the cheese stands alone

Raise Your Hands

Perhaps it's age. Perhaps it's my current personal state of affairs. Or perhaps I'm just more confident in my identity less worried about superficial praise just don't give a good crap anymore drunk. But I find I'm blogging more and more "from the heart", i.e. without my mental editor. I thinking I'm opening up sharing the real me getting too damn lazy and not holding back as I normally do.
Honest. What, you thought I was just mentally circling the drain being colorful and impulsive? Darlings, everything I have said is carefully crafted and calculated to make full use of those tricky alliterative skills present a certain, light-hearted, good-natured, sweetness-and-light persona.
In reality, I am a brat. A self-centered meanie who revels in the disasters and foibles of others. A real person.
And that's okay. Really, it is. I used to be obsessed worried a bit concerned that if I didn't play nice, no one would want to play with me. (By play with me, let me clarify, I don't mean swap naked photos. Get your hand off the email button now.) I mean that if I'm really me, no one will want to comment, or email, or blogroll me, let alone every meet me in the flesh.
(Yes, I used the word flesh. It's not an invitation. Must I remove your email button entirely?)
But massive quantities of alcohol some deep thinking has made me realize a few things:
1. Only a few of you know me in (let me giggle on this phrase) "real life".
2. I have caller I.D.
3. The chance of me ever having the wherewithal to go to any blogmeetupthingy is very close to my bank balance, i.e. low to none.
4. Is "wherewithal" a real word, or did I dream it up during strip-Scrabble? It looks funny.
These conclusions, while saddening in the squashing of hopes and dreams (I really wanted to give Eric a noogie someday, because that's what you do to little brothers), are also very freeing. I can say anything I want. I can be as contrary as I want. I can have (dare I say it?) opinions.
Man.
The mind wobbles. Let me sit down.
Oh.
Okay then, onward.
So let's continue in this babbling vein and flatly state a confession:
I have a secret blogroll.
Go on, weep for my lost humanity, I've earned it.
Finished? Need a tissue? Used your sleeve? Ewww. Okay then, onward again.
I guess blogroll is technically a misnomer, since it's not on a blog. Or maybe it is correct, since it's a list of blogs. But more to the point, it's a compilation of blogs I read fairly regularly, but wouldn't put on my blogroll here at The Cheese because they are what are clinically known as Train Wrecks.
You know what I mean. Those blogs whose writers or subject matter is so off the charts downright Bad that you can't stop looking. You tell yourself that this has to be the worst thing you've ever read, the stupidest outlook you've ever heard, the worst bullshit you've ever witnessed... and yet you bookmark them and go back time and time again to see what else upliftingly ridiculous they've said, thus assuring you that no matter how bad you write, no matter how your life is going, no matter what petty crimes again humanity you commit, there is Someone Else out there who is a bigger waste of skin than you are.
It's the same theory behind the show "Cops". I love "Cops".
So that's my big confession for tonight. I hope it brought you joy and happiness and if nothing else made you feel like a better person, if for no other reason than you aren't me. And no, I won't share my secret list with you. I mean, what if you're on it? How embarassing would that be?
For you, I mean, not me. I gave up shame, remember?
Or *insert evil laugh here* have I?
No, that didn't make sense. I gave up making sense, too.
Bwahahahahahaha!
As long as I'm up.... refill, anyone?