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    Wednesday, November 19, 2003

    Blogs are funny things. On one hand, you want to be able to pour your heart and soul out for all to read. You just don't want people who know you reading it. But you still want people to read it. But you don't want your boss, your mother, that guy/gal you like, that friend you blogged about because he had something hanging from his nose, and your sister to read it. Therefore, you do not pour your heart and soul out as stated in Plan A.
    I guess you could really throw caution to the wind, pee into it and just let it all out. In other words, let the world know how sometimes cool but otherwise pathetic you are.
    You are OK when random strangers read your blog. But when your mom reads it, the ick factor sets in. And by "ick factor", I mean that feeling of wanting to rub chlorox in your eyes and stab toothpicks under your finger nails because your mom read your blog.
    I guess it doesn't really matter. It's inconsequential what we write. It just makes us think we are cool and we let of some steam. We get to throw in the word "FUCK" a few times in our writing since we don't get to use it anywhere else in the written world unless you count the walls of public restrooms.
    It makes us feel smart because we write stuff and make witty remarks. It bands together people who would rather blame others than blame themselves when they tell us they hate their boss because he is so stupid. Or we feel some kind of connection when we say we hate the world and we want to die. We can sound like the man in despair hoping that someone will feel sorry for us. It's almost like art and can be that pretentious; particularly when they go that that "self exploratory" trip to find themselves via blogging.
    I can't say which girl I like but does not like me back, or how I feel now. It's like my mom is watching. :-

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