January 15, 2004
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Sigh.
I have been reduced to blogging about blogging.
Long ago when I started this damn Xanga thing, nobody on earth read it. It was kinda nice, like having a perpetually protected post, my little cyberspace secret. I was oxymephorous all over the place. I didn’t have to be eloquent. I wasn’t here to make a point. When i was royally pissed, I wrote about it. When something fabulous occured, it went in the mix. I have used terrible cuss words. I have been mean. I have been lovelorn. It once had a green background. I have written things that were stupid. I have never used text messaging to write a blog, or typed out some funktastic hacker code, or posed as some phat hiphop scenester, or written odd, lovely-terrible poetry. I like xanga poems. But the poetry here is all borrowed, thank you. I have, however, written bad romance novels on the fly. I have also been snarky and sarcastic and sincere and rude. I have been *gasp* offensive, and incited potential trouble. I have thought about….stuff. I have revelated. I have responded. Sometimes it sounded good. Mostly I am a big fat dorkus. But for the most part, I was all by my lonesome in the endeavor, and did as I pleased. This is how it ought to be.
Not any more, apparently.
You might think this is about you. It’s not. This is about me, and things which I have thought for a long while, and bothered me, and made me think about what i want to say, and whether or not I am allowed to do so. Poo on you!
What i mean is, the thing being, I can’t go home anymore without hearing about something I posted last week, or some silly picture I made. People randomly refer to details I mentioned ages ago when I see them around. There was even a brief underground debate about whether i should use blue flowers in the background, or whether the tabloid look was any good. My crazy uncles gossip about me (Hi, crazy uncles). My “impressionable” 14 year old cousin reads this, and I got in trouble with the fam for saying shit (HA-HA! i just said “S-H-I-T!” I am horrible!) and for generally being a terrible influence because of what I write. And now I think my grandma even scopes it out, too. Thankfully, Kerri gives me eprop-grief on a regular basis. My friends in faraway places keep tabs on my happenings here. Former loves check up on me, apparently. Loves of former loves, too, isn’t that awkward? And my current beloved reads it daily, so in the spirit of open honesty is privy to every thought I post. Despite the wicked jezebel i am, it’s worked out rather well.
I suppose eventually it comes into question as to how much ought to be revealed. This issue has been bothering me lately, because, honestly, i know you’re all out there, and when I write, thou shalt possibly read. Realistically, I must consider your presence. And yeah, sometimes I write to incite. So, do I write for you? Do I acknowledge the perusers and background lurking hangers-on who check The Daily out and either bless or doom me because of the absolute horror i am? Am i here to show off, and look glamorous for my teeming public? ha. When i have something touchy to say, should i make it cryptic because I don’t wanna piss anyone off? Maybe I ought to get dolled up, and fix my hair first? Is my lip gloss on straight? Is this the most lovely, polished possible version of myself? Or, instead, am I allowed to suck sometimes, because y’all have nothing to do with it, really?
At the heart of the matter, this thing exists so I can come home at the end of a long, maniacal, crayon and glitter infused day and have it out with the stuff in my head. Sometimes it has to do with the mess in my space, or the mess in my life, but most often with the mess in myself. I am not cleaning up for anybody. It’s mine, i made it all by myself, and it’s going up on the fridge with a plastic magnet .
So I have decided, and here is my ultimatum. There shall be no further inner or outer debate here. I will never, ever stop writing what I want to write, because this belongs to ME. It is MINE. Flamed, praised, dogeared and sassy, with sprinkles on top. Listen, I don’t want to start any wars. But really. If you have a problem-any of you- hear me now- you can go sod off.
Please note, I love you muchly, and whatever it is, this is the last of it. I think that is more than reasonable.
Comments (3)
rock on!
OK…..#1. no whiteboard crap snotface… attempting cryptic notation never did anyone any good, whether you do or I do.. or any dumbass does. When there’s a mess there’s no need to cover it with a pretty scarf cuz someone will inevitably step on it and it’ll go squish and make a splotchy mess and stuff. ick.
#2. THIS ISN”T FOR FAMILY!!!! yes all you lovely people out there… luv you but, uh this is the kinda thing people are supposed to find when yer dead or as Mike Myers would say DEEID! It’s the dirty box full of secrets, desires, thoughts and discarded past items that’s donated to Boomerangs after a lover has flamboyantly departed.
#3. OH fuck this jezebel junk. Your a flirt, I’m a flirt, we consort with the opposite sex, have made bad choices, shared a lover, talked about lovers, bitched, snarfled and swooned over lovers but neither of us is a jezebel and shouldn’t refer ot oneself as one… that denotes slutdom.. to which neither of us subscribes.. unless you lie.. heeheehee.
#4. If anyone who is broken hearted over you is dumb enough to masachistically torture themselves by reading your blog than that’s THEIR problem, not yours and you don’t have to answer to ANYONE.
#5. you teach kids, you aren’t one, outside at least and don’t require a leash unless leather becomes yer thing and in that case we’ll have some laughs over that conversation.
#6. Till yer DEEID! I’ll give you crap. Not about cutting utensils or moving, or what you do for a job…. but in all other matters I’m yer sis and it’s mah job Dammeet! If Brendaville has taught me anything it’s that an inner life is YOURs whether you choose to expose it or not… no one can tell you who you are or what you want to do. An if they do it’s thier oppinion and worth noting and ignoring.
XOXOXO biznatch
This is a response to one of your previous posts.
Bass Ale is my favorite beer too. And I like pubs. I met my husband in an Irish Pub. Have a great weekend.