Blogoversary.

It's my third blogoversary. It's also a time of year when many of us look back and evaluate the previous year.

In the past, I compiled my favourite posts for my blogoversary. This year, I don't feel like doing that.

I wrote less on my blog and read fewer other blogs. It was easier to engage on Twitter and Facebook.

I felt like I could better describe my emotional state on tumblr than on my blog.

I'm still not sure why I have this blog. It's not for attention, I don't make money, and it's getting more difficult to be honest about my life online.

But I plan to continue.

Thank you for reading. Best wishes for a happy, healthy, prosperous 2012.

Written on iPod Touch -- because I spilled coffee on my laptop. A LOT OF COFFEE. I hope in 2012 I have better karma and am less clumsy.

I fell off the wagon.

Last month, I fell off the blogging wagon. I wrote only one post in the entire month of April.

As a newly separated and somewhat disaffected SAHM, I wanted to blog. But my energy was consumed by Stressful Life Changes and Tedious Tasks.

Adam and I are still rearranging our lives into two separate households. And for the last fortnight, Six was on his school holidays. I really had no time to blog. However, I was able to rant on Twitter. (See for yourself here.)

I whimpered and tweeted. And yet, I missed sharing my musings with you here—those naked, personal thoughts that a sane or normal person would keep to herself. Could I stretch my hours to include blogging? I wondered.

What I needed was some extrinsic motivation. Something to help me recapture the desire to overshare on my blog.

For many people, wages are a good incentive. But wages are rare in blogging. It seems that I must “make do” with another round of NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month).

So, I will post every day in May. Maybe the fear of failing this challenge will motivate me to blog.


Project Firewood was a success. Thank you to you and you and you.
You know who you are. I've been thinking about you a lot, and postcards soon will be in the post, full of my scribbled thanks and gratitude. Because I am grateful, even though I am no good at expressing gratitude. You helped me step away from a ledge, and I never will be able to thank you enough.

Are you "real" online?

Thank you for your e-mails after my post on my separation. I had never closed comments before. Maybe it was a mistake. But at the time, I just felt, rightly or wrongly, that I couldn’t bear to have someone “Like” my post (or not “Like” it). And I thought Adam might read it. (And he did. But I will save that story for another post.)

There are two ways in which people think about their online personas. Some people believe their online selves are separate from their “real” selves. They may be anonymous online or use a pseudonym. If you do this, you can be hidden. In some circumstances this can be good. You can tell people as much or as little about yourself as you want.

The online dimension is fictitious, like a dream world. These people often believe that once you turn off your computer, you leave your online persona behind. They set up boundaries between online and “real” life. They confide extremely personal things online, things they would not tell people in “real” life. But they won’t give their phone number to people they meet online.

Other people try to combine their online and offline personas. Last year some bloggers talked a lot about being "authentic" online. I try to be the same person online that I am in "real" life. Maybe you do too. Especially on Facebook, where our online and offline worlds have collided.

But it is nearly impossible to be the same self online as your “real" offline self. Even if you try to be “authentic” online, you still will be different from yourself offline. For example, you may reveal more about yourself online than offline. But there won't be verbal cues to go along with what you have revealed. And why have you repressed these things in "real" life?

Talking to someone on Skype, on the phone, or face-to-face gives you more information about a person’s identity. This doesn’t make one source of information more true than another. Each form of communication reveals some things about a person’s identity, and it hides others. The self that is revealed in one area is not deeper or more authentic than a self revealed in another. This is because there is no one location where you can find the true or real self.

--
For more about the psychology of being online, please see this excellent article that I found on Twitter via Andrea.

It’s my blogoversary.

It's my second blogoversary. It's also a time when many of us look back and evaluate the previous year.

In all honesty (which I suppose is the purpose of this blog), 2010 was a stagnant year. Maybe it was a transitional year.

It was the year that Five started school, which was a more difficult transition—for me—than I anticipated.

I started off my blogging year with a cracker of a post about my crumbling marriage. (Dead End.)

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Then I joked about using my blog for therapy. (Where am I going with this blog?) And I tried to find an audience for my neurotic navel-gazing. (I need some street cred.)

I began to despair about the possibility of making any lasting friendships in the village. (Notes from a country bumpkin.)

