How Did I Get Here?

November 21, 2013 — 58 Comments



“You may ask yourself, am I right, am I wrong? 
You may say to yourself, my GOD, what have I done!?”

-Talking Heads, Once In A Lifetime

I am trying to survive life in a particularly loathesome suburb – dominated by the wealthy and entitled; rich, money-mad, vulgar, materialistic and superficial clones, driven by pointless one-upmanship.


Most of my life I’ve not fit in.  I’ve developed the ability to no longer give a rat’s ass while desperately seeking a bastion of fellowship

I grew up in a welfare housing project, one of only three white families. The other two white families despised us –  we were Jewish. Damn Jews. We don’t pull off the “white trash” thing well.

In high school I was a strange mix of nerd and underground/insurgent. No one could make sense of me, least of all me. I dabbled in different groups but belonged to none.

I was also a virgin. Not exactly a candidate for Homecoming In My Mouth Queen. My girlfriends were taking on football players two at a time. I had my nose in a book and played with myself a lot.

And now, Suburbia. Where the American Dream goes to die.

Culture, spirituality, art and intellect does not exist.

Plastic surgery does.


An Excerpt From My First Trip to the Suburban Gym:

I look around, panicked. I call The Ex. (my then husband)

Me:  *In a hushed whisper* This is a fucking stripper gym!

Him:  What are you talking about?

Me:  Everyone here has gigantic fake tits, fake tans, long fake nails and hair extensions! There’s a rap video slut on every treadmill!

Him: Those are the housewives.

Maybe I should have titled my blog: WordPress: Just Another Place I Won’t Fit In.

I tried blogging before. It was a train wreck.

I had 5 followers. Two of them were my other personalities.

I was terrified of posting anything. Paralyzed. Writing and me- we have an ugly history.


A blogger emailed me enthusiastically out of the blue. Asked if he could email – encouraged me to keep writing.

What a relief to have a little support! I’d work up my courage, post, and he’d  email me raving about how “brilliant” I was.

That lasted a week. 4 days, maybe. He didn’t even hit read my last post. Apparently, I’d lost my “je ne sais quoi.” That’s French for “what a douchecanoe.”


I probably should have been chronicling the jaunty exploits of a gal searching for love in the online dating world.

Online dating? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not going out for a chai latte and ending up chained to a bedpost in Connecticut, having a discussion about “hard limits” with a serial killer.

“After you decapitate me, I’d appreciate you not using my severed head for oral sex. That’s just offensive.”


Hard limits – have you noticed every BDSM writer on WordPress has the same hard limit? Anal sex?

Did they have a WordPress Hard Limits No Anal Meetup?

“Okay – so, he can bash a 2 x 4 over my head while his friend punches my tits, as long as there’s NO ANAL.”

Anal (I’ve heard) can be quite pleasurable.  Mix one can of Crisco with 50 shots of tequila. If you’ve ever borne a child – well, that’s like having an umbrella wedged up your asshole and OPENED. A penis in the butt is shoe shopping, comparatively speaking.

There goes my BDSM audience. Woops.


And I’m not inclined to chronicle my sexploits. Not current ones.

You want sex, watch porn. Don’t download it – it’ll give your computer a yeast infection. Buy it. It’s the safest thing for your hard drive, even though it gets old watching the same couples fuck all the time. Like being married –  “oh, these three again. Bor-ing.”

Yep – I dig porn. Now all the FemiNazis won’t like me. Another WP group I won’t fit in with. Well, I’m sorry, I enjoy smut. Porn, sex toys – love it.

Shopping for dildos completes me.

It’s all gone now – I trashed the “toy box” to spite The Ex.

My last blog was not about my life.

I was afraid. Of showing who I really am.

Then my life broke completely down. I had a true “dark night of the soul.” Everything that meant anything to me seemed to fall into question.

While in the darkest of moods, I stumbled upon the blog of WordPress leviathan Le Clown, who wrote:

“I’ll take your midnight black over someone else’s beige. That, to me, would be true death.”


He inspired me to start this blog. To show the “real me.”

I want followers, but at the same time, to protect myself, I can’t care.

