Category: Blogging

Anonymous Commenter Strikes Again

When you comment on this blog, the comments land right into my email box. That makes it easy for me to reply to your comment via email. Alas, some of you don’t leave an email address, so I can’t reply to you easily. Others of you choose complete anonymity, which I can understand, especially if you intend to insult me in such an incoherent manner.

You have to wonder: do some people just have too much time on their hands?

Seriously. This is what “Anonymous” said:

mel you sound like an uptight bitch,sounds to me by you writing this your looking and needing everyone to tell you that your right.i think your jealous that your sister cares less for trying to please everyone and shes ok with it.sounds to me like she leads a very interesting and fascinating life and your stuck in suburbia,with a pastor for a husband,little kids and your bored and upset with your choices in life.growup and stop acting like a child except people for who they are and stop being jealous and the moment you admit you are jealous the quicker you can heal and do something about it.ps and as for her not answering your emails back on such subjects….mel she probably just does not have time to cater to your obvious disection of every incident,i would love to hear her side of the story,and why did you remove olives post?

I have to know: is there a shortage of periods and no one told me? Because if so, I’ll just have to use exclamation points from now on!! and are we all out of capital letters? because i will eliminate them, too, if i need to!! conserve periods and capitals!! unite!! we all stand together against the sensless waste of punctuation and upper case letters!!

Oh Really?

Now I remember why I stopped allowing anonymous comments. I wake up to things like this in my email box, which frustrates me. Who is this? Why doesn’t she leave her address so I can respond to her lengthy comments? Does it feel good to some people to vent on other people’s blogs? Am I expected to answer or just feel scolded? I don’t feel penitent when I receive criticism like this. I just feel annoyed by people’s assumptions and self-righteousness.

Anybody want to comment about this? (Scroll down to the last anonymous comment.)

Please, people! If you want to have a dialogue, you have to leave a name, an email address, and the link to your own blog. Otherwise, I truly will think you are just a troublemaker without a sense of humor. Lighten up!

Digressing and blabbing and then, a great link!

I met a friend for dinner tonight. I’ve known her informally from message boards for quite a few years. We discovered we lived in the same area and tonight, we met for the first time.

She is much, much smarter than me and also doesn’t ramble on and on as I do. I told a story about a decapitated hamster and also one about my parents taking away my Christmas puppy without warning me. My mother no longer remembers me even having that particular puppy named Midnight, but I was devastated. Did my parents not realize I might notice a missing puppy when I returned from school that day?

But I digress.

Which is what I did a lot over dinner. Sometimes I’d be in the middle of a freakishly long tale and realize I had forgotten the point. Or I’d stop for breath and wonder how I got started and if I have an off-button. I digress a lot when I’m chatting. And I have the weirdest stories that bubble up, unbidden.

Anyway.

Without further ado–and changing subjects abruptly–I offer up this blog for your reading pleasure. This man is a writer who is riding along with troops in Mosul, Iraq. (The father of the baby I watch each day is stationed in Mosul and has been since last October.) Fascinating first-person accounts, unlike anything you will read in the newspaper.

That’s all.

“Eleanor” Replies

I know. I know. I promised some judgments today.

But to amuse you, I thought I’d point out “Eleanor’s” reply (I’d hate for you to miss the fun–I can’t miss the fun because it arrives in my email box)–which lucky for us, includes her email address–not that I personally would email her. An email address doesn’t really prove much. What I’d really like to read is her blog–or perhaps she doesn’t have a blog, which would be sort of ironic, wouldn’t it, that she would be stomping around here in my blog, hiding behind her anonymity, attempting to shame me when really, we have no idea if she’s been out bombing abortion clinics, do we? Or if she’s dressed in a Tigger costume at Disney World or if she’s panhandling by freeway exits. “Eleanor” is suffering from a lack of biography and a lack of history.

Poor “Eleanor” has nothing to back her up. All we have to judge her by are her words, which (aside from being poorly punctuated and occasionally misspelled) do not show her in a very positive light. This is so sad it almost makes me feel sorry for her.

Perhaps “Eleanor” needs the Church of Scientology to whip her into shape. That and some vitamins. With iron. Maybe “Eleanor” is anemic.

At 10:19 PM, Eleanor said…
My, my…it would appear someone can dish it out, but cannot take it! Not surprising. Happily the “subtle” message of my post was not lost on you. My comments were intentionally rude, arrogant, inflammatory, and harsh to illustrate a point. Just like everyone, you really don’t like being judged, stereotyped, or ridiculed. And yet, having spent considerable time reading through all your posts, you do this quite a lot. As do all your friends it would appear. Don’t assume this is the way I ordinarily dialogue with people of contradictory beliefs. Quite frankly, you just pissed me off!

