I read some of the reserved women of the Interwebs, some with cropped hair and wide patterned headbands and others with perfect kitchens and flourless recipes, and I wonder why I’m just so different from them. I wonder why they portray their lives as pictures of perfection, display windows of the 50s, why everything seems wrapped up in a swell and trendy bow, while much of the time I want to punch someone squarely in the face. Theirs can’t be reality. Inexhaustible supplies of laughter and credit and odorless shoes cannot exist in a world beyond blogging.
Life as I know it is much more complex, messier. Life is bedhead without conditioner. It’s wearing tights even though you are 35 years old and just too lazy to buy good hosiery. It’s men you also want to punch squarely in the face and a smattering of friends you’d like to tar and feather if only it were still in fashion. It’s both exhaustingly and delightfully dirty and I don’t understand all the efforts made to clean it up for the camera. Unless it really is that clean for some people. Immaculate perception?
Remember my birthday? Your sweet words meant the absolute world. That day I also spent one full hour of therapy bawling over my therapist losing her husband, selfishly wishing as I faced her that my dad was front and center for my birthday, if only to send me one of those Blue Mountain e-cards he both labored and giggled over annually. Another friend’s cat lost a leg. So yes. It was a lovely birthday and my introverted mother sang the traditional song at the top of her introverted lungs. But it would be a lie if I covered it in certrine satin bows and fat free buttercream icing and bracelets that arrived from European travel completely intact. Or not intact at all.
I just will never fit. Because life, mine at least, doesn’t fit into a lip gloss tube and all that I know isn’t perfect. And neither Hallmark nor real life actually work that way.
55 Comments
Nobody I know has a life that would fit into a lip gloss tube. Perhaps those pictures of perfection are just wishful thinking on the part of those who post them?
Anyway, Happy Belated Birthday, Kris.
Oh, honey, my life isn’t like that either. I don’t know one real person’s whose life is. But I do love when we all tell the truth on our blogs. Then we all do fit. In our own little non-fitting way.
A clean kitchen is the sign of a dull life. Nobody who is LIVING has a life like that. So, cheers to us, the livers… and cheers to our livers.
Well, this is why I love you so much. Because you’re REAL. Those people who have blogs who write about how perfect things are, that isn’t interesting. THAT IS NOT LIFE.
I think those people are just lying to themselves. I say we take those people out and get them trashed. Then we’ll hear some stories!
People write blogs where they say their lives are perfect? Ick! I’m glad I don’t read blogs like that! I like blogs like yours - where you write about real life and then I can say, “omg, I totally thought I was the only one who keeps /a>a shriveled fifth of a green pepper in their fridge.“
You know how I feel about perfect people and those people who claim to be Susie Perfect Sunshine are usually raging alcoholics or have strange secret sexual fetishs.
“Don’t go changin’….”
Kris, I am a new reader to your blog and love the fact that you are honest and not so “perfect.” It makes me realize I’m not the only one that doesn’t have it all together, even at 34, and who doesn’t know if I ever will. I like the line about you wanting to punch someone in the face most of the time. I am so there. I may start my own blog about my everyday trials. Sort of like therapy I suppose. — Danielle
I read your blog because you are real, funny and original. Stay real.
And what do those women have against flower anyway? I like chicken-fried twinkies!
Those women can’t possibly be real - or at least can’t possibly be honest.
Maybe they, unlike brave brave Kris, are just to frightened to put the truth out there.
The Martha Stewart blogs are boring. No one is that perfect.
Well, except for me…
Happy late birthday… I suck.
Here’s a present just for you.
Unless I’m going somewhere, I usually just throw my hair up in a ponytail, uncombed.
My house is a wreck 90% of the time.
I have a table that is strictly for holding the mountain of laundry I wash and dry but can ever seem to get folded.
My children are heathens. Several of which I have to remind on a regular basis what utensils are for.
I could go on.
