Category: Blogging

Dumb All Over

I wrote a blog post last week about comments. It was an in-depth exploration of the relationship between content creators and their audience, asking important questions like “Isn’t engagement the point of social media?” and “Does staying away make you seem like a mysterious recluse à la J.D. Salinger, or just Kanye West-cocky?”

You’ll just have to trust that I wrote it, because I didn’t post it. I felt too weird about its navel-gazing vibe. This whole blog is basically one disturbingly long stare into my bellybutton, but that post took self-absorbed introspection to a new level. I started making a lot of drawn-out, groaning noises, like one does when one is in mild distress and feeling dramatic.

“Do you have any other ideas?” Jordan asked when I explained the problem.
“Yeah, but they suck,” I said, and groaned for two minutes straight.
“Well what are they?”
“Uh. I thought about writing one called ‘Fashion Blogging Seems Like Something I Could Do, Right?’, but then I realized it doesn’t.”
“It really doesn’t,” he said kindly. “What if you write about your new cat?”
“Yeah, I thought about writing a Winston Purrchill-themed list, but I don’t really know him yet.”

He remains a mystery. Immediately after I took this picture, he bit my head.

He remains a mystery. Immediately after I took this picture, he bit my head.

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Goodbye My Friend, It’s Hard to Die

You may have noticed that there’s been radio silence on my end for the last few weeks, and that is because I forgot I have a blog.

Just kidding. I think about this dumb blog all the time. It will be three years old next week and I’m going to buy it a cake. Because blogs are virtual and do not have mouths, stomachs, or an understanding of traditional birthday activities, read that sentence as, “I want dessert and I’m grasping at straws to justify it.”

The only problem with cake is that it's not pie enough.

The only problem with cake is that it’s not pie enough.

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Let Me Go Crazy, Crazy On You

I’m a clichéd 20-something, so my phone and I go everywhere together. We sleep next to each other, we road trip, we go out to bars. I’m a little worried it’s cramping my love life, but my phone can do more things than any guy I’ve ever dated and it doesn’t get all weird and accusatory when I ignore it or talk to other boys.

There’s a Mitch Hedberg joke that goes, “Sometimes in the middle of the night, I think of something that’s funny, then I go get a pen and I write it down. Or if the pen’s too far away, I have to convince myself that what I thought of ain’t funny.” Because my phone and I have fused together to become one socially awkward superhuman, I don’t have to worry about finding a pen in the middle of the night any more– I just type myself a quick note and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, there are two flaws in this system.

The Terrible Two:

1) Because I write things down as soon as I think of them and assume I will review them in the morning, I never give myself any context. Of course, I don’t look at them the next morning. I find them weeks or months later and have absolutely no idea where they came from.

2) At some point after 1 a.m., I lose my mind. Not only do I have no context for the notes– I also have no idea what some of them mean. They read like a description of a Salvador Dali painting.

Yep. That’s about right.

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I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For

I don’t pretend to know how WordPress works. I just type things and people read them, then WordPress sends me an email at the end of the year with fireworks in it. Now you know why I’ve never written a post on how to blog.

I did something to earn these. I’m still not sure what.

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Listless

Sometimes Monday creeps up on me and I realize I haven’t done anything bloggy all week. When this happens, I start to panic. I think, “For the love of all that is holy, Stephanie, haven’t you done anything interesting this week?”

Usually I can think of something by digging up some memory from the past, like the night I broke a grocery store, or the day I thought Jesus had come for me. I tried to do that this week, but I could only think of really short experiences– the kind that can be summed up in a tweet or two. Like the time my mom let the other girl scouts in my troop pour glue on my face while I was sleeping, or the night I didn’t go to prom and stepped on cupcakes instead. Odd, yes. A little sad, maybe. Regardless, there’s not enough to base a whole list on it.

I’m pretty much over the fear of glue thing now, anyway. Photo by alternatekev via Flickr

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