[Mel says: Why would I assume anything else? All you have to show for yourself are your self-admitted harsh comments! I am sure you’ll be disappointed to hear how amused I was by your comments. And my “friends” will be disappointed to hear that you’ve lumped them all together, for they are a fairly diverse crowd. I did not judge, stereotype or ridicule Lance Armstrong in the first place, so at this point, I think you must have me confused with someone else. And yet, you spent over four hours reading my blog. Don’t you have access to a library? Maybe you should check out some books since my writing so infuriates you.]

To be fair, my comments on The Commander & Chief were indeed based in my personal reality and thus, I have fallen victim to the evil judgement monster in all of us…touche! I still, however, think he is an ass!!!

[Mel says: I accept your apology.]

Hey, one last question. Did I miss some internantional rule of blogging that requires that persons who leave comments of opposing beliefs must leave their email address? No one who agrees with you leaves their emails that I can see. For your records I can be reached at…
xonacracker19@yahoo.com

[Mel says: If one wants to be taken seriously, one should leave an email address AND a link to one’s blog. Almost everyone who comments on my blog leaves both. In fact, everyone who commented on this post is accessible by their blog URL or their email address. Common courtesy. Elizabeth disagrees with me on most everything, yet I know her email address and her blog URL. And I like Elizabeth a lot. I think she adds a lot of spice to my blog, and I appreciate diversity.]

Toodles, Eleanor
p.s. You should have been a school teacher. You seem obsessed with punctuation.

Well, what do you know? “Eleanor” ends her comments with a compliment–isn’t obsession with punctuation a good thing? In my world, it is. Unless, of course, you overdo it with the exclamation mark! Which I have done a time or two! I just can’t help myself when I get all narcissistic and judgmental and–lest I forget, sanctimonious!!!

So, “Eleanor,” I accept your apology!!! Thanks for stopping by!!!! Have a fantastic day!!!

(And today’s judgment: I tend to think people who don’t capitalize are lazy. I KNOW! I know! Not true at all, but there you go. A random, unfair judgment. More tomorrow . . . anybody else care to share a judgment of their own?)

Fan Mail

Oh, I just love signing on to the computer and finding lovely fan mail waiting for me. You can click on that link, review my post about Lance Armstrong’s failed marriage, then scroll down to the comments and read the last one from “Eleanor.” Or you can just keep reading.

Here’s what the gracious “Eleanor” had to say:

Wow, Mel! It was suggested that I visit your blog as it was shockingly judgmental and narcissistic! I am happy to see that this is indeed so!

Do you really think you are in any position to judge a man you do not even know? That would be like me saying, “well of course she is opposed to divorce, she is after all a pastor’s wife”. I am curious, does your personal experience cloud your perspective on the subject? Do you really feel that you are qualified to make such statements about a man you’ve never met? One would think losing a father to melanoma would enhance your “sensitivity chip”.

Forgive me if I sound harsh. But who died and made you God? If you were as Christian as you purport yourself to be you would seemingly stand a little less in judgement! I don’t see that. In the immortal words of Atticus Finch, “You just don’t know until you have walked around in someone elses shoes.” Why not spend a little more time figuring out why your kids get harassed on a regular basis and back off Lance!

Eleanor

P.S. George Bush is despicable, but of course you support him. You are after all, a pastor’s wife!!!

Well. Let’s give “Eleanor” a round of applause for speaking her mind. I hope she feels better. (I would direct my comments directly to “Eleanor” in email, but she failed to leave her email address. I know. How shocking.) So, follow along as I address “Eleanor” (who reminds me so much of someone else, hmmm, who could it be?):

“Eleanor” . . . you have so many questions, and yet, already answers. You know my husband is a pastor–a fact I haven’t mentioned recently (not since July 8) and in fact, something that has no bearing on my posts. You know my father died from melanoma–even though I haven’t mentioned that since September 22, 2004. Strange that you find me so repulsive, yet you’ve spent so much time reading my “narcissist” and “judgmental” blog. How that must pain you!

And yet, dear “Eleanor,” your comment reeks of judgment and self-righteousness. Have you never heard the words of an old Indian prayer that say, “Oh, Great Spirit, grant that I may not criticize my neighbor until I have walked a mile in his moccasins.”?

