Today, feeling too vulnerable, too exposed and too unsophisticated, I took all of my offensive, ridiculous, shameful postings off this blog and saved them in a word document. I'm starting a new project in my career and I don't want my colleagues to see the deep recesses of my psyche. So, I deleted any evidence of that, represented in my rantings. Funny, right? I don't give two shits about the rest of the world exposed to my psychosis, however, I'm more concerned with potential colleagues. How does that work? It's easier to expose oneself to the world of people whose faces one could not remember than be shamed, however temporarily, by an acquaintance. Well, I digress. I didn't want my rants to be judged by my coworkers and prevent me from accomplishing a great step in my career. I never gave a shit about a career before...
In the process of taking down my posts, I began to read and couldn't stop. I had recorded instances in my life about which I had completely forgotten until I began to read. I read my post, "A Date; An Evaluation" and had not even recalled that guy until now. It's almost two years later. At the time I wrote that post, my feelings were hurt and my ego was bruised. It was my first real rejection. When I thought about it after I read it, I understood that that flighty relationship wasn't meant to last anyway. My experiences in dating, to this point, have brought me to that realization. In two years, I evolved in so many ways with regards to dating, but reading that post brought up feelings for me that I felt at the time. WOW. And when I read "My Nephew Thinks He's Michael Jackson" and I think about how my family is just getting him on the right track, now. Not to mention that Michael Jackson is dead. I thought to myself, "how could I delete this stuff?" I can't. It's like I was reading my past, written at the very moments my past was formed and how lucky I am to have felt passionately enough about it to record it, right then. To me, these posts, this blog, is better than a diary. Banality is absent (at least to me, call me a narcissist). It's better than telling or relating a story because the facts don't become lies and there's no hiding my reality, not even when it was negative. Everything on this blog, is how I felt at the time I wrote it and the feeling, the energy that comes across through my words and your reading it, while they might not be the same, will affect you as it has me already.
So yeah, I took everything offensive down and put it back up again. I did change a few "abrasive" terms to be PC, but the content remains and so shall the story. Even if I'm the only one reading it.
Friday, February 11, 2011
OM…God?
Originally Posted on 11.14.2010
Okay, I've officially succumbed to the social bullshit humdrum. Yes, I've become a tweeter. WTF? I thought I was too deep for this shit. I used to make fun of people on twitter, updating their bullshit statuses after they ate a banana or just fucked somebody's broke ass, toothless baby daddy in some Podunk black or white town in the heart of bankrupt America (i.e. somewhere in the Midwest). Man, I feel more exploited than that "Hide ja kids, hide ja wife" nigga with that dirty ass red bandanna. Well not really, at least that nigga was on TV and blew the fuck up for a week on YouTube. You sellout! And your sister was supposedly raped, yeah fucking right. But still, I'm no different and if confronted with the opportunity for a week of exposure, I'd probably do the same with my silly ass friends. Actually thinking people are interested in what I have to say is a punch to the gut to me. I can't help but to ridicule and deride myself over the decision to join Twitter. It's not even as if I'm disillusioned as to think I will be different and garner a mass of people following my posts and reading my lips as I text the latest tweet. I can't even say I joined because I"m genuinely intrigued by social media and the development of social technology over the past decade. I have 200 friends on facebook and most of them are so restricted that they can't even see my updates or photos. I don't even have a profile pic listed for random searches. My shit is official. Really, I don't even like facebook. It's a nuisance thinking of witty bullshit just so people can say "like" it or comment "Awesome, me too!" Who gives a fuck? Still, I succumbed to the pressure of my homegirls to join this bullshit "networking" site all on the strength of how funny they think I am after I've been drinking and smoking joints for 3 hours. I suddenly become hysterical through their true blood eyes and slurred speech. So yes, if you're wondering, I did it for my ego. Under an alias however. I wasn't as grandeur as to put MY name on this, believing it would boost my intrigue just a lil bit. Actually a friend and I set it up as a forum for salacious but local gossip and one-liner opinions from our respective social crews. And while all of our friends' stories are hell-fucking-larious to us, I doubt that anyone else would find our conversational meanderings as funny as we do. In fact, I predict that we will have absolutely no "followers" on twitter and even our close homegirls, from which our content derives, will even look at our page. Our skandaloshow (tweet and retweet us ;) will probably fizzle out in 3 months. I'll put money on it.
Okay, I've officially succumbed to the social bullshit humdrum. Yes, I've become a tweeter. WTF? I thought I was too deep for this shit. I used to make fun of people on twitter, updating their bullshit statuses after they ate a banana or just fucked somebody's broke ass, toothless baby daddy in some Podunk black or white town in the heart of bankrupt America (i.e. somewhere in the Midwest). Man, I feel more exploited than that "Hide ja kids, hide ja wife" nigga with that dirty ass red bandanna. Well not really, at least that nigga was on TV and blew the fuck up for a week on YouTube. You sellout! And your sister was supposedly raped, yeah fucking right. But still, I'm no different and if confronted with the opportunity for a week of exposure, I'd probably do the same with my silly ass friends. Actually thinking people are interested in what I have to say is a punch to the gut to me. I can't help but to ridicule and deride myself over the decision to join Twitter. It's not even as if I'm disillusioned as to think I will be different and garner a mass of people following my posts and reading my lips as I text the latest tweet. I can't even say I joined because I"m genuinely intrigued by social media and the development of social technology over the past decade. I have 200 friends on facebook and most of them are so restricted that they can't even see my updates or photos. I don't even have a profile pic listed for random searches. My shit is official. Really, I don't even like facebook. It's a nuisance thinking of witty bullshit just so people can say "like" it or comment "Awesome, me too!" Who gives a fuck? Still, I succumbed to the pressure of my homegirls to join this bullshit "networking" site all on the strength of how funny they think I am after I've been drinking and smoking joints for 3 hours. I suddenly become hysterical through their true blood eyes and slurred speech. So yes, if you're wondering, I did it for my ego. Under an alias however. I wasn't as grandeur as to put MY name on this, believing it would boost my intrigue just a lil bit. Actually a friend and I set it up as a forum for salacious but local gossip and one-liner opinions from our respective social crews. And while all of our friends' stories are hell-fucking-larious to us, I doubt that anyone else would find our conversational meanderings as funny as we do. In fact, I predict that we will have absolutely no "followers" on twitter and even our close homegirls, from which our content derives, will even look at our page. Our skandaloshow (tweet and retweet us ;) will probably fizzle out in 3 months. I'll put money on it.
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