would be a cakewalk. Well, that isn’t exactly how the story went this time around. For the first time ever, moving to a new environment left me feeling vulnerable, out of place and…a little scared.
It’s crazy how the news of someone else’s day can sometimes impact yours in a deeply significant way. When someone I know told me that a young lady from their place of employment had recently been found dead, I felt quite sad. I tried to shake the feeling all day, but it lingered.
First of all, I always hate to hear of people having their lives stolen from them—especially young people. Whether it is due to crime, accidents or illness, it hurts me to learn of all the young souls who have their lives cut short. Unfortunately, I see it every single day. They are robbed of the opportunity to achieve all of their dreams, so we lose the chance to see what contributions they could have made to the world. It’s not right.
Secondly, news of this untimely death brought back painful memories of someone I once knew and held in great regard. The familiarity of the story gnawed at my heart and drug me back to a time I try very hard to forget. It was a time rife with disappointments, upheaval, uncertainty and feelings of betrayal. I don’t talk about events from this phase of my life very often, but I will today in hopes that it may help someone else out there understand the importance of always saying what should be said today. Tomorrow is never guaranteed; I found this out the hard way.