And I’m not above admitting that I want what all the tarnished souls around here have. But at what price? If I could be me, exactly who I am, and still have all that, then fine.

But if having all that money modifies my consciousness, and I wake up one day –

a whole lot less smart, way less funny, no longer edgy, not in the slightest bit rebellious or biting or dark, and I hate blasting loud music and want to spend entire days picking out window treatments instead of going to the movies with my kid and laughing ourselves silly…

Forget it.

I live in a pretty, 4 bedroom, 3 bathroom home. I  cut open a vein saving for the down payment. I’ve never lived in a house before – only apartments.

It’s my first ever backyard. It’s like Christmas fucked July 4th and had tree babies.

At night, cicadas talk to me – and I’m not even high.

My kid has a trampoline in the backyard that he bounces on madly. I have to drink wine until it becomes safe for him.

It’s all such a gift – for this little housing project girl. Sometimes, I just have to pinch myself – but I have a low pain threshold. So I pinch someone else. Usually an elderly person.

Then one afternoon I’ll pick my kid up from his best friend’s house, and think, I’m not giving my child everything he deserves. Because this is what I drive up to:

Large House 2

partial view – couldn’t fit it all in the picture


Then I just get pissed. Is this really necessary? I left them a little love note:

Dear Dr. and Mrs. AssHat:

You redefine Ass Hatification. You are an anesthesiologist and a housewife, not Saudi Arabian royalty. You have 3 kids. You do not need an 8,000 square foot house. Calm the fuck down.

As soon as my son demands we buy him the XBox 1, I will light your house on fire. Enjoy it while you can.

Perhaps whining about the suburbs seems like “rich people problems.” It’s a literary cliché. Dates as far back as 1922 – Sinclair Lewis’s Babbitt. After all, aren’t there worse things? Like growing up poor?

I grew up poor. It sucked. But I grew up with what I believe are the CORRECT SET OF VALUES in life.

The real mission:


To be grounded, and genuine.

To understand that money, while undeniably wonderful, is not the most important thing in life.

To define success as happiness, not as a 10,000 square foot house.

To not expect a Lexus in the driveway on this 17th birthday. Cause that shit is not happening.

He’ll just have to be a Buick in the Land Of Lexus.

I will prevail.


Do you fit in? Did you, growing up? Talk to me. I’m listening. 

Enhanced by Zemanta

58 responses to How Did I Get Here?


    Oh snap, I’m overwhelmed. You may just be as hyper as I am and I love-love that. 🙂 We’ll be pals but you should know I have the attention span on a gnat, so I can’t do the weekly email support thing. Still, if you need me for anything ever– even just to read your post– just tell me. If I know what I’m supposed to do, and if I’m reminded, I can do it. 😀

    Firstly, Buick in a land of Lexus. I’m down with that. Lexus ads make me queasy in a “Do people really want this stuff?” sort of way. Though I know good peeps who drive Lexuses (Lexi?) because I had pretty much the reverse life. Except the virginity thing. I was one till I met the hubby. Let me assure you that you’ll find good people in your area. Being rich or middle-class doesn’t make someone good, and neither does being poor. Like you said, it’s all about values. I’ve noticed that people with values keep those values and pass them on, regardless of square footage.

    What else? Oh yes, there are some BDSM-friendly folk in WP that have no qualms with anal… and about a zillion sex-bloggers who would find your description of it to be rightly hilarious regardless of their personal opinion.

    Not fitting in just means you stand out. And that’s what it takes to make awesome things happen.

    Now I have every Talking Head song in my head ever, though… but I guess that’s same as it ever was… 🙂


      Rara, oh Rara- you are awesome! I am digging on your blog! And I like new pals, especially funny talented ones, such as yourself.

      No need for weekly emails – never wanted or expected it. That dude sought me out, emailed me a bazillion times in one week gushing over me, and then disappeared into the night…never to be heard from again. Bizarre. But as you quite know, many things in life are.

      Just taking the time to read and comment on my blog is so very cool of you – and very much appreciated, kitty cat. Or dinosaur, I should say.