I find great hilarity in someone doing the very thing they accuse me of doing. I was merely wondering in my original post–“And sure. I know. It takes two people to make a marriage work and there is no possible way we can assign fault. Marriages, even celebrity marriages, are private. Who knows what happened behind closed doors? But I can’t help myself. When the world showers confetti on someone for grit and sheer determination, I can’t get past wondering what the ex-wife thinks about all this. And how the children feel seeing daddy holding hands with someone who is clearly not their mother.”

How does Lance Armstrong’s ex-wife feel after standing by his side for the more than five grueling years? How do his children feel? Does his seventh Tour de France victory have all the sheen of the previous victories in the eyes of his ex-wife and his little children? I don’t know. But I wonder.

Apparently, wondering is just too much for sweet “Eleanor.” She gets all sputtery and starts to confuse wondering for judging.

And then she expresses such great concern about my children! How sweet! (I can guess that “Eleanor” was the type of girl who in her younger years used to taunt other kids who were different than her. After all, here she is, judging me, a “pastor’s wife.” What impeccable behavior, a credit to society, really.)

But I digress. Let me answer “Eleanor’s” questions:

1) Do you really think you are in any position to judge a man you do not even know?

Yes. I do believe I am in a position to comment about the marriage of a public figure. Do you really think you are in a position to judge a woman you don’t even know? (That would be me.)

2) I am curious, does your personal experience cloud your perspective on the subject?

What do you think? I stated that it did. Do you have a problem with reading comprehension? Because I can go back over that part if you need. Now. Do you think your personal experiences shape your perspective? Clearly, they do. Everyone’s personal experiences shape their viewpoints. Duh.

3) Do you really feel that you are qualified to make such statements about a man you’ve never met?

Wait. Didn’t you already ask this? Well, here’s the thing, “Eleanor.” This here is a blog, where I speak about my life as it relates to the world around me. I am extremely qualified to express my own viewpoint on current events. In fact, I’m an expert on what I think about things. I’m an expert on what it feels like to be a child of a divorced parent–my parents racked up six divorces between the two of them (and their assorted spouses).

4) But who died and made you God?

Oh, such originality. I’ll have to say “none of the above.”

Now, for your last comment about President Bush . . . I’d like to know, “Do you really feel that you are qualified to make such statements about a man you’ve never met?”

“Eleanor” . . . thanks for stopping by. Next time, feel free to leave an email address or a link to a real blog or a self-addressed stamped envelope. Otherwise, your words are like passing gas in the wind. Stinky for a moment, but worth less than nothing.

Love and kisses,
Mel

p.s. I stand by my original statement. I can’t help but wonder about how Lance Armstrong’s children and ex-wife feel when they see him on television with his new girlfriend. I know I hated it when my parents broke up, but perhaps some people really enjoy going through life with divorced parents. I know it always gives holidays that extra-special complicated something you just can’t get from a mix!

p.p.s. “Eleanor,” can I recommend you read Elements of Style as soon as possible to help with your little punctuation problem? Take care!

Staring at Myself

My daughter is almost three years old and prefers to keep me within arm’s length. I told my husband today that if she were my boyfriend, I would break up. I need more space. I am totally not kidding.

She stands on the bathroom counter while I dry my hair and put on my make-up. Mostly, she peers at herself in the mirror, scrunching up her nose, pursing her lips, baring her teeth, flirting with herself. Today she was posing, a la Paris Hilton.

Then she noticed I was looking at her and she stopped her self-examination and grinned an embarrassed grin at me.

Sometimes, that’s how blogging feels to me. I started my first blog as an experiment with a few friends. “We’ll share our journals,” we said, “And see how the others live.”

The first time a stranger commented, I freaked out, a quiet, private little freak-out. Another time, I emailed a commenter to demand, “Who are you? And why are you commenting on my blog?”

Most of the time, though, I write with abandon, pretending I’m alone. I feel a little self-conscious when it’s all about me, me, me–but only when I picture the whole Internet watch me as I stare at myself.

And when I catch you looking at me, sure, I feel bashful for a moment. But I’m going to pretend that it’s just me here, and fifty of my closest friends who understand and won’t laugh at me behind my back.

And now I will commence the navel gazing.