Eventually I realized that airing one’s dirty laundry is a faux pas. (I’m tired of people raising their eyebrows at me.)

In August my friend Suzy gave me a body makeover, which I showed off in her sidebar.


In August I also participated in NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month). I wrote 31 posts in 31 days!

And I ruffled some feathers whilst on my soapbox. (Clean, green New Zealand. Yeah, right. and How tolerant is America?)

I had my first (and probably only) giveaway. (Spring has sprung and a giveaway.)

I started a tumblr, and I wrote a novel for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).

I joined in my friend Neil's Fifth Annual Blogger Christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah Concert, which did make me feel like a part of a larger community.

Thank you Suzy and Neil, for making me laugh and for your good advice. Thank you to Lisa and Jayne for continuing to inspire me with your replies and e-mails.

And thank you to my mother, Sweet Jane, Aliceson, The Empress, Madame DeFarge, TechnoBabe, and Happy Frog and I for your comments and e-mails.

Thank you to everyone for reading, and thank you for your comments. And a special thanks to a couple others—you know who you are—who have supported me in difficult times. It means a lot to me.

--
As 2010 draws to a close, I'm noticing a different side of New Zealand. It's a place from which many Kiwis long to escape—because of its remoteness, its provincialism, its lack of opportunity.

Despite the beautiful setting and the friendliness of the people, I do feel isolated and lonely here. I don't know if I can build "real" friendships in this village, or online.

I thought that I had found my purpose in blogging—to make friends—but it seems that most "normal" people want to separate their online friends from their "real" relationships. In time I too will treat my blog more like a column (instead of like a therapy session, or a chain letter to my pen pals).

In the beginning of the year, I wanted more "tiny heads" in my sidebar. Now I care less about the number of followers that I have. Sure, it would be wonderful to have 300 followers.

But I read some excellent blogs that are largely unknown. And sometimes I read "popular" blogs that have inexplicably large followings. I am more convinced than ever that the world is simply absurd.

Happy Holidays to everyone. Wishing you a happy and prosperous 2011.

The Fifth Annual Blogger Christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah Concert

The Fifth Annual Blogger Christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah Concert, hosted by Neil of Citizen of the Month, is now LIVE.

It is amazing. Watch and listen to these funny endearing performances by very talented bloggers.

Five and I are about 15 or so acts down from the top, in our own special mother-son duet.

DON'T MISS.

In which I finally announce the winner!

I was anxious. What if nobody entered my giveaway? I even felt uncomfortable trying to promote it on Facebook and Twitter. It was like having a party and wondering if anyone will show up.

“What giveaway?" Adam asked.

"Uh, the giveaway on my blog." I said sheepishly.

"I’m going to enter your giveaway. If I win, we can keep the money.” said Adam.

“OK,” I said.

I decided to worry about ethics and fine print if Adam actually won. But Adam missed the deadline, so he wasn't able to enter the giveaway. (Because I have rules and ethics.)

I was supposed to do the drawing for the giveaway on Sept. 12. In America, it was still Sept. 11. This was poor planning.

I read 9/11 memorial posts, and also stories about the dead in Iraq and Afghanistan, cultural scapegoating, and the man-made and natural disasters of the last few years, and I was sad. I was consumed with a kind of cultural malaise. I needed to unplug from the Internet for a while. (Am I alone?)

So I postponed the drawing.

--
I am grateful for what I have. But on the anniversary of Sept. 11, I couldn’t help becoming depressed about the pointlessness of our human existence. Does this mean that the terrorists have won? Or that Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck have won? I just didn’t feel like doing a drawing for a giveaway. How could I celebrate anything? I am a bleeding heart liberal delicate flower.

(Yawn.) OK, eventually I finished wallowing. I found the will to stop procrastinating. And I needed to bury my 9/11 post.

--
Let’s get to the drawing! But, before we do. Uh, Anonymous commenter? (You know who you are.) I had to eliminate you as an entrant to the giveaway. I realize that my rules were a bit vague, but I also reserve the right to change and modify the rules if I want. And anonymous entries to the giveaway are not allowed. My apologies.

Whilst on the subject of rules and ethics, I am a bit concerned that my mother, my cousin, or my sister-in-law might win the giveaway. If one of them wins, will it look like nepotism?