      I so agree – money doesn’t define anyone. I know very wealthy people with incredible values. My ex from college, for instance. But there are sparse pickins in this part of the world. I’ll keep looking…

      In the mean time, letting the days go by/water flowing underground…


    I’m cracking up over here. Not only is this hilarious but also relate-able. I went from a 3,000 sq ft house to a 1,200 sq ft villa. I never felt like I fit in at the old neighborhood. Or high school. Or parts of college. But now with the kooky Florida people I’m content. And me. I love how raw and real you are on this blog. Keep being true to yourself and your writing because it shows thru. I love the grit. There are so many lines here that I love. But here’s a few favorites:

    “You redefine Ass Hatification. You are an anesthesiologist and a housewife, not Saudi Arabian royalty. You have 3 kids. You do not need an 8,000 square foot house. Calm the fuck down.”

    “My kid has a trampoline in the backyard that he bounces on madly. I have to drink wine until it becomes safe for him.”

    “It’s my first ever backyard. It’s like Christmas fucked July 4th and had tree babies.”

    “At night, cicadas talk to me – and I’m not even high.”

    Keep showing us who you really are. It’s hard to be naked out there. I have trouble with it sometimes, too. But like my good friend and editor said, “Readers can smell bullshit a mile away. They know when a writer isn’t speaking their truth.”

    And thanks for the Talking Heads earworm. : )


      You have no idea how much it means to me that you took the time to read, to comment. To laugh and show support. I can’t wait to dig into more of your blog – us crazy mom bloggers have to stick together!
      I’m going to continue to be naked. As a matter of fact, I’m about to write about *SPOILER ALERT* really being naked.


    I (you) miss the city but you have to admit, the suburbs has a few charms. When I was on Clinton Street, if I wanted to go outside, I had to have a destination. I couldn’t just stand in front of my building. Especially when I first moved there. It wasn’t a nice place and standing in front of my building for any length of time would only have gotten you an offer for narcotics or a gun in your face. Now…I take my Sunday Times, a cup of coffee, sit in my back yard and think that things aren’t ALL bad. Eh?

    Have you driven through Deal? Yikes. Deal is what happens when people with no taste acquire a mountain of cash and “decorate.”


      Mark, first of all, I am honored to have you here! Welcome – and don’t even bother to wipe your feet.

      Okay, the suburbs have their charms. It’s the people I can’t stand. I long to have a conversation with another mom that does not involve her grooming ritual.
      I actually am going to write a post for Thanksgiving about the difference between where I grew up, and how safe my son is here. For that, I am thankful.

      Yes, I have indeed driven through Deal. My area is quite similar – people with lots of money, and no taste. My cousin lived (he just passed away) in Fair Haven. Near you. A much classier area, I must say. People read the Sunday Times. THOSE people I could have a conversation with.


    I’m going to flash burn a Lexus in your honour. Out of respect, I will make sure it is empty before I lob the can of petrol (I refuse to call it gasoline). Well, chins up, there is hope yet for the young-uns; the rich sect can, in the meanwhile, suck it. You will prevail, you know.


      Welcome to my blog, and thank you for taking the time to read, and comment…

      and please don’t burn the Lexus – buy me one.

      I don’t mind rich people. I mind rich assholes.

      Petrol? Canadian, eh? I love me some Canadian bloggers. Can’t wait to stop by your blog.

      I will prevail. And so will you, my friend. And so will you.


        I’d be waaaay better at burning Lexus’ than buying them. We all have our talents, I suppose. Once upon a time, I was a hoodlum. Now I’m a blogger. However did this happen.

        I too do not like rich assholes, and I am around them all the time. Some are very subtle about it. Others wear their assholeness on their foreheads.

        Yah, Canadian, but we don’t really say petrol up here. I’m Brit by origin, and vaguely recall use of that word. We Canadians are a bit frosty, to be honest, it comes from living in a land bound by snow and served with beaver meat.

        Let us prevail together. That would be nice.


        Ex hoodlum. Right up my alley.
        Beaver meat with a side of snow? That sounds a little…porno? I’d say STOP IT, but you read my post.

        Prevail together!!!! YES!!!!!!!!


