Of Blogging, and First Dates

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I wasn’t going to write today. I don’t typically write every day. I had a few thoughts rolling around my brain of what I wanted to write about next; they’re an eclectic and somewhat schizophrenic collection of ideas that have little to do with one another.

Todd and I worked on one of them together, several arctic nights ago. It began by the fire and ended in bed. We slid our bodies between silken sheets and soft blankets, he picked up his toy and I picked up mine and….

He continued his Angry Birds game and I pulled up the Notes icon on my own mobile device.

I took down notes on my phone about one of my creative thoughts (coming soon), because if I got up again the animals of the house would have expectations.

So yesterday I posted about blogging vs. reality and I didn’t expect the reactions I received. Hell – I didn’t expect any at all. The most I ever see is a “like” here and there; otherwise the readers are really just ghosts that come and go, silently.

So. Now I’m wondering if this will affect my output and content. To be relevant, and not just a “whatever” poster. I guess. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I just say thank you and keep moving forward.

I really want Todd to guest post. He seems reluctant. And while he shares my ridiculous and often bizarre sense of humor, he has a preference for privacy that rivals my salacious Gemini nature of the shock factor. He is amused by my naughty jokes amongst friends, my improper remarks about our sex life to him in intentional earshot of others; however, to write about what really goes on behind our bedroom door, or when the kids are away and the cat is sleeping at the foot of the bed … is that-which-shall-remain-sacred.

I once made a remark to a gay friend that had everything to do with my mom’s shop vac – I said, Todd’s is much bigger. It truly wasn’t spoken out of turn, but when I saw his reaction, I winked. Todd, however, laughed it off and really – who in their right mind would be angry with that implication? Besides, on the heels of yesterday’s post and in the interest of honesty, Todd really does have a big… shop vac.

Anyway. As we careen toward another shiny object… on a different arctic night (we’ve had several here in our region of the world)… Todd remembered! At least we think he remembered, and since I’ve rendered what facts he presented to support this memory as highly likely… I think he uncovered the mystery of When Our First Date was.

A number of times I had admitted to not remembering our first date, and Todd was equally perplexed though perhaps it was irrelevant anyway because, today. I said before that while I don’t remember our first date, I do remember spending New Year’s Eve together.

Well, the mystery has been solved. I think. Through a series of what should have been the most obvious deductions… Wait! Back up.

Todd and I met in the fall of 1984. But, as my mom taught me that girls don’t call boys (or wear black, whatever the hell that meant in the 80s) and I was shy anyway and would never have flat out told a boy I was interested (which really deserves a separate post), and therefore he had no idea that I was because he’s also oblivious – and yes, that’s in the present tense because he IS and shamelessly admits to it – we never went out.

There was an awful lot of “let’s insert myself near this person so they can’t miss me” behavior, but it wasn’t until the fall of 1985 that we danced around each other again. And it wasn’t until another young man named Tom told Todd he’d better ask me out before someone else did, though I have no idea what insight he could possibly have had since I never spoke two words to him. Sometime thereafter, the timeline of which remains a mystery, Todd did ask me out.

However, the following deductions have led to the conclusion that the actual real First Date was, in fact New Year’s Eve. (Which would also explain why we can’t remember another first date – because there wasn’t one.)

#1 – Todd’s birthday is in mid-December, and we didn’t spend that day together, nor was it acknowledged.

#2 – Wrestling was ongoing, so there were meets and tournaments going on on Saturdays, which meant we likely wouldn’t have gone out then either. Except for maybe a rendezvous or two in our cars, though I can assure you I was Not That Kind of Girl. Yet.

#3 – We both had jobs. He worked for KFC after school and weekends, and I worked in my family’s restaurant which was over 45 minutes away.

#4 – We didn’t exchange gifts or acknowledge Christmas.

Therefore, my Murdoch man determined that New Year’s Eve had to be the night. Not that night. Just the first date night.

I’m so excited by this revelation, if only because I’m sick of forgetting and/or not remembering shit. It’s embarrassing. And annoying.

And to think these memories were triggered by someone else’s first date. Yes, there was a first date around here recently. And that’s all I’m going to say about that, because, privacy.

New Year’s Eve 1985/86 was spent on the floor in my bedroom, two floors away from my parents who I am still shocked allowed this first boy into my bedroom on our first date and trusted us. I had a stereo system on which we played my collection of Prince vinyl and talked for hours about lord knows what. I’m certain that his lips found mine somewhere during that long conversation. I’m certain that I melted in the glow of this intensity I’d only written about in journals before.

I had no idea where that night would end. Living in the moment and flying by the seat of my pants is an earmark of Gemini existence. I’m sure I’m a young soul, still learning the lessons old souls like Todd have known for centuries. It still thrills me to kiss him and smell the very same smell of his 17-year-old skin. It stirs something in me I’m afraid I’d need another blog to specialize in. Nevertheless, I remain blown away that that night was over 30 years, and several relationships and a marriage ago, and that we ended up here anyway in spite of it all.

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Blogging vs. Reality

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Photo copyright Taraka & The Tara Chronicles, 2018.

There is something that has been bothering me for a while. Like anything you read on social media, unless you truly know someone – know them personally – you can’t believe everything you read.

As bloggers we present ourselves the way we want to be seen – all our faults hanging out on the washline, or all our triumphs, adventures, and happy lives waving like a flag on a blustery day. The relative anonymity of the Internet allows us the freedom to be who we want to be. Our words influence your perception of who we are.

