Sorry, everyone – but this blogger is not real. “Asher, 21, Ireland, hot, gay.” OK! But, like I said, this is almost certainly another fake blog penned by some 40-year-old weirdo with a computer. It’s happened before, again and again and again.
[via The Awl]
Because I’m an idiot, I spent the last two weekends gallivanting around the state of Florida, primarily the areas of Orlando, West Palm Beach and Jupiter. The first weekend entailed a Disney vacation with Matt. The second weekend, a “relaxing” stay (It actually did turn out to be pretty relaxing!) with my parents and my sister. These two trips were supposed to be combined, which is where the “I’m an idiot” factor comes into play. I booked the Disney vacation on the wrong fucking weekend, so long story, I had to spend hundreds of dollars on last-minute flights, car rentals, etc., all because I’m an r-word who doesn’t listen, never calls and can’t communicate with others (according to my mother). Anyway, I’m back in D.C. and I’m totally poor!
During the most recent of my Florida sojourns – which consisted largely of eating, drinking, visiting a turtle hospital, and peering at multi-million dollar condos from the interior of a Ford Windstar minivan – I had a lot of time to reflect on things. Am I happy with where I am in life? Not really! I mean, I am very lucky to have a great boyfriend and great friends and a great family and a great dog and a great apartment and great hair – but… everything else (And what else is there, really?) is a disaster. And so, I’ve given myself 25 days to get my life in order, because in 25 days I turn 27.
Basically, I need to determine two things: Do I need to go back to school, and if so, what do I want to study? And what do I do with this blog? I want to return to writing, but part of me wants to start over in a totally anonymous way. So, dear blog friends, please solve all of my problems, thanks!
Check out this post by DC Cised. It sort of reminds me of my own writing from back in the day.
I have a hard enough time seeing my friends in eye-rollingly meager whisps of Lycra at the pool, so you can imagine my discomfort when stumbling upon photos of my friends doing sexy times on the Internet.
This very thing happened to me the other day when about 300 people e-mailed me links to a porn blog that featured still frames of a mutual “friend” (To be honest, I barely know this person, he showed up to my boyfriend’s birthday party one year and was perfectly nice, I’ve probably interacted with him three times since then.) pounding out the veal with his considerably less attractive “co-star.”
As with any disaster – be it one involving cars, acts of nature, or, in this case, an individual – it was impossible to look away, so I scanned through the images, experiencing a tingling sensation that was entirely unfamiliar, given the situation. No, it wasn’t arousal; it was faint admiration.
Indeed, how empowering it must be to allow photos of the most private aspects of your life and genitalia be posted on the Internet for the world to see. To live without a thing to hide – I’m not sure if I have or will ever experience that. I’m always covering up something: my emotions, my tenders. ESPECIALLY my tenders. No Lycra swim trunks for me.
You know, blogging really is sort of like doing porn. You’re putting yourself out there, exposing yourself (albeit figuratively) to the judgement of family, friends and strangers alike. Of course, blogging is far less lucrative and usually doesn’t involve getting your taint waxed.
I just posted a new About Me page. It’s been a while since I’ve written one of these! I used to have a really good one from a previous layout, I’ll have to dig around to find it.
Is it possible that I’ve forgotten how to write? I’ve been staring at the computer screen for the last 10 minutes, starting a sentence and then deleting it and then starting it again. (Granted, the sentences were largely terrible, but hey that has never stopped me before!)
I honestly thought that blogging was like riding a bike – an innocuous hobby that, if unchecked, can quickly advance to an act of self-righteousness that annoys anyone who doesn’t quite share an interest in your “quirky” obsession. Oh, and that you never forget how to do it.
Now, if I haven’t forgotten how to write, then I’ve certainly forgot other things. Like, my niece’s sixth birthday, And, say, MY DREAMS.
God, remember when I dreamed of writing a book? Ha ha ha – how quaint. A book! Maybe if I actually read books, I’d know how to write one! But, no, I’m too busy reading blogs – and stupid blogs at that. (I am not entirely to blame here, as most of the good blogs rarely update anymore.)
Of course, there is one dream I haven’t forgotten – my dream of being 200 pounds. And I achieved this dream!… by, um, becoming fat. But still! Technicalities.
At the end of February this year, I clocked in at 200 pounds. (For reference, I weighed 172 pounds in January 2008.) I was huge. No one could mess with me! And when I went down to Florida with my family, my mother leadingly asked me if I planned on staying at “this size,” and my brother-in-law accused me of using steroids. Finally, I was getting the attention I deserved! I loved being big. I loved being not skinny.
But dreams can’t last forever. Realizing that I was puffy and quite literally water-logged, I went on a “diet” and dropped 10 to 15 pounds. I do not know what I currently weigh, I sort of don’t care. (Lies!)
Anyway, the lesson is: Dreams. And writing. I’ve forgotten how important these things are to me, and I think it’s time that we got seriously reacquainted.
If I were to start a new blog, what should it be called?
I wonder what went through his head as he navigated his Blogspot settings and deleted me from his blogroll.
Gosh, I remember being 19 years old and getting into retarded “blog wars” with people and refusing to link to my perceived enemies ever again. Deleting someone from my blogroll – well, that was the ultimate “fuck you.” To be honest, my reasons for doing this were usually immature, misdirected, and based on an irrational desire to have control over someone. I never deleted someone from my blogroll because I stopped reading his blog. I would delete him because I wanted him to feel as unlikable and disposable and forgettable as I felt about myself.
Of course, it’s possible that he simply does not read my blog anymore, which is fine. But I still plan on reading his, so he stays on my list for now.
He says he isn’t going to write a “typical last-post-ever entry, where I would say ‘my heart’s not in it anymore,’ ‘I’ve run out of things to say,’ ‘I’d rather end on a high’” – but this is exactly what he does. And in the process, he concedes that – despite the thick layer of self-deprecation that tempered nearly every post – blogging has definitely gone to his head.
I like to think there is some solid reading material that stands alone outside the blogging world.
I realize that London Preppy is a brand, a brand that holds some power in the gay blogging world.
I like my three quarters of a million hits, thank you very much.
Hmm, OK. Well, have fun writing your book. It’s a shame because I feel partly invested in your life and even though you’ve been quietly leading up to this with all of your “Read these other blogs!” recommendations, they all suck.
In other news, stupid Liz got the ban hammer from Rusty! Lulz!
I’m boarding a direct flight to Heathrow this afternoon. Hopefully London Preppy sorted out my guest pass to his gym, as we discussed.
Talk soon.
xo Tobes
Addendum: FYI, this was my sad attempt at an April Fools Joke.
See the “What I’m Doing” widget in the sidebar? That’s my Twitter feed. The video below explains Twitter, in plain English. (Via Demo Girl.)
At the first, the banner above had all of this graphic text shit all over it, but it looked pretty terrible.
Any ideas on what I should do?
Addendum: I fixed the banner error that displayed in IE.