(Spoiler: None of them win.)

And now the winner.

(Drum roll.)

Congratulations to Millie, one of the writers at the excellent Gusty Gourmet blog.*

Winner of the Wellington Road $40 Whitcoulls gift card.

I was so pleased a while ago to discover the Gusty Gourmet blog. Like me, Millie is a transplant to Wellington via Chicago. The Gusty Gourmet is a guide to Wellington’s food scene, with absolutely stunning photos and recounts of culinary adventures. Millie is a lovely person and gifted writer. I count myself lucky to be on her blogroll. Be advised that reading her blog on an empty stomach or when on a diet can be dangerous indeed.

And to everyone else who left congratulations and kind wishes, thank you. I really appreciate your support.

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*Hopefully, I have counted properly, and Millie was commenter number 21. Don't tell me if I managed to mess this up somehow. Also, if I mention having another giveaway, just shoot me. (By this, I mean that I don't think I am cut out for marketing and promotions. Unless you want to pay me, or you want to sponsor a giveaway on my blog, and then I am awesome at it. Ahem.)

Spring has sprung. And a giveaway!

Flowers are beginning to bloom in my garden, and my blog is in blossom too. I am so excited to have 100 followers here on Wellington Road. You are clever, talented, amazing people, and I am grateful that you keep coming back for more of my neurotic whining and navel-gazing.

I started my journey on Wellington Road without a map. I just wanted to ramble on about whatever was on my mind. So my blog was about where I happened to be in my life. (Basically, I wanted a place to complain and whinge.)

Since I have been writing publicly on this blog, I have been reminded that a writer really wants to charm or entertain an audience—to try to make a difference in some small way.

You all have made a difference in my life. You have encouraged me, laughed with me, and inspired me. I really appreciate it.

I thought it would be fun to do a giveaway to say "thank you" and so I’m having a drawing for a NZ$40 Amazon gift card. (Or, if you live in New Zealand, and you prefer it—a $40 Whitcoulls gift card.)

"I wish I could give something to everyone," I said to Adam.

“Are you crazy?” Adam asked.

You need only to be a follower and leave a comment. One entry per person, please. Entries close Saturday at 6pm (NZST). I’ll put your comments in a random number generator and name the winner in a post that I will try very hard to write on Sunday.

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Edited to add. There are no hoops to jump through. You don't need to suck up to me in the comments (but you can if you want to). The giveaway is open to all, local and international.

It's over.

It is Midnight. The last day of August. My month of blogging every day is over. In the beginning of the month, I told you that I wanted to do Nablopomo (National Blog Posting Month) as a writing exercise and a personal challenge. I also wanted a shiny Nablopomo badge for my sidebar. Well, it was a long haul, but I kept going until the end.

One of the things I learned is that you publish a lot of bad stuff when you publish a post every day. It’s miserable, and I whined about it. (I take solace in whining.) But I learned something else. There is an inescapable honesty in these bad posts. They are naked. They are what they are. I had to be a bit courageous to publish these bad posts. I had to just let it all hang out.

Unfortunately, I was not successful in my Nablopomo. Even though I published a post for every day in August, I was late publishing some of these posts. I missed my deadlines. So, I will not get my shiny Nablopomo badge.

But it's OK. I will keep going. Just not every day. Because publishing a post every day is really miserable.

The Tell-Tale Post, with apologies to Edgar Allen Poe.

I had been very nervous. Very, very nervous. Nablopomo (National Blog Posting Month) had sharpened my senses. I heard every little sound. But I was not crazy. No. Look at how calmly I tell you this story.

I can’t say how I first got the idea to do Nablopomo. But once I had the idea, it haunted me day and night. I liked posting on my blog. I didn’t mind that it didn’t bring me any money. Not having many page loads did not matter. But I think it was the tiny heads who were following me, with their tiny eyes. Whenever I saw them, I felt so anxious.

Now, you will think I am crazy. But I just wanted to lay my head on my pillow and go to sleep. I even felt a bit relieved. I didn’t really need to publish a post for Nablopomo. My computer was using its screen saver, so I could not see the tiny heads with the tiny eyes. I listened to the rain falling on the roof of my house while everyone else was sleeping. But then I heard a low sigh. I thought it was the wind, or a mouse. Maybe it was Adam or Five. But no. It was my blog, sighing as it heard Death approach. I knew that sound so well. It was like the sound of a clock, ticking away the minutes until the deadline to publish. I grew resentful of my blog, demanding that I publish a post every day. My anger increased, and I felt as if I might delete it.

