Me, Myself and I Don't Know

No Title

Hello everyone;

Before I conclude, let me begin. As far as life goes, things have been pretty fantastic. I quit my job at the restaurant and was hired at a flourist/art gallery owned by my fourth grade teacher. Crazy, right? On Friday, May 10th, my cousin got married. It was at her wedding that I realized (after spending an hour with the photographer) my camera really needs to be improved if I plan to do anything that even resembles professional. And because it is that time of year, I have been getting wedding offers lately. I don’t want to constantly have to rent a better camera, so I’m starting to save up. I recently spent most of my savings on a plane ticket to Puerto Rico. In October, I was on Omegle with some friends and we met Jorge. Since then, Jorge and I have been practicing Spanish/English and just all around getting to know one another. And now, I am flying to Puerto Rico to see him at the end of July.

Yesterday, my best friend and I saw the comedian Bo Burnham. Now, Bo was good and all - I loved the show (I’m not one for concerts, but I do love comedians! - but I REALLY enjoyed the opening act. His name was Drew Something and he had a really bad stutter and his jokes were hilarious. (“I-i-i w-w-want to b-b-b-b-be s-s-s-so fam-fam-famous th-a-a-t they u-s-s-s-e me as a c-c-cel-cel-ebrity GPS v-voice. R-r-r-r-right t-t-t-urn i-in t-three f-f-f…r-r-recalculating. U-u-u-turn. Re-re-recalculating. U-t-t-t…re-recalculating. Y-you sh-sh-sh-should ha-a-ave gotten M-Morgan Free-Freeman.”) It was beautiful. The running joke of the night, though, occurred when Bo asked the audience if there were any mothers out there (since it was Mother’s Day). Lots of people “whoop’d” but…

Lady: Peter’s mum!

Bo: What did you say?

Lady: Peter’s mum!

Bo: Are we just listing off mothers that we know? Like, what are you trying to say? “There is Peter’s mum and Larry’s mum and Frank’s mum and Frank’s mum’s mum but she’s dead and oddly enough Frank’s mum’s mum’s mum isn’t and I know all of them.”

Guy: She’s my mum.

Bo: W-what? Now you’re having your son talk for you? Either that or you just chain smoked in the past minute.

Lady: Jane!

Bo: I am so confused.

And so, the entire rest of the show, when Bo sang he would eventually just slow down mid-song and whisper in to the mic, “Peter’s mum.”

It was also beautiful.

Anyways, it was a lot of fun. And I not only loved being able to write it here so I can look back at it one day, but I also enjoyed being able to share that with you. Whomever you may be. I have really begun to appreciate the bonds I have with people I have either never met, will never meet, have met briefly, or have known for years. I’ve been blogging for…three years now and have never received hate mail. (Granted, I have gotten annoyance-mail and ignorant-bitch-mail but nothing that was actually…a personal attack on something I care about.) I started this blog, actually, (seriously) because I thought it would be an easy way to fame without having to be a “face.” I kind of gave that up after the first month. This became more of a diary or maybe a life outline for me to go back to if I decide to write a memoir. Whatever it may become, it has been great and has served its purpose well. It was here for me to write my side of things without worry of judgement. I would write honestly as I saw things (even if they were not actually as I saw them) regardless of the outcome. This was to be the only place where I would never lie, because I always lie, and I needed something to remind me of what actually was. Sometimes, I can lie myself in to believing something. This was to keep me from forgetting how my life actually occurred. It’s sole purpose was to be raw.

Unfortunately, as some of you may have noticed (and other’s not), I recently was asked to remove a post by my mother. (Yeah, my mother reads my blog. I told her straight off, “If I do drugs, it will be on my blog. If I have sex, it will be on my blog. If I have lied to you, it will be on my blog. If I get pissed at you, it will be on my blog. Don’t read it if you don’t want to know. You are making the choice to know what you know and you can choose not to know it if you won’t like it.”) Now, her reasons were valid (doesn’t mean I agree with them, though). I had posted about some personal issues I was having with my step father that really affected me. After reading the post, my mother texted me and said, “Please either modify the post or remove it from your blog. If your stepfather read it, I think it could damage relationships.” I saved the post to a word document, copied it on to my flashdrive and deleted it from my blog.

Since that moment, I have had a long time to think. I didn’t want to make a decision until I was sure, so I didn’t do anything. Yesterday, I had another confrontation with my stepfather while on my way out the door to see Bo. I was pissed as fuck. And I came to my computer this morning to write a post about the incident and just relieve and I realized…I can’t. I already deleted one post. I said something and had to take it back and pretend it never happened. Then what, I asked myself, is the fucking point of having a blog? I have been dishonest. So what makes my blog any different than my Facebook? The one thing that makes my blog my blog is that it is my life as it is. Not as I try to make it seem. And that was kind of where I knew I was sure. I did one last test. The Jo Cook Test. I asked myself…

…why not?

And I couldn’t think of any reason not to.

So, readers, followers, friends; thank you so much for everything. Thanks for the support and the smiles and laughs. Thanks for making me feel beautiful or handsome or valid and loved. Thanks for being penpals and anonymous faces and models and sassy-mother-fuckers. I value you. This is my last post. I haven’t decided yet if I want to take the time and save three years worth of photos and entries to my computer and then completely delete my blog, or if I want to let it sit here and just…remain.

Either way, it’s been fun!

I’ll miss you.

Good bye.

December 2010-May 2013

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