Hi! Howdy! How goes it, mom, grandma, pops, boyfriend's mom, mom's best girlfriend, family members and other various oldsters? How were the sixties? Pretty great, huh? Yeah, I had some dreams, but they were just clouds in my coffee. Oh you guys get that reference, don't you? Of course you do, it's Carly Simon, she wrote kids books you bought me in the 80's and sang songs you saw in person with dad and you know, she's great, huh? I know you and Nora and Gail and Tom down at the golf course yuck it up about the good old days quite a bit. What about that time you all took the kids to Tahoe and got drunk on that bottle of red wine Barry brought from Mendochino? Man, he was so smug on that trip because he had just done that small walk on part in Thirty Something and remember no matter how hard you tried to get the kids to pass out so you could all hit the hot tub they just wouldn't? Gee, that was a good time. Amy kept coming downstairs to say she was thirsty, oh man, those were the days. Miss those early 80's, yup. Oh, I'm sorry, what am I doing here on Nikki's blog? What? Oh how did I get here? Wow, sorry, I must of been in a fugue state where I thought she took the 'Stay Out!' sign off her bedroom door. Whoops, my bad, I'll just mosey on out of here because I'm an OLDSTER.
Look, I get it, I'm an adult, but seriously, if you're in your 60's and at one time in your life you screamed at me to shut up, put my seat belt back on, and then handed me a bottle of water and a zip lock bag full of grapes PLEASE, STOP READING MY BLOG!!! New rule, if you were born between 1945 and 1955 and you've met me in person, please, visit The Hairpin, or perhaps, Rookie, both fine blogs that the hip kids read. Lots of jokes and tokes.
This goes for Facebook too. Don't you get it mom and dad? Your kids don't want to be Facebook friends with you. STOP ASKING. It's not because we don't love you, it's because we do. Look, the internet, it was ours first, obviously you're welcome here, but until a few years ago it was a bit like being under the bleachers and smoking a joint. It felt big and small at the same time and it was inclusive and safe. We could be ourselves and we didn't have to watch our back because you were watching Masterpiece Theatre and yelling at me to get a job. Now it feels like the PE teacher is trying to climb under the bleachers with us and is telling lame jokes and lighting the pipe with a gag lighter shaped like a dildo, its weird and uncomfortable, because you know, he's the PE teacher. That's what this is like now. Before grandpa sent me horrible political forwards and mom didn't know what an e-card was. I could be a public person because no one knew me on the internet. My blog started in 2006 in my Brooklyn bedroom and it was me and million strangers. I didn't give a crap about who read my blog because there was no chance in hell I would ever meet them. I appreciate that it has a large following and has grown over the years- no matter how much that continues to baffle my mind because it still feels like the majority of what I post is inane navel gazing, lady versions of he's hot and fart jokes- this thing also sort of acts as my website now, maybe it's time to get a real one of those, who knows. But that's kind of the other point, this lil bloggy blog is how I present myself to the world, editors and such, it's written in a
persona, dontcha know?
Even this post! Talk about meta, right? And I don't want to have to worry about offending you or embarrassing myself because no matter how much you say you do, you really don't know what that means. The whole persona thing. It's the same reason you aren't allowed to read my fiction, dad, because you automatically think it's about you. Even when the character is a twelve year old blind girl with tourettes. And that's the entire point on top of a bagel toasted point, I don't want to have to think about thinking about you when I'm you know, creating or whatever. It's great that writing from this here lil blog has even been anthologized. I love it! But mom, dad, it's kind of like my internet journal. Nothing on here is private, but boundaries, yo. It's seriously made it less fun and I feel kind of dorky and embarrassed having to hear that other members of my family and or spiritual extended love ones, recent and otherwise, read it. I mean, Schadenfreude,
doods! ever hear of it? Obviously I can't stop you from reading my blog, no? But maybe I can stop you from talking to me about it? Possibly? That's the other thing, guys, the internet, it's sort of like those Vegas commercials, you know the ones, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? Yeah, like that. No one actually talks about their blogs face to face. You talk about blow jobs, new tea at Whole Foods and trying to save money to buy a vintage couch on Craigslist. So you know, shhh.
The internet is littered with the carcasses of dead blogs, sad lonely blogs aging in the wind. I will bet dollar to doughnuts I know why.
Love- really, honestly, tons of love-, bratty brat face, who do I think I am, ungrateful smart alek, too big for my britches, narcissistic, you're no spring chicken yourself Miss 31 and getting older, Nicole
Here, this ones for you guys, I know you like the Willy J.
Actually, an amendment. If you can name the person below without doing a google image search, you can still read my blog. xo