All I have to say today is that I feel deflated and bummed out that my twin 12-year old boys are so often the target of bullies. Why are some kids such cruel brats? At the pool today, my husband noticed several boys mocking my twins during a game of water-basketball. He intervened, but was incensed afterward. A little later during “Adult Swim,” I walked to the grassy area to see what was going on–a cluster of kids had gathered out there–and just then, I heard a bony girl with bucked teeth say to my son with a sneer, “I don’t even know your name.” Then her cross-eyed brother said, “He’s stupid.” I strode up to that kid (the same boy who last year slapped and pinched my youngest son–but I’m too tired to find that post and link it) and said, “EXCUSE ME? DID I JUST HEAR YOU SAY SOMETHING UNKIND?”

He shrunk back and denied it. Then I said, “Good. Because we would not want to say unkind things here, would we?” That group of kids broke up and I told my son he should move away. And as we walked away, I told that skeleton of a girl my son’s name, not that she even realizes what a snot she is.

My boys just don’t seem to read social cues with any savvy. It’s disheartening, but at the same time, a week ago at Vacation Bible School, they did a great job of interacting with younger kids and adults, too. They were volunteers with excellent attitudes, so I have to hope that they will ultimately be fine, despite the bullies who dot the landscape like dog doo left behind by inconsiderate dog owners. Sometimes you have to scrape your shoe off and watch your step so it doesn’t happen again. I hope I can teach my boys that lesson eventually.

In the meantime, we’ll continue schooling them at home, away from the stench of people who have nothing better to do than pick on other kids.

Without Plot

My dad and stepmom had a long-running argument about the movie “2001: A Space Odyssey.” My stepmom loved the movie while my dad held it in disdain, sniffing contemptuously that it had no plot.

Sometimes, I worry that the problem with this blog is that it has no plot. If I’d written it in other decades of my life, the suspense would be killing you. Where will she enroll in college? Will she survive a summer working as a nanny? Who will she marry? Does her dad really die when he’s 47? How does the whole infertility thing work out? Does a birthmother choose her? Pregnant? She’s pregnant? When–and where–will the baby be born? Does her husband survive his throat cancer? Will the family move across the country or stay in rural Michigan?

Yeah, well, this blog occurs during a plotless part of my life. And here’s a terrible confession–on dismal, cloudy days when I’m feeling trapped and suffocated by the laundry, I think of horrible occurrences that might shake up my life. Even as I permit these wretched thoughts to amble through my mind, I scold myself. How dare I do anything but give thanks for the blessings in my life–my home, my husband, my children, my health, my friends, my extended family?

The thing about a crisis is that in short order, your meandering, messy, mundane life immediately narrows into a sharp focus, like sunlight through a magnifying glass narrows into one red-hot point of light. You don’t have a yard full of sunshine anymore, but a single searing inch of scorched grass. (Or a slug, if my kids have anything to do with it.)

Laundry doesn’t matter.
The dust under the beds doesn’t matter.
Cooking? No way.

All that matters is The Crisis.

It’s completely sick, of course, to long for a crisis. And I don’t, not really. But when I read that “good” blogs have a plot, I realized I am sans plot. Plotless. Empty, devoid of plot. Plot negative.

Wouldn’t that be a great blog title? “Without Plot.”

Well, sure, I do have a plot of sorts, but it’s not the type of plot you’ll find in any book sold in the grocery store. It’s the dull “lead a responsible life and raise responsible children” kind of plot.

I wonder if some people keep making bad decisions because they long for a plot, for the excitement of a page-turner? The truth seems to me that life is less like a novel and more like a slide show, the kind that your dad used to show you in the darkened living room after he got home from Europe. One castle looked like the next and the Alps? Boring when all you really want to do is call your friend and check the rumor mills for juicy gossip. But your dad kept clicking the slides, giving a droning explanation of each one, “and there, if you look at the left, you can see the blah, blah, blah, blah, and on the right, see that speck? That’s blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

See? Now, if I had a plot, I’d just tell you breathlessly about the latest trauma or drama. But I have no plot. Tomorrow we’ll wake up after the sun rises. Shower. Welcome DaycareKid and CuteBaby–he’s crawling now, his mom says. Play, keep kids from shoving each other, start laundry, make lunch, settle little ones down for naps, check email and blogs, answer the inevitable “what’s for dinner?” question, fold laundry, offer snacks, play some more, walk around the block, wait for moms to pick up their kids, cook dinner, eat dinner, clean up, give baths, read . . . and another day will end. I’m a girl with no plot.

Tomorrow will be sort of like today. And today was kind of like yesterday. It doesn’t make for exciting blog fodder, but it makes for a pretty good life. If you can stand the monotony.