Tears Dry On Their Own
When you’re a blogger, most conversations with people outside of the computer go something like this:
Them: “So now that I’ve finished telling you about the luxury yacht I just bought with the interest from my accounts, what is it that you do again?
Me: “I’m a writer.”
Them: “Oh? That’s positively charming. Where do you write?”
Me: “Erms. It’s a blog.”
Them: “Pardon me?”
Me: “I write on the Internet.”
Them: “Are you like those dreadful people of Walmart?”
Me: “Heh-Heh. No. I write for a site of my own.”
Them: “I’m not certain I understand.”
Me: “It’s called Mommy Wants Vodka. I write drivel and dreck about my life.”
Them: “Oh, so (whispers) you have a drinking problem?”
Me: “Ha. No. It’s sarcastic. Mommy Wants Vodka: because Mommy Wants Vicodin Sounded Too Suburban.“
Them: (blank stare) “I’m not certain I follow. How can writing a diary online be a ‘job?'”
Me: “Well, it’s not. I also freelance for The Stir and Nickelodean. One time I got fifty likes from The Facebook!”
Them: (blank stare): “So you sit around all day writing?”
Me: “On a good day, yeah. See lookit! I even have business cards. Do you want one?”
Them: “Oh, no dear. I wouldn’t put you out like that.”
Me: “It’s truly no trouble.”
Them: “I was being polite – whatever would I do with your card?”
Me: “It makes a good coaster, I guess.”
Them (titters): “Oh you’ve always been SO FUNNY.”
Me: (quizzically): “Um. Thanks?”
Them: “I’m afraid I still don’t understand what it is, exactly, that you do.”
Me: “Well, once I got named one of the top ten controversial bloggers by Babble.”
Them: “You’re not particularly controversial.”
Me: “I know. I should have more opinions about things.”
Them (twitters a bit): “So when are you going to grow up?”
Me: “I’m 32. I have three kids.”
Them: “No, I mean, you can’t simply write about your life forever. You’ll need a real job – with benefits!”
Me: *shrugs* “I like what I do.”
Them: “No, it’s really true – you need to grow up. That way we can go do pretentious things together.”
Me (sarcastically): “Wow. That sounds fun.”
Them: “Oh, it is, darling. It is.”
Me: “It’s been *uh* swell seeing you.”
Them: “Do call me when you grow up, darling.”
Me: “But.. I am a grown-up…”
And then you walk away feeling like total garbage because YOU HAVE BUSINESS CARDS, DAMMIT, and sometimes people leave you comments and you have FRIENDS! All over the world! How cool is that?
(answer: pretty fucking rad)
But then one day, you wake up, look around at your apartment, which you’ve carefully decorated, and realize, “shit, they were right – I DO need to grow up.”
I start Monday.
Tears Dry On Their Own http://t.co/Oh69IqCd
I knew you could do it!!!!
I’ve had this conversation a million times before. Don’t grow up. It’s really not all it’s cracked up to be. My husband and I have made a promised that we will never ever ever grow up. Grown-ups are boring. (If any “grown-ups” read this comment, I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about the grown-ups who live two houses down from you. You’re piles of fun.)
What does being grown-up even mean? Read: @mommywantsvodka
Tears Dry On Their Own http://t.co/CX7Wcp5J
I refuse to keep chasing the Joneses. If that’s what it is to be grown up, I fail.
Oh Aunt Becky, acting like a grownup and being a grownup are different. You certainly don’t have to grow up and be mature. That’s gross. Skip that part. Be sparkly and weird and wonderful. You’ll rock.
Becks, growing up is overrated. I was a grownup. I hated it. Now I’m opting for a do-over. Stuff’s nice and all, but there’s more to life.
AB! Congratulations!
Don’t grow up. It’s a sucky trap.
It’s a TRAAAAAPPPPP!
See, I’m 38 and not grown up yet. 🙂
If it makes you happy, it’s cool with me. So, what are you planning?
I like light switches – I flip the switch for when I need to be grown up (like parent/teacher conferences and driving in snow) and then flip it back to it’s normal setting. I don’t really have a name for that normal setting, because it’s MY normal and who knows what that means – I don’t 😀 I do know it’s not what everyone else would consider grown up. I am me, and me is a mixture. Stir and repeat 😉
Tears Dry On Their Own http://t.co/bRyUL7zi
Dear Aunt Becky.
Whatever your new adventure is, doesn’t preclude you from also being that rascally Auntie B we know and love as well – and even blogging about it from time to time. Being grown up (imho) means accepting that things are what they are and you have to do the best you can…even though sometimes it’s not the best.
