I am so in deep shit

December 11, 2004 - 9:47 p.m.

<%@LANGUAGE="JAVASCRIPT" CODEPAGE="1252"%> Houston, we have a problem.

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in my traffic here at whitehelmet, and I got to thinking, and then I got to noticing many little tiny pieces of evidence here and there, and then my head got hot, and broke out into a cold sweat, and then my stomach dropped, and dropped, and fell onto the wood floor, where it is still sitting at this moment. I am dumfounded. I am agape. I am Shawna’s worst nightmare come true. I just now realized. That my dad. Has found. My blog. And it’s all my fault because he found me through a Google search. Dammit! I used the word skivosa in front of him, and he went and Googled it, but skivosa is not a word, so I was one of the 2 results at Google and lead him straight here.

Dear Dad,

I know that you have found my blog. I know that you have been reading it from start to finish, all 127 entries and I can only imagine what you must be thinking right now. If you are in the car right now, with the garage door shut and the engine running, and feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness, RUN NOW, RUN OUTSIDE, SAVE YOURSELF. THERE IS STILL TIME! IT’S NOT WORTH IT, OVER A STUPID FOOL DAUGHTER!

I’m sure that you are horrified. And shamed, and disgraced. Believe me, I am too. It’s not your fault I turned out this way. Don’t blame yourself! Ok, blame yourself a little. After all, I did get my Nature AND my Nurture from you. And mom. Blame mom. No, but really. I’m not a total loss! I go to work everyday and pay my bills and am not a burden nor a threat to society. Except for the men that I date, but they deserve it.

I cannot predict how mad you are. Are you mad at me? Am I grounded? I guess that’s ok, I deserve it, you have the right to do that from 75 miles away and 10 years after I’ve become a legal adult. How can I make it up to you? I’ll let you claim me as a dependent on your taxes in 2005! Would you like that?! Imagine the write-off!

I don’t know why I use the F word so much. I don’t know where I learned it. Ok, I learned it from you. At least, I think that’s where I heard it the first time, it was you really pissed off and cursing downstairs. But it was all those damn hillbillies that I went to school with that really forced me to integrate the F word into my vocabulary. It’s because hillbillies are stupid and illiterate and have no comprehension of adjectives and they decided that they only need profanity to describe any given situation. I am a hillbilly byproduct. I am low class, and no decent man will ever marry me, and I am doomed to live in Illinois for the rest of my life.

It’s not your fault. It’s because both my grade school and my middle school were located on the Jamestown Superfund site, with its highest contamination levels being 1981-1984, when I was 5-8 years old. If you’ll recall, I haven’t been normal since I was 8 years old. Remember how cute I was? I was SOOOOO cute. How did something so adorable, and with such beautiful skin, grow up to be a Shawna Mooney? It’s the Volatile Organic Chemicals, dad, it really is. It’s the VOC’s that I drank out of the fountains at school, and in the Kool-Aid at my hillbilly friends’ house. It’s turned me into a liar, a fibber, a crazy, and I’ve been in the early stages of schizophrenia since 2001. That’s only half true.

I don’t mean to make light of the situation, of the fact that you just woke up one day to find that your youngest child is a complete and utter depraved, disgusting lunatic. I empathize with you, because I have to live with me every day. I can only hope that one day Alzheimer’s disease will wipe the memory of this blog from your mind forever, and when you’re 90 I can convince you that I spent all these years as a missionary in Africa, and donated my blood platelets to the starving children of Ethiopia.

You know how you hate it when I use definitive words like “ALWAYS” and “NEVER” and “ONE BILLION TIMES”? Everything I say is a gross exaggeration. See? EVERYTHING? Just know this: That I’m not a slut, and I don’t do drugs, and I don’t really have a drinking problem, although sometimes I wish I did. Some of the other shit is true, but we’ll just blame that on the VOCs.

Remember this picture?

I don’t, but I’m sure you do. It was exactly 28 years ago. See? We were peeps! Buddies! Chillin’ on the velour chair, me doing nothing but sitting there being good-looking and pooping myself.

Look at this face:

How precious is that?? You can’t stay mad at this face. Knowing that I used to be this face at one time is the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning, hoping that someday I’ll be that cute again.

Oh, and this!

Do you remember taking this picture? It’s a miracle that I was never kidnapped at this age, because that was the height of my cuteness, and shortly thereafter, the VOCs started mutating my skin and I grew kind of ugly. This picture was taken when I was six and having a slumber party on the living room floor. I can only assume you took it because I was striking such a pose, like a movie star. Even in my sleep I had an attitude, walking down the runway.

You can’t stay mad at me. Are you still mad at me? But I used to be six! I’m sorry for anything rude, mean or disrespectful that I said about you or our family. I’m an asshole, everyone else already knew it, and now you know it too. I tried to protect from this, but you damn kids are always finding shit on the internet that you shouldn’t be looking at. Did you tell mom? DO NOT TELL MOM. She can NOT handle it. Don’t be crazy, mom will explode and turn to dust if she saw this. SERIOUSLY. Don’t tell anyone.

Try to see the humor in this. It’s there, really. Merry Christmas! Your daughter’s a fucking skank!

Sorry for uh, everything, dad.

Your youngest, who wears the white helmet.

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