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Accidentally Creeptastic

December 20, 2010

God, I love my family… As I’ve embarked on this bloggular journey, my family unit has been totally supportive. My dad was pretty much the reason I started the whole thing anyway. Dad bought me a book. Dad said read the book. I read the book. The book said blog. I say “About what?”. The book says nothing. Dad says “Use your brain.”. I use my brain. Brain begins to hurt. Brain falls on the keyboard. Brain starts blog. And they all lived happily ever after. Now my massive following of zero subscribers seems to be almost unmanageable (the fan mail just keeps rolling in).

Fan mail aside, I got my first comment the other day. I was almost too excited about it. I saw the little notification floating beside my comments tab and pretty much jumped out of my chair with pure joy coursing through my intestines. Before I could click the magical button that would open the door to my blogging future… my battery dies (two thumbs up for crappy PC). Thanks PC you’re the best. Maybe one day I’ll grow up and get a computer that doesn’t run on chocolate covered candies (I tend to eat them before the blog is done). I rummage through the unpacked boxes of crap I never thought I would need, sitting in the back of my closet, and find the extra battery I “borrowed” from my sister’s laptop.

I race back to my PC (PC hates me), slap in the new old battery and, prepare for the awesomeness that is my first comment. This is the part where I get a phone call from home. It’s my mom! Yay! We talk for a bit as the ten minute start-up process commences for my incredibly speedy PC. I finally get far enough to check my comment and it’s from a person calling themselves LadyK22.

In this particular post I make a joke about buying a hug from a hooker for Christmas (funny, right?). I read the comment and it says, “I got the hug covered…….now for the rest, well…………” Hmmm, if you don’t read that in a completely innocent context (which I didn’t) then it could sound a little creepy. To me, it sounded kind of creepy. At this point my mother reveals to me that she left me a little comment on my “blog thing” earlier that “will give you a little tickle.” I put two and two together… Now I’m stuck debating with myself on whether or not a comment from my mother even counts.

I know my mom meant that comment in the sweetest most innocent of ways BUT, it’s just so much more fun to misinterpret things almost purposely. So, instead of her comment meaning that she’s happy to give me a (free) hug, I accidentally decided to interpret it as her letting me know that I should be expecting a repaid hug from a hooker on Christmas morn (two thumbs way up for holiday hookers). How sweet…

Other than the accidentally creeptastic comments from my mom, the rest of the family has been pretty supportive. My dad came by and read enough of this stuff to point out that I wasn’t using the letter “i” properly. Apparently you’re supposed to capitalize it when it’s alone, go figure. My brother actually read a post. I think he only read the one mentioning him (that’s not selfish or narcissistic at all). Promptly after reading it he calls me and asks how I could write such slanderous things about him… He was kidding. I’ll probably be getting a call or two from home about this one too. I’m not sure if my sister has actually read anything here but, she was present when my mother decided to read it aloud at Thanksgiving to my grandmother, who couldn’t stop laughing as she rushed out of the front door. I’m not sure if she was being polite or having a “senior moment”. As for my granddad, I’m not really sure if he knows how to use the internet (or even cares). I’m pretty sure he’s content with his morning paper and coffee… You gotta love a guy like that: classic.

If you want to see my mother’s amazing comment (and the post it’s attached to)just follow the link below


Don’t Stop Howling…
OhKami’s Voice

One Comment leave one →
  1. December 20, 2010 5:42 am

    Consider this your first comment…your family sounds pretty swell. I’ve always wanted to use that word.

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