But I stopped myself. I lay frozen in my bed, but the hellish ticking of the minutes continued. Tick, tick, tick. My blog’s terror must have been growing larger. Would I publish a post? Now, at this dead hour of the night? The house was silent, but the ticking grew louder and louder until I thought it must wake everyone and the neighbours too. Tick, tick, tick.

I shut down my computer. But for many minutes, the computer closed applications and began to install updates. Still, a tick, tick, tick, until the computer stopped. Finally, all was quiet. I rested my hand on the computer, and it was still. Maybe you think I’m crazy. But I hid the computer in a drawer. It had been a long day. I didn’t want to publish a post. I picked up my book and began to read. But then, there was an alert on my phone. I had a DM. I looked to see who was there, with an easy heart, because what did I have to fear? My blog with its tiny heads was shut down inside my computer.

It was @ThreeOfficers on Twitter. They were from Nablopomo. My father had alerted them when I did not publish a post on my blog, and suspicion had been aroused. They were obliged to look for a post. I lied and told them I was planning to publish a post, but I had been feeling ill. I said, I will turn on my computer and you can search for it. You will see that I have a post to publish. Then I gave them permission to remotely access my computer.

@ThreeOfficers was satisfied. They found some drafts for posts that had not been published. We chatted on Twitter about the Emmys. But before long, I really wished they would go away. I had a headache, but still they chatted. Why would they not leave me alone? I continued to chat on Twitter, but I heard a ticking sound. It was the tick, tick, tick sound of the clock. It grew louder and louder, but of course @ThreeOfficers could not hear it. I argued about Glenn Beck and Koch Industries, and I grew more flustered and annoyed. Oh, God! What would make it stop? Anything was better than this suffering, this pain. I felt that I would die if I continued to hear the ticking of the clock.

“OK!” I yelled in all caps. “I WILL PUBLISH THE BLOODY POST!”

I'm not writing a post tonight.

“I’m not going to write a blog post tonight,” I said to Adam. “If I miss a post in National Blog Posting Month, I think it will make my blog persona more sympathetic.”

“I’m sure people want you to complete it,” Adam replied. “People don’t want the All Blacks to lose.” (The All Blacks are the New Zealand rugby team.)

“If I post every day, it's annoying. And it’s kind of showing off,” I said.

“You should finish it. It was a personal challenge that you set for yourself. It’s not about other people,” said Adam. He clearly doesn’t know anything about blogging.

“It is about them because they are my audience. They read my posts,” I explained. “So, wouldn’t it be more entertaining and dramatic if I wasn’t able to finish the challenge? It could be a plot twist. I struggle but come up short.”

“No.”

“O.K. It was just an idea. I’ll write a post. Besides, I still might fail, without throwing the challenge on purpose.”

“That’s right.”

--
I have been in my pajamas all weekend. There was lots of sun, but I didn't go outside. I have been lying on the couch under a blanket, watching a Keeping Up With the Kardashians marathon and girl movies. I asked Adam to go to the shop for more cold remedies. I drank cups of tea.

It is Midnight. Nablopomo is keeping me up past my bedtime. I’m not writing the post I had planned to write. Instead of writing this post, I want to go to sleep. I should have written this post earlier. Maybe tomorrow I will write a better story.

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Edited to add. Since this is a "blog with integrity", I need to tell you the truth. I fell asleep before I clicked on "Publish Post". And I missed my deadline--by 10 minutes. So, I failed my personal challenge. No shiny Nablopomo badge for me. (But this is a clever plot twist. Now my blog persona is just like Sandra Bullock in "The Proposal", or Meryl Streep in "Doubt". No, I'm like J-Lo in "Maid in Manhattan". AMIRITE??)

How am I going to blog now?

There was an accident, and all of the traffic was directed off the motorway. Adam travelled three hours to get to a place 20 minutes away. The traffic was all backed up, and there were no alternate routes. So, he had to give up and come home.

