Too proud to tell you I was wrong
You guys tried hard-core to warn me about coming out to my mom as a blogger, and I turned a deaf ear to your advice. “Mom readership is a drag,” lamented Sarah. Meagan pleaded, “ABORT MISSION!!!” Bea cautioned, “It can’t end well.”
This just in: It has not ended well.
And yet, at the time I was all, “No, she should love and accept me for who I am! I don’t want to live a lie! My body of work, my choice! Equal writes now! I’m here and I’m in the blogosphere! 2-4-6-8 … something that rhymes with eight!”
I don’t know why I did the things I did. I don’t know why I said the things I said. I keep thinking, If I could turn back time. If I could find a way. I’d take back those words. Huh. I’m not one to pat myself on the back, but seriously, that’s really fucking poetic of me. And insanely catchy, too. Like it even could be a song or something.
Don’t let my lyrical dexterity distract you from the problem at hand: My mother has let my fame go to her head. And by “my fame” I mean “her fame,” because for the past few weeks, you’ve all been gushing like the world-ending oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico about how insanely adorable she is. In my e-mail. On my blog. In my Twitter feed. You’ve created a mom monster – a momster, if you will – and I don’t know how you look yourselves in the mirror. Well, except for the obvious – standing in front of a mirror, vanity or full-length, and opening your eyes.
Yesterday on the phone, Momster staked her claim to “at least 50 percent” of the proceeds from my book deal, and decreed I have to build her a house for *us* to share. I said, “Umm, I don’t have a book deal.” And she was all, “Well, keep writing about me, kiddo, and you’ll have me to thank someday.” On being used, I could write a book.
Disregarding my feelings, readers defiantly have declared their love for and allegiance to Momster ad nausem, using phrases such as “awesome,” “hysterical” and “sounds like a hoot.” Tonya went so far as to suggest I hook up my mom with Justin “Shit My Dad Says” Halpern’s father. And Maggie C. chimed in, “Your mom and my mom should have a crazy mom-off – which looks vaguely sexual now that I’ve typed it out.”
Hey, remember when we were all working toward the common goal of finding me someone to love? Yeah, me too. Those were good times. Now everyone is channeling their energy into pimping out my mom, who at least one reader thinks might be sexually attracted to other moms. My world was shattered, I was torn apart. Like someone took a knife and drove it deep in my heart. At this rate, my blog will win Momster a date with a cougar before it lands me one. This shocking turn of events makes me long for the days when the only thing coming between me and sex was America. Now I’ve got Momster to compete with, too. This hurts me, you guys. I am hurt. This may sound silly, but sometimes I wish I weren’t so sensitive. Or that my heart was, I don’t know … made of stone.
But hold the phone. Overzealous yentas are putting the butch cart before the possibly lesbo horse. Before Momster starts Etheridging it up LiLo-style, she probably should end her 33-year marriage to my father.
Super. I started this blog to find love and happiness, and all it has led to so far is divorce. Do you believe in life after love?
On the upside, though, do I have a way with words, or what?
P.S. I found someone to take away the heartache. She’s a tasty morsel named Dru who lives in Texas and wants to have “sexy times.” Yes, with me. Texas is only 2,000 miles away from Boston, which is an improvement by roughly 1,000 miles over Portland, home of my last star-crossed love, Lacey. Despite Momster and America’s determination to keep me celibate, I’m getting warmer. Sexually. And also because of spring. And climate change. Watch out, Midwest. I’m romantically trending your way, even though I spent most of my formative years plotting to escape your cul-de-sacs, conservatism and corn. *Sigh.* Every journey always brings me back to you.