When I started a blog nearly 8 years ago, it was intended to be a creative expression of my life as it really was – and shared on my Facebook page with friends and family. I was honest. No names were changed at the time, though there were some that were left out for privacy. My readers were all people I knew personally.

Until there was one. I don’t know how she found me, I have to assume through a mutual friend, and our mutual friend reached out to me to tell me that her friend enjoyed my blog and that it inspired her. That bowled me over. I had no idea that anyone really cared that much about what I wrote, since I really was writing for me – albeit on a platform that could be readily viewed by others.

And then my life turned upside down and sideways. I wrote about it and suddenly, before long, there were friends pm-ing me to commiserate, and/or admit to feeling the same way about a marriage gone terribly wrong. It was an enlightening time, and also a time of personal growth for me – that I chose to share – and bare – for all the world to see, were they reading.

I started it for accountability. Because I needed desperately not to fall back into that trap of least resistance, where my stagnant and abusive life would continue indefinitely out of fear of the unknown. But then it became larger than me, and I realized that my words were reaching others who needed their own motivation to make their lives better too.

And I continued forward. I write what inspires me, I write my mind – so that I can free my brain weasels and not go comfortably numb, or just batshit crazy. I don’t think about what you want to hear, yet it is still a whisper in the back of my mind that it has to be somewhat interesting or I become just another self-serving jerk writing garage nobody cares about.

To that end, I started reading a blogger several years ago because he was funny and his content was relatable and incited some level of compassion for him because of his circumstances. He had published a book. I was envious – that 1) he had done it and 2) I had no idea WHAT I could write at such length that anyone would actually want to read it. But beyond that, his posts began to read more and more self-centered – more me, me, me and less how can I help/affect others? That’s how I saw it, and I stopped following.

I am careful who I follow – mostly because, Time. I don’t have the time to read every blog out there that interests me, and I think many of us feel the same way. And so – before I get too far ahead of myself – I just want to thank those of you who do follow and read me. I appreciate you more than you know. You keep me inspired to keep writing. Whatever it is.

I follow, literally, a handful of bloggers out there, all very different in tone than my own. That’s IT. I found Jenny Lawson by happy accident some years ago, and if you know her, there’s no need to explain why she’s still on my list. I NEED her humor. She is like a relative you look forward to seeing every holiday – a sentiment I’m sure is shared with the thousands of others who follow her. On her site I found another intriguing blog – and haven’t looked back.

It’s rated M for mature audiences for every reason why and I never miss a post. While she writes under an alias to protect her identity and those around her, due to the content, there’s an undercurrent of honesty and real-ness to her posts that is poignant and riveting. Like the book you can’t put down. She’s also very open to comments about her experiences and intelligent, successful in her own right. I’ve recently realized I’ve been following for 4 years! I talk to her like a friend, though I am keenly aware that she is only the person writing the blog and I don’t truly know her.

Through her blog I found two others – one that is truly unique and worthy of its own television series and I wish to God I could help him get this off the ground myself. And I like him. He’s like an old friend in a faraway place, we share occasional comments to each other’s posts and appreciation for one another – though we’ve never met.

The other, equally as entertaining but a bit more journalistic, is another blogger who also goes by his real name and has published books that I have on my ever-growing list of reads. He is a community servant nowadays so we see less blog posting and more – because we are Facebook friends – daily life stuff. I especially love his story about connecting with his wife – another epic second chance love story that rivals my own and it’s heartening to know there are others like us in the world who are that blessed. His face makes me smile. Especially when hers is next to his.

I also started following a “girl” via Ann’s blog (mentioned above) and once I started reading I couldn’t stop. She self-described as a woman in an abusive relationship from which she was trying to extricate herself. Her feelings and experiences were palpable to me, and I commented often with my thoughts of what she should do. Some of her content disturbed me. I won’t say I’m clairvoyant by any means, but rather that experience has taught me well and I can read a situation. She seemed to know what to do about it, but it seemed also to be taking longer than I would’ve allowed. And then – just as suddenly – she disappeared. She blogged all this shit about her abusive ex who threatened her very life, and then she ….disappeared. I allowed myself to get sucked into this stranger’s “life” and now have no way to know if she’s okay, or dead. Had to let that one go.

And, so it goes – I learned a valuable lesson in getting caught up in strangers’ lives. Who’s to say she was who she said she was? Or that any of her story was real? Could this be true of Ann, too? Or the other women I loosely follow? Or those two men I mentioned above? What if they aren’t who they say they are, but just truly creative and fictional writers? **

So, in a way, this might be considered a public service announcement about the world wide web and the social media contained within: nothing is as it seems. Don’t believe everything you read. Double check your facts, especially in cases of news reports. And take those bloggers with a grain of salt.

Even me – though I hereby solemnly do declare that my real name IS Tara and everything I write herein is as true as I can accurately write it based on my failing 48-year-old brain. I like to write with a younger voice, because I feel like a kid sometimes, but I am 48. Some names are still changed for privacy.

I write what moves me, what motivates me, what makes me laugh, love, and cry… and I do write to those I think are reading me.

What do you want to see more of, here?

Addendum: I do want to clarify that I’m not suggesting that the bloggers I follow aren’t authentic. They ARE. I am simply pointing out that “anyone” can start a blog and write what appear to be real stories about their lives which may, or may not, be true. I even called myself out – just to make the point that – if you don’t know me, how can you be sure I am who I say I am? Or that Todd exists? Just food for thought, that’s all. Don’t avoid the blog world – there’s so much good stuff out there. You’ll know when you’ve found a bard, or when you’ve hit gold.