I was frustrated. How am I going to blog now? I thought grumpily to myself.

When I'm writing, I like to be in a dark cave, or I need the anonymity of a cafe. If Adam and Five are at home, I am aware of them. It’s difficult for me to focus if they are around, even if they are in different rooms than me. I am hyper vigilant.

After three hours in the car, Adam was starved for human companionship. “Stupid people,” he said. “Why can't they just not crash? It’s not hard to not crash.”

We drank coffees in the lounge. I wanted to write on my blog, but Adam was talking to me. I went on Twitter. I flirted with the idea of going to cafe, but nowhere around here has wifi. After a while, I retreated to the bedroom to “get some work done”. Adam stayed in the lounge. But in the bedroom, I didn’t work. I tweeted. I chatted on IM and Facebook. I read some blogs.

After I read a post on writing by Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love, I felt irritated. The gist of Ms Gilbert’s advice was that writers need to publish their work. This is the same advice my ex (the con-artist) used to give me. And I used to feel upset. I thought I was like Emily Dickinson, scribbling in my private journals. I am a writer, even though nobody reads what I write!



--
It is August 17. Nablopomo (National Blog Posting Month) is not over. But I don’t want to write on my blog every day. I feel selfish and stupid and unfunny. I'm not doing any writing that will earn me money. I can’t keep up with reading and commenting on your blogs. And posting too much is annoying.

By writing on my blog every day, I'm just thinking about myself. My voice is the most important voice. And it’s exhausting, having to write about myself every day. It’s like going to therapy. All of this gazing at my navel. Even posting photos feels revealing.

At the same time, I know I’m not revealing myself on my blog. Not really. I don’t know how to portray myself. Not the real me. There is no clear narrative. I’m full of contradictions. I’m funny, and I’m serious. I’m neurotic, and I’m confident. My blog is intimate, and it’s superficial. I pretend it's fiction, not a memoir.

To stretch a metaphor, writing on my blog every day for a month is like being stuck in traffic with my therapist. Maybe it's not that hard to not crash. But I'm hoping there is an alternate route. I kind of want to turn around and go back home.

Now it is late. I am not writing the funny self-deprecating post that I had planned to write. Maybe I will write it tomorrow. But right now, it's too hard to write.

Is talking on the phone too intimate?

People don’t talk on the phone anymore. This is OK with me. I don't like talking on the phone.

But you used to ring people to invite them out for coffee. Now it seems like talking on the phone is infused with special meaning. It's too intimate to ring someone on the phone. You may send an e-mail, but you probably post on Facebook or Twitter.

If you live in New Zealand, you send a text. Almost everyone I know sends texts. You don't talk to people on your mobile phone, unless you are on a “calling plan”, or you use your phone for work.

There must be quite a few of us plebs who don't want to be locked into a plan. The rates to talk on the phone are prohibitively high for us. The work-around is to pre-pay and send texts. But maybe ringing on the phone is too intimate anyway.

--
Since I joined Facebook, I have re-connected with lots of people. But most people don’t list their phone numbers on their profiles. They must think Facebook will give their phone numbers to telemarketers, or the paparazzi. Or someone will "stalk" them. Because they are celebrities, and they have privacy concerns.

Only one person from Facebook has rung me on the phone. And I was so stunned. All I could say was, “What the fuck are you doing ringing me?” And I wonder why people don't ring me.

--
Facebook is a strange place. You could be on Facebook all day, and nobody would try to chat with you. Is everyone waiting for someone else to initiate a conversation? Do we hope the one person with whom we want to chat will appear online? Or, are we afraid the people we don’t want to talk to will find us? And we will be stuck chatting with them in a Facebook version of hell?

--
I hoped it would be different with my bloggy friends. Surely, they aren't as paranoid as my Facebook friends. But it seems like almost everyone has been scarred by--I don’t even know what. Match.com? Missed encounters on Craigslist? The internet in general?

I guess most people want their internet life to be in a different sphere from their Real Life. They want to be anonymous on the internet. The Internet is pretend, and a phone call is real. So, I only have talked to one blogger. It was on Skype. And it was without video.

--
I probably should examine the role of gender in all this. Is it OK for married men and women to ring each other on the phone or Skype, or to chat over IM? Is this a slippery slope? Can men and women really be friends, or does sex always get in the way? Discuss amongst yourselves.

