Well, it turns out I'm not the only blogger in existence. Which I guess I already knew . . but there are a few others. In fact I think the number is somewhere equal to grains of sand at the beach.
No big'y.
(And me lost in the shuffle? Nothing I'm not used to, --I assure you.)
It seems however some are offended by blogs. I don't mean in the same fashion as one is offended by say, a racists or a cupcake hog, . . --- it's just some get a little grossed out by all the picture perfect 'Christmas-card' family stories to be read on blogs.
My girlfriend (*very excited here that so soon into my blogging I can already squeeze in a line alluding to the fact that yes, I have friends*) frankly,cannot stand them. I guess to her it feels like the same mommy-trend that hit hard about eight years ago when scrapbooking overtook even Oprah in social status.
I must say I'm with her on the scrapbooking thing. If I'm going to spend that much time around my pictures there better be modeling involved or a large check. And how long can a grown woman play with crafting scissors and stickers, anyway? I know someday our generation will be the pioneers of the Provo Craft era, but don't count me in. Any hobby that necessitates using the word 'cute' twenty-six times in a thirty minute spell, is the epitome of wrong--and you know it.
But, whatever . . And to each his own.
I can only pray though there is not a scrapbook in existence that was paid for by the missing of a Project Runway episode.
Don't hate the messenger.
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