I'm admittedly trying to step out of my comfort zone. Therefore, I'm using my real name here, relating real stories, and giving real opinions. This is a big change from my antidepressant-induced filtered content (read: just stuff I said verbally and on Facebook) of the past several years.
My theory is this: if you know what's going on with me, and I tell you firsthand, nobody can blackmail me. LOL No, I don't consider myself important enough (or rich enough!) to blackmail by any means. But really. I'm not going to pull a Jeremy Clarkson and post all my information online. But I don't deny that if anyone wanted to, they could probably glean enough information about me from the interwebs to srsly hurt me.
Well, that's life. Screw it. I have very little left. I don't know what kind of human being would try to put me into the gutter. That's a reflection on them, not on my "carelessness" with personal information. Anyway, I'm middle-aged and, at best, I have 50 years to go. Oh wait, that's a helluva long time!
Then again, carpe diem. I'm tired of living in obscurity and poverty. If my family (and...ahem...certain other entities--ok, I guess I'm not being completely open) wouldn't be outraged, I'd show you my tits! But don't mistake this for awfully deviant behavior. I lived in Europe for a while, and boobs are no big deal. I mean, really. How is it fair that guys get to go without shirts/tops at the beach and we don't? Do you wear a bra 24x7 at home? If so, heaven help you (so to speak).
So! All that being said, I may or may not write about bananas. But I am going upstairs for a while to try to take a better self-portrait for my LinkedIn profile. I need f***ing job, already.
© 2011 Deana Wallace