Blog Share Post

Below is the anonymous post I was sent to post for the February 2009 edition of Blog Share. Please enjoy and leave comments! We'll be back to our un-regular blog programming on Thursday:

You know those people who have their family trees traced back to the 200s and can tell you who they're related to on their father's side 12 generations back?

I'm jealous of them.

I have no idea where I came from. No one has been able to trace my family back to a foreign country at all. It's like we sprung from the earth in New York 400 years ago. When people ask me what nationality I am, I say "American". That's all I know. Sure, I've been told stories that maybe we're related to Napoleon on one side, and that the other side is Irish instead of Scottish. But I have no proof. I took an Asian-Americans class in college and we had to share a story about one of our immigrant relatives. I made mine up.

And I feel like I'm to blame. My mom died while I was in my teens, and I was never interested in genealogy, so I didn't take the time to ask my grandparents about their families. Three out of four of them died while I was in college – by the time I had an interest in where I came from, I had no one to ask. My remaining family members know little to nothing because both of my grandfathers had step-parents and no one really knows who their real mothers were.

I hold on tight to what I know – my grandfather had a social security number that indicates he was a railroad worker, most of the surnames in the family are English in origin, little things like that.

I'm fascinated by others' stories because of this – amazing stories of survival, dreams of a better life, reunions between siblings who were separated during war.

My husband is a third-generation American whose family came from Wales in the early 1900s. His grandmother was the first American-born child. They were coal miners who came over temporarily to make some money and always planned on going back, but never did.

My best friend is a Polish immigrant who came to the U.S. when he was 10. He still speaks the language, and remembers the first time he saw an electric door and sliced bread in the supermarket.

I know more about other people's family history than I do my own. I can tell you where any number of friends and family came from, what they did in their homelands, why they came the U.S. in the first place.

I want their stories because I have none of my own.

***

Want more Blog Share? Check out the other websites!

And You Know What Else
Andrea Unplugged
Blue Soup
Bright Yellow World
Bwildered
Caity of the Keps
Catheroominations
Citystreams
Daily Tannenbaum
Did I Say That Outloud?
Dispatches From The Failed Mommy Club
Face Down
For The Long Run
Full Of Snark
Heidikins
In Java, Literally
Just Below 63
LizLand
Malfeasance
A New Duck
NonSoccer Mom
The North Is My Snowcone
Not The Daddy
Operation Pink Herring
Pants, Pants, Pants
Red Red Whine
Sassy Buster
Sauntering Soul
Shushing Action
Snarke
Snow-Covered Hills
Swimming With Sharks
Thinking Some More
Trueish Story
Way Way Up
Whiskey Marie

Blog Share: February 2009 Edition

I will be taking part in the latest edition of Blog Share this month. This means someone else will be posting to this blog on Wednesday, February 18th. Many thanks to -R- for putting this together even while taking care of her baby boy!

Here is the list of participants. There is one missing that I will add once we are sent that information:

And You Know What Else
Andrea Unplugged
Blue Soup
Bright Yellow World
Bwildered
Caity of the Keps
Catheroominations
Citystreams
Daily Tannenbaum
Did I Say That Outloud?
Dispatches From The Failed Mommy Club
Face Down
For The Long Run
Full Of Snark
Heidikins
In Java, Literally
Just Below 63
LizLand
Malfeasance
A New Duck
NonSoccer Mom
The North Is My Snowcone
Not The Daddy
Operation Pink Herring
Pants, Pants, Pants
Red Red Whine
Sassy Buster
Sauntering Soul
Shushing Action
Snarke
Snow-Covered Hills
Swimming With Sharks
Thinking Some More
Trueish Story
Way Way Up
Whiskey Marie

Blog Share Guest Post

I'm hosting an anonymous Blogger today as part of Blog Share. Many thanks to -R- for undertaking this project again even while being pregnant. I hope you enjoy and bestow many comments on the guest post below:

I almost don't want to write about this, but not for the reason that you all probably think. I'm not particularly ashamed or embarrassed or afraid. Instead, I feel like it is a story that has been told in so many forms and mutations that it is no longer even remotely original. And also: I sound whiny, because there are countless other women with stories worse than mine - stories that horrify rather than cause one to sit back and go "hmm", which is basically what I do when I think about it.