        We don’t call it porno up here, we call it a necessary activity to ward off the cold. Beaver here, beaver there, beaver everywhere, it’s all good.


        Very freaky, my friend. Was just about to leave a comment on your post.
        Then the orange light flashed. Very freaky.


        It’s a bit early in our relationship to be so mentally connected, isn’t it? Could be the beer talking on my end. Geez. Wednesday night and drinking beer. I blame it on the snow. And also the abundance of beer in the fridge, them’s not gonna clear themselves out by themselves you know.


    Oh hi there. Thanks for the follow.

    I had lots and lots of thoughts, but none I can sum up in a concise way. I need a green light and “just tell me already!” from you. Otherwise, I ramble, and I have no idea if you mind that.


      I adore your rambling. It’s why I followed you.
      When you comment/ramble spectacularly in the blogs of amazing bloggers, I follow. True that.
      Green light. GO.


        Here goes…

        1. I spent some of my childhood being well-off, but these days, poor. Cimmy and I did our best, so, welfare-to-work hell before disability benefits. Hellish, hellish. I’ve got my own rants.
        2. Socioeconomic stereotypes about Jews are stupid, I think. Some of my best friends are Jewish. One is originally from SLC, but he’s not upset about my Mormonness the way some residents can be. On the contrary, we’ve had interesting and amusing conversations about the difference.
        3. No one could make sense of me, least of all me.
        Sounds like my secondary grade school years, although high school was slightly better. Except my high school band teacher was a raging monster (he assaulted the choir teacher in full view of faculty and students, and he was not arrested or fired). My high school had some exceptional teachers, but it had a few dolts and beasts.
        4. Not at all shocked by BDSM or porn. Always up for intelligent discussions about both. Both Cimmy and I had such ugliness in our childhood in sexual ways that we prefer to speak fairly openly on the subject. And I believe Rara. Despite any craziness, I suspect WordPress is smarter about sex than what I found with VOX and LiveJournal. I could blather for days about “off the weird-shit-o-meter” stuff at LiveJournal, starting with fangirl slash/yaoi.
        5. Multiple personality disorder? Bipolar mood disorder here. None of my little family is neurotypical, either, and extended family, plenty o’ crazy. We generally embrace it.
        6. *sigh* My children. My daughter and my son hurt themselves without the aid of a trampoline. Daughter took a selfie of her last black eye. I was so impressed. My son, when he fell out of the twisted willow tree, Cimmy freaked, and I said, “Good. He joined the club.”

        I’ve got to figure out how to stuff this into blog posts. You and Aussa especially, such inspiration.


        No real multiple personality disorder here. Perhaps I shouldn’t have used the term lightly? I’m just a crazy disjointed mix of what might seem contradictory personality traits.
        Thanks for your long, thoughtful comments. Have the most wonderful of holidays.


        No harm, no foul.

        I like to talk about mental illness, including my own, just as people do about lots of other stuff. I’m crazy and have the paperwork to prove it, but I have the strong love of good family and friends.

        And then there’s just simple joy in odd personality 🙂

        I appreciate your answers and hope your holidays are good, too. Actually just started dinner prep for tomorrow, my first time at cooking a turkey *dun dun dun*


    I totally relate to your blogging problems – I just started a new blog today for the same reasons! I’ve actually read and enjoyed your blog before but never commented, so here is another anonymous but not-quite lurker for you. You. Are. FUNNY.


      Janie Doh-
      My oh my, thank you so much for taking the time to comment.
      You’ve no idea how much it means to me that you took the time to do so.
      The same issues, eh?
      I am headed your way.
      xo, samara


    Thank you so much for following my blog 🙂


    I made it. On Thanksgiving. I had to get out of Facebook where I kept on bashing the holiday, and making my friends grumpy. And this was my first stop.

    A blog about you. The real you. Did you know that I invented Le Clown’s character so I could be more me on the web? Isn’t it interesting that hiding behind a nom de plume, although the whole world (every single person) knows that my name is Eric, helps me say what I want? It was cathartic. I can be Le Clown at times closer to his messiah complex as I can be Le Sensitive Clown, but all of them are well versed in “Eric”.

