My Parents Stumbled Upon My Blog

The first sign that my parents were close to finding my secret blogging venture happened when my mother joined facebook.

I had been avoiding her pending friend request for several weeks, but she finally caught wise, and told me I was going to be cut off financially if I did not click accept. So, begrudgingly, I accepted. I figured if my mom didn't know how to right click the mouse, she was not going to know how to navigate facebook. Wrong.

For a while, I had no indication that anything weird was happening. And then my mom started sending messages to friends of mine. One such message was sent to a male friend of mine (whose identity I will protect) which said, "I love your hair. You look so grown up." For the record, I do not *believe* that my mother is a secret cougar, although she *does* list her year of birth on facebook as 1985. Questionable.

Then, the unthinkable happened: my father somehow veered off of craigslist (where he spends the majority of his time looking for hunting land, and or/or trailer homes), and found my blog. I didn't realize he had been reading until he started commenting on posts from circa 3-4 years ago. Examples:

"funnnnnnnnnnnnny love the food store scene "

"love lil layne she is so cool
c murder is cool too but hard to
be recognized up the river--
Can't wait for more of this
------- stuff
Big D"

In case there was any question, I think that second post was meant to be a rap.

How did this happen?? Only a few months ago, my parents were navigating the internet via AOL Dial Up. Now they are browsing, friending, messaging, and commenting??? Facebook/Mark Zuckerberg - if you are reading this - DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS PROBLEM. Allowing parents on facebook is NOT A GOOD IDEA.

Mom and Dad, if you are reading this (and I know you are - as you are probably my only consistent readers), I love y'all...but please cease and desist your activity on social networking sites. Read more

An Open Letter to Don Draper

Dear Don Draper,

Hi. So, you're not a real person, but I feel like I know you (intimately) after watching hundreds of hours of you on television. I just wanted to say, I think I am in love with you.



I love your binge drinking. I also love that you drive your Cadillac with a high ball glass in one hand. Sure, that might actually be a crime...but I really do not care. You pull up in that car sans seat-belts, and you are so hammered that you are throwing your high-ball glasses half filled with whiskey out the window, and you say, "Get in now," I would absolutely do it in a heartbeat. Who am I kidding -- you show up with a plane, and you say, "I have no idea how to fly this plane, I have been drinking for 12 hours, I am on some serious barbiturates, I am illiterate and cannot read, and I have a sneaking suspicion this plane does not have wings, will you get in?" and I would unquestionably jump in.

I also love they way you put people in their place. Remember that time Pegs came into your office crying in gender inequality in the workplace and demanding to be paid the same as a man? After you read her the riot act, I thought to myself, "yeah that peggy had it coming to her. She has a job, now she's asking for a raise? Who does she think this is?? Don Draper is not made of money. Don Draper is made of scotch, and cigarette smoke, and sex appeal." If I were ever your secretary, I would purposefully make mistakes so you would yell at me. And being a secretary at this point in my education (2 yrs law school) in this economy is not beyond the range of possibilities. Relatedly...Don, is Sterling Cooper hiring? I might be interested in a position.

I love the way you ask a question without really asking a question, ie - "Have coffee with me" or "Come to bed with me." This is exactly the sort of man I need in my life - someone to order me around. Left to my own devices and decisions, I would spend every night eating a lean cuisine, watching "The Biggest Loser," crying because someone told a sad story, and looking at pictures of cute babies. I need a Don Draper to step in and say to me, "Leave your apartment. Now." or, "Stop eating yoforia. Now." or, "Stop watching Colin Firth movies. Now."

I don't know the proper protocol for ending a love letter published on the internet to a fictional television character...so, I guess I'll just trail off in ellipses....

Lil Layne. Read more