It’s so bizarre how much my life has changed in the almost 6 years I’ve been writing this blog. I started The Dirty Martini Diaries as a way to keep my friends and family in the loop with my life in New York, City, as well as a way to journal planning a long-distance wedding. Maybe I’m just wound too tight, or take myself too seriously (both of which I have been accused of over the years), but I’ve never been much for journaling or diary keeping since I tend to go back and be really embarrassed by some of the “in the moment” things I write. Hanging on to this blog has been different- I’ve really enjoyed having a written archive of some of the cool experiences I’ve had over the last 6 years (like attending a taping of Saturday Night Live), and some of the not-so-glamorous experiences (like when I was living on unemployment in NYC and battled with a grocery store clerk over cans of soup on sale). I’ve been introduced so some of the funniest, kindest, smartest women that I now feel honored to call friends, and have been able to discover new products and fun events and helpful advice I never would have been exposed to otherwise. I can honestly say that the only real regret I’ve had in keeping this blog is that I didn’t do a better job of keeping it updated and logging my life more thoroughly.
I look back on all of these posts and wonder “Where in the hell has all this time gone?” I still remember what it felt like to wake up next to Ryan in our full-sized IKEA loft bed in Manhattan, take the first shower shift before my 3 other roommates, and sit in the dark at the writing desk under the loft bed to blow dry my hair while Ryan slept since our tiny, moldy bathroom had no electrical outlets. I still remember exactly what it looked, smelled, and felt like to ride the express 2/3 train down from 96th street to 14th street, walk down the platform to the specific spot the door to the 1 train would open up, and watch the rats do a little morning scurry from the trash bags piled up on the platform to a little hole they’d chewed in a metal service door at the end of the platform. I still remember what the knot in my stomach felt like as the doors of the 1 train opened up at Chambers Street, and the sound of CSS’s “Music Is My Boyfriend” blaring through my iPod headphones as I stepped in time with the beat in my 4 inch heels, walking the slow morning death march towards a corporate job that made me constantly feel like I could barely keep my head above water.
And now here I am. I’m a stay-at-home mom with 2 kids, and have just completed YET ANOTHER move (the 3rd across state lines and the 6th address since this blog began) back to my adopted hometown of Phoenix. I have to pause and close my eyes when I’m at a checkout counter and the clerk asks me for my zip code, as I have a hard time remembering which one I’m currently living in. Hell, I have a hard time remembering what day it is, now that I’m not showering every day and referencing my Outlook calendar 30 times. The only thing keeping the date straight in my head is when I can remember to post something on a daily gratitude journal I’ve been trying to keep on my Instagram feed. I juggle diapers and bottles and sharing a messy minivan with Ryan and trying to make healthy food without breaking the bank and keep us from paying off our debt. I’ve donated most of my corporate maven work wardrobe, and favor t-shirts from Target and Gap Maternity yoga pants even though I have no plans to have another baby. This life isn’t any better or any worse than the life I was living 6 years, ago. It’s just So. Completely. Different. Like, never in my wildest dreams would I have ever seen myself here kind of different.
One of the many things that having kids has really made me appreciate the art of recording one’s life, of nailing down all of those little mundane moments in life as one day they may not be a part of your world and they’ll fade away into a distant (or completely forgotten) memory. Baby gestures and mispronounced words that are all too quickly grown out of. Hell, I look back at some of Waverly’s baby photos and don’t have the faintest memory of her looking like that at that certain stage or being that little. And it makes me want to record every little head shaking habit and silly dance and bathtime routine. And I also think (perhaps self-centeredly) that my kids would have wanted me to reciprocate and record our adult lives in return to see the little bodega their parents purchased Red Bull, beer, (and sometimes cigarettes) from on the corner or 85th and Amsterdam in Manhattan, or the little vendor stall that their dad thought sold the best smažený sýr when he spent a semester in Prague the year before their parents started having kids.
And blogging is just such a cool way of doing that, you know? A few keyboard clicks and you have this fantastic online journal with photos and memories and an archive dropdown and a search box (God, I love a blog’s search box feature) to be able to quickly Google your own life and put dates or photos to memories into proper chronological context. Do you care what I did for my birthday 4 years ago? Probably not, but I really love that I can go back now (and my kids can go back 30 years from now) and be able to see.
So part of me just wants to fully live one of the new-to-me mantras I’m trying to live by now, which is “Done Is Better Than Perfect”. To just dive in and start blogging again to get all these awesome and mundane and contradictory things going on in my life into this online journal for posterity (even if nobody ever ends up reading it again besides me after I’ve pressed the “Publish” button). But part of me has been hesitant to do so.
In the years since I’ve started The Dirty Martini Diaries, this little blog world has changed SO, SO much. It has gone from tagging other new blog friends in “About Me” posts (remember those?!) and commenting on new blogs to meet friends or give (requested) advice or commiserate on a bad day, to one filled with sponsored posts and affiliate content and people making $100K a year and entire website forums dedicated to talking shit about bloggers and their lives. It went from readers e-mailing other bloggers for advice on what to wear to a big event, to people emailing bloggers to tell them that their child is ugly because they somehow felt that their advice was warranted on the subject. It’s intimidating and foreign and most importantly a hell of a lot meaner than when I unintentionally left it.
And yes, of course I could just make this whole blog private and record things on some password protected site for my kids to see later on. But you know what? That’s just not very much fun. Some of the best parts of my life have come from blogging publicly and putting myself out there to commune with others, and more importantly from others putting themselves out there and dishing out words of wisdom that have changed the way I live my life for the better. The real question for me at this point is whether to jump back into this blogging pastime that I loved in a new world where people are scrutinized simultaneously for what they say and for what they’re not saying, for what they’re doing and what they’re not doing. Where people try to read between the lines of each post and each photo and dissect every pixel of what is shared or not shared on this silly little website.
And after months of thought, I’ve decided that I just really don’t give a shit.
I really love my life, and I love this silly little world of social media and all it has done for me. So I’m going to start blogging again. Maybe a lot, maybe just slightly less sporadically than the every 6 month schedule I seem to have set for myself. I’ll share what I feel like sharing at the time, and won’t share what I don’t feel like sharing. I’m probably going to talk about things that are really deep and serious to me, and also write aloof, materialistic posts about things I’ve been coveting but can’t afford to buy. I’m going to talk about trying to save money and I’m going to be doing it while carrying an overpriced handbag to the store. I just am who I am, a person with positive attributes and faults and contradictions and I’ve finally learned that I really don’t need to justify anything about my life to anyone. So I’m not going to.
And of course it’s silly to spend even 30 seconds worrying about someone might think about me or say about me (or to be self-centered enough to think that someone might even waste 30 seconds of their own time analyzing this tiny, boring, little blog of mine), but again I’m just being truthfully honest and writing what’s on my mind (which is the whole reason for this website in the first place). This is my little, tiny place on the Internet, and I’m just going to be me. So if you actually are reading this and genuinely want to know something about me, go ahead and ask. I’m an open book as a face-to-face, real life human being (like when people I’ve just met ask me if having 2 kids in 15 months was planned- good gravy!), and that won’t change over e-mail. Feel free to send me an e-mail any time and I’ll try my best to get back to you (after all, I am still juggling 2 kids 2 and under and being a mediocre, seldom-showered housewife who can’t seem to shower or keep track of what day it is).
So, with finally getting ALL of that off of my chest, I’m happy to announce that The Dirty Martini Diaries is finally (somewhat) back in business. As always, I look forward to having you along for the ride, friends.