But, here goes. After all, this is something I have never written on my own blog, and therefore it makes it perfect blogshare material.

I lost my virginity unwillingly.

No, it wasn't rape. Not in the traditional sense. I know I sound bratty in saying this, because of course I don't wish I had been raped, but in some ways I wonder if that would have made it easier to deal with, simply because I could then have classified the experience, categorized my anger, made some level of sense of it all instead of wondering whether my distress over the situation was abnormal, whether I was too sensitive or just plain silly.

Here is my story.

I was in college (shut up. I was a late bloomer), living in an apartment off-campus with one of my best friends. She was tall and thin and gorgeous and all the boys loved her. I was short (well, I felt short compared to her) and plump-ish and had never had a boyfriend but was fun-loving and easy to talk to. Together, we made a great team, sort of: we would drink lots and go out to one of our favorite bars (fake i.d.s safely tucked into our wallets, of course), and I would strike up conversations with boys who inevitably flirted with my friend while I continued chatting with some other guy that I assumed didn't like me.

(We can talk about how unhealthy that sounds and how moronic I was to assume such things at a later date).

After one particularly drink-filled night, I ended up talking to our cute neighbors' friend (who I had a raging crush on) while my roommate chatted it up with one of the cute neighbors. When the bar closed, my roommate and I came home in the wee hours of morning, after which I promptly fell asleep. The remaining details are a bit hazy, but what I know is this: later that night, my roommate was awakened by the sound of a knock at the door. She opened it to find our neighbors' friend on the doorstep, asking for me.

Excitedly, she came into my room and woke me up. "Neighbors' Friend is here and he wants to hang out with YOU!" she said. Thrilled, I invited him into my room.

Presumably due to the mass quantities of boxed wine that I had consumed in the hours before, I don't remember much else. I remember talking and playing music. I remember making out. I remember making out heavily, and I remember saying, "Um...wait a second. What is happening here?" I remember the confusion that ensued as I learned that what I thought was his finger was actually not, and the awkwardness that followed as I realized we were having sex and asked him to stop.

On the one hand, he is not a bad guy, because when I asked him to stop, he did. On the other hand...what kind of guy has sex with someone who is so drunk or passed out that she doesn't even know she is having sex?

I don't know. To this day, I don't know whether to blame him, to blame myself for not telling him, "hey, why don't you come back at daylight and we can actually talk?", to blame myself for drinking so much, to...well, think any number of other things.

My roommate didn't understand why I was such a mess in the months afterwards, and I never felt like I could talk to her about it without her being perplexed. I think she thought I was being a drama queen. Who knows? Maybe I was. We ended up moving out and growing apart when our lease was up, but have become friends again in more recent years. It wasn't all due to our inability to talk about this event, and after so much time has past, I don't even remember why we stopped being friends. Still, we haven't talked about the night our cute neighbors' friend came over and asked for me, ever again.

And so, there it is. When I count up how many people I have slept with, I omit one. I don't think it counts.

Blog Share Participants

Here is the list of everyone participating in tomorrow's Blog Share:

Vent Vox
Turn On The Stars
Trudie - Life After AC
Swimming With Sharks
Stefanie Says
Shhh! Librarian-In-Training
Sauntering Soul
Sass Attack
Reflections in the Snow Covered Hills
Red Red Whine
Our Simplicity
One New Duck
Oh My Seven
The Occasional Truth
No Lady
Nancy Pearl Wannabe
Muse On Vacation
Messing With Texas
Melliferous Pants
Lizland
Live Work Dream
Just Below 63
Jonniker
Heidikins
Full of Snark
Face Down
Ex Everything
Everything I Like Causes Cancer
Did I Say That Outloud?
The Daily Tannenbaum
The Coconut Diaries
Citystreams
Catheroominations
Bright Yellow World
Breath Smiles Tears
And You Know What Else
Alyndabear
3 Carnations

BlogShare: July 2008 Edition

I am once again participating in the latest Blog Share this week (Original Info. Here).

