“Actin’ up, drink in my cup, I can care less what you think.”

I mentioned in my previous post that I couldn’t handle having a blog where I revealed every detail of my life, and that remains true. I don’t think I could even bring myself to put anything out there that someone could take and twist and in turn cause a huge ruckus over. Mainly because I firmly believe when you do things like that, you should have the permission of everyone involved. Yeah, I write about my family and pets and Jay on Cupcake Rehab, but its not in-depth, it’s vague and indirect. I don’t mind so much talking about myself in more depth, because it’s my site, and I’m aware that I may catch shit for saying certain things (like when an insane, probably oxycontin-popping, Sunday School teaching, hypocritcal rabid Conservative bitch named Caroline “attacked” me in my comments for saying I was proud to have voted for Obama last fall and made a statement to the effect that black people deserve to get cancer? Yeah. Like that.. read about it here, after the potatoes *wink*). And I don’t care about that. I love getting into internet “battles of wit” with unarmed people. But honestly, I just wouldn’t feel right talking about people who can’t defend themselves on here, or put their two cents in or people who aren’t aware they’re being discussed. It would make me feel awkward.

I really do want to write more on here. About what, I don’t know. I’d incorporate this blog with Cupcake Rehab but… it doesn’t feel right to do that either. I think separate but (not quite) equal is the way to go.

And I don’t really want this blog to become anything anyway, it’s basically a way of killing time or a place to post things that aren’t Cupcake Rehab appropriate. Cupcake Rehab is my big draw, not this. No one cares about art or knitting. But cupcakes? Peepo’s lub dem sum cuppin’ cakes.

So I feel weird writing about things for those reasons, but there are others. Like the fact that I’ve had creepy stalkers for years for reasons unbeknownst to me, and aforementioned creepy stalkers love to gather what information they can and form little piles of “evidence” while they’re earning their “Weirdo Internet Stalker” badges. And those people, those trolls, they kind of polluted my idea of comfort within blogging, or the freeing feeling that comes from just talking about stuff on a public blog. They ruin(ed) it, and I have no reason to think they’ve stopped the certifiably insane behavior so I have to just watch what I say and where I say it, and see where it pops up next so I can track what big-mouth fool with a gold “Weirdo Internet Stalker” badge was reading up on me and passed it along. When people  create fake emails to harrass you with, make fake websites to talk about you on, hack into other people’s e-mail and LiveJournal accounts just to see what kind of e-mail exchanges you have or to read the private posts you write, you get this way I guess.

And I guess I wouldn’t be a good celebrity- because to me, that’s all just nonsensical bullshit. I can’t even wrap my head around why anyone would waste their time caring what I do, when you don’t like me and have to go through all that trouble just to find out. It’s sorta like, get a life, you know? Why are you concerned with my Cocoa Puffs or that I wear Uggs?

That said, one of the bloggers I most admire is Heather Armstrong of Dooce.com. It’s one of my daily reads, and my favorite blogs. Anyone who can use the phrase “SNAKES ON A MOTHERFUCKING PLANE” to describe giving birth to her kid rocks in my book. And I’m not the only one: she’s got 1.3 million Twitter followers (@dooce is her name), not to mention 9+ million blog visitors per month. Reportedly, she makes $500,000 a year off her blog. That right thurr is some crazy shit. And yet, despite (and most likely because of) her ridiculously enormous popularity, she exposes everything and anything going on in her life unabashedly. And boy, does she get shit for it. I’m talking really nasty, down & dirty, insulting e-mails. Hate mail to the inth degree. Not only about her site, but her and her husband… and worse yet, her daughters. Now, how anyone in their right mind thinks that that’s cool, I’ll never know. Seemingly grown and adult women are reduced to insipid, gossiping, hair-pulling “tweens” upon reading her website and turn into hate-mongering ashsoles. And since when is that okay? To mock and say terrible things about someone’s children, children who have nothing whatsoever to do with an internet blog? I suppose when you’re nuts, everything goes. I personally enjoy her writing, and I find her to be hilarious and a bit wacky, which is just my kind of person really. She’s honest. She detailed her post-partum depression and  getting fired from her job (because of her blog!!) and she didn’t sugarcoat anything at all. Maybe that’s not everyone’s cup of tea, or maybe not everyone would do that, but you have to respect her for having cojones. People are just cruel, and don’t know when to shut the fuck up and move on.

‘Cause you know, here’s the thing: if you don’t like it, DON’T READ IT. Don’t keep going back, reading every post, and commenting on how much you hate he/she/it/them because guess what??? You only make yourself look nuts. “Oh I hate you, I hate this blog, it’s so stupid.” THEN WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU READING IT!? ARE YOU A CRACKHEAD? OR DO YOU HAVE ALZHEIMER’S, AND EVERYTIME YOU SIGN ONLINE YOU FORGET YOU HATE IT, READ IT, AND REMEMBER AGAIN??? No, probably not. Probably they’re just morons. Or people who love the drama. I hate the drama myself. Yes, I refer to it as “the drama.” Because I’ve found it to be such a large entity it deserves not only a “the” but it’s own set of quotes as well, when called for.

I’ve never gotten hate mail for Cupcake Rehab. Ever. Not even one e-mail telling me that I’m a bitch, that my hair sucks, that I’m hated or that my cupcakes are stupid (I just laughed to myself as I wrote that). I don’t know why, really. It seems as though in day-to-day life I make more than enough enemies just being myself, so I can’t imagine why no one’s ever gotten all riled up and e-mailed me about baked goods that I create. And it’s weird. I’d expect that even though I don’t get anywhere near the hits Dooce.com does, that someone in those 700+ people a day that read CR I’d get at least one freak who saw I dyed my coconut green and had an acid flashback and flipped out on me. Or something. But nope. And I have to say I’m kinda glad. While I love crazy people, and I find them endlessly amusing with their attempts at insults… it really is a hassle dealing with that shit. I just wanna fucking make cupcakes, I don’t want to deal with bitches who took too many hormones or right-wing wingnuts who don’t like my Obama-cakes. So I’m glad I don’t have 9 million readers a day. Because guaranteed, with the law of averages, in 9 million there’s bound to be at least 1,000 people who hate me.

And knowing that, would I be willing to put more of myself out there? I don’t know. And I don’t know if the money is even worth it, really, seeing the vile shit that Heather has to read on a daily basis. I’m an opinionated bitch, I know that and I’m proud of it. I have no intention of shutting up, or changing my opinion based on the possibility it may hurt someone or offend someone. Get over it. That’s life. I’m well aware that nobody’s going to kiss my ass, so I sure as shit won’t kiss yours. So would I be willing to be totally open and tell the entire world about things that go on in my life? I really don’t think so. Because as much as I really don’t give two shits what anyone thinks about me, do I really want an inbox clogged with negativity and hate everyday? No. I have enough drama with people that hasn’t got shit to do with a blog.

So I guess I’ll just keep things private. I’ll let the weirdos keep trying to hack their way in just to see what I ate for breakfast and what color underwear I have on today.

Nah, you know what? I’ll throw ‘em a freebie with that one: they’re pink.

Snakes on a motherfucking blog!