Alternate Title: My Humility Brings All the Boys to the Yard

So, there’s this blog I read.  And I’m stupid for reading it, because I hate it.  Every.single.word just infuriates me.  The writer ires me to no end.  AND YET I READ IT.

I’ve tried to figure out what it is exactly that I can’t stand about it, and I’ve come to realize it’s the blatant hypocrisy there.  This writer enjoys being hurtful.  This writer has actually attacked people I love, and I’m all like, WTF, WRITER?! and they still continue to do it.

But what REALLY grinds my teeth?  When they write about how blogging is immature and infantile.

.. um.. sorry?  Come again?  Wait, let me refresh the page ON YOUR BLOG, MY DEAR.

Then there’s the rants about how some people.. how dare they?.. put their whole lives on display.  They pimp out their children and their husbands and their pictures and MY LORD, how incredibly attention-starved must one be to do that?  And by the way, can you possibly come over and see this link to my new project that I’m doing?  Or maybe just click on an ad or two while you’re here?  What?  You think I’m being hypocritical, by asking you to indulge in my endeavors while bashing everyone else for doing the same?  Of COURSE I’m not.  Because I’m clearly better than you.

And that, my friends?  That just plain ole pisses me off.

Look, there are few ultimates I can put down on paper and stand behind.  I can’t say “never” and “always” very many times, because in reality, there are very few “nevers” and “always” that remain unchallenged.  I also mess up a bit sometimes a lot.  But I also feel that this medium that blogging has offered us — and by us, I mean the greater blogging community, those of us who hone our craft through trial and error and by supporting eachother — the ability to share our stories openly, and stories have both good guys and bad guys and sometimes, the good and the bad reside in the same body.  Life is messy and juicy and worth getting up to your elbows in.  It may not always have a perfect, spic-n-span lemony-fresh smell to it, but dadgummit, it’s got truth behind it.  And I give a lot more respect to bloggers who include all of the good, the bad, and the ugly when they write.

My child ate cat poo.  I have run through neighborhoods dressed as a hooker. I have suffered through PPD.  I failed at breastfeeding.  I don’t work well with jalapenos. And I’ve pooed on a toilet seat.  I’m sorry if you feel these things make you think that I need to grow up, but my Lord, it never stopped you from reading.  And you can say that me publishing these events may make me infantile or exhibitionist or attention-starved or whatever, but I think they make me human.

Of course, yes, I see the hypocrisy in my reading something that I know will ire me.  I know that makes me no better.  But yet, I feel like venting about it here (and no, I won’t link to the blog full of posts that just prove my point, because why give them the exposure that they villify but then hope for?) and saying that I appreciate — nay, I NEED bloggers that are honest and forthcoming about their lives to make me feel more sane in mine.

I could teach you, but I’d have to charge.