My blog persona.

The "Juli Ryan" on my blog is a persona.

She is like a character in a novel.

Please don't confuse the Juli Ryan on the blog with the Juli Ryan in real life.

I’m not a bookish introvert who almost always procrastinates.

OK, this is a lie. Yes, I am.

Almost famous.

I am almost famous. I look good and feel great.

Suzy, Queen of Quid Pro Quo, has kindly posted my photo in the sidebar of her popular blog for the month of August.

Well, OK. I had to pay Suzy $20. But I did get a tee shirt.

For the uninformed, Suzy is a stand-up comic and actor who lives in Hollywood. She has ghosts in her apartment, and most people are afraid of her. She sometimes falls on her face.

Suzy’s blog is deliciously funny and better than sex. Go experience it. Enjoy it. Buy a tee shirt. But be sure to leave a comment about how good I look. Or else.

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I will be posting every day in August.

I promised I would not be a prolific blogger.

But I will be posting every day for the month of August. Let me warn you now that most of these posts will be badly written. I will have no time to polish or edit.

Why will I post every day for a month? Have I lost my mind?

If I were telling the truth, I would say I am going to post every day as a writing exercise and a personal challenge. And I want to clutter up my template with one of those “I Did Nablopomo Last Month” (National Blog Posting...) badges.

However, these inspirational reasons are boring. They will not bring me more traffic, subscribers, or little heads following me in my sidebar. Also, these reasons are not the edgy punk rock of my “brand”.

So, I will share this story —

I e-mailed a friend, complaining (as I frequently do).

"Writers will not make any money," I wrote.

My friend replied, and I paraphrase, “You need to be crazy to be a writer.”

My friend is right. No sane person would choose to be a writer. Writing is a horrible profession.

When writing is going well, there is a high. But the lows are painful. It is dark and personal. You are always digging up old wounds. You need to be courageous, and you cannot be afraid to express something within you. And you also have a need to get it out, onto the page. Writing is miserable and very hard work.

Read to witness the trainwreck, or for delicious schadenfreude. A post every day for the month of August!

I'm addicted to coffee.

I was excited to try a new cafe that I had read about on Twitter.

IN JULI’S HEAD: They have Bom Bons! Cardamom White Chocolates! Chilli Mochachinos!

WHAT JULI REALLY SAYS: [breezily, to BARISTA] I read about your cafe on Twitter.

BARISTA: [surprised] Really?

JULI: [modestly] Yeah. I’m kind of addicted to Twitter.

BARISTA: I don’t Twitter. I just, you know, e-mail.

JULI: You should get a Twitter account. Lots of businesses use Twitter!

BARISTA: So, would you tell people on Twitter, if they mention the cafe, and “twit” or “tweet”, they can get a free coffee?

IN JULI’S HEAD: I’m not going to sell out for four bucks.

WHAT JULI REALLY SAYS: [reluctantly] Uh, yeah. Sure. OK.

--
My Chilli Mochachino was very nice.

--
Edited to add. Health warning: Coffee and Twitter are highly addictive. When coffee and Twitter are used together, you can be offensive to others.

I am a bleeding heart.

Like a lot of bleeding heart liberals, I feel the issues. I am emotional about my point of view.

The night George W. Bush was “elected” (the first time), I cried. CRIED. Even though we had to wait for Florida to “fix” the chads on the ballots. I just knew we were returning to the dark days of Ronald Reagan and George the father.

When the US went to war in Iraq (in 2003), I had a nervous breakdown. I put my disaster supplies in the trunk of my car. I was ready for the apocalypse.

I was just discussing US politics with my high school crush. (We were reunited by Facebook—it’s so magical.) I was upset to find out he's now a moderate Republican. (He's against the health bill and against any stimulus for job creation.) He replied:

I am surprised by your visceral reaction.

I know, he's amazing. But in my mind, he's like Anakin Skywalker when he goes to the dark side in "Revenge of the Sith".

Nooooooooo!

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I shared my feelings on twitter:

I was so upset that I misspelled "unrepentant".

- -
Edited to add: My high school crush is actually an "independent" who is worried about the deficit. Same difference.

My first blogoversary.