I hope this made you feel not so alone…
OMG what blogs are you reading!?!? Blech.
Although, you know, I think when it’s other people’s lives we tend to gloss over the mess and notice the trendy bows more than we do in our own.
Someone told me they wanted to “be me” once. About a week after I’d written about wanting to kill myself.
That is why I read your blog. Life is not clean and orderly and every day you have to make a choice whether to cry or laugh.
Listen, you: you’re perfect. Just the way you are.
my life is far from perfect, I’m just better at blogging when I’m happy. When I disappear for a month? It’s because I’m crabby as hell that whole time.
I never wished you a proper Happy Birthday, but I hope it’s not too too late now. Happy Birthday!
I imagine those perfect people are incredibly boring. Or lying.
It’s the imperfection that makes life interesting, that makes people interesting. I adore reading you because you’re rough around the edges, like all the best people are.
I tried to read another blog for awhile but all she talked about was planning her wedding, honeymoon, etc. It was so dull I couldn’t even read it while I was supposed to be working. But I am daily grateful for finding your blog. You and your blog rock.
Immaculate perfection. Exactly.
What blogs are you reading, woman? I must not have any of these in my Reader (thank god!).
There are more of us that don’t fit than do. That’s the thing no one tells us so we have to discover it for ourselves.
Whenever I see a mom with three kids that are all perfectly dressed and perfectly well behaved, I know what the truth is.
Pods are in the basement.
The blog is a stage…we don’t get to see what’s backstage. Perfectly happy or a total mess, we will never know. Either one could be true, and either one is really ok.
At the risk of sounding like a broken record I’ll chime in also to say that those blogs with the perfect lives displayed are lies. Everyone’s life is messy, some people just aren’t brave enough to admit it. That used to be me but I’m working on it. You inspire me to be more honest about it actually, and remind me that it is perfectly OK to be me, OCD and quasi-alcoholism included.
First, I love your blog. I am so ready for you to write a book so I can buy a bunch of copies and give them to my friends and successfully do my part to spread the gospel of Kris. “Immaculate perfection”…you have such a way with words. Such a talent, you!
Second, I am glad you don’t “fit” into this category of women you describe who bear a striking resemblance to fembots and stepford wives. Beyond knowing the right mix of baking soda and vinegar for the optimal cleaning results or the trick to get chewing gum out of hair, what else are these women offering? Is there any depth? What good is picture perfect façade if you’re empty on the inside? I’m sensitive. I feel things. I cry and I get raccoon eyes from my eye make up. While I used to try conceal the those streams of mascara running down my face because according to society I should be cold and plastic and not make a scene, I now wear them as a badge of honor. I’ve struggled with façade vs. feelings all of my life. I’ve decide to embrace the feelings. I’m starting to love that my heart is sewn permanently to my sleeve. All this to say that I’m glad you’re not a robot.
Okay okay, I’ll stop with the gushing. Now go start that book already.
I agree with the previous 22 comments that those “perfect” blogs are full of it. And also? Your blog kicks ass. And also? Thanks for your honesty.
I am so not perfect it isn’t even funny. Used to try to be when I was in my 30’s. Almost had a nervous breakdown - saw a shrink, got my head straight and now I am ok with my not perfectness. You know they make drugs for this sort of thing - right?
And, oh yeah, stop reading those blogs - they are probably full of lies anyway!
But you do fit. We’re all square pegs in round holes, but we still manage to squeeze our way through and meet in the bottom of the box. It’s those seemingly perfect folks who are the anomalies.
If it makes you feel any better: I have dishes/utensils/pots/pans that I toss in the garbage, just because it seems too challenging to clean them. And, when company comes over, I shove all the remaining dirty dishes in the oven.
I think your life, as portrayed here, is the perfect balance of reality and humor. You’re bold. I’m not. And I like reading about boldness, and all the little details of life. Complicated and simple. Have a great weekend!
