A Word to Our Readers: It's Not About You (It's About Me, Remember?)

In lieu of advice this morning, I’d like to tackle another issue that has cropped up no less than a dozen times in the past few weeks: readers wrongly assuming I am writing about them or trying to guess the identity of those who write me letters.  Here is an example of an email I received from someone last week in response to my post about post-layoff depression (Layoff)

“I have to know if it was my wife who wrote you that email.  She knows I read your blog and I think she’s worried about me since I lost my job.  The details fit too.  Please let me know.  It really pisses me off if it was her.  Signed, REDACTED”

Dear REDACTED: No, it wasn’t your wife.  This, like all my other letters seeking advice, was a bona fide organic and free range call for help.  I actually spoke with this guy briefly on the phone to send him a job lead, so unless your wife has a disturbingly low voice like mine, you can rest assured that she isn’t spending her time on the computer impersonating you in an effort to get you motivated.

I don’t want to call you self-absorbed because I don’t believe in kicking a man when he’s down unless he’s been mean to me.  However, you may have heard of this little thing called the economic crisis, which started in 2008 and although much improved still is fucking up our society on a daily basis.  You aren’t the only one who is looking for work, bub.  And why would it piss you off if your wife was worried about you?  Have you considered you may have lost your job because you are surly?

Now go out there and find some work before I say something mean.

Here’s another one:

“I know who wrote the dishwasher letter!  That was you describing Patrick and Tom!”

This one came from my very own brother, who clearly doesn’t believe that I do NOT make up letters to fill space in this blog.   In addition, his assumption was way off base.  With Patrick, I knew better than to ever take from him the pure joy he experienced while loading a dishwasher, so I let him claim that as his territory.  Regarding Tom, I’m not even sure he knows we have a dishwasher or where it is, much less gives a damn how I load it.  I’m the House Bitch, remember?

Most disturbing, however, have been the five emails I received since yesterday asking me if Lovelorn from Spokane is “fill in the blank here.”  Apparently, lots of you have friends who are in a relationship with someone like OJ.  In addition, some of you don’t quite understand the advice blogger/advice seeker code of confidentiality.  It’s like the attorney client privilege, except I don’t charge money to keep secrets.

In other words, it’s none of your damn business.  And specifically from those who guessed she actually lives in LA, Portland, Miami or Seattle: you are wrong.  She does not live in Spokane, but that’s all I’m going to say to get you people off my back.

I’m sorry for the sucky blog today but yesterday was tough.  Tough to write, tough to deal with the aftermath, and I need a little break.  I’ll be back tomorrow with some good shit, I promise.

Lovelorn

This Post Has 2 Comments

  1. The Hedgehog

    It’s a good thing you’re protecting the anonymity of your peeps. Doing so encourages others to seek your advice without fear of being outed as a pathological perfect penis puckerer or a celebrated Spokanese psychotic Sybil. It also allows commenters to express themselves freely – knowing there’s a safe haven for colorful, creative commenters who care to share their comments and whose views may use alliteration and/or rhyme.

    No more rhymes now, I mean it!

  2. Ali Whiting

    Oh yeah-tell the overstepping nosy rosie’s to back up!! And take care of you.

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