What Happens When You Disappear from the Internets


I just got a total shock.

As you may recall, I started blogging back in 2005. Then I left. Then I came back. Sporadically. Then I left. It’s been a love/hate relationship. Sometimes I feel like writing and sometimes writing feels harder than pushing out another baby.

At those times, I disappear for a while.

And it occurred to me, now that I am writing here frequently again, that I might want to check up on the people I recommend to you. You know, that list to your right that tells you all the people who make me laugh or cry? Most of them I think are pretty awesome writers. Some of them have HUGE followings that I could only dream about. Others are, like me, small. (Actually, I don’t think anyone is as small as I am…)

Well, I clicked on one of the links. And it took me some page that asked me for authorization.

I didn’t have any authorization. I mean, it’s just another blog that I’ve visited hundreds of times. WTF?

So I decided to look up the blog on the web to see what happened. The last I had heard, this blogger had gotten a book deal. So I figured maybe they moved on to bigger pastures and had taken down the blog altogether.

Apparently, what happened was a lot more sordid.

The blogger, whose blog was an awesome and hilarious look at parenting from a dad’s point of view, and whose posts often included loving references to his wife, had allegedly sent pictures of his penis to 25+ women, most of them other bloggers, many of them women who had written about depression and had been befriended, by him, as a pal in the battle of that disease.

I guess I got to the game too late! Cuz I write about depression ALL THE TIME. And I did NOT get any penis photos.

Men, can I please please please share a secret with you? Please?

If we are NOT SLEEPING WITH YOU, we don’t want to see pictures of your penis. We know YOU are fascinated with touching it and fondling it and checking to make sure it’s still there and all that shit. Us? We know it’s there. We don’t need photos. Really. We don’t. If we want proof, we can just look for the bulge – or listen to your voice and if you’re not singing soprano, we know you’re still packing. I don’t know what it is with men and their fascination with their own goddamn penises. I don’t walk around touching my breasts all the time and making sure they’re there. I KNOW they’re there. Where the fuck would they GO? It’s not like they’re attached with Velcro and might fall off, and as far as I know, neither are penises.

And why are you reducing yourself to just a penis? Your whole life, your face, your personality, your humor, your conversation and wit, and no, you figure the BEST way to inspire interest is a picture of your PENIS? I want to see all that other stuff FIRST. And by the time I get to the point where I am interested in your penis, I will FIND THAT SHIT FOR MYSELF. I don’t need PHOTOS or a fucking map to identify it.

The Tech Guru has NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER…sent me a picture of his penis. NEVER EVER EVER. Not even when we were dating. Then again, I don’t even remember if we had cell phones back then…jeez, I’m old. But my point is, we didn’t need to do that. Yes, I love that he’s practically carrying a light saber in his pants. It’s wonderful and glorious and I’m very lucky that he’s so well-endowed in that department. But even after we had Punksin, and I had my vadge CUT OPEN, and I made him stay away from me for MONTHS because I was still in pain, he did not resort to sending me any photos of his penis with the caption, “Wish you were here!” And I’m his WIFE. So why would you send photos of it to someone who is not interested in you whatsoever? Not a woman who has expressed any interest! Not a woman you are even having an affair with. But just some RANDOM chick that you persist in hitting on in the guise of “helping her with depression?” Someone who has consistently turned you down? And she’s MARRIED? What the FUCK do you think she’s gonna do with THAT photo? And not just ONE woman. 25 of them. None of them interested in you.

Well, then again, maybe at least one of them was. I don’t know. Some people have a way of backtracking when the shit hits the fan. It’s a lot easier to run with the crowd saying “Ew” than it is to say, “Hey, well, I thought he was kinda cute and yeah, I knew he was married but FUCK IT.” But I have no idea WHAT happened here, honestly. I don’t know any of the people involved personally and I don’t even know all of their IDENTITIES. I just know what I read, which is pretty sparse, and it seems pretty sad.

Oh well. There goes one off the blogroll. I’m sure I’ll find someone to take his place.

And NO. I usually post photos with my posts but I am NOT POSTING ANY PENIS PHOTOS. (Actually, if you are that desperate, I did include one in this post, but be warned, I think this penis belongs to a bank robber.) But by now, we all know what one looks like, unless you’re a little girl, in which case, you REALLY SHOULD NOT EVEN BE ON MY SITE.




Posted in The Weird | 3 Comments »

3 Responses to “What Happens When You Disappear from the Internets”

  1. Matt says:

    I’m not sure if it’s good or bad that my article is “related” to a post about asshole men.

    • Leila says:

      Well, it is related – if by “related” you understand me to mean “Matt is NOT an asshole so here’s what a non-asshole looks like and you should totally check out his site and NOT go to that OTHER site which I have already removed from my blogroll.” It could also be related to role-playing, which I mentioned in ANOTHER article, but that was with my therapist and not nearly as much fun as the stuff YOU’RE doing. Maybe I can come play with YOU guys, and pretend one of you is my parents, and cast a spell on you that immediately makes you a decent individual? Or if that doesn’t work, I could pretend to stab you or have my dragon breathe noxious fumes and fire and cook you (my parents) to ashes? Do you guys do stuff like that? Because I bet it would be way more fun than the therapy I’ve had thus far. As you can tell by this response, I could probably use more.