Everyone starts a blog (or so I assume) because they want people to read what they are writing. They want people to notice them, to take interest in them, to bookmark their URL and come back often.
And sure, we all want words of affirmation. They're nice. They're pretty. But I mean, seriously, one can only hear how unbelievably gorgeous they are a certain number of times a day until it starts to become really annoying. I get it, ok? I do have a mirror in my house. Criminy.
Yet many bloggers out there get discouraged and frustrated by the dark side of blogging, aka the anonymous "cowards and chicken people" (thanks Ellen) that give their one cent opinion without backup. Without authority. And quite honestly, without balls.
The ones that comment on your blog anonymously. The ones that create fake social media accounts just to chastise you. The ones that make up super ridiculous pseudo usernames and then post harebrained commentary on goofy sites that have no basis whatsoever. (Just fyi: I wasn't taken out of public school because I had a few pregnancy scares. Actually, I never even fornicated until my senior year at private Christian school. So there.)
And the funniest part is so many bloggers try and claim they don't pay attention to the negativity, that they don't read.
No, no. Lies, all lies. You do. You definitely do. You do because you can't not. You do because that urge is the exact same urge that prompted you to start an online diary in the first place. You are interested in and want to know what people think about you.
You read, I read, We all read.
Now, I have always maintained that I really, no really don't give a shit what outsiders think about me, and by outsiders, I mean people who are completely asinine. People who have no positive bearings on my life. I always "consider my source" when processing if the information is valid enough to be a blip on my radar.
Look. We all gotta get in where we fit in. There is a place on the internets for everyone. A place for pedophiles to congregate (burn in hell), a place for adult humans who are obsessed with action figures, a place for decent bloggers to write and earn some bucks and a place where the undesirables go and spew all their anonymous idiocrasy.
Listen. I love a good debate. I love and respect opposing opinions. I welcome contending rebuttals, no matter how adverse. It's part of what makes this whole writing thing fun and interesting!
It's the anonymity part that I don't respect. I mean, here I am, writing my feelings and opinions that are open and subject to criticism, with my dippy mug and email address right there on clear display, yet so many who want to interject a thought or feedback are doing so under a false pretense.
It's just silly. I don't bite. I don't censor my writing nor do I censor my feedback section, because I welcome both sides equally. I may be mean and scary during a game of Pictionary, but I assure you I am just a simple, sweet, understanding (most likely buzzed) girl behind a computer.
If someone writes in the comment section, "you are such a nasty whore who needs to stick your body in a garbage disposal so it matches your face," and they have a name and e-mail address attached, I can totally respect that! Because then I can actually correspond and reply with something along the lines of, "you're actually only half right. I was a whore, but now I'm totally not. I sometimes wish I was still a whore, but you know, marriage and all that stuff. As for the garbage disposal business...wouldn't that hurt?!" And then from there we could have a grown-up back and forth conversation.
It's when the unidentified anons crackalack that really chaps my big, yet firm bouncy buns. However I must say, you all give me crazy laughs. Almost better than my snicker Pinterest board and there is some funny shiz over there.
Own your shit! I own mine. Bring yourself up to my playing field. Don't be the pitiful one on the sidelines throwing stones and hiding your face behind a Scream mask.
I promise, give you my word...I won't get offended and cry or lash out and track you down at your residence and nunchuck your ass.
Unless you really, really want me to.
In that case I have to warn you...
if that scenario occurs, you may just come to love me.