Last night, I picked Joe up from the airport because he was finally, FINALLY back from San Diego, the big jerk. He saw all sorts of sights, like Breckin Meyer eating and Jeffster singing and Ray Bradbury being awesome and Coronado Island ("It belongs...in a MUSEUM") and the weather was perfect blah blah blah.
Whatever. So we got Potbelly for dinner and somehow the blog The Wind in Your Vagina (that's right) came up. Don't ask me how The Wind in Your Vagina comes up in conversation, it just does. Ever since Joe found out I read a blog called The Wind in Your Vagina, he thinks it's the FUNNIEST THING EVER. I just said vagina a lot. Anyway. When it came up, I was all, "he quit his blog today!" and Joe was like, "why?" and I was all, "I don't know, but Ashley is MAD," which is true. Ashley is mad.
Then I told Joe that I think that dude might be quitting his blog to concentrate on writing For Real things. Not that blogging isn't For Real writing. It is for a lot of people. But for myself, blogging is not For Real writing. I never For Real write on my blog. I open Blogger, I type some nonsense, I spell check (most of the time), I publish, and I pretend I'm writing. It's an easy out. If I'm blogging, I can still tell myself I'm writing and then I don't have to, you know, TRY. Because trying takes a lot of time. And effort. And I'm low on motivation.
So I got to thinking that maybe I could For Real write on my blog. Or, if not, I could at least concentrate more on For Real writing in my spare time instead of concentrating on Facebook or whatever. I'm not quitting my blog, though. I couldn't, because I think Ashley would stab me in the face.