You rock…don’t let anyone convince you differently. (((hugs)))
You’re still the most awesome mommy blogger I’ve read. I’d love to have your card. Are you going to the blogdom or blisdom or whatever it’s called? I remember when you sent your business cards out to blog friends and they went all Flat Stanley on you and took your card out partying and visiting stuff and those posts were so funny to watch….oh look out the window it’s snowing here.
did you sell out and get a real job? If so, congratulations. I totally need one of those, too. Because I haven’t been shopping (which is so fucking pretentious) in so long that I hate myself right now. Please tell me that even though you have a “real” job, you still don’t plan to grow up too much. Because I like you just the way you are, and I want one of those business cards and I do NOT want to use it for a coaster.
Who said you have to grow up b/c you have a job? You could get some fun writing material!! I don’t think I’ve made it to the grown-up stage yet, besides who cares about ‘them’ 🙂
AB don’t let being a grown up change you. Us Pranksters love you from sparkles to sadness. Yes being grown up means we have to put our pants on sometimes and be all responsible like…. but we need to remember that we don’t always have to be like that. Sometimes you need to let those pants go to hell, and have fun. I find my son is the best reminder for this. Kids seem to have great insight. They see that there has to be a balance between responsibility and sanity. It’s a trait we tend to lose as we grow up and that is sad.
I was a grown up for a long time and it’s completely over-rated. However, financial security is not, so, yeah.
Personally, I look forward to posts about you having a real job – they will be completely hilarious.
oh, the mischief AB can find at a real job! I’m already peeing in my pants with the laughter.
You are going to rock this new job and phase in your life. Although I’m not sure that you will ever grow up all the way…and that is just fine. Congrats, my friend.
I totally want a business card. I will hug it and feed it and call it George.
Jobs are means to ends. And not the yacht kind of ends, either.
But dammit, I’d like one, too.
DO NOT tell your “real job” *shudder about MWV b/c then we won’t be able to hear what you REALLY think about it! Dish woman!! I think you’re hanging with the wrong people outside of the computer. They don’t deserve the fun AB. Bleck.
I read this and love it: It is what it is Until it becomes what you make of it.
Tons of hugs to you girl, you can do anything YOU want!
I had a “real” job a few years ago. There was backstabbing, favoritism, boredom, busy work, and even a dose of sexual harassment.
I work what I’m sure most would consider “not real” jobs – I’m a Big Orange Store employee by day and a riding instructor by night/weekends. The Big Orange Store makes no demands on my heart, and when I leave at the end of the day, I’m truly gone until the next morning, without worrying about who’s going to start crap tomorrow. The riding instructor gig *is* my heart, and when my students get a horse to do what they ask, their great big grins tell me that my job is “real”.
The fact that teachers, firefighters, cops, and EMTs get paid what they do says a lot about this “real job” BS, I think.
I totally want one of those jobs that is kind of mindless, you know? Where I just go to work, do the things that are required, and go home–with no demands on my emotions or thinking.
The only thing that’s not BS is the part about benefits. Insurance is a lot more expensive if you don’t get it through a job.
Nooooooooooooo…..
Don’t do it!!!!
I am looking for work…not fun but definitely a necessity. I don’t even get enough hits on my blogs to call it a job…although I still call myself a writer.
Congrats on the job, it is just a way to pay bills and have benefits…it does not have to define you. Growing up is not nearly as fun as we thought as kids…the whole no bedtime and nobody telling us what to do didn’t really pan out…LOL.
RT @ErinMargolin: Tears Dry On Their Own: When you’re a blogger, most conversations with people outside of th… http://t.co/xKpU9F9l via @MommyWantsVodka
The grass is always greener… I would desperately LOVE to be able to leave my “grown up” job and JUST write and whatnot…
If you are starting a “job” on Monday does it have anything to do with your plan to go back to school and become an awesome doctor/researcher/healer? I sure hope so. Please don’t let the stress of trying to fit a polyhedron into a square box tip you over into the blackness.
P.S. I’m 58 and I’m learning to laugh again and remember how to see things through eyes that haven’t been corrupted by “how it’s supposed to be.” You’ve been a big help in the journey. Hugs.
RT @mommywantsvodka: Tears Dry On Their Own http://t.co/Oh69IqCd
“Shit People Say to Mummy Bloggers’ by Lori Dwyer from RRSAHM {Random Ramblings of a Stay at Home Mum} in Australia eloquently sums up “What’s a blog?” … http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=UEl9AumSI5w
Big hugs, AB. I bet if you had a penny for every time you gave someone like me a reason to feel something other than sheer crappiness in their heart, you would never have to grow up…never ever.
I just discovered your drivel and dreck. I love it! Isn’t it great that jobs now exist like this? I work from home and lurv the fact that I have escaped the rat race and can enjoy blogs like yours.
I just recently started reading your blog and found that I shouldn’t read it while I pretend I am working in my office, at the gym on the elliptical, in the bath tub, rubbing my children’s back as I put them down for a way over due nap at 10:30 at night, during my annual pap smear, or ordering in the Starbucks drive thru. The humor, the bitterness, the reality, the honesty, the uniqueness of your blog has me reading it is all the wrong but OH so right places!!!! — please DON”T grow up because I wont have anything to distract me during my annual pap!