I have no idea what is going to happen here. It might be really cool, but most likely, it’s going to suck. That seems to be par for the course.
Hopefully, it will suck in an interesting way. I first considered creating this blog… a year and a half ago, maybe? I wonder what it would be now if I had created it then…? (I am a terrible procrastinator).
There’s no way to tell, so let’s find out what it’s going to be now.
Allow me to introduce myself: I am a jaded, neurotic, unhappy, unattractive, largely useless, dumpy, cracked but not entirely broken middle-aged broad.
I do not purport to have the worst life of anyone, anywhere, ever, but it is widely agreed upon among the people who have known me that I have experienced greater misfortune than your average American Idiot. I have not been kidnapped by human traffickers. I’m not in an abusive marriage, (I’m not in ANY marriage!) I’m not being beaten or raped, (I don’t even have a sex life anymore!) I don’t work in harsh conditions (in fact right now I don’t work at all). ← That’s not good fortune, oh no, it’s bad, bad… I’ll get to that soon enough. The point here is, I KNOW others have it worse than me, and I know it very well. However, this shall be a log of my memoirs, and guess what? These particular memoirs? They’re going to suck!! It’s going to get ugly. All the same, I can do very well without any comments informing me that others have it worse than me, and blah, and blah, and etcetera. I know. I know. I get it.
I’ve named this blog “Skeletons, Boogie!” because that is exactly what is going to happen here. I am going to try to retain my anonymity, and therefore, be able to allow all of my skeletons to just go ahead and boogie right the fuck on out of the closet. I suppose I will eventually drop enough clues that if somebody gave a shit, they could figure out who I am. But nobody will care that much… which is great! I like it that way, I prefer it that way. It’s kind of the point here.
This blog may very well end up being a solid wall of glorious, horrendous, ranting, bitching, maybe even sometimes self-pitying laments. I’ll try to avoid that… probably unsuccessfully. We’ll see. It’s my place to do as I please, and to be as neurotic and obnoxious and immature as I please. I may treat this blog as a total bitch book, I don’t know. Again, we’ll see. Sometimes I will post completely inane things that will make sense to nobody other than myself. Whatever it is, it will probably hyuk me up good, though.
I have been on Facebook since 2007 and over the years I have received enough snide comments from people about my (really, rather boring) posting activity that I eventually broke my friends list down into multiple sub-lists so that I can easily determine who can (and cannot) see every single thing that I post. (Everybody should probably do this, to at least some extent). Eventually I felt so judged by people becasue of some of my (rather mundane) posts that I just clammed up and now all that I ever post are laments about the plagues of having multiple chemical sensitivities, and anti-pesticide stuff, and anti-Monsanto stuff, and dreadfully boring crap of that ilk. I have what I consider to be rather decent taste in music (but who doesn’t think that about themselves, really; we like what we like) and I don’t even bother to post music links anymore because nobody on my damned friends list can be bothered to comment on or even”like” anything.
Disclaimer: The band mentioned below is not necessarily part of aforementioned self-perceived good taste in music. I am so over it.
❓ Q: Honestly, was that band ever about more than the lead singer’s face and Hot Topic teenies?
❗ A: No.
At some point around 2008 or so, I became interested in some Finnish metal band called HIM, and that particular band, well they have this odd stigma attached to them. The people that love them really really love them, to an admirably absurd degree. It’s sick. But the people that hate them? O Lord, the passion with which! Venom spews! I caved to peer pressure and I gave a fuck what the old school metal heads on my Facebook friends list thought of me, so I made a fake Facebook account. It was all about gaming and following bands and celebrities. This was old Facebook, back before they had near so many of the wonderful (-ly fucked-up) privacy settings that they do now, and in order to fangirl to the degree that I wished, over whatever douchey, silly thing I wished, judgement-free, I felt like I had to make a fake account to do it, in part due to my age. I really am too old for this shit. 😦 Most (but not all) of my school-days peers are living normal adult lives, but lucky me, I get to be what these days they are calling “the special snowflake”. ❅ ∗
I still have my fake Facebook account; well a variant of it now, actually, because of a zany bitch-war with a crazy HIM fan that got my original account banned a couple of years ago. I have fangirled – and hard! – over a myriad of things, for a very long time now. Ever since I discovered Sean Astin in the Goonies in 1985. Oop, I just dated myself. Not literally! (even though that would be more romantic attention than I have received in a while). 😄 Sadly, I feel more free to post the stuff that I really want to post on my fake account, because people won’t be judging “me”, they’re judging some fake non-person. I am doing a similar thing here. I know, this is fairly neurotic. I fessed up right up front to the neurosis. So what.
I think that the neurosis may be justified. Everybody I have ever been close to has fucked me over in one way or another. Eventually, I think, a series of blog posts all about just that. What fun to anticipate, hey?! 😀 Right?! I should be more desensitized to burns (in “That 70’s Show” sense, not literal injuries) than I am, seeing as how I have faced a constant barrage of them all of my life. What sucks is… well, I am Meg Griffin personified. People who watch Family Guy will know that Meg is getting burned all of the time, all day long, without relent, ceaselessly, forever and ever, amen… pretty much because of what she looks like. People assume that due to her appearance she must be too fucking stupid or desensitized to even pick up on their (really not so) subtle burns. But she gets it. She gets it very well. If that fuck-ass, heartless idiot (and Family Guy creator) Seth MacFarlane ever wants to redeem himself for that River and Joaquin Phoenix burn (but is there ever any redemption for that, though, really?) (No!) then he should allow the series to end with Meg getting one final, great, and catastrophic revenge upon them all. Please use your imagination on what that might be, I’m not trying to get this miserable blog on some sort of a fucking terrorist watch list. 😄
This shall be no more and no less than the lamenting blog detailing the often traumatizing life experiences of a foul-mouthed, bitter, and jaded old bitch; with naught left than busted hopes and faded dreams.
How’s that for waxing melancholic? lol!
What next? Where to start?? I have so many laments to lament! And tonight, unfortunately, less time than I would prefer, with which to to lament. I must, regrettably, lurch my ass out to a dentist tomorrow morning… er, at this point it’s past midnight so later this morning. Fuck. He’s gonna hurt me. Again. (He’s hurt me several times already). 😥
I have to figure out how this blog is going to work. Will I attempt to have a separate post detailing each of my main laments? Should I try to keep it quasi-chronological? Maybe as a series, The Greatest Laments 1 – 3 (or whatever) with other posts for lesser laments? I just don’t know! It boggles the mind. Plus what with my celebrity obsessions and music posts… it won’t be ALL bitching. Hopefully there shall be some entertainment value.
…zzz.. More later.