lundi, novembre 24, 2008

All Apologies

As the act of blogging begins to feel pointless (which, I suspect, might just be the very point at which it begins to have a point) I feel to abuse the medium by perpetrating the lowest common denominator: the cyberconfessional.

Forgive me, blogosphere, for I have sinned. (confessions in purple)

I'm impeccably clean. I really am. But I don't wash my hands as obsessively as people might assume. I have nothing resembling germ phobia. Furthermore, most of my housecleaning (outside the bathroom!) is purely cosmetic. My obsessively clean house floats on a massive wave of total disorganization. The truth is, I just want things to look nice.

I hate my hair.

People with pants sagging well below their underwear line really make me kind of sick with anger and disapproval. I don't care if judging them thus makes me sound old, or intolerant, or judgemental. Go to hell all you butt-dragging ass wipes. All of you.

I sometimes exaggerate my level of disapproval of a given something, just for effect. I don't know what I get out of it. [Ed. Note: we were ABSOLUTELY NOT kidding or exaggerating about punching Bill Maher in the face.]

Once, when morbid curiosity got the best of me, I clicked on a link that was supposed to take me to a free viewing of a Paris Hilton home movie. I was relieved when the link was a joke. But I still clicked it. And I have to live with that for the rest of my days.

I know it means that 50% of the population will seethe with hatred toward me, and the other half will misunderstand, but I can't wait for that blessed day when we can joke about or question Obama. At the moment, every time I do so, someone cries, or hates me quietly, or worse, assumes I voted for McCain or Bush.

I ate meat the other day. On purpose. A piece of roast beef from a plate of cold cuts and it was delicious. I still have no desire to participate in the truly repulsive meat industry. And I still went home and made a tofurky sandwich. But there it is, hypocrisy on rye.

I just realized I could go on almost forever. There are so many things wrong, or at least questionable, in my conduct and/or character, that there might be no hope at all for me. No matter who is president. Damn.

1 commentaire:

.när'sĭ-sĭz'əm. a dit...

hope is lost!
abandon soul.

what is it about the holiday season that makes this passion and loss of control surge and foam and kick? people ask the black questions and shiver with anticiaption at doom ahead.

love it.

christmas smells like burning philosophies and dreams.

how exciting.