    There’s a point to this.

    Be you, whatever the moniker you use. There’s a huge world between “black” and “white” (avoid the beige, the fucking Gap khaki beige), so write truthfully what you’re feeling, wherever you are. Make this blog at your image(S). Keep this blog about the real you.
    Le Clown


      Le Clown-
      How fitting that you are here on Thanksgiving! Did you know there was pie here? Mark (Exile) licked the monitor, it looked so yummy.

      You inspired me because you have somehow managed to spin all the complexities of your life, even the truly heinous, into such a powerful blog. This is my goal – to write the real me. I just have this feeling that somehow, some of what I have to say will make me unpopular here.

      I am going to continue. I find it terrifying. But as I always tell my students, the magic happens outside the comfort zone.

      Isn’t it lovely how, by and large, we all take care of one another? For example, how, on this cold and windy Thanksgiving, you’ve taken the time to stop by, as promised. And, as promised, I am the real me.

      Samara is actually my Hebrew name. It means, “does kegels while blogging.” I’m doing them right now.


    While not in Suburbia at the moment… or, am I event though I’m in a Condo project?… hmmm, something to ponder later… Anyway, while not in Suburbia at the moment, I feel the pressure of it ebbing around my little life. My parents own a home in Suburbia and just spent more money than I would make in 15 years “fixing it up,” my brother also lives in Suburbia in a house, with a backyard, and a pool. I have friends that just upgraded from their condo living to a home… because it was in their child’s best interest… and they spent nearly as much on it as my parents spent on their retirement home… for some numbers to play with, let’s say that the place my friends just bought costs 4 times what my wife and I payed for our condo…
    My immediate reaction is disgust…. how you can you throw away so much money on a place to live… it has walls and a roof and a garage, same as us. Okay, you have a backyard, that’s fun… we have a greenbelt, not quite the same thing, but is that really worth the 400% increase in price?
    And then I move on to jealousy… because now they will be in a better school district for their kids, because they can just let their munchkins run wild in the backyard but still supervise from the kitchen window (glass of wine in hand), It’s the American Dream, right? A home, rather than a condo, or apartment, or duplex, or…
    But, then I think of the money again. I can’t fathom that much money. It’s such a waste when my condo functions perfectly well, and there is a park down the street that the kiddo can run around in. Sure, I’ll have to go with him, and will miss out on that glass of wine, but in the long run a little sacrifice like that will mean I don’t have to sell my soul to the credit companies and the four walls of my home. Right?
    Or, is the better school district more important than my soul?
    Or, is teaching the kiddo that there are more important things to life than where you live, how much you make, and what you spend your money on more important?
    Or, is being able to feel safe walking around your neighborhood worth the extra cost?
    Or, should we make the effort to get to know our neighborhood here and we’ll see that it isn’t as scary as it seems, because we are just families struggling with what is and isn’t important for our children?

    I flip flop. I’m a Gemini, so it’s well within my rights.

    I don’t know what I’ll end up doing yet. I’m guessing I will sell my soul and owe a bank more money than I make in 15 years. Or, maybe I’ll pack up my little kingdom and move to a different state. Or, maybe we’ll stay right where we are because we like our condo. Or,… maybe I have know idea.


      matticus dear king-
      keep your condo.

      my ex destroyed my credit, robbed all our savings, ran up unspeakable bills – so I am losing my house. As we speak. And probably moving to a condo.

      Less work. No leaves to rake, no snow to plow. I can save for his education. Fuck the “watching him play glass of wine in hand.” That’s how kids drown in pools.

      Too much of what we demonstrate to kids is about where we live, and what we make. Fuck that noise. I’ll make my son’s bedroom his little kingdom in our condo, and home will be where my heart is. In him.

      Thank you for visiting me. It means more than you know.

      My college boyfriend was a Gemini. He was two people all the time. It was delicious.


        Being two people is far more interesting… but, as it’s all I’ve ever known, that is little more than a guess. 😉

        Yes, home is where the heart is. That is often my argument. We can make this condo work. Others have. It is our home. It is all we need.

