I've decided the internet tries too hard to be perfect. And I, being part of The Matrix The Internet, am also guilty of this.
The way we present ourselves and our lives borders on ludicrous and sets an unrealistic standard. Our profile pictures are beautiful. Our homes are immaculate. Our dinners are perfectly photographed on charger plates and beside linen napkins. And don't even get me started on the bento box lunches, people. Those had me contemplating a tall bridge for a little while.
Today I read an article about home organization. Sweet, I thought to myself. I could use some organization ideas. So I clicked on the link - and felt instantly insert-female-version-of-emasculated-here.
First of all, their house is pretty much entirely white and cream coloured. And they have three kids. How does that even work? I have three kids and my house looks like a crack den. Also, they have a hearth room. Not a den with a fireplace in it. No. A fucking hearth room, everybody. I think that means "a living room clean enough that you can notice the fireplace" but I've never experienced that so I'm not sure.
And if all of this was the abnormal view through my web browser, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. But it's not. And it seems, to me, that we're upping the ante every year with immaculate countertops and flawless skin.
We've gone too far, folks. Too far.
Instead of calling my therapi$t, I decided I would help everyone by injecting a little bit of reality into the internet again. Goodness knows we need it. And so, here are a few confessions of my imperfect life.
1. First of all, this is what I look like on the internet because I understand camera angles and lighting and am a vain little bitch:
And this is what I actually look like most of the time:
I love a good profile picture, but they don't reflect how puffy and stress-faced I am. I'm really digging the #feministselfie365 project going on right now. I'm far too lazy to do it, but I salute those of you who are.
2. I am not listening to folk music or jazz or anything remotely classy right now. I'm listening to Snoop Dogg. It's a pretty degrading song. And I know all the words. And I'm enjoying it. And I still somehow consider myself a feminist. Who takes selfies.
3. I do not have a "special writing space" like other writers seem to have. I have an ugly old desk in my bedroom and a breakfast bar in the kitchen with a laptop on it, and I write from whichever place is quietest. Usually, both are loud. Also, both spaces are almost hoarder cluttered like my brain.
4. There is a dog bed next to my desk in thebedroom special writing space, where I am right now. The little dog - we have two - just barfed on her bed three times, then licked it up and went back to sleep. I kept listening to Snoop, pretended none of it happened, and can pretty much guarantee I won't be washing the dog bed until at least tomorrow.
5. I felt like writing instead of making dinner, so my kids will be having nachos and carrots. Not even oven nachos, but the microwaved kind. And then we will probably sit down and eat them while watching television.
6. I am really, really tired of feeling like the only school mom on the planet who can't seem to get her shit together. I hardly ever get back to teachers in a timely manner, forget to send the kids' library books back on library day at least 75% of the time, and have lost more permission forms than I've sent back. Oh, and my kids are sometimes late because I hit the snooze button one too many times. Every year I say I'm going to do better, and every year I realize I was lying to myself.
7. We don't have an organized mud room. In fact, we don't have a mud room, unless you count the rooms in the house where there is mud, which is probably all of them. And if that's the case, we have way more mud rooms than you do so no wonder we can't organize them.
8. Every ceiling in our house is a stucco "popcorn ceiling" and it doesn't offend my senses in the least. I'm completely indifferent to them. It's hardly noticeable unless you decide to look up all the time, and that would tell me that you have very boring decor and/or no children who occasionally throw projectiles at your head. I always snicker when people go into homes on HGTV shows and are completely disgusted by popcorn ceilings. You know what's more disgusting? Pretentiousness. First world problems. People who have too much time on their hands. Also people who judge other people for their likes and dislikes, but let's pretend I never said that.
9. Pretty much none of the meals I make can be photographed because snapping pictures takes precious seconds away where I could be stuffing the food into my face. Proof that I love food more than picture-taking foodies. Legit.
10. My chin had a baby chin a few years ago and now I have two chins. I would lose weight, but I think separating them would be cruel, like taking baby orcas away from their mothers. Also, see #9.
Wow. That was deliciously liberating. Maven out.
The way we present ourselves and our lives borders on ludicrous and sets an unrealistic standard. Our profile pictures are beautiful. Our homes are immaculate. Our dinners are perfectly photographed on charger plates and beside linen napkins. And don't even get me started on the bento box lunches, people. Those had me contemplating a tall bridge for a little while.
Today I read an article about home organization. Sweet, I thought to myself. I could use some organization ideas. So I clicked on the link - and felt instantly insert-female-version-of-emasculated-here.
First of all, their house is pretty much entirely white and cream coloured. And they have three kids. How does that even work? I have three kids and my house looks like a crack den. Also, they have a hearth room. Not a den with a fireplace in it. No. A fucking hearth room, everybody. I think that means "a living room clean enough that you can notice the fireplace" but I've never experienced that so I'm not sure.
And if all of this was the abnormal view through my web browser, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. But it's not. And it seems, to me, that we're upping the ante every year with immaculate countertops and flawless skin.
We've gone too far, folks. Too far.
Instead of calling my therapi$t, I decided I would help everyone by injecting a little bit of reality into the internet again. Goodness knows we need it. And so, here are a few confessions of my imperfect life.
1. First of all, this is what I look like on the internet because I understand camera angles and lighting and am a vain little bitch:
And this is what I actually look like most of the time:
I love a good profile picture, but they don't reflect how puffy and stress-faced I am. I'm really digging the #feministselfie365 project going on right now. I'm far too lazy to do it, but I salute those of you who are.
2. I am not listening to folk music or jazz or anything remotely classy right now. I'm listening to Snoop Dogg. It's a pretty degrading song. And I know all the words. And I'm enjoying it. And I still somehow consider myself a feminist. Who takes selfies.
3. I do not have a "special writing space" like other writers seem to have. I have an ugly old desk in my bedroom and a breakfast bar in the kitchen with a laptop on it, and I write from whichever place is quietest. Usually, both are loud. Also, both spaces are almost hoarder cluttered like my brain.
4. There is a dog bed next to my desk in the
5. I felt like writing instead of making dinner, so my kids will be having nachos and carrots. Not even oven nachos, but the microwaved kind. And then we will probably sit down and eat them while watching television.
6. I am really, really tired of feeling like the only school mom on the planet who can't seem to get her shit together. I hardly ever get back to teachers in a timely manner, forget to send the kids' library books back on library day at least 75% of the time, and have lost more permission forms than I've sent back. Oh, and my kids are sometimes late because I hit the snooze button one too many times. Every year I say I'm going to do better, and every year I realize I was lying to myself.
7. We don't have an organized mud room. In fact, we don't have a mud room, unless you count the rooms in the house where there is mud, which is probably all of them. And if that's the case, we have way more mud rooms than you do so no wonder we can't organize them.
8. Every ceiling in our house is a stucco "popcorn ceiling" and it doesn't offend my senses in the least. I'm completely indifferent to them. It's hardly noticeable unless you decide to look up all the time, and that would tell me that you have very boring decor and/or no children who occasionally throw projectiles at your head. I always snicker when people go into homes on HGTV shows and are completely disgusted by popcorn ceilings. You know what's more disgusting? Pretentiousness. First world problems. People who have too much time on their hands. Also people who judge other people for their likes and dislikes, but let's pretend I never said that.
9. Pretty much none of the meals I make can be photographed because snapping pictures takes precious seconds away where I could be stuffing the food into my face. Proof that I love food more than picture-taking foodies. Legit.
10. My chin had a baby chin a few years ago and now I have two chins. I would lose weight, but I think separating them would be cruel, like taking baby orcas away from their mothers. Also, see #9.
Wow. That was deliciously liberating. Maven out.