Smarmy

I know this is totally pretentious and assholey of me, so much that I just made up the word assholey, but I have been privy to some terrible blogs lately. It's not that I think I am this profound beacon of wisdom that spouts out wonderful things from the mountaintops. God knows the last time I was even in the mountains, hiking would actually be good for me, and the only thing I do that is good for me anymore is think about working out.

But these blogs. Oh my blog. I have noticed a pattern that follows along with them. It is a young girl that is blatantly beautiful, and she is spewing on and on about how terrible and complicated how life is, how her body isn't doing what she wants it to do any longer and how everything would just work itself out perfectly if she could just find that perfect combination of mustache and flannel to love her the way she needs to be loved.

Women can be idiots. Being one, I can testify to this without being called a misogynist. They get these ideas in their head that life is supposed to be a carbon copy of a romantic comedy, and this fellow that is slightly clumsy but attractive is supposed to chase after them like some sort of hungry puppy dog slobbering over their every move that they make. It such a contrived notion, that I would think if these women were indeed the intelligent and beautiful beings that they fancied themselves, they wouldn't be in this blogging pickle of sorrow and sadness, spouting terrible poetry, pining after something that they can never have. Have you ever seen the most BEAUTIFUL woman in the world and asked yourself, "Gee why is she single?" If you ask that and then proceed to pursue her, I might tell you to run for the fucking woods and never come out. Because my friend, she is crazy and wrought so much with crazy that you will find yourself in some sort of tangled up mindfuck craze and never be able to fully tear yourself out.

She will blog about you, I can guarantee it. And she will put in all these vaguely dark things about you along with your picture, every douchey thing you said to her when you happened to get off a bad day of work and anything that has been taken out of context. You will become her obsession, and her girl power minions will follow suit, holding up protest signs with your name attached to them, ready to burn you at the stake. Now, I am not saying that every beautiful woman is this way. I have many gorgeous and sane friends, but I think you know that type I am talking about. You can see the crazy popping in and out of their eyes. They are able to mask it for a moment, but once you catch the first inkling of it, heed my advice and go far far away.

These women, the think themselves as some sort of Jane Austins of the 20th century. Writing flowery poetry and speaking of how much they enjoy sex and being naked and walking through cemeteries and crying, they are always openly weeping and blogging about it while they do so. They create this persona of themselves as some sort of 50s housewife but independent and full of spitfire at the same time. Yet they are the most co-dependent people I have ever happened across. They thrive on the attention of another female's jealousy, get high off of a man pursuing them and the freak out when he doesn't fawn in the manner that she fantasized about he night before. They talk about what raging wine lushes they are and how they are proud of that and how amazing masturbation is. It is just bragging rights. It is just trying to impress the hoi-polloi with tales by hyping themselves up. It is the reason that blogging could get a bad rap. They coin the term "What are you going to blooog about it now?"

I'm not saying that I am this cold robot without thoughts and feelings, that I don't like to down the booze and pine at times. But when those moments strike, those true deep and dark moments, you will never find them publicly gracing the computer screen of a blog. Like my friend said the other day when I was sharing excerpts from these little ditties, "When the locks start coming off of journals?" I may be old fashioned spouting motherly advice, but damnit, there is a time and place for those things to come out, and you will never see me posting why I hurt inside or a fight that I got into with my husband unless it is in form of a hilarious anecdote.

In the meantime though, you can bet your ass I will keep wasting my precious time sifting through these people baring it all on the internet, because for me it has become like reality t.v. but in blog form.