i. am. mortified.

So my phone rang tonight, as it's often wont to do. It was my mom, and what she told me absolutely horrified me.

"You know, Chad, I was up until one o' clock in the morning last night, reading your blog," she told me matter-of-factly.

"What did you say?" I asked, hair standing on end.

"I read your whole blog."

"Like, the entire thing?"

"Yeah. I love your writing."

I immediately thought of this post, this post, this post and this post especially, this one where I actually quote her, this embarassing debacle, this particularly scandalous weekend, this cabride, this filthy rental car, and this favor I did for a friend of mine. NOTE: Mom, do NOT click on any of those links!

I just wanted to vanish and never reappear in this dimension ever, ever again.

"So basically, what you're telling me," I asked her, cringing, "is you read every single post I have ever written."

"Yes."

Oh god.

"Um, didn't I tell you NOT to read my blog?"

"Yes, but I was curious."

"MOM!" I yelled...it was all starting to sink in. "God, I can only imagine what you think of me."

"Well, I don't like your modeling debut."

"Oh, the one where my ass is hanging out?"

"Yes, I didn't like that picture."

"Well, now you know why I didn't want you to read my blog. You saw my ass."

"Oh, so it's okay for the entire world to see your ass, but it's not okay for your mother to see it?"

"That's right." Hell yeah. This blog is my outlet...my mom doesn't need to sift through my filth.

"Tell you what, Chad," my mother countered, "I have a challenge for you."

"Kinda like the Pepsi Challenge?"

"Yes honey, I have a Pepsi Challenge for you." Mom is used to random 1970's and 80's advertising tag lines suddenly manisfesting themselves in my mind.

"I love Pepsi Challenges."

"Yes honey, I know you do. So tell you what, for one week (she really stressed that), why don't you compose blog posts you would feel comfortable with your mother reading."

I mulled over her Challenge. "But then it won't be interesting, and I won't be able to use any cuss words."

"You don't need to use cuss words."

"Yeah, I know, but I like using cuss words. It's my goddamn blog."

"Just don't use so many cuss words."

"Okay, fine."

"And don't blog about [something bad that just happened]."

"Okay, I promise I won't write about that. I wasn't going to anyway."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I guess I should clean this place up a bit. I'll try not to say fuck, shit, cunt, blubbercunt, fluffyblubbercunt, sissycuntpussybitch, motherfucker, cocksucker, or buttfucker as much as I have been recently. But don't be surprised if I occasionally slip up and a rogue "fuck" escapes from my fingertips.

However, she said nothing about posting off-color pictures like this one...a young homogay I snapped in the Castro because I simply loved his shirt:



Tee-hee-hee!

Okay, I'll clean it up for a week, but after that, I'm not promising anything.