Kicking It Up a Notch

So I know I've gotten ... blah lately. I apologize. There are no excuses. It's REALLY hard to write truthfully when your parents are reading. And your brother. And his girlfriend. It's not their fault, but some things aren't about fault, they're just reasons why.

I thought about also including "when friends are reading" but I don't censor because of them. One of my closest friends smokes, and she knows how I feel about it. She'll read my smoking post and laugh, roll her eyes, and tell me to suck it up. Which I am. Every time I'm at home.

But at this point, my parents can't ground me, and I've already said enough that I think they know there's more behind it. That my thinking is not going in the direction they meant for it to go in. Even though I did it on a continuous basis, I was always scared to piss off my parents, or hurt them. For fear they'd dump me, and then when I needed them they wouldn't be there.

But what I didn't realize was that I have been dumped. So all I lose by being overly honest is them wanting to tell me anything, for fear I'll blog about it. And then everyone will know that someone, somewhere, has parents who do whatever that awful thing is. I tried to explain to them about proper nouns, and the lack of them here. And how any of my friends who read this and know who I am also have heard my parental stories in person, so it doesn't really matter if they read them here also. I think my dad gets it. Doesn't particularly like it, but gets and respects it. My mom not so much. She doesn't get me at all. And that makes me sad, to think we were so close and now we're not. It makes me doubt our formerly close relationship, and leaves me confused about my perceptions of the past.

And my brother? Well, Golden Boy and Crazy Girl just want their privacy. And I understand that, and will try to respect it. Nobody wants to piss off family. And yet, there's a balance between that and being true to yourself. It's there, therefore I'm determined to find it.

Yes, I realize the above two paragraphs say I'm willing to respect my brother's feelings but not my parent's. Yes, I realize life isn't fair. But my parents are the ones who always yelled at me that life isn't fair, so surely they'll understand, right? Yeah, I know, they won't. And there's no need to be a bitch. Well actually, there is a small need. I have a very vindictive streak to my personality - you hurt me, and now I want to make you hurt as much as you made me hurt.

I'm not mature. I try to do the right thing, the mature thing, but can't be perfect. My parents had a lot of "favorite phrases" while I was growing up. One was "look out for Number One." And now more than ever, I realize that's what I need to do. It's never been more clear to me than in the last year that other people will have no problem hurting me if it will help them. So I need to do the same. I was raised to think I was this horridly behaved person, and to always think about whether people would like me for what I was or was not doing (it's a miracle I didn't grow up as a total pushover).

You know what? Fuck that shit. Those other people? They're not so great that they're worth me not respecting myself to do what will make them happy.

So. In the spirit of kicking it up a notch and less censoring, I feel the need to get this out. Ellen. Yeah, that daytime talk show. You know I love dancing. You know. But Ellen? Can't dance. Nothing about her dancing is good. Also, I don't find her to be very funny. Maybe she'd be more funny on HBO than on a daytime talk show. But her talkshow is fucking lame.

And what the fuck is with audience members of talk shows? Why do all these middle-aged women scream? Get some respect for yourselves! You're 45 years old and screaming for a bald married guy with a Southern twang! How do you not get embarrassed by your actions as you drive home?

(Don't leave me an anon comment telling me my life is so pathetic that I don't know what it is to be excited and that's why I don't get the screaming. I've been to baseball games. I've been in the audience of a talk show (once, when I was 15). I got a free trip to LA. I'm just not the type to scream. It's lame. Stop it.)