        And yet, … that dream, that hollywood scripted reality of the large backyard with some climbing trees and the grass to kick the ball back and forth (or play catch, or toss the pigskin)… that dream calls to me.

        I’m sorry you are losing your home. Loss is never easy no matter the circumstances.


        As long as we are safe and healthy and happy, isn’t that all that matters? Yes, I wish I was as rich as the people around me.
        But I can’t even cut it as a blogging fame whore hahaha. If you read my post you’ll see what I mean.
        Have an amazing day, Gemini matticus.


    I think you might have a career in writing a series of greeting cards for people in the suburbs.


    Homecoming In My Mouth <– This! I die! And you say douchecanoe, and you drink wine until things feel safer, and you are sparking fucking amazing bloggers to write multi-paragraph comments on your About page. Yes, This Love is Ours. (Thank you, T-Swift! …I bet they play her a lot in that horrible gym you went to.)

    But on a slightly deeper note… I’m still trying, every waking hour, to figure out how to write like myself. In real life, I’m a total mishmash, and go from happy to sad to selfish to Oprah on her “favorite things” episode in the course of ten minutes, so that’s kind of hard to represent with any sort of coherence. If you’ve found something you like in my writing, I would really enjoy staying in touch and doing some mutual learning about how to be ourselves in a blog. And let’s vow to never, EVER be beige. (Should that vow be a blog badge you share around? I’m thinking maybe it should!)


    “Me: Everyone here has gigantic fake tits, fake tans, long fake nails and hair extensions! There’s a rap video slut on every treadmill!
    Him: Those are the housewives.”


    One of my favorite posts yet! This one was hilarious… reading this reminded me of when I read Ellen DeGeneres’ book… it’s like I could hear her voice through the book, making the jokes, making the sarcastic comments… that’s how this felt for me… yet, I’ve never met you.

    I’m glad you’re no longer afraid of showing who you really are, because I’m loving getting to know you :).

    & I hear you on the fear of not gaining followers…. yesterday when I was writing I stopped and thought to myself… does anyone actually care to read what I have to say?

    I’m glad you didn’t stop blogging!


      I LOVE Ellen. She is hilarious!

      I’m still afraid of showing who I am. And at the moment, a little confused about who I am. Because, really, who am I?

      Maybe that will be the subject of my next post…


        I think we’re all trying to figure out who we are… it’s kinda the big mystery/plot of life. If we knew so easily what’s worth living for? We change, we adapt, we grow…beyond the boundaries we set for ourselves without realizing it. Then one day, in retrospect one realizes how much they have changed, and hopefully for the better. We always aim for the better.

        I would love to read a post about your journey to finding who you are… my first post was actually about that…

        kinda the purpose of my blog, as I’m sure many other bloggers’.

        Wis you the best with much love & support!


    I am a society of one, but not of oneness.

    I wouldn’t want to belong to a club that would have me as a member – Groucho Marx

    Walking through the streets of Chicago I get told by hustlers (is that the correct term…I’m English I’m not hip, more prone to trip & slip…back to my solo quip) that I holiday alone.

    I’m the white face seen in the darkness of blues clubs.

    Youths turn and face me when I dance at raves with reckless feckless I don’t give a fuckness unfettered abandon, their black dilated eyes wide ‘E’s so good

    I cycle, I, kid not, miles, more is better in this context, whatever weather (almost…ice isn’t good for cycling you end up smelling of hospitals) heart racing cadence, feeling that big rush of the push endorphin fueled ecstasy of life.

    You Write So Well! Love it. Big smile on the inside and outside. Thank you.

    And as for Talking Heads I love that hypnotic pulsing syncopated sound still as strong all the way from 1970’s


      I am not I

      I am this one

      Walking beside me whom I do not see,
      Whom at times I manage to visit,
      And at other times forget.
      The one who remains silent when I talk,
      The one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
      The one who takes a walk when I am indoors,
      The one who will remain standing when I die.

