Donka doo balls Rhonda

I just spent seven days in Virginia with family and friends, and I’m a little out of sorts. I’m in a weird mood that I’m not sure how to shake off. It’s been building for a while, but I wasn’t quite sure what was bugging me until now.

I tend to make an ass of myself, a lot. This is something my close friends have always known (and thankfully accept), but now that I broadcast my shenanigans through this blog and social networks like facebook, it brings the occasional insecurity to a whole new level. I put a lot of myself out there, from goofy photos and videos to confessionl style blog posts and then I wait. I wait for comments, reactions, virtual feedback for my vulnerable ego.

And if comments do not follow, I panic. This happened when my bff posted a video of me and one of my favorite people on the planet singing an impromptu song about donka doo balls. Yes, on Memorial Day when people were cooking out and even visting graveyards, I was making up a song on guitar that was inspired by reality tv and condiments. Of course, this video was posted on facebook. That’s what we do.

But when only a few people commented on the video, I got all panicky.

I wondered if I’d offended people. Was this offensive to veterens? Or people remembering veterans?

Then, the ultimate panic came over me: Did people watch that video and just not like it? Do they not like me? Am I just as ridiculous as the drunk lady who coined the phrase donka doo balls? Maybe I am. I had been drinking when I made the video, but I wasn’t even drunk. Or as Rhonda would say, “I ain’t drunk!”

This is not something you have to worry about when you’re hanging out with people in person. Bad jokes can be brushed off face to face, and the night goes on. But, the internet is different. We’re socializing but without the benefit of facial expressions, moods, or environment. Those little icons can only do so much. I know people who have dropped me and others as friends possibly due to our senses of humor.

Instead of making a joke and cracking up the room, you are putting something out there for hundreds of people to see or read with the open invitation of written feedback! There are literally “like” buttons for what we say and do. It’s crazy. And, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I’m just now realizing that I’m affected by all of it. The feedback. The like buttons. The comments. And, I’m a little surprised by how much it affects me. I mean I think I’m a good person. And I think I’m funny. And I think I’m a good mom. And my closest friends would agree with all of that. But what about the rest of these folks? Should I care if a girl from my high school math class thinks my status is clever? Probably not. But I totally do. And I don’t know what the hell to do about it.

Most funny people are really insecure. And, yes I am lumping myself in this category. Tracy Morgan says he used humor to stay alive in the ghetto. I didn’t grow up in the ghetto. I grew up in a huge Irish family who love to crack jokes and make up sillly songs and dances. And when I went through my share of heartaches growing up, my family’s humor was always the bright side that kept me going. It’s also helped me make a lot of friends who share similar distaste.

And, now I use all of that to get me through the ups and downs of parenthood, relationships, friendships, and career shit. And I share what I think is funny or awesome or whatever with lots of people online, and then I check my email to see if people agree or disagree. It’s addicting. And it also puts me in a very vulnerable place, often. It’s tempting to shut it all off. Stop blogging. Stop facebooking. Or just view it all without participating. But that’s not really the answer, is it? Isn’t that just playing it safe?

I have to laugh, at myself and others. And I have to be funny, daily. I have no idea how else to be. It’s not only a survival skill of mine, it’s a creative outlet. Even if the feedback (virtual or live) is bad or nonexistent. Even if I offend someone. Even if sometimes I regret what I said or did. Even if facebook comes out with a “you suck” button.

We creative types have to keep putting ourselves out there. Sometimes we write a shitty novel. Sometimes we play in bands that kind of suck. Sometimes we paint with our vaginas and wonder why our art ends up on Regretsy. Sometimes we tell jokes that fail miserably. But it really is better than not trying at all. Trust me. I went through a hermit phase, and it’s far worse to stay on the safe path covered in armor from head to toe than it is to run naked through a crowd. Ok, maybe don’t run naked. There are some things you will regret. And God knows, that will definitley end up on youtube for the world and eventually your children to see.

But don’t let the big, bad virtual world stop you. Sometimes I feel like I’m getting rejected in multiple ways every fuckin’ day. Writing is a tough gig to sustain creatively and financially. I’m constantly afraid I will run out of things to write, but somehow something comes along and kicks me in the ass to keep going.

If your band is getting lost in the sea of MySpace, just keep swimming, or admit your lead singer is a douche and kick him out. If you’re a writer who can’t get your novel published, try Lulu.com or some other DIY outlet. If you’re an artist who’s afraid her online gallery will be ridiculued by a 15-year-old blogger, you’re probably right. But do it anyway. Just put your shit out there for every joker to like, love, or virtually spit on.

It’s impossible to know what will sink or swim. I’m pretty sure when Donka Doo Balls Rhonda got wasted, she never expected to end up on a cops reality show, which then became a youtube hit, which was then ridiculed by The Soup and Chelsea Lately, where my friends and I saw it, got tipsy and then wrote a song that was video’d on an iPhone and posted onto facebook, which then led to me wondering why no one commented on the damn video, which led to this entire blogpost of honesty, philospophy, and my favorite new expression, donka doo balls. Who could predict that virtual trainwreck?