Apparently I am repelling men, not like the original Man Repeller with fashionably androgynous clothing choices, but with my Facebook, Blog, and .... one Youtube song.
Because apparently, the horrors that all these (phantom) men find on the internet when searching my name (like this blog) are just too bizarre to look past.
Because this blog makes me look like an insane brat. (I just always assume people will know that I am kidding, but according to her, they will absolutely not.)
Because, "Caroline, hun, this day and age when the best way to learn about someone is the to Google them, think about what are they going to find on you! And then your only song performance on YouTube is about an angry woman being "Over You"- it is going to make people think you are a scary witch!". And when she says witch, she means bitch. (Not fair, because there is also a shoddy and whited-out recording of me singing "Songbird" at Joe's Pub, which is quite the love song.)
Because when I was in college, and she thought that my Facebook wall was covered with some obscure references to lesbianity***, one being me saying "I love Ellen!" on video that someone posted on my wall. And another post of my freshman year roommate making a joke about "when am I going to see you again and make sweet love?".... To her, it was obvious that this was the reason that some boy -who I forget about now- wasn't texting me. I got a concerned Facebook message from my mom: "Caroline, Are you trying to repel every boy in New York!?!?!?!?". Let this teach us all why we should not be friends with our parents on Facebook.
Also, because: "You never even talk about boys on your blog! That will confuse people!" (yes, I like to keep a mysterious a-sexuality to my blog).
And no, no one reads my blog.
Basically my mother missed her calling as a "Romance P.R. Consultant & Internet Presence Critic" and so she is giving her services to me for free, whether I ask for them or not.
I have heard her go on about this internet-presence-thing for nearly a decade now. And- I even see her point at times. There may be small grains of truth in her absurd worries (I do sort of make myself look like a horrible and crazy person) and I am fully aware of all the things that she considers to be undesirable. But even with that knowledge and awareness, I still choose to write those undesirable things anyway. So it is apparently a chance I am willing to take. The chance that my stupid blog, that no one but my mother and 4 high school friends read consistently anyway, is going to be the reason I have a commitment ceremony to my box-set of Gilmore Girls DVDs when I turn 45 is a chance I am willing to take.
But recently hearing my mom out for the millionth time about me-on-the-internet (actually I just quietly walked out of the room this last time, like a seasoned pacifist), and then actually taking the time to write this post, has led me to come to terms with why I write this blog in the first place.
Why do I write this blog?
(Who am I even addressing right now?)
Here and there a post will be well written, maybe humorous, but the blog is by no means a refined piece of art. It all started out as a dumb food blog where I took grainy, dark pictures of restaurant nachos etc., and then it slowly morphed into a weird conglomeration of stories and essays that paint me as an anxious, incompetent, and strange person. Sort of a Bridget-Jones-meets-Liz-Lemon, but poorly written and less funny. (And I could only wish)
So, if it is not consistently funny, not making me any money, and in case she is right: making me look like a heartless and bratty girl- why am I writing it? Why not just stop now and save myself the misery of constantly making all of these imaginary men run for the hills?
I write it because it is fun -and because I love writing it. And because I actually think when it comes down to it, if someone reads my blog (assuming that anyone ever does at all), I would want them to read about a girl who might be even weirder than I am. Whether it is me or someone else- is irrelevant.
I guess maybe, in my little way, I am rebelling against a family energy of caring too much what people think: my one grandmother who wants me to lie to people and tell them I am still 22, and the other grandmother who won't put up any recent pictures of me in her house because "none of them do you justice," and a mother who thinks that everyone is obsessed with Googling me, and that they all must be convinced I am a lesbian*** by this point. (Nothing against lesbians specifically, she would just call it a misrepresentation).
So. My mother is still trying to protect me from myself and my reckless self-portrayal at the age of 24. In her eyes, I still haven't learned some essential lessons: you shouldn't write your 'diary' on the internet for everyone to see, you shouldn't assume everyone understands the unfunny and subtle jokes you are making at your own expense, and you also shouldn't assume that men aren't obsessed with Googling you to decide whether you are worthy and normal enough to pursue.
Ohhhhhh, She just wants me to be happy. She wants everyone to see 'the good person that I am'. And she probably wants me to stop writing about her, too.
But I am not going to stop writing this bad blog. It will forever be connected to my name on the internet, I will be unable to escape the shadow it casts over my life, because that thought alone amuses me... I don't know what is wrong with me, actually.
On the flip side, I am also not going to start making posts about my great housekeeping-skills-but-yet-I-still-love-sports and whatever other things would convince the world that I am an agreeable and heterosexual female, who is also very normal and kind.
Portraying myself as a worse-version-of-myself makes me laugh, and so for better or for worse I am going to keep doing it. And whether I have 4 friend-readers or 100,000 male-Googlers, I will keep on keeping on, making 5 cents a year from Google Adsense.
And luckily for her, she will probably be the only one to read this post.
(***Disclaimer: I love the 'LGBT's. Some of my favorite people are 'LGBT'.
Uh oh Mom.... straight boys will probably find this very confusing...)