My Last Post From Facebook

For the past – hmm… how long has it been? – six or seven months, I think, I’ve been putting up posts on Facebook in lieu of (or before) putting them up here. I’ve been pretty prudent about separating certain topics between Facebook (where all of my friends are RL) and here (where most of my friends aren’t RL). Por ejemplo: Even though every relationship has ups and downs, and I’ve been particularly vocal about my ups and downs with Rob, in respect for Rob, I don’t talk about that on Facebook since we know people in common. And since I don’t have internet access from home, whenever I have something really light and happy to talk about and some way to share it with the internet, it’s usually Facebook that reads it.

I realize that it’s a sense of impending danger that’s kept me from mixing my two worlds of the internet. I mean, do I really want my might-as-well-be-in-laws (Hi, there!) reading about my time as a dominatrix? Do I want my family (Kamusta!) to read about my sex life? Do I want my future employers and soon-to-be staff and faculty in the Philippines finding out about how retarded I’ve been in my job history? (Full disclosure: I was once so stupid/immature/confused that I convinced my employers they were paying me when in fact I was working FOR FREE. Long story.) Ya know what? I kinda do want people to know this about me.

Maybe it’s a generational thing, and I just feel like I should – like I’m ENTITLED – to show off my strangeness. Maybe I’m just an emotional exhibitionist, point blank. Maybe, given the possibility of amazing embarrassment, all I do is shrug my shoulders and go, “Meh. It could be worse.” Maybe.

Whatever the reason, I’m taking the self-imposed rules about what I can blog about, and I’m changing them. In the name of full disclosure and fearlessness, I’m keeping up posts that will probably anger my loved ones. I hope that people realize, however, that what’s here (and on my previous two blogs) is really the progress of my maturity and understanding of life. I don’t mean any harm, and I’m truly sorry if you find me offensive. I don’t mean to be hurtful, but I do mean to be honest. And the only way to do that is to show off the parts of me that may contradict or challenge each other.

So, yeah: Welcome, friends and family, to my blog. If you’re squeamish or have a tendency of getting all up in a huff over things you read on Facebook, please turn away now. Otherwise, happy reading. The following is something you’ve probably read already, but it’s not really for you. It’s for my other friends and family, the people that I’ve never met in person, but whose words and feelings portray worlds and perspectives that illuminate my life just as much as those of any person with whom I’ve spent in-person time. Thanks for reading. Everyone, play nice.


Right now, I’m about four weeks away from being a mom, 12 weeks away from moving to the Philippines, and 13 weeks from starting nursing school. I’ve been with the love of my life for four years and we have a plan for the rest of our lives. I’ve gone to therapy and worked out practically every issue I’ve ever had. Money’s tight right now, but I’m sure that the economy will pick up steam and me and mine will be doing better than ever. In the meantime, Rob, Riley, and I have everything we need and most of the material things that we want.

I guess, if you had to sum up my present thought, it’s this: I can honestly say that I’ve never been happier than I am right now and that I fully expect things to get even better.

My looming future has eclipsed so much of the past. Now, when I look back on things, I feel disassociated from a lot of what’s happened. I know that I spent a good deal of my life being very promiscuous and enjoying the hell out of it, but I can’t quite remember what it was like (nor can I imagine wanting to do that now). I know I’ve spent many a night in the ER after late nights doing only-God-knows-what, but the feeling of danger and heightened sense of excitement that used to accompany those nights have gone extinct. And maybe it’s the pregnancy, but sometimes I can’t even remember specific episodes from my life, i.e., my first client as a dominatrix, getting my tattoo, hitchhiking in Virginia, etc.; it’s at times like those that I’m thankful I’ve either written down accounts of what’s happened or I have people in my life who can recall for me the details.

I guess that last part is the point of this note: the fact that memories come and go, and the only real proof of them ever happening in the first place are the people who experienced them with you. I turn 25 in October, and I’m realizing that for every friend who can remember me barreling down a rain-soaked freeway at 115 mph, there’s another friend with whom I’ve lost contact.

Pragmatically, I know that this is just what happens as time goes by: memories fade, people lose touch with each other, proof of your wild and crazy pre-child existence seems less and less believable. But before that happens, I figured I’d reach out to people who might feel slighted by time and circumstance, people I haven’t talked to in a while, people who probably have no idea that life for me is on the highest upswing imaginable.

Maybe one of us meant to lose touch with the other, or maybe it happened on its own. Maybe we left things on a good note, or a bad note, or no note at all. Maybe there’s a lot of water – or even acid and sharks – under our bridge. No matter how or why we lost touch, I just want you to know: I’ve got no bad feelings and I wish you the best.


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