Sometimes I forget why I blog. I have friends who have just gracefully but completely stopped blogging and sometimes I think I should just do that, let this little green corner of the internet go rather fallow and neglected like rice cakes at the back of the pantry that you bought that one time you thought, “I’ll snack on rice cakes when I’m craving sweets and it’ll help me lose weight!” and you just knew it wouldn’t work.
Which is why I don’t stop blogging – because it wouldn’t work. I’d eat the sweets. Something funny would happen or Stuart would say something immensely clever or I’d have an existential crisis 2.0 or I’d become unemployed again (hey! June 15! wotcha!) and I’d crawl back like a puppy who’s just been naughty in the living room corner and BLOG.
That’s sort of a negative reason to stay here. And what its essence boils down to is that I blog because I like to write out my thoughts and hear them echo back from you. And, let’s be honest, I also get to meet you fabulous creatures out there. Like Anna and partner in crime and wit, Bobbie.
I think it was somewhere when we were careening towards the Samovar after a brief but terrifying stay in Tequilaville (actually a BAR, not a joke) because the Campbell Apartment in GCT didn’t agree with us that Bobbie’s sneakers went so PERFECTLY with his outfit, and Anna and I from no visible tangent whatsoever started talking about our fears of motherhood and losing our identities and then, in between lolcat jokes at the Vodka Room (because the Samovar was closed, MISCHA, WHY?), I helped her steal a shot glass (hello Brighton Beach readers! Please ignore that) because the kitschy heart-shaped carafe was too obvious, and I realized: how is it that the odds of liking people I met from BOGGLING are always so consisently awesome? If those odds were racehorses, I’d be rich!
I mean, I ride the subway with about three hundred faces every day. Are you telling me the odds are the same there? No. So this weird little habit that I actually present apolegetically to family and coworkers like a growth on the side of my face has actually made my life infinitely richer by sheer dint of how awesome my copatriots are. And yes, an argument could be made that blogging comprises of an otherwise already compatible group of people, of the same socio-economic background with similar value systems and educations and I’m SORRY, I’m ASLEEP now from the vodka buzz.
Ultimately, I don’t care whether we had so much fun with near-total strangers who never felt like strangers at all because we all went to posh schools which we didn’t or like the same emo music which we don’t (Anna mercilessly mocks my one true JT all the time). It’s good to be reminded now and then over endless drinks with perfect near-strangers that connections exist however weirdly we’ve come about them.
Awesome like a hundred million hotdogs.

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