With all the BlogHer talk floating about the blogosphere this week, I’ve begun to contemplate many different things that had transpired over the few days you ladies were in Chicago getting your drink on learning. The different topics that you’ve posted honestly and candidly about from the conference have begun to ressinate with me, and got me thinking.
I wish I had been there to sit in on a few session of interest. Like privacy on the internet, ads on sites, blogrolls, and full feed settings, traffic, stats, etc. Stuff that’s not really openly talked about on blogs often. Some stuff that smaller bloggers aren’t really affected with so much as more well known bloggers are ie: requests for promotion, trolls, ads on sites, etc.
To be completely candid and honest with you, I won’t hold back and I hope that you’re open and honest as well.
I turned to blogging once my love affair with message boards came to a screeching halt. Some people had labeled another member as a con artist and a thief spreading hurtful things about her throughout the board leaving her no way to defend herself. Had it been true (which no one knows for sure), she wasn’t even given the decency to defend herself before she was banned from the boards left to read all the horrible things people we saying about her from the sidelines. It was heart wrenching and evil.
Blogging became, for me, an outlet that message boards never were. I never revealed my true self on the boards for fear that I would be ganged up on, chastised and bullied off the site. I’d seen it happen too many times before; so I sat back, not revealing too much, never really striking conversations. I wasn’t me. But blogging? I can write about anything I want, whenever I want. I don’t have a terms of use strangling my creativity. I don’t have to deal with the judgemental bullies nor do I fear facing scrutiny for my thoughts and feelings. You don’t like it? Simply click the little red x and be gone, or I will do it or you.
The one thing that’s a drawback from blogging is my fault entirely. I’ve let myself become consumed with statistics. Granted it’s something that I’m familiar with because of my job, but it’s become an unhealthy need and rather harsh tool I’ve been using to judge myself.
*deep breath*
I use it to judge myself. Yes. I said it. I judge my abilities as a blogger and *gulp* my popularity. I get down on myself when I see that readership has dwindled, or I am happy when I see that they’ve increased.
I compare my self worth to what my Sitemeter says.
I compare my writing ability to how many comments I receive.
I compare myself with every other blogger I read.
I get upset when I try really hard to get myself blog noticed and seemingly fail.
I worry that people think I’m flaky, unfunny, boring…
I concern myself far too much with what people think of me.
[So you're aware. Everything I type is real and very much from the heart. I just pick and choose what to share, so that people won't be overly bored.]
So wrong. I know.
It’s a very unhealthy habit to get into, and I am neck deep in it. I don’t see a way out.
I want to be recognized for being me.
I want to be loved for being me.
I want people to read.
I want people to enjoy reading.
I feel like I’ve thrown myself into blogging expecting too much. Maybe that I would emerge as some amazing blogger (like others have) and have many readers and be liked by all.
Maybe my unrealistic goals have tarnished what’s really important to me.
Having a voice and using it.
Whether it reaches 2 people or 2000 people shouldn’t matter. It really shouldn’t. So why do I let it? Why do I always feel the need to judge my self worth based on what other people think of me and my abilities?
All I know is whether you’re here reading or not, I’m going to write. I love writing and I feel at peace after I finally get all this crap downloaded from my pea brain.
I had no intentions of this being a pitty post. I don’t expect people to feel compelled to stay and read out of obligation or guilt. I just began writing and it kinda directed itself this way.
I blame it on the heat.
p.s. My air conditioner is fixed.
(Damn! Guess I just shot that whole blame it on the heat bit to shit didn’t I?)
My air conditioning stopped working again this weekend. The fan works, but nothing cold comes out. Mike checked out the unit outside (for gawd knows what since he knows absolutely nothing about air conditioners) and mentioned something like “Blah, blah, blah, blah, fuckin’ solenoid blah, blah, blah.”
[I had to ask Dr. Google what a solenoid was - thank you Dr. Google! Found out that it's a blah, blah, blah, blah.]
Result? No air conditioning all weekend.
Doing laundry and cleaning while sweating your ass off really defeats the purpose. I mean, getting dirty to clean?
*pffffft* Cleaning’s for the birds.
So I did the minimal amount required and parked my ass in front of the fan, which happened to be near the TV (Go figure.) and caught up on Big Brother. (Go Dick!)
I turn into a total bitch when I am hot and sweaty.
[More then usual.]
Every time Mike would come near, or touch me I would freak out, go all Medusa-like on him and hiss; “Fix the fuckn’ air conditioner first!”
[Poor bastard.]
Saturday night I had just about enough. Carter had a day of meltdowns (which continued well into Sunday), and I was so hot, uncomfortable and irritated that we all piled in the (air conditioned!) car and went for a drive, but not before stopping for ice cream! Hell ya!
We cruised around the city with the air conditioning cranked, turned on Elmo to shut the damn toddler up in the back seat until I was nice and cold (read: nipple could cut glass).