      Juan Ramon Jimenez


    I came here for the ‘anal sex’ tag (bitch) but stayed for these:

    – “You want sex, watch porn. Don’t download it – it’ll give your computer a yeast infection.”
    – “It’s like Christmas fucked July 4th and had tree babies.”
    – “My kid has a trampoline in the backyard that he bounces on madly. I have to drink wine until it becomes safe for him.”

    I fucking dig your style. And that “Buick in the Land of Lexus” line is the best of the lot. I’m so glad I know what the hell it means now!

    I’m going to stop reading now otherwise I’ll be emailing you every week and eventually that’ll lead to sending you naked selfies… And nobody wants to see that.


      Thank you so much!

      Welcome to my blog – I hope you look around and see what else strikes your fancy.

      I appreciate that you took the time to read and to comment. I’m really grateful for that.


    You made me laugh first thing in the morning. I needed that.

    I feel the same way when I look at McMansions. Unless you have nine kids there’s no reason to have a house that big.


      Good morning and welcome!

      I’m on my third cup of coffee. And answering blog comments from another post, so I’m so happy to have a new friend reading.

      Hope you get a chance to look around a bit. I’m in the middle of a crazy three part story and there seems to be quite a flurry going on with that.

      I really appreciate that you found me, read my blog, and took the time to comment. It’s not always easy to do all of that. I’m so happy you did!


    Hi Samara! I think this is my first time commenting here. Like your style. For some reason I had followed your blog but the notification was not turned on, on my end. I straightened that out, so I should be a regular now.


      Hey Paul!

      Welcome! So nice to have you here! Have a beer, or a glass of wine, and take a look around the place.

      I look forward to getting to know you in the blog world!

      I appreciate that you took the time to read, and comment. And you started with my very first post!


    “Online dating? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not going out for a chai latte and ending up chained to a bedpost in Connecticut, having a discussion about “hard limits” with a serial killer.”

    Laughing my ass off!
    Thanks for the morning laughter that has my girlfriend wondering if I had beer for breakfast.



      Oh, yay!

      You’re reading my very first post – now I’m feeling all nostalgic!

      *shudder* Online dating – scares the beejesus outta me. No. Way. That’s the New Yorker in me. Mistrustful.

      So glad to have given you a morning laugh, sir. Hope you’re well. xo


    I just found your blog, thanks to TempestRose talking about her whooha, and love it. Do I have to read every post in order? I’m kinda anal about stuff like that. You are welcome–for the additional anal keyword. I barely even have time to write my own blog, never mind read. Actually, I have no spare time, but will probably go insane without the distraction, so something else has to give. I want followers, but don’t want to care. Makes sense, but I don’t know why. We humans are very strange. We must hate our own vanity. Oh, to be a Vulcan!


      Hi, and welcome to the insanity that is my blog!

      I’ve gotten so busy at work that blog reading and writing has fallen by the wayside. I used to publish twice a week. Now it’s once a month! So I feel your pain about something having to give.

      Yay for Vulcans! And thanks for stopping by. I love making new friends!


    Hi from Bloppy Bloggers! Just read your 9/11 post, which was awesome & very moving by the way. So I just came over here to read your bio & I swear I thought I was the only one that never felt like she fit in. For the past 8 years, I’ve lived close to a town that also has “stripper gyms” and mcmansions. I definitely don’t take myself as seriously as these plastics of silicone valley.


    “That’s French for “what a douchecanoe.””
    This. I love this.


    Awesome post! The way you write reminds me very much of a close friend of mine…

    My favourite memory of her is of us walking along the train platform at Penn Station, très drunk, while she pointed out, as she calls them, the ‘basics’ amongst the glitterati waiting for their connection to the Hamptons. She disappears for a moment, and comes running back, the huge smile on her face covered in the red smearings of hot salsa and her hand scrambling to squish something into her purse…to which I enquired ‘What the fuck is going on here?’. She replied ‘I have a burrito in my Valentino’. Obviously.

    I love your writing and am really looking forward to your next post 🙂

Trackbacks and Pingbacks:

  1. PLEASE UNFOLLOW ME « A Buick in the Land of Lexus - February 1, 2014

    […] You can read about it, if you’d like. I’d be honored if you did – it was my very first post. […]

When I see the orange light, I have a BLOGASM...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s