Wherein I out myself as an internet trollop

It's an age-old question that every blogger regularly gets asked by the "real" people in their lives: Why do you do it? What's with the blogging? Depending on the day and the amount of time I have to explain, my answer ranges from, "Because I'm a self-proclaimed narcissist" to "Because there is no kind of support like blogger support. Bloggers wish you well when you are ill and tell you where to go to buy toys made in America and explain why you shouldn't ruin a perfectly good car with magnetized ribbons. They constantly make you cry, if not from laughter, then from tears. And I love to cry. And I'm constantly thinking, 'I'm such a hack! And I don't deserve to have such great blogging friends!' But bloggers don't put up with melodramatic crap, so you try your best to keep these kinds of thoughts to yourself. Most bloggers will tell you that blogging is community, and that's why I'm here. I needed community."

But then there's that other thing... I've got this book coming out. And a book release will make a person do crazy things. Especially when the book is in a state of agentlessness... in a cold, cold world where jaded librarians suggest that books have mostly gone from food-for-thought to food-for-fireplaces or something equally disturbing. Here is where the crazy part steps in. BECAUSE books don't jump off the shelves quite like Nintendo Wiis and pornography, I feel that twitchy necessity to sell my as-yet published book the old-fashioned way -- through internet advertising. FREE internet advertising. And since I'm weirded out about doing this on my blog (Even if I have kind of mentioned it once or twice... maybe three or six times.), I've put my face in places I might not have otherwise put my face. I only mention this now because I needed to vent about the fact that maybe I'm a little OVERexposed now. I was told by several people that if I planned to sell anything to those under the age of 25, I needed to have a MySpace presence. So, while I don't have anything to sell YET, I'm there, occupying a little studio. You can also find me at Stumbleupon mingling with the surf addicts. And I can't get rid of my Facebook account, what with my addiction to Scrabulous.

Digression: I know you are wondering where I find the time. But remember that I no longer have cable. AND I killed Claudia, our pet Venus flytrap, a story for another day. And since Claudia left this world, there is no one to tend to outside of the characters in my second novel every other week of my life.

So back to my original point. I'm everywhere, right, and suddenly I'm getting emails from MYSELF. The first email was trying to sell me Rolex watches. Then it was stocks. And THEN I suddenly was saying things like, "We promess to find you a sexymate." Oh, I SO do not know myself! I mean, come on. PROMESS?? The next thing I know, I'm trying to sell everyone on my myspace friends list some "cool new ringtones." Therefore I've had to change passwords and heighten security and take A DEEP HARD LOOK at my karmic vibrations. I'll let you know what I come up with. But this is me coming clean about all my various shenanigans, my selling outness if you will. 'Cause that's what bloggers do. They tell it like it is. And here's hoping it doesn't come back and bite me or my sexymate in the BUTTICKS.