Toddler meltdowns are fabulous. C’mon. You know you love it. Crying all the time? Flinging ones body haphazardly onto any surface you can find and flailing around while screaming, convulsing as ones head spins in circles? Fuckin’ awesome.
Damn kid’s stealing my thunder.
Is this what they mean by terrible twos? It’s more like horrendous, debilitating, excruciating, or hellish. I don’t think terrible is very adequate.
The throwing-your-body-around-like-a-rag-doll I can handle, since all I do is laugh. But the screeching? the crying? the whining? Gah!
I am seriously surprised that the weekend didn’t end with me bald, rocking back and forth in the corner and my child duct taped to the wall with a ball gag in his mouth.
I’ve never been so glad to be at work on a Monday morning.
I thought about writing something today, but really? What’s the point? There’s so many people gone to BlogHer that I thought I’d save what I’ve got for later. Besides, I’ve had a crap day with no air conditioning (AGAIN! WTF? Seriously! NOT funny!) and toddler melt down after melt down. I really feel like having a beer and catching up on Big Brother.
BlogHer in Second Life was a really neat experience! Except for the fact that Friday night I got the blue screen of death. Scary!! So I called it quits and shut down, and only attended for short periods of time today.
And, with love for WhyMommy, still working hard to reach other women with information about Inflammatory Breast Cancer, I leave you with this banned commercial from Canada.
I forwarded her message to everyone woman in my email contact list.
Slummin’ in Second Life has been GREAT! I finally met WhyMommy last night. She is fabulous and oh! so! glamorous too! Still crushin’ hard on the shoes!
I learned to dance (ha, if you wanna call it that.. I kind look like a drunk monkey), fly and even picked up some cool swag. Unfortunately, I had to miss check-in this morning since this whole work gig got in the way. Who says you need money to survive? *pffft* (Bad, bad employee that I am has even tried to download SL on my work computer but it keeps crashing. Something about video cards… don’t understand, since I have a Media Centre. Asshats.)
Reading all your BlogHer tweets (follow me!) and posts have already got me planting the seed in Mike’s head about next year. I am so there, or I better be! And! I’ve already rounded up next year’s roommate! Dudes! can you believe it!? I am so excited already! You better watch out; the two of us together? T-R-O-U-B-L-E. (Note: We’ll be there provided it’s not really, really far – like France – and retardedly expensive.)
The countdown has officially begun.
I’ve been stalking my Google Reader for updates and pictures, so get postin’ them people! I wanna see my favourite bloggers in the flesh (on the computer screen).
This online “conference” has really put a damper on my parenting and housekeeping. I’ve abandoned all hope of having clean and FOLDED! laundry put away and the kitchen floor? *pffft* spot cleaning gets us through. Carter’s watched more Dora last evening then he has in his wee little lifetime.
The tumbleweeds of pet hair? I think they’re growing legs. But! The kitchen is clean and the dishes are washed! One small feat.
After last night’s fiasco there are no longer rules of engagement in the House of Me.
I slept in the spare room last night. Took me forever to fall asleep as I plotted his slow and painful demise. This morning, he came in before leaving for work to give me a kiss and say goodbye; I pretended to be sleeping still since I didn’t want to get in a fight just yet. Plus, I hadn’t full developed my plan off attack.
Asshat is going down.
Thirteen Ways I Could Bring Down Manchild.
1. Hot Sauce – even the sight of it can send him running to the washroom, causing stomach cramping and hours on the toilet.
2. Ball Gag and Butt Plug – of course, after I hog tie him like the animal he is.
3. Britney Spears - lock him in a room with her when she’s horny and at her most bat-shit crazy moment.
4. Viper - rent a Viper (the car) for the weekend and not let him near it. This is his dream car people. He’d DIE for a chance to even touch one.
5. XBox 360 - while I have him hog tied and gagged. Smash his XBox in front of him and break each disc in half.
6. Abstain – from sex, with him. Forever.
7. Cats - rescue 9 more cats. Become the crazy cat lady and let them pee on his pillow.
8. Television - sell it. Make sure he’s home when the people come to pick it up.
9. Laundry - turn all his whites pink. Throw away all his clothes and replace with new ones in various shades of pink.
Husband tells wife to go to store and buy tomato juice, but in the meantime, put the dog back outside.
Wife calls husband every name in the book.
Wife goes to store and gets tomato juice.
Husbands stays in bed.
Wife spritzes dog with banana coconut dog spray after lengthy and difficult bath involving pushing, shoving, commanding, yelling, shaking, licking, whining, more shaking, and a tomato covered bathroom.
Husband snoring away.
Wife sleeps in spare bedroom.
Husband and wife are no longer on speaking terms.
This. means. war.
Not a picture from tonight, but a reminder of why I don’t feed her to that damn skunk.
