Let me first say, that this has been over a YEAR in the making…you know…begging her to start her own blog, then begging her to do a guest post on MY blog, even asking if she wanted to team up to start a blog…but would she ever pull the trigger?
That is…until today…
I was so excited when she @’ed (?) tagged (?) mentioned (?) me in a Twitter Tweet (?) post (?) that I almost peed my pants. TRUE. STORY. I’m extremely knowledgeable about Twitter, can you tell? Me. Fucking. Either.
This is my extremely good friend in REAL LIFE AND EVERYTHING, @Fanschmurl. You can find her on Twitter. She’s rad. And a self -proclaimed nerd, but I think she’s extremely smart and beautiful and super fabulous and yes, you should be very jealous that I am her friend and you are not.
Here’s what I need you to do…I need you to OVERWHELM her with so much COMMENT-LOVE that perhaps she’ll come back to do another guest post and EVENTUALLY start her own blog, because I know that she will INSTANTANEOUSLY get followers. She does need to work a little on adding some profanity to her writing…but…we have to start somewhere. I’ll work on it for you all. You’re welcome.
Without further ado, I present to you, FANSCHMURL! *…and the crowd goes wild*
From the Desk of The Fanschmurl (which is my bed) …
My handle on Twitter is Fanschmurl, as in the pseudo-Yiddish “oh, fangirl, fanschmurl!” to maintain a sort of anonymity about my pop culture obsessions. For a long time, I used the ubiquitous Twitter egg as my icon, and never revealed my real name.
A woman my age, tweeting about Glee and Harry Potter and attempting to get RT’s from celebrity crushes? Disgraceful. I have a husband! And three kids! And a dog! And a mortgage, for blog’s sake! But in my head, most of the time, I still feel about 13. What’s wrong with me?
But last night, I had an epiphany.
At the New Kids On The Block concert.
NKOTB was the origins of The Fanschmurl. I loved Jordan Knight with a passion that ached in my gut. So strong, in fact, it will require a separate blog to adequately document this love. And this love has endured for 25 years. Much longer, as I often remind him, than I have even loved my husband.
HERE COMES THE EPIPHANY
So, last night, in the midst of 23,000 thirty-something year old screaming women (most of whom have husbands, kids, dogs, mortgages, or other adult responsibilities), we all knew all of the words. To everything. We were all screaming and sweating and lusting a little (a lot), as though we were 13. Nothing had really changed, even though everything had changed. We had shared an experience 25 years ago, and we were sharing one now. We were fan girls in the truest sense.
And if there are 23,000 of us, can there really be any shame in it?
My name is Deanna, and I am The Fanschmurl.