I get some random-ass e-newsletters. Sometimes I signed up in the hopes of getting a coupon (I’m not cheap, I’m thrifty.). Other times, it’s obvious that my poor, innocent e-mail address was viciously ripped from a professional directory or my blog.
I have 1 simple request.
If you’re going to farm my blog or BlogHer for my e-mail address, please take the time to actually read my blog, and make sure that I might conceivably (heh) be interested in your e-newsletter.
Scary Mommy, I’m looking at you.
As far as mommyblogs go, this one looks pretty righteous. There are sections for folks trying to conceive, and folks with babies, and folks with kids with allergies, and the whole deal is a nonprofit that fights hunger. Right on.
But seriously? You just look like a jackhole when you send a Scary Mommy e-newsletter to the barren lady. The barren lady who has no recollection of signing up for the e-newsletter, and who doesn’t take Ambien and so is not prone to such unconscious online shenanigans.
I will unsubscribe. And I’m not even really mad – I’m just disappointed. I’m disappointed that it’s assumed that because I’m female and I’m in my 30s that clearly I also have kids. Because to have value as a human being outside the realm of female reproduction and nurturing other people? Well, that would be redonkulous!
And then there’s the photo my cousin posted to Facebook. It shows all 8 of us grandkids, circa 1982. The hair was feathered and we were tan as hell. And we were so full of it – you could tell just by the photo that once we were free from posing for the paparazzi that we would have such fun together.
I couldn’t stop looking at the picture. And when I saw my gorgeous little niece this weekend, I couldn’t help but apologize to my brother. His daughter won’t have cousins on this side of the family.
Yeah. Sorry my ladyparts are broken! Hope it doesn’t inconvenience you too much!
To his credit, Poochie was just like, “Uh, yeah, it’s fine. Here, hold the baby.” And then we all drank more beer. Well, the baby didn’t drink the beer. You know. Because even as the clueless nonparent, I know that babies can’t drink beer while they’re still nursing. Duh.
Most of the time, not being a parent is just fine. But there are days. Scary days when my brain goes a tiny bit bonkers.