Womp womp womp… Here we go…

Despite the title of this post, I do not care much for dubstep.  Most of it is noise, and most of it is garbage… and I can do very well without ever having to listen to “I like my beats fast and my bass down low” ever again.  I do like my beats fast and my bass down low, but I don’t like to listen to what seems to be robots having raging sexual encounters.

No thanks.

This is my first blog I’ve ever written.  I’ve had online journals before and made them super personal before realizing that it was on the World Wide Web and that anyone and everyone was actually reading them… and I was posting really personal shit… well, as personal as it could be at 14 years old and I was losing friends and didn’t understand why.  Then my former friends would drop a snide remark referring to something I had wrote, and my dumb ass puts two and two together like, oh shit… they actually READ this crap? Sweet!

It was more exciting than upsetting when I discovered this… even though they only read it because it was juicy gossip and I was basically talking behind their backs… regardless to the reason…they read it and that’s what counts.  Besides, the parts that weren’t blasphemous were quite witty and sometimes rather enlightening, again, for the mind of a 14 year old, but generally speaking, the majority of it was indeed bullshit…  But I could have cared less, really.  I just wanted to write.

But I did eventually drop out of the online journal scene, and sold myself to the phenomenon of Myspace and sold out to the catastrophe that is Facebook, where its not exactly social networking, but more like social stalking… and yes, I’m guilty of that too.  Since the online journal incident, I’ve accumulated a new circle of friends and reconciled with the old ones, and now that I’ve devoted myself to the routine of updates, there is just so much tagging of where you are, pictures posted of everything you do, and lame-ass one-liners about love that are usually about the person you’ve posted up as you’re “in a relationship with…” as if we didn’t know who you’re talking about… we all know, and we don’t care.  You have signed over your privacy as well as your soul and everyone knows everything about you.

Furthermore, because of this Facebook, I feel myself get stupider as I see other people flood the news feed with all their regurgitated bull shit and love quotes and life quotes and terrible grammar and misspelled words and lame ass videos and bitching about their moms and bitching about their boyfriends and run on sentences…

By the way – what is up with writing like a gangster—gangsta?

This was a for real “post war” on Facebook that I really didn’t know what this kid was thinking for TYPING like this let alone speaking like this.  He was white and had a name like Josh Marshall* (not really Josh Marshall, but was as white as that, I’m just trying to protect the privacy and dignity of this confused soul)

…okay… who am I kidding…

His name was Evan Thompson and this is what he wrote:

“To So-and-So you seem like one dumb ass nig yo, speak for yoself about who was listening to music when b. A nigga was listening to motzart in his cradle An fuck pusha T props to that chick for NOT knowing who his gay muthafuckin bitch ass iz yo”

………………….What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

I mean I got it, its just that I’m thinking… REEEALLLY DUDE?  Are you serious?  He types like he talks.  “Yoself”? “An”? “Bitch ass iz yo”?  I have to really think about how I’d want to type all that out to make it sound like how its spoken.  Its a new dialect… like Jive or Ebonics.  But its just called Gangsta or fucken whatever.  Its moronic.

Anyhow.  I just spend the last hour and half of work making this because I had nothing else better to do.  It’s officially Friday and I wanna get my drink on.

But one last thought:

I won’t pretend that I’m writing this blog because I’m doing this for me, or its my outlet for venting, or whatever the case may be.  I AM doing this for me because I need peace of mind from this terribly addictive Facebook.  Mind you, I do have a journal, and all my real complaints go in there and I promise, well… I’ll try not to bore you with the details… however, I get great joy in knowing that I have incited you in some form or fashion… Whoever you are and however you somehow came across this blog, if you’ve related to, been angered by, lauged at, or were strangely aroused by anything I’ve said, my job is done and I can sleep soundly.  Facebook is too personal, and I’m too crass for certain family members and friends and coworkers to read what I have to say without getting strange looks over dinner or through the cubicle.

Please judge me.  Because sometimes I don’t think that I make sense either, but the only way to know if it really exists is if someone else sees it too.

Unless that someone else is imaginary, then I’m really fucked.