Moving into a new realm as a blogger, RUDE comments!

It was bound to happen. I got my first hateful, vitriolic, spewing comment on my last post Dr-logging. Before you read it though, let me set you up with some context.

Before digital cameras, when we were in our teens, my older brother once took a dump so glorious and huge that he snagged my mom’s camera and took a photo. I’m not sure if he did it for bragging rights with his buddies or to shock our mother. Whatever his reasoning, it definitely had the latter effect as she was flipping through family photos fresh from the developer. Once she got over her shock though, my mom shared that photo with the rest of the family and we all had a good laugh over it.

One thing I do like about my family is that we all have a pretty infantile sense of humor.

When I got this comment, I felt how my mother probably felt. After I got over my shock and queasiness, I realized that it isn’t so bad. I mean, it’s just one person’s interpretation of a small group of words from a person she doesn’t know. The comment isn’t funny and it is definitely less tasteful than my brother’s contribution to the commode, but I don’t take it personally. In fact, I think this comment says more about the person who wrote it, than me, the person she wrote it about.

So, in all it’s gloriousness, I give you, Momsoap readers, a huge steaming pile of shit. Enjoy!

Note: I removed the first line of the comment because it insinuated something horrible that I don’t want to think about and I think it’s bad karma to repeat it.

From Amy, apparently a huge fan:

“Don’t blame your parents for your lack of class.. (sic) You are lucky they still talk to you at all. Looking at this from the outside . (sic) You have alot (sic) more work to do.. (sic) Very infantile. You strike me as very “Me ” oriented and incredible spoiled. Did your Mother poison you? .. (sic) Beat you.? (sic) make you leave home to fend for yourself @ 13? No? then (sic) straighten the f up.. (sic) Show some class and respect. Since you no longer want or need them . Don’t go calling for your slice of their pie…when they die. People like you should live on an island.. (sic) If you don’t teach your child consequences they learn they can do whatever, to whomever, when ever.. (sic) The prisons are full of “Time Out Children” Everyone hates something about their parents or we would live at home forever…. Do your child a favor … Show her how powerful a working mother can be…. (sic) Get a job .. (sic) Then maybe you would’nt (sic) have so much time to bitch about how awful your life is and maybe you would actually have a life . (sic) which means you would’nt (sic) have time to write all this CRAP… (sic)

Your parents are your Parents.. (sic) You will miss them when they are gone and will have regrets because you wasted so much time being a self absorbed child,…REALLY!”

That’s the end. Me again.

For the record, Dr-logging is something I do at home, with a couple of glasses of wine or beer, when Annika is gone with her father. And when I said I am still a drunk, I meant the common agreement in our society that once you are a drunk, you are always a drunk. I do not drink heavily anymore.

I chose not to publish this comment with the post because it’s insulting, rude, wrong (as in, incorrect) on many levels, and distasteful. Amy may say the same about my posts, but hey, it’s my blog. Nobody’s holding a gun to her head and forcing her to read it.

However, the ex-newspaper reporter in me couldn’t in all consciousness just delete it. However, insulting and gross it is, it’s the opinion of a reader. (And it’s my first nasty comment! I am a big fan of firsts.) I would never want anyone to think I just post comments by people who love me even though there is no code of ethics for bloggers saying that I have to publish this big steamy pile of poop.

The end.

Oh, p.s. Amy, if you had read very many of my posts, you would have known that you didn’t need to write “f” instead of fuck. Obscenities are completely welcome here. Maybe you should let one out every once in a while. It might relax that huge stick in your ass.

Dr-logging: The second installation

The first time I ever got drunk I was 15. I snuck out of my house with a friend to meet a boy she liked and he brought along his uncle.

I’m not sure how old he was, but he was definitely an adult. It seemed like he was in his 30s. He treated me nicely though and I had fun. Now that I’m older, I realize that I was lucky to have a met a respectful man who didn’t take advantage of my stupid 15-year-old naivete mixed with vodka and orange juice.

The second time I got drunk was about two years later. My brother bought me and my best friend some wine coolers and laughed at us as we fools of ourselves. That’s not a judgment on him. Hell, I would have done the same. He was only 20 or 21 at the time. The point is, I was lucky to be in situations where drinking didn’t lead me to getting raped or killed in a drunk driving accident.

Oh wait. I’m sorta drunk.

Yeah, this is my second installation of drunk blogging. I’m thinking of making this a weekly installation. Let me know what you think.

See, the thing is, I’ve realized that my blog has sort of morphed into an extension of me. There’s the harsh, drinking, ex-drugging, sexually promiscuous side, which is me during my early 20s and early 30s.

Then there’s this mommy side of me that’s been more spiritually aware, softer, more genuine side who loves babies and is constantly intrigued by my child, who is in all honesty, cute-as-a-button, but also, just a normal kid. She is amazing to me simply because she’s my daughter.

So, this leads me to say what I have to say about my blog.

Fuck you my man.

Okay, not really. I just threw that in because I’m drunk.

And something else, all the shit that has been going on in my life, not cool.

No, it is not cool for you to take advantage of me.

No, it is not cool for you to act like you know something that you don’t know.

No, it is not cool to harass me, even if you are the person who gave birth to me. It is definitely not cool to take credit for my life or my awareness. I did a lot of fucking hard work to get where I am today. So fuck you.

You know who you are.

Let me tell you a little something about me.

I’m a drunk. I don’t get drunk all the time anymore like I used to. But if I go by the common definition of a drunk, I’m still a drunk.

I’m also a good mom. I’m a damn good mom. I’m not perfect. I make mistakes. But I’m a good mom. I research shit. I work on my patience. I try damn hard to treat my child like she is a human being. I work damn hard to understand her developmental stages and respond accordingly.

Most people would say that being a drunk and being a good mom doesn’t go hand in hand.

But let me tell you something about the mom world.

It is filled with disease and hatred and misunderstanding.

I was talking to an AP mama friend this morning. She said something so profound that I feel the need to share it with you, my readers. She said (and I’m paraphrasing here), “People don’t seem to make logical jumps when it comes to parenting.”

She expounded on that thought and we both laughed about how mainstream parenting says that you should let babies cry it out, then start spanking and giving harsh punishments to children. And then, right, and THEN, they wonder why their children are fucked up.

It’s actually a lot like the world of being drunk.

There’s denial and misunderstanding and a bunch of bullshit.

Being a mom doesn’t give you automatic rights to being a nice person. It just gives you a world where women flock around you and pat you on the back, telling you that you’re doing a good job. But the truth is, you’re still the same fucked up person you were before you gave birth. You’re still a drunk, a slut, a goody-two-shoes, a judgmental bitch, an animal lover, a hopeless romantic, a reader, a TV watcher, a gardener, a cook, a lazy-ass, a smart-ass, a dumb-ass, a poor housekeeper, a slob, a fat-ass, a skinny bitch… a human being.

Becoming a mother doesn’t give you any special rights. If anything, I gives you less rights because it is a fucking gift to be able to give birth to a child and watch a person grow. You don’t own me. I don’t own Annika. She is her own person. I am my own fucking person.

I apologize for the fact that this wasn’t as funny as the last Drlogging. I meant it to be, but I have been really fucking angry this week.

Here’s a picture of Annika and me with Leslie, an Austin institution. It’s blurry as shit because my phone sucks. But there you go.