Find me on most of the social spaces as Mrs. Flinger
In an effort to launch something in a very short timeframe, after three months of coding in off hours for stints of a few minutes at a time, I used a framework to get *something* out. This is not code I would use for a client. Ever.
In fact, if you could see my face right now, you'd realize this is a little more than painful.
But, as sometimes has to happen with personal projects, the non-paying personal site takes a backseat to quality and gets dressed in handmedown code. Thanks to VMcore for the free ride here.
You know I was just thinking that one of the best things about Facebook is that it makes me feel good about who I am today and who I wasn’t back then. All those people in high school that I thought had it going on - well with hindsight it’s clear they didn’t. I look at what I’ve accomplished and I realize that I’m glad I didn’t get tied down by all that - evidently when you peak that young it’s hard to move on.
I have never had any interest in Facebook because I love my life and the friends I have now. I have a few that I made in college who have stayed lifelong friends but any others? Have gone their own way, just like I have. And I have no desire to go back there. I like here very much.
Mrs. Who: Yes, here is nice. I’m glad to be Here with you.
ANd Melizzard: I giggled with the peak comment but it’s TRUE. I don’t want or need to remember there. I’m ok with never attending a single high school reunion. The world spins on.
I am more insecure than I’d like to admit sometimes. So, I totally got this post. Oh, and I’m 34, so I was doing the Macarena and wearing flannel back in 1997, too!
Secret Agent Mama: You are so totally on my “favorite people to hump, I mean lick, I mean do the macarena together at Blissdom.” Ohyea.
I’ve got one of those insecure girls hiding in my closet too - and as of yet, Facebook isn’t indimidating here, mostly because I’m not there for the bad past. Only the good. Those other people from high school can suck it!!!
In other words, I get it too!
Oh, I hear you! I think we all feel this way deep down—you just had the balls to say it!! And you gained yourself a new subscriber in the process.
I know what you speak of. Next time, call me. like last time. I make you giggle.
I can’t believe you posted the macarena picture! Too funny. Or not.
It’s interesting because I don’t associate being insecure with those college days. Sure, they had their moments, but for me I really felt like I was finally coming out of my shell and becoming who I really was instead of the shy, insecure high school student. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t surrounded by people who already had a preconceived notion of who I was supposed to be. I loved that freedom.
But now that you’ve just labeled our behavior stupid… I might have to rethink it all again.
Such a great post. And I love how honest you are. Reading your blog is making me want to find my writing self again. I’ve journaled since the 5th grade but it has fallen to the wayside since the birth of my son. Thank you for the inspiration. I hope that someday I can be as strong as you are and welcome my Little Miss Insecure back and let her stay. Thank you.
I’m so there with you. I hide my insecurity behind my smart mouth.
“She comes out about once a month and I blame hormones and sleep deprivation for my weakness. But she’s always there. Hiding. Lurking. Waiting.”
Oh, this is so me. I hate that my hormones rule me once a month, completely undoing all the good, hard work I’ve done and the progress I’ve made in the previous three weeks. I hate who I become. I hate how much I hate myself. Yet I don’t know how to change it. *shakes head*
It’s posts like this one that remind us we aren’t alone. We all have securities we just forget that because often times we think others look superhuman as we try to act ourselves.
Why not register your Facebook account and sign in automagically?
4 guests here now.
Unleash The Power Of Female Brain
Amy Turn Sharp
Amalah Because Love. Srsly.
Freezer Meals: Gluten Free
Working Mom’s Break