Trainwrecks“ is a site that makes fun of blogs.  The site describes a trainwreck as:

“an online journal or blog that is so bad, or so filled with self-delusion, that you just can’t look away.”

Once a week, they have an open thread night, and some blogger mentioned one of my posts as a trainwreck:

“Khate said, 

“Somebody call the waaahmbulance, because blogging is so incredibly taxing.  I can only hope this person is a SAH blogger; because if your body goes into sensory overload from having too many blogs to read, imagine if your job involved actually, y’know, affecting people’s lives.”

post from Citizen of the Month

“This is embarrassing to admit, but I actually started crying yesterday as I was making my way down my blogroll, my body going into sensory overload from caring about the lives and dreams of so many people, and feeling as if I were ‘falling behind.’ Has anyone ever had a nervous breakdown from blogging?”

The next commenter added her two cents.

“Elizabeth said,

“Khate: OMG! I hear you about the SAH thing. If you feel so deeply about a bunch of someones that you *fuckin’ cry when you read your blogroll*, then you have WAY too much time on your hands.”

These comments didn’t bother me at all, because they are both absolutely right.   (and waaahmbulance is sort of clever)

The truth be told — I come from a weird crying family.  We cry at odd moments.  I have cried while reading blog posts, having sex, even watching a really good episode of the Simpsons. 

My father had this habit of crying when he would see homeless women in the street.   He would become so distraught over the idea of a “woman” living in the streets.  His weepiness used to embarrass the hell out of me.

My mother can cry while watching the Oscars. 

My grandmother used to cry playing gin rummy.   Don’t ask me why.  I have no idea.

Ironically, you will rarely see a Kramer family member cry at a funeral. 

Last night, Sophia and I went with Danny, to the Improv, where we saw several comedians, including Sarah Silverman.  On the way home, I had a sudden urge for chocolate milk.  Sophia and I stopped at the supermarket.  Sophia bought her POM and I bought a small container of chocolate milk, the one with the bunny rabbit that is made mostly for kids.  Shit, was that too sweet!  Yuch.  But it brought back happy memories of childhood and I cried. 

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:   Feel the Bra