Blogging is very odd. At least for me it is. It makes me feel a tad bit creepy. Every time I do I blog post I kind of feel like Marcia Brady did in that episode of The Brady Bunch where stupid Cindy gives Marcia’s diary to that guy from the Friend in Need Society and it ends up in some used book store.
Okay, here’s what I don’t get. Why would you give all of your old books to an organization that it going to distribute them to local businesses so that THEY can make a profit? Why not just sell that at a yard sale? You know, so that YOU can keep the money? It’s not like they were giving the books to Goodwill or the Salvation Army. No, they were giving them to local businesses, i.e. used book stores, that were, I’m assuming, keeping the profits for themselves.
Anyway, like I said, every time that I do a blog post I feel as if Cindy has given my diary to a local used book store; only the used book store is the whole frickin’ world… and Cindy is me. Maybe if I was writing about something as inane as wanting to eventually become Mrs. Desi Arnaz, Jr. it wouldn’t be so bad. But, I don’t. Sometimes I blab.
Some people advertise their blog all over the place; Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, etc. I can’t do that. People that I actually know, like family and friends, are subscribed to me on those sites and they might read my blog. Well, THAT would be horrendous. Sometimes I talk about them. Sometimes I share secrets about myself. Secrets that they can never know about. If I put a link to my blog on Facebook it’s like I’m saying, “Hey everybody come look! I wrote a bunch of crap about you in my blog. I wrote about how I had the hots for Mr. French from Family Affair when I was 13. I wrote about how I got my first hard on when I was changing the outfits on my G.I. Joe. Come read it so that you can be totally disgusted, think I’m a complete idiot, and hate my guts forever”!
I’ve already learned that lesson. I learned it on MySpace. I won’t go into the details, but my friend Joaquin is now my ex-friend Joaquin. All because I did a blog post in which I said that his girlfriend should probably try out for The Biggest Loser. How was I supposed to know that he was actually going to read the damn thing? That was back when my blogging was in it’s inchoate stage. Way before I had the remotest of clues. Well, I still kind of don’t.
Also, there’s that whole thing of people thinking that you’re stupid. I mean, why should I care if people that I don’t even know think that I’m stupid? IDK. But guess what. I kinda do.
So yeah, blogging is odd. Like you’re in a hazy limbo. It’s not the real world where you are more on guard and secretive and discrete. And it’s not a written diary with a lock and key that you hide way back in the closet, never to be read by anyone. It’s kind of in the middle. Strange.