Have I told you the story of my combined bucks and hens night? Husband, being the metrosexual type, wasn’t keen on a lion-dancing, stripper-jiggling affair. So we celebrated our impending nuptials with a unisex bash at an inner-city pub.
Towards the end of the evening – prior to stumbling to Hungry Jacks – I got the stragglers to form a footy-style huddle, made them press against me, throw their arms in the air and shout: “We all love … Alana!!!”
And repeat. And repeat.
Oh god. Yes. I did.
I am not normally so open with my neediness. But waaaaay too many Vodka Redbulls obliterated my inhibitions.
It was glorious.
I wrote a blog on Friday asking people for their opinions on my blog – whether it should continue, whether it should change it’s focus. I didn’t intend it to become a “We all love … Alana!!!” style huddle, but that’s what I got.
And that was glorious too.
In the words of Em Rusciano, who wrote on her Facebook page last week after winning a Blogster award: “Enjoy this because it will probably get deleted in the morning when I’m not 35 white wines in.. You lot, you people who have “liked” this page, who buy tickets to my shows, who read my blogs, you have allowed me to be me without feeling like an awkward fuck head which I have spent my entire life feeling like. I have a shiny trophy and a new computer because you bothered to vote. Thank you bitches. I wish you were all here with me instead of these 20 year old uber cool kids who think I’m someone’s Mum. That is all. I’m putting my phone away before I start with the “I love YOUSE” shit. But I do. Love. Youse.”
Now, I am definitely no Em Rusciano. Em got 9055 likes on that Facebook post. I am far more – let me put it delicately – niche. OK, less delicately: my blog is tiny. I’m not terribly good at marketing my neediness without a bucket of Vodka Redbull in my belly.
But I have the most lovely, loyal following (bolstered by some fairly astronomical views from curious strangers arriving at my blog seeking enlightenment on a certain sex act called the “triceratops position” … and leaving terribly disappointed) and I want to thank youse all too.
People have said the sweetest things on the HouseGoesHome Facebook page, in private messages and in comments.
There have been welcome voices of caution too, such as my old flatmate Margot who gave me a solid – and much needed – dose of reality by commenting: “I love you Alana but some of what you write is not for public consumption, it’s for a journal. You can still blog about all sorts of experiences, but do you really want the world to know some of it, especially when it comes to emotions?”
And I’ve thought about that A LOT, after writing this as my initial response: “Well that got my back up nice and high for those reverse planks at the gym this morning.”
My take-out is that I need to hold some things back that might bite my family in the future. But, my emotions? No. I am out there and proud with them.
Hardly anyone admits how they really feel. People ask “How are you?” But they don’t really want to know the truth. They just want the standard answer: “Great!” Anything else makes them vaguely uncomfortable.
If I can be real, I reckon it’s a good thing. I want to speak the stuff people are too scared or shy to say. If they see that someone else is experiencing it, perhaps it will make them feel more normal. They won’t think they’re such a freak.
So HouseGoesHome will stumble along for a bit longer. But I vow to be more mindful of not hurting others – and protect those closest to me – moving forward. Geese I encounter on social media remain a grey area …
Song of the day: Donna Summer “I feel love”