I wonder how much of the perfect gloss we apply ourselves. It’s not our life, not our hurts and mess and despair, and so it’s easier to ignore the smudges around the edges. They’re not our smudges, cause us no pain. But they’re there. Everyone has them. And we all know it, when we take the time to remember.
I imagine there are plenty of people who read your blog and want to be you, want your ineffable coolness and your clever turn of phrase, want your hair, your single girl DC life. They see you and wonder why they can’t fit like you do.
So just stay gold, Pony Boy. Stay gold.
Inexhaustible supplies of laughter and credit and odorless shoes cannot exist in a world beyond blogging
This is how I feel every month when I read my Real Simple magazine (that’s why I’m letting my subscription end).
The way I see it is this: writing (or any representation of ourselves at all) can only be a snapshot of a moment. If someone took a snapshot of you, hair done, lips glossy, sipping a martini fabulously, we would think what exactly? We would have no idea about your 3-legged cat or tumultuous relationship with Mom. So, these bloggers who have everything seemingly perfect obviously don’t. It’s just that they’re choosing to give us a different snapshot of their lives.
We could discuss why that might be; maybe they want a place–not to vent–where everything is perfect. The point is that is doesn’t matter. They’re choosing to represent themselves one way, and you’re choosing another way.
People say they don’t read the “perfect” blogs because they’re boring, but the thing is - they do! I can name tons of them that I *know* people read…and admittedly, I read them too. I read them because they are pretty, shiny forms of escapism for me - fancy kitchen aid mixers, lip gloss, J. Crew chino collection and all!
But, most often I enjoy and relate to more of the blogs like yours - ones with depth, introspection, empty fridges (that post will make me laugh FOREVER!).
I hate to sound so judgmental, because that’s not really the way I am, but sometimes I just want to shake the pretty shiny bloggers and say ENOUGH ALREADY! TELL US ABOUT THE TIME YOU DRANK 3 MARGARITAS AND A BOTTLE OF WINE AND PUKED IN THE FRONT SEAT OF YOUR CAR!
I felt like that for years, like their was some list of instructions that everyone had but me.
Now I know that reality makes me far happier than fantasy, even when it’s crap reality.
Because those Leave It To Beaver bloggers bore the fuck out of me.
Am I not supposed to be wearing tights? DAMMIT!
No one fits - some people just lie more.
Who are these whorebuckets with the picture-perfect lives? I write to assure myself I’m not the only crazy out there… and I’m so definitely not ;-)
You are the real thing, young lady (and yes, I can say that because I’m a bit older than you). And that is why I love to read your blog. You remind me that none of us are perfect - but some of us are pretty damned smart and funny.
Yes, I mean you. I hope I mean me, too, but one must be modest.
Reality Bites! I vote for living in your own little world. Sleep over?
Great post. Thank you. You remind me of a couple of women I know, them wrapped up in one, in a good way. Glad to have found your blog.
Peace,
A
And thank our lucky stars for that. A life so uncluttered and sanitary is a life that I’m quite certain would also be boring, dull and predictable. I have nothing against women/men/people who have beautifully clean kitchens and no issues, but I admit to wondering about their sanity. Dirt… dimension…things not quite fitting a Hallmark card are what I call a delightful life. =-)
Blogs are just a snapshot of what we want to share with the world, you know? I’m comfortable being quirky, so that’s what I share. I suppose some people are comfortable being clean, and that’s what they share. What always surprises me, though, is that we all tend to feel alone in the same ways. Which I think kind of means none of us are alone. We’re all in this big, messy boat together.
Love to you!
Wait? No tights? I am pushing 40 and I had no idea.
I’m sure those perfect women have their demons. Maybe they leash them with the headbands - but leashes are a temporary solution.
I’m sorry to hear about you crying - but I’m glad that you are you - just as you are. Online at least.
And haven’t you heard? Dark tights are back in. My chunky calves are thrilled.
