Someone read my blog the other day.  The entire damn thing.  That’s 92 posts from start to finish.  Shocking, strange, and quite honestly, humbling at the same time.

I don’t make a habit out of reading my previous crap, but this intrigued me to take a walk down memory lane.  I regretted it almost immediately.  I should’ve known better.  I compare it to a mediocre actress watching her performance in a terrible movie (e.g. Dakota Johnson in Fifty Shades of Grey).  Slowly inching lower and lower in her seat until she is literally under it, crawling through chewed bubblegum and half eaten popcorn while desperately searching for the nearest exit to finally escape the pain of her self-proclaimed “talent.”  Thank God I was in my own home.  I finally just put the wine bottle on the floor to save myself the energy it took to stand up and pour a hefty refill.

I started editing them.  On the floor.  I have no idea why.  I mean what are the odds anyone is ever going to go through all of them again?  It was either that or delete the first half of it from existence, and that is not happening.  I have put way too much time and effort into this ridiculousness.  Deleting is not an option.  Besides, how bad could they possibly be?

I quit seven minutes in.  Turns out most of the early ones are irreparable, and more importantly, not worthy of anyone’s time, let alone mine.

Which brings me to my original point.  Whodunit?  For real.  I want to know who/what read my entire blog in one fucking day.  I have my own theories.

  • The President of the United States of America.  The clock is ticking.  Maybe he’s searching for hobbies?  Maybe he’s currently making a list of television shows to catch up on in his soon to be free time?  Spoiler Alert Mr. President!  John Snow dies.  (HBO asshats!)  Maybe he wants to read something mind numbing and crappy?  Maybe he hates his job and just wants to pass his last few days in office reading Jill Veldhouse’s blog while pretending to examine, with a pen in his mouth for good measure, to read a really, very, extremely, important bill that will never get passed because everyone just plain and simply sucks?   I totally get it.  Why not just choose to read something that is neon-blinking-lights-suck-ass from the get go than spend hours sifting through and trying to decipher Pig Latin bullshit only to throw it back into the bouncy house of infantile children trying to beat the shit out of a half elephant/half donkey piñata that, SON OF A BITCH!, is empty.  “Whaaat?  No candy?  Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!”  It’s a clear choice.  Thanks Prez!
  • The CIA.  Bring it on assholes.  I have nothing to hide.  Well, maybe a little, but who doesn’t?  Regardless, game on.
  • My daughter’s 10 year old friend.  I was informed that she has visited my blog.  Please stop dear child.  Furthermore, show your search history to your mom.  Curiosity killed the cat.  Obviously, this is not a threat.  I’m not stupid.  I have the CIA on my ass.
  • My 10 year old daughter.  We have a verbal agreement.  If she reads my blog, I read her diary.  Tit for tat.
  • Amy Schumer, Kirsten Wig, and Chelsea Handler (collectively, as a group).  I am happily married and as straight as an arrow.  That said, all of these bitches are at the tippy top of my hall pass list.  I like to think all three of them spent the day reading my blog together while holding hands, soaking their feet in a kiddy pool, drinking Coors Light, and eating bean dip.  P.S. Call me.
  • Lorne Michaels.  Maybe he thinks I’m a good writer?  Or better yet, maybe he thinks I’m oddly funny in that dry stupid nonsensical sort of way?  I don’t necessarily have a face for television, but most of his stellar team doesn’t, so there’s that.
  • A secret admirer.  Flattering, somewhat creepy, highly unlikely, yet not out of the realm of possibility.  Regardless, I feel the need to be as transparent as possible in such circumstances.  I like to boil bunnies.  Peace out.
  • Miss Scarlet.  In the library.  With a candlestick.
  • Barnyard animals.  Maybe my blog was printed off for kindle to warm the animals on a cool night and/or shredded and mixed with kitchen waste for hog chow? Maybe a disgruntled rat found a clip of it and brought it back to the barn to save a small pig from his ultimate demise?  Maybe Charlotte weaved a web that read Jill Veldhouse and the world took notice and saved some pig?
  • Martians.  Maybe the worldwide web and all of its interweaving signals into outer space finally got the attention of an alien life form about ready to destroy earth with one flick of earwax when he intercepted a signal from Jill Veldhouse’s blog that reminded their kind that we are all, without a shadow of doubt, a bunch of absolute fucking idiots incapable of intelligence, hindsight, foresight, and/or the ability to jump around in a bounce house together without slowly killing each other off for nonexistent candy rewards.

God speed little green man.  I got this.


4 responses to “Whodunit?

  1. Hahaha. Sorry Jill, I think it was me. Although, like Lorne Michaels I do think you’re oddly funny in that dry stupid nonsensical sort of way. What can I say, with a glass of white wine in hand I was riveted to the stories that are my life. It was as if I were reading my own bio. You and I were cut from the same cloth and I was laughing out loud when I read your posts. People may judge you to be snarky or sarcastic but when it comes to your family and kids you’re always present and the first to tear up when your kids do anything remotely selfless. Your love for them runs deep and the guilt even deeper. lol Keep the reality comin’. Sorry for the letdown. The President…… no, a suburban housewife with four kids on Long Island? You betcha.

    • Finally some damn closure! Thank you for wasting your day reading my crap!

      I have days when I post something and think, “Whatever, this is me.” There are days when I post something and think, “Oh my God, what will people think of me?” There are days when I post something and think, “Does this make me a bad mom?” Every time I post something, I think, “My kids know I love them, like really really know it,” and then I start working on another one.

      You have no idea what your comment means to me. I might even write about it.

      You’re way closer to New York City than me, so if you see Lorne Michaels, tell him I work for free and from home…because I don’t ever get to leave. Ever.

      Cheers mama!

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