Except when it's not

My to do list as of July 24th should be updated to read:

1. Get job
2. Organize sock drawer

I'm kind of flexible on number two (haa. I said number two).

Okay, people. Even though I want to make a very important point - that this blog is about the love^TM - I'm going to start with gripe that, to the naked eye, might prove otherwise. Ready?

I try to extend people the same courtesy that I would expect for myself [from them]. I don't always succeed, because like most Americans people, I'm pretty self-absorbed and half the time I walk around like I'm entitled to more politeness than the people around me, even though I've done nothing to deserve it. So fine, sometimes people are jerks, and...well, everyone deserves a by - I get them all the time. I don't always get butt-flaming pissed when someone does something really rude anymore, either, and I think I've gotten my temper and how I handle situations to a good place. Sometimes it becomes Too Much, though, and I have to rant here, or call someone a bitch on the T. This morning, I sat next to a woman on the train. She was reading her copy of the Metro, and I was reading mine, and everything was peachy for four stops. Things didn't go to shit until Kendall/MIT, when she stopped folding her paper and started getting all up in my space to read it, probably assuming I'd move to another open seat, now that the train was emptying. I let it go, because I was already halfway to my destination and all the open seats were in between occupied ones, anyway. Unfortunately, at Charles MGH, the train was stopped for a while longer than usual, and as more time passed, I was becoming ever so slightly more annoyed. I stopped doing my crossword puzzle to change the song on my ipod, and i dropped my paper onto my lap, which would fall under the category of "in my space", and it fell onto her paper. I did do this to be rude, but also because I wasn't visibly annoyed yet, so it could have been an honest "mistake," and maybe she didn't realize, and this would clue her in. She was onto me, though, and she shook my paper off onto my lap and proceeded to keep reading in my space, taking up more now that it was "on." After Park Street, there were a million open seats, so when the whole row across from us was open, I decided to let her "win" and move, because she was clearly on a mission to be This Morning's Biggest Bitch. I didn't move before informing her that she was a bitch, though. She was unfazed, but hopefully karma will catch up with her and she'll fall on her face sometime today, or get hit by a car, or get shit on by twelve pigeons. All at once. Granted, this rant comes after a string of equally self-centered mbta riders this week who have taken advantage of the way I obviously and with great purpose try to only take up the space within my designated seat area. Throwing your legs apart, fully opening a newspaper, sticking your elbows out...just generally feeling entitled to more space than your seat and a small buffer around you, all make you an asshole. There. I said it.

Moving on, I checked my survey count for the past two months, and it's two. Three if you count the one I took down because my feelings were hurt. Hurt is the wrong word, but it's the closest one I can come up with at the moment. Now, here's where I say this blog is about the love^TM -- Except when it's not. Rants, gripes, commiseration; all pertaining to topic, or even slightly off topic...and hell, even COMPLETELY off topic, are all appreciated by yours truly, and yes. Mostly if they're not about me. Sorry. Comments of the negative strain are less appreciated because no one likes to be bitched at. Fortunately, I haven't actually gotten any of those nasty comments here on blogger, but I remember a few times on d-land where people thought it was okay to come into your space on teh Internets and call you all sorts of awful names for having any opinion at all. That's not what this blog is about (and if I really sit and think about it, I can't imagine how my other blogs were opinionated, either...but I digress). What I choose not to publish here is my business. Sometimes life becomes...very complicated. Sad. Confusing. Boring. Any of these things can cause a dryspell in the update because I've learned not to share everything with y'all all the time, especially when the topics make me cry and I don't want to hear "constructive criticism," and unless it's explicitly solicited, it's usually interpreted as "I know more than you do, and I'm right and you're wrong, and you suck." Even if you're trying to help.

That said, what I DO choose to publish here is also my business. If I wanted to post daily images of Stuff on my Cat, I could do that (*my own point starts to dawn on me. I start to feel stupid*). If I wanted to post a daily survey or meme, I could. And I do consciously try not to post them too frequently. But, you know? Surveys are the opiate of the blog-masses. Especially on myspace which I refuse to utilize for that purpose for some reason, but it's where I borrow a lot of these surveys from. And then my [cool] friends [with blogs] do them, too, and I feel vindicated.

I mean, I don't want to lose readership. Especially of friends. But for some reason, the comment area seems like a more valid forum to say, "Hey, what's up with all the surveys lately? Tell us about your life!" (Which, PS, is the polite way to say "maybe you should stop with the online quizzes"). But instead of filling you in on the torrid backstage happenings of the blog, I'll stop there. The moral is: do not talk about fight club. This blog is a place to keep in touch with me, fine. But blog stuff stays on the blog. Or gets toned down from "up in my grill for no reason" to "pleasant inquiry from a friend." Capisce?

So, from now on, this blog will be all about the love^TM. Okay?