Censored

So a funny thing happened. But I can’t tell you about it. Then another interesting thing happened, but you’ll just have to take my word for it. And then, this other thing, you’d be SHOCKED! But instead you’ll just be UNINFORMED! Cause I can’t write about it.

This is becoming a bit of an issue. Friends and family stopping in the middle of conversations and/or funny/embarrassing incidents, looking me dead in the eye and saying, “You better not blog about this. Seriously. I’m not kidding. If I read this on the internet, I’m going to kill you.” I might hang out with slightly dramatic people. At least they are entertaining. But again, you’re just going to have to take my word for it.

My mother and father are the ones most annoyed by my blogging about their lives. In the middle of a blog-worthy incident the other night my mother said, “If you blog about this I’ll smack your little face.” Normally my mother is a peaceful woman, but I think the constant media attention surrounding her ceramic dog is starting to wear her down. Just like Britney Spears, soon the dog will be wearing inappropriately revealing clothing when I’m there for his monthly photoshoot. Of course, he already spends most of his days without pants on, so I don’t know how much more inappropriate we can really get. I’m sure if we ask Brit she’d have some advice.

The Roommate is also a bit concerned about the blogging. The other night, when she stumbled into my room after running head-on into a pipe in a parking garage, she said, (between crying and measuring her head for extreme swelling) “Don’t blog about this.” So I had to promise I wouldn’t. And then you people really miss out. Cause someone running head on into a pipe is something that ya’ll would just love hearing about.

I’ve actually even self-censored at some points, erasing long-winded rants on events or people that I realized might not need to be put on the internet. And you really missed out by me and my ability to foresee the possible implications of posting a 500-word researched essay on why one of my co-workers was in fact the spawn of Satan. Sure, you would have been amused, but from everything I’ve read about Satan, it’s not the best idea to antagonize her over the internet.

So then, I really have nothing to say today, and everything I do have to say will either get my killed, slapped, disowned or possibly cursed with a satanic spell. At least I’m not dramatic about it though...