Growing up I had a little red leather diary. It was locked at all times. No one had the key except me. All my thoughts, dreams and childhood humiliations were safe from the outside world. In that red book I wrote - "Dear Diary: Roger talked to me today after school. I don't know if he likes me though because he walked home with Susan instead. What more can I do? Maybe I'll wear my best dress tomorrow and see what happens. I hate Susan." After each entry I would hide the secret book away so no one like my snoopy little sister could find it. Oh god if any of my thoughts got out I'd be ruined and could never go to school again.
What the hell happened to private thoughts? Just a week ago I announced on Twitter and Facebook that I can't find a bra I like. In fact "I hate my bra" has become an ongoing publically announced personal drama. Excuse me? I said that? Yes, I did. Not only that, but Saturday I mentioned to the entire world that I had an ice pack on my butt because I fell off my horse. HA! I've openly announced: how looking in the mirror scares the bejesus out of me, that I hate national holidays, don't know if I resemble Carrie Bradshaw or Roseanne, am the queen of one date, can't follow Mapquest directions, did not have sex with Tiger Woods, and that I ran into a man I dated who had no recollection of who I was! I also announced my mother's age. She wants to kill me. Nothing is sacred or secret. We have become the collective consciousness of the "National Enquirer."
There are no secrets. Zippo. How did this happen? It's 24/7 breaking news and personal exposure. I know too much about everyone, including people I don't know, don't want to know and will never meet. Why isn't this embarrassing? As I mentioned I'm as guilty as the gazillion folks on Twitter and Facebook. I doubt anyone, even my closest friends care about the fact that I can't find a new bra. Although if I did have sex with Tiger Woods they would want the details but alas I could only announce I was sitting on a bag of ice. Btw, that seemed to have helped. See I did it again. Who cares? I miss my little red diary with all my secrets locked safely away. Except if you do know where I can buy a bra Facebook or Tweet me.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
7 comments:
Barbara Krueger wants to know.... or does she?
It's just amazing, is'nt it?
Weird, but amazing.
And I hate the Enquirer. But love twitter. I must be weird and amazing too.
Of course I hate the Enquirer also but it's funny that's what all this endless chatter reflects!
Jenny Holzer might want to know also!
Dear Gail Maria
Yes our lives are out there for everyone to see and so what? It's fun. Before blogger, twitter and Facebook we had to pay $60.00 an hour to talk to a therapist that didn't really care about our bra, ice packs or sex with Tiger Woods. Ok so we pay for internet access but that's $60.00 per month, a lot cheaper than sitting in front of an old ugly therapists.
Bra's suck, they are like a belt around our ribs, why can we just go bra less? Who the hell invented the "over the shoulder bolder holder" as that was the name way back when. I hate them. BUT I like to see a woman wearing a nice bra, yup double standards you might say but nothing like a Victoria Secret bra and they last for ever.
You are talking about you and your little red diary and making sure your sister didn't read it? OMG! I had a diary too and I used to hide it downstairs in the pantry where my sister wouldn't even think of looking because if she did, I would be in big trouble and I am talking BIG TROUBLE.
My diary now is a blog that I can block. I wonder if there is a DEAR DIARY online. Now THAT would be cool, however anyone can hack into it and read it so what's the point?. I remember once writing on my diary "Dear Diary, I am glad I have you and I will make sure not even God can read you"
I found my diary last time I visited my mother, I brought it back home with me and decided to read it.I was funny, things that I thought of, said, acted on, dreamed of and my code words, I remembered most pages written, where I was, what happened etc.
"When I grow up and have money I am going to get get my boobs taken out, I want the doctors to take it all away, I want a size A so I can wear t-shirts and not bra's, my mom makes me wear dresses and bras and I hate them both. When I grown up I will burn all my dresses and chop off my breast" (I actually went and got my diary, found that page and typed it word by word, ok it was written in Spanish so I had to translate it but same words).I am a grown up now, I have a job and I still have my size C boobs but you can look in my closet and not find ONE SINGLE DRESS, no pink, no lace, just pants and shirts and t-shirts and 2 Armani pants suits that are FABULOUS! oh and a drawer full of Victoria Secret bras and tons of boxer shots. Just shhhh don't tell anyone. LMAO
You can tell Jen that I care about your bras and I don't even know you. I also care about your poor little butt and would love to read your diary.
This is the communications era. We have postal letters, radio, television, internet, emails, voice mails, picture mails, blogs, twitter, facebook, monster board, linkedin. What we, newscasters, politicians, comedians and talkshow hosts don't have is something worthwhile to say.
That's why I care about your damn bra!!! (pant, pant) N
Uh oh Dr. Ruth, now everyone knows what was in your secret diary. Glad you rid yourself of all those dresses. I like dresses but as for bras? Well everyone knows that story. And now they know yours. HA!
Anonymous, Gail doesn't havet o tell me,I can read it honey and i do care about gails booty and bras and much much more.
Gail honey, I let the world know just two lines of my diary not the entire 365 days baby.. If they read it they would want to either become nuns pr priests or want a date. hahaha.
Love your blogs keep on going
Post a Comment