A year ago, I started blogging. My theme was (sort of) “I moved to New Zealand, and it’s been a challenging journey.”

I chose to use my real name. And I told my parents and my friends about my blog.

I wrote about trying to fit in in New Zealand, parenting a child who is allergic to everything, and my marriage. And I spent a lot of time on my soapbox, pontificating about, you know, stuff.

In 2009, I was trying to find myself. Like, what does it mean to be an expat? If I have lived in New Zealand for eight years, am I still an American? Or am I a Kiwi now? What am I going to do next year, when the child starts school? What’s it like to be a wife, and do I even want to be a wife?

And I was trying figure out who I am on social media. What kind of blogger am I? Here are my favourite posts from 2009:

• I’m coming out of the closet. A photo essay of my life in NZ.


• My glass is always half empty, but not on the inside. People have often told me that I have a negative outlook. I just don’t think irony and sarcasm are appreciated enough. In this post, I show my true positive self, and I explain how lucky I am to live in NZ.


• Springtime can kill you. A post about being neurotic and social media.


• High school memories. Joining Facebook was like a de facto high school reunion, and it got me thinking about things that I haven’t thought about in 20 years.


• DIY. On marriage and Kiwi culture.
  

One of the best and most surprising parts of this blogging journey has been my readers.(Especially those of you who have been brave enough to come out and follow me publicly.) As always, I’d like to thank you for reading and for your comments. Wishing you all a happy and prosperous 2010.

New taglines.

I heart Ann's super funny blog, Ann’s Rants. Ann's post about new taglines had me spitting out my coffee.

Here is my riff on Ann’s tune. Without further ado, my new taglines for Wellington Road:

Wellington Road: Rants from a grumpy expat.

Wellington Road: Starring Pajama Girl as Herself.

Wellington Road: Where I write things that I really should keep to myself instead. Oo-oo-ah!

Wellington Road: Cheaper, more public therapy.

Wellington Road: I whinge so much you’d think I was a Pom.

Wellington Road: My glass is empty.

Wellington Road: Where sarcasm is the highest form of wit.

Wellington Road: I’m having an identity crisis. And so is my blog.

Wellington Road: My spell check is British.

Wellington Road: My husband used to call me Sweetness and Light.

Wellington Road: Everything is wonderful (when you’re on holiday).

Wellington Road: If I were taking Xanax, my blog would be very different.

Wellington Road: Witness the train wreck.

Wellington Road: If you think my blog is a mess, you should see my house.

Wellington Road: Bah, humbug.

Retraction. (Not really.)

When I was growing up, Harriet the Spy was a book that I liked a lot. It’s about a girl who writes in her journal what she really thinks of people. One day, Harriet loses her journal, and her friends find it and read it. Harriet’s friends are hurt by what she has written, and Harriet must apologize (i.e., print a retraction) to save her friendships. Oh yeah, I identified with Harriet.

Well, Wellington Road is not a journal. Most of the time, Wellington Road is a humour blog. It's where the author rambles on about whatever is on her mind. Call it therapy, or call it procrastination. Especially when the author is supposed to be doing the dishes, hanging up the washing, or playing with Transformers.

If you have been offended by the content of this website (such that it is) because the author has:

• flirted with satire;
• wallowed in irony;
• suggested you are neurotic;
• complained and/or whinged;
• made fun of a beloved national holiday, or
• compared you to a sheep;

be advised that it really isn’t about you. If you believe that it is about you, let your voice be heard. Email your Letter of Complaint to the attention of the Standards Committee.

If your letter is funny enough, we may post it on the website. Or you can leave a comment on this blog. Don’t be shy. Anonymous comments are still allowed.

If your feelings have been hurt by a post on Wellington Road, most Kiwis would say you need to harden up.

But here at Wellington Road, we are warm and fuzzy. We care about your feelings, and we apologize for our mistakes (and, if necessary, we lie).

As such, from here on in at Wellington Road, self-deprecating humour is the order of the day. All mocking will be of Juli Ryan, the author of this blog, only. And perhaps some celebrities, politicians, and other random people and events.

But not you, dear reader. You are one of the reasons that we get up in the morning (other than coffee and the incessant demands of a child tyrant dictator). We will (probably) never mock you.