The Unlikely Blogger

I hate blogs.

I’ve had to write them weekly as assignments while completing my English degree. I’ve had to critique, review, and demolish other people’s blogs for credit. Urgh, blogs. I hate how people blog about their kids spilling paint on the kitchen floor and post pictures about it. I hate how people don’t know how to spell. I hate how I’m in danger of plagiarizing myself because blogs are considered to be “published material.”

I love lots of other things though! Here are a few:

1) Shaving cream

Really, any kind of yummy creamy substance in general (please don’t take that dirtily, kiddies). I love piling a heaping amount of whipped cream on a piece of pie – or without the pie. I love squirting so much hair mousse in my hand that my hair becomes hard and crusty and impenetrable after I apply it. I love lathering my legs in so much wonderful smelling shaving cream that I sometimes forget to shave them.

2) Goats

My family used to own goats. One of them was gay, but that’s besides the point. Yes they smell and sometimes get hemorrhoids (and you have to castrate them by putting elastic bands around their balls) but they are soooooo cute. They have these adorable little beards they make them look like little old men...like garden gnomes. Some have horns (straight, lopsided, or curvy – again, don’t take that dirtily, kiddies). They headbutt each other for fun, jump off of ridiculously high surfaces, and do a weird kind of body jolt/fake seizure thing while in mid-air. Sometimes they stand still without moving for so long, like pot-bellied statues. Like Buddha. You can try to ride them like horses – they don’t like it very much, but you’re much less likely to get paralyzed this way. Oh, I just want a goat to hug right now.

Rupert

3) Men Who Wear Makeup, High Heels, and/or Angora Sweaters

Sometimes, I think there’s nothing more beautiful that a man with flawless skin, perfect makeup, hairy legs, and Michelle Obama toned arms. In my defense, women have flocked towards people like David Bowie and Tim Curry FOR YEARS. My idols are indeed David Bowie, Tim Curry (but only as Dr. Frakenfurter in The Rocky Horror Picture Show or attempting to create a solo career in 1977-1980), Marc Bolan, Ed Wood, Wilson Jermaine Heredia (the original Angel in RENT), and RuPaul. One of my most favourite books is I Am Not Myself These Days by Josh Kilmer-Purcell: a memoir about a dude who works a corporate job by day, and becomes a drag queen named “Aquadisiac” by night. However, I do think there’s nothing more horrendous than a bad drag queen who clearly has put in little effort.

4) Music

Who doesn’t like music, right?

My aunt doesn’t. She says that she “doesn’t really care about it.” Like any music at all. Actually, that’s a lie – one time I found “The Best of Simon and Garfunkel” in her car. I can understand if you’re indifferent to politics, tattoos, or flossing your teeth…but music? That’s akin to being indifferent to bathing, or global warming, or – or death. I bought her an Ipod for Christmas, with the hope that she would discover music…I think she may have used it once.

Back to me: I love music, but not all of it. I dislike almost all country, emo bands, hardcore screamy death metal (I can handle mild screamy death metal though), and any harpsichord music. I love love love 70s rock (in particular Glam Rock), the British Invasion, select Punk Rock, Broadway soundtracks, and Amy Winehouse (yes, Amy Winehouse is her own genre). But really, anything with good harmonies will win me over. I grew up singing in church choirs; I play the piano (well), the guitar (okay), and the violin (horribly). My grandma and mom are choir leaders/past piano teachers/singers, my sister is a piano/voice teacher, and my Dad plays the tin can.

5) Diagnosing People with Partially Correct Disorders

I love reading case studies about people who have had a horrible childhood and ended murdering a village (okay, that sounds gruesome, I don’t love that). Let’s rephrase that: I love reading about psychological symptoms, and making a diagnosis. I’m usually wrong (Asocial and Antisocial are TWO DIFFERENT THINGS, stupid!) but I like to pretend I know what I’m talking about. I’ve taken quite a few psych classes, but I could never ever do it as a career. I’d be the therapist doodling on her clipboard while the client goes on and on, and probably ask him/her: “Do you mind if I lay on the couch for a bit? I’m just a tad sleepy.”

I’ve decided to give this whole blog thing one more shot. I’m sick of writing essays. Plus, I’ll be able to fulfill my need for narcissistic rambling. And if one other person besides myself actually reads this, it will all be worth it…right?