It's a Paranoid Life

You know what I hate? That I'm so pathetic. Yes, it's true. While I might seem like I have some semblance of confidence, I actually don't. Being unemployed, while I truly enjoy it, is exacerbating my already low self-esteem. But I have a few things that help me feel as if I'm adding value in the world: my 'flourishing' garden that I worked so hard on (can you eat a cauliflower that's 1-inch in diameter??), spending extra time with my kids and MY BLOG. Yes, my blog is one of the more important things in my life. Sad, isn't it. Not as sad as the story I'm about to tell.

The story begins with the new "hit counter" that I placed on my blog. It appears in the right-hand column of my blog. It counts up the number of people who visit, so I don't have to guage my success in blogging on the number of comments posted. I've been watching that hit counter every day. Sometimes several times per day. Don't worry - I'm smart enough to deduct my own visits to the blog from my total. At any rate...on with my story.

Last Saturday, I moped around ALL DAY. Why? Because I learned that a member of my family HATES my blog. It really bothered me. I know it's a free country, but I believe that anyone who doesn't like my blog should be put in jail for treason. I started doing the "Mopey Popey" dance for my husband. Ladies -- do you know this dance? It goes something like this: "Put your bottom lip out, put your hand on hip, put your bottom lip out and say, 'this is a bunch of shit.' You do the mopey popey and you throw some breakables around, that's what it's all about."

Yeah, I was doing the "mopey popey" big-time on Saturday. Then Sunday came, and I felt a little bit better. I wiped the crusty sleep from eyes and logged into my blog. 97 visitors? Are you joking me? I couldn't believe my eyes! In one 24-hour period, I had almost doubled my traffic. In a fleeting moment of pure elation, I thought only of Oprah. You know how anyone mentioned by Oprah gets famous the very next day? For that fleeting moment, I thought maybe, just maybe Oprah had mentioned me on the TV. Like, maybe while talking to Jim Carrey, she says, "you're a funny guy....and so is this blog that I just happened to come across the other day...". Lame, I know. But I'm unemployed! My mind wanders into strange territory these days.

I also had two new 'Anonymous' comments. Seemed to be perfect strangers (one with bad grammar, but I was even willing to overlook this). I welcomed these new nameless visitors out loud!

Here's where the story gets sad. I ran in to tell my husband about my newfound success as a blogger. I ranted and raved and told him that my traffic had indeed DOUBLED overnight. I felt like those infomercials where the excitement could hardly be contained! Then I started to rationalize how the traffic doubled. Oprah was probably not the culprit. Who then? How did I suddenly get famous? I pondered and pontificated out loud, in front of my wide-eyed hubby. For a long while, he said nothing. Then...

"Honey," he said, eyes bowed like a puppy who's just eaten a sterling silver christmas present. "It was me."

"What was you?" I asked, hoping he'd tell me that he emailed every friend and colleauge from years gone by and invited them to read my blog.

"It was me who messed up your hit counter. I sat there last night and kept hitting refresh. I just wanted you to be happy."

He also confessed to the two new anonymous posts -- one of which he purposely added a grammatical mistake to put me off his trail.

So, there you have it. Sad. Pathetic. And most of all, my hit counter is forever inaccurate now.

Now, you can look at my husband's actions in one of two ways. 1) What a sweetheart. I don't deserve him. He just wants to make me happy for godsakes! or 2) So he lied to me? What the hell else has he fabricated in the name of "love"? Did I really lose 5 pounds or is that the work of a liar with a screwdriver and mechanical "scale" knowledge? Do the kids really think I'm a pretty mommy or has daddy included them in a little payola scandal? Two dollars for every compliment to mommy? One dollar per hug? 75 cents if you also include the word "love" during your hug? And what about these letters I get that say, "Valued Customer." Might they be forged documents? I just don't know WHAT to believe.

Oh well. In the end, I guess I should be happy that someone cares enough about me to go to all that trouble. But I'm still hoping Oprah mentions me on the air.