So I’ve recently rediscovered how cool it is to have a blog so much that I’ve rendered myself useless these past two days. Of course the mandatory functions of hygiene and feeding my family have been executed like clockwork. But the remaining twenty hours in a day have been divided between reading and writing posts. Oh and sleep, or ten minutes of the longest blink ever, same thing. (Hi, my name is Mata Hari and I’m an insomniac.)
Alright, obviously my parents weren’t crack addicts who named me Mata Hari. They were coke addicts, but that’s another story. I don’t intend to say who I am even though I know an 8 year old hacker could probably figure out the htp/nfl whatever internety lingo and get my identity pretty easily. For now, I’ll just relax in the fact that no one yet even knows this blog exists so I need not concern myself with the intricacies of being identity raped by an 8 year old.
I’ve had several attempts at blog writing over the past few years. The first time around I was in a state of perpetual angst and thought everyone would love to read about my witty observations about why life sucks and then you die. I then thought it appropriate to seek like-minded bloggers to establish myself in a cool online community of people who were too school for cool like me.
But their blogs were depressing. And unfunny. And mine was the worst. I think I may have had half of a follower.
My most recent attempt went much better. I decided to do a little ode to my city and interview all the boutique owners and talk about what great things you could buy or stuff you could do in our quaint beach town. It became an unofficial guide and I soon had frequent followers (some even in other countries, woohooo!). People actually knew me from my blog and were shocked to meet me in real life. Okay, maybe just one people… er person. And maybe that person was like 5. But I was mildly, mildly, luke-warmedly famous. If famous meant not that famous.
Gradually blogging lost it’s luster as I started to think about how I owed it to my town to portray it in the best light possible, as if the town authorities had actually read my blog and vested this responsibility to me. I was just about ready to kneel before the mayor and respectfully wait to be tapped on each shoulder by a royal sword – Ambassador of BLANK Town.
I had originally started the blog because it was a lame attempt to get more friends. I imagined I could exchange business cards with my blog address on them and go to lunch with the cute fashionista bloggers and perhaps get great deals from certain places because I’d write about them.
Yeah, I fully imagined being like Julia Roberts in the opening scene of My Best Friend’s Wedding when the staff in the restaurant were tripping over themselves to make sure she got the best service because she was some important food critic and could possibly write a review that would end their careers. Not that I wanted the power of career-ending, but you get the gist.
I started thinking I should take on bigger issues in my town, like things that people were protesting about. For something that I had yet to earn a penny from, I was stressing out way too much about that blog.
Then one day it came to an end. I went to update my Wordpress site and the whole thing somehow disappeared. I reluctantly opened my GoDaddy account to see if it was something I could fix (a big no-no if you’re as computer savvy as a postage stamp). I made it worse and somehow made it even more impossible to recover my stupid blog. C’est la vie!
Anyway, after a while it started to become a little strange having people I knew reading things I wrote. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I realize readers you might actually know is a big obvious part of having a blog. But it further cemented me in the personality façade I was currently trying to escape.
I’m not trying to say I have a big phoney personality, but okay maybe I do. We all do. I’ve got kids, I volunteer, I bake and I do normal mundane adult things. But I also like to say fuck, fantasize about David Beckham, fantasize about Scarlet Johansen and be generally un-politically correct sometimes. Of course I wouldn’t do any of that in front of my kids, or anyone I know for that matter. But sometimes it’s just good to get it out. I definitely couldn’t do that on “The Unofficial Blank Town Blog”.
So there it is. My rambling, roundabout reason for starting Free Mata Hari. I don’t know much about Mata, but my Wiki knowledge suggests that she was a free-spirited, sex-loving woman who got accused of some shit and got shot. Ain’t life a bitch sometimes?
I have no idea if anyone will ever actually read these words because I have not yet figured how I’m going to get this blog out there without telling anyone about it. I certainly can’t link it to my Facebook and say “Hey look at the blog someone else is writing! And all the similarities between this person and me are PURE coincidence. Pass it along, thanks!”.
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