Tuesday night (or whenever I get it), I will be uploading a post by a special Guest Blogger. I also will be linking all the participating bloggers in a post so you can check out all the exciting stuff people had to say this round.

The first time I did this, my Guest Blogger had a rather interesting post about dealing with bodily functions while stuck at the border.

An International Incident (Blog Share)

What started off as a lovely weekend trip to Canada hit a speed bump before we even made it across the border.

I've taken at least half a dozen trips to Canada. Sometimes the border lines are short and quick, sometimes long and slow.

That particular day, that lovely fall day, we breezed down the highway that led to the border. Then the traffic stopped. About two miles from the border. At about the same moment my stomach cramped sharply. I had to go #2. Soon. I spent the next half hour or so shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat next to my husband. The traffic crawled about half the distance to the checkpoint. The checkpoint was within view...But still so far. The traffic was several lanes wide. It became unbearable. "I don't think I can wait", I whimpered to my husband. He produced a plastic bag "Can you do something with this?" There are lots of things I could do with a plastic bag, but none of them seemed relevant to the situation. I furrowed my brow at him and continued to try to position myself in a way that did not make me feel as though my colon were going to burst.

Another half hour passed, and we moved less than we had in the previous half hour. I couldn't take it anymore and began to ponder what indeed I could do with that plastic bag. I forced myself to wait (I guess my body LET me wait, because I don't think I was in a position to force anything at that point) until we were no longer next to the tractor trailer truck which would have had an amazing (horrible) view into our car and the whole terrible situation.

I positioned myself and the bag in such a position as to inconspicuously (I hope) do what I had to do. It wasn't the neatest thing in the world, but it could have been worse...Like if I didn't have the bag.

The event having passed (so to speak), I sat uncomfortably as we waited to finally approach the border patrol. The bag tucked beneath the seat, I prayed silently to God to not let the border agents find cause to search the vehicle. If they found that bag and its contents...Well, surely they would think we were sneaking in some sort of contraband in there...We'd be arrested in Canada for attempting to import a bag of fecal matter.

Thankfully, so thankfully, we made it across the border without incident. I was so nervous, I'm surprised the border agent didn't think we must be hiding something and search us just because. We stopped at a McDonalds just past the border so I could get cleaned up. I spent a ridiculous amount of time in the handicapped stall taking care of the situation.

We eventually made it to our hotel...A very strange start to the trip indeed. My husband was incredibly kind and could have made me feel even more humiliated that I already did...But somehow he managed to make me feel better about the whole situation and we continued on to have a great trip. Unconditional love.
We have a name for the incident, sentimentally named after the border area.

The only #2 accident of my adult life, and it spanned a two country area.

Lesson to be learned - Always try to go to the bathroom before heading for the border. Even if you think you don't have to go.

Blog Share Participants!

Check out these blogs tomorrow for all the anonymous posts and bless them with loads of comments:

The Adventures of Shelagh

Alice's Wonderland

Alyndabear

And You Know What Else

Bright Yellow World

Daily Tannenbaum

Du Wax Loolu

Elise

Everything I Like Causes Cancer

Face Down

Fretting the Small Stuff

For the Long Run

Galoot's Hoot Page

Granted Null

Grumpy Frump

Just Below 63

Lawyerish

Life After AC

Liz Land

Malfeasance

Mamma Ren

Muse On Vacation

Muzenews

Nancy Pearl Wannabe

Not What You Think It Is

One New Duck

Rankin Inlet: A Journey Northwards

Red Red Whine

Reflections in the Snow-Covered Hills

The Reluctant Blogger

Sass Attack

Sauntering Soul

Sparkling Cipher

Stefanie Says

Three Carnations

Tracy Out Loud

Way Way Up

Blog Share!

I found out who will be posting anonymously on my blog tomorrow! I'm very excited. I must give kudos to -r- for putting this together even while battling bronchitis AND a sinus infection. I'll put up a post that lists the 37 participants if one becomes available either later today or tomorrow. Don't worry, I'll keep my Anonymous Blogger's post on top throughout the day!