My life would NEVER fit into a lip gloss tube… NEVER.
if you know that type of person, though, everything always does come crashing down around them. and even though i knew they “clean it up” for everyone, i find myself shocked each and every time that it was all only a facade the entire time. part of me always falls for the facade. but that doesn’t make it not a facade.
I don’t have a perfect life, or a perfect blog, or a perfect pair of shoes. My life is all about imperfection. And that’s why I like you so, like your blog, and admire you tremendously.
Happy Belated to you, fellow Scorpio! My big day was yesterday.
And that’s why I read you.
(well, that, and the delicious sentence structure.)
(Oh, and I LOVE what Gwen said. Particularly the Outsiders reference.)
(going now. No more parenthesis.)
I think those people just talk about the good parts of their lives. It’s just one side. Everybody’s messy.
Of course, your life will never fit in that lip gloss tube. But reach in to get it out of your pocket, turn to let the light catch you just right, then apply it langourously. Wow.
See, you can turn it on whenever you want; that’s what makes you more than the equal of any lip gloss chick.
People who do not share their whole selves and only show the good parts are the lonliest people on the planet, because only in sharing the good and the bad can we truly be accepted for who we really are.
I <3 you lots for the real you! :)
Stepford wives who blog about their perfect lives seem to not have the freedom that you do to live an interesting life. And tights are great because you don’t have to shave your legs as often.
Those kind of people in real life are even worse, perfection seems to be the new normal and its doing my head in! My life falls apart piece by piece like the layers of a dried up red onion, once the companion of half a green pepper at the back of my fridge! Whilst their lifes look all reinforced, sound, so solid and bloody perfect…even knowing that its not all true doesn’t dampen my urge to smack them squarely in their smug faces.
Having to present a perfect front to the outside world means trying to control and cover up a lot of actual life - messy, un-bow-tied, non-shiny life. Who wants to do that? I’m so sorry your dad couldn’t be there for it, but I’m glad you had a good, and very real, birthday.
Maybe all those happy shiny blogs are because those people are BORING! I know that’s my problem…
I love coming here to read your writing and hear about your days…don’t gloss anything over for us…we love you just the way you are.
I think the real-time equivalent of these perfect bloggers (I know exactly what you mean) are those who, when asked, think everyone is “great” never have a disappointing vacation, never have to go on anti-depressants after a break-up, and never have to be alone. Whatev. I reserve the right to be a mess some of the time.
Apparantly, someone needs to get punched in the face… let me know who it is & I’ll fly down & do you the Favor. As for Dad (both yours and mine) they always wanted the Best for us so it’s O.K. to picture them looking or saying that. You dad (& min)live in our hearts where they will always be.
Your writing has been heightened by this pain, and while you are writing with more clarity and gotten to the bone, I’d rather you didn’t have to go through these things. Having lost both parents too soon, I can tell you that holidays (no matter how cheery) remain a bitch. I remember going into a drug store after my father died and seeing Father’s Day cards (I always made my own, but still..) and I felt like someone just ripped my heart out and left the bloody mass on the floor.
My special hatred goes out to Mommy Bloggers who think posting ten paragraphs about their child’s bowel movements needs to find it’s way to the public forum. Do you think they are chanelling Tolstoy when Natasha holds up the diaper for her company’s inspection, “She valued the company of those people to whom she, dishevelled, in her morning-gown, could walk out with long strides from the nursery, with a radiant face, showing the diaper with a yellow instead of a green spot upon it, and listening to their reassurances that the baby was much better now.” Now if they could write a well constructed thought like that, it might be worth it. Instead we get OMG there is shit everywhere, even on the dog,” and 500 women write back saying their ovaries just burst over the idea of “a baaaaayyyybeeee.”
Keep writing through it, Kris. Your work is getting better and better. Wait. I think an ovary just burst, thinking of your talent.
Few enjoy writing about the dirty truths in their lives. I liken it to reading romance novels. No one’s life is like that, but it makes for fun reading.
LOVE THIS.