Bloggin’ is for suckers!.. Or so I've tried to convince myself.

Bloggin’ is for suckers!.. Or so I've tried to convince myself.

For the last eight years, my internet presence has been very careful.

My Facebook audience is geared towards members of my close/distant relatives, friends from my hometown and/or cool folks I’ve met along the way. I update with photos of the different shades I decide to have Frank dye my hair and the trendy glasses to seek out to match. Logged are the neat places my partner and I decide to adventure, obscure foods we try and cute DIY projects I do with kiddies. I throw out inquiries for apps, nutritional advice or new fitness regiments, hoping to gain better feedback than asking good ol' Google.. But the reality is that the only piece of technology that excites me is the color coordinated Google calendar I can access with one swipe to the right on my cell phone.

I hold a heavy weight on my chest from the days where I did nothing but overshare on the web.

Back to the Roots

In my early teens, the web was my livelihood. I had a very "emo" LiveJournal that highlighted the trials and tribulations of my young love life (with pix and a lot of outside opinions, /cringe). I had created an internet community that invited “sexy, sweet beauties” to fill out an application, surveying their mind and body and choosing the coolest young ladies and gents to be a part of our blog-brigade. MySpace was a platform for my side bangs and sass to generate shock value from e-friends near and far. An uncanny amount of hours were spent sharing music, stories and phone calls with other tweens via forums, and hoping my parents wouldn’t pick up the phone and hear the line being tied up by our dial-up connection. I formed an intense identity on the web; through my well thought out away messages (full of serious spacing, bolds and italics) that synced sad songs with my seriously sappy feelings.

..But then! I got some friends IRL!

Gone were the days of having my little sister dance to Missy Elliot songs while I balanced on a giant yoga ball on webcam. Goodbye to my PaintShop Pro Pokecards and nicknames combining my name with a dinosaurs. In were weekend shows, mosh pits, disco fries and cigarettes (gross) after a week in my khaki colored uniform skirt and wrinkle-free navy polo shirt. My internet identity helped me to find a bunch of friends to share in my woes with, debate animal rights and who supported me rocking a camera strap around my neck wherever we went. Nobody wanted to call my mom and complain about the inappropriate things I had typed in my “bio” on my webpage anymore, now I was dating, dancing, and gaining momentum.


I've morphed into some mix between an adult woman and an alpha child who's doing pretty great things for herself! I teach in a classroom where I’m surrounded by culture, a thirst for learning, and enrichment that I can provide. I get to make chalkboards in exchange for free goods, kind of like real life Oregon Trail. I have a partner who loves every single crazy little piece of me and supports the genuine balance in our relationship through rule number one, which is: "Don't fucking tell me what to do". I have the most perfect therapist who slaps me with some real talk whenever I fall off track. A massage therapist who alleviates the physical stress I hold in my body. A mouth guard that keeps me from grinding my teeth away when the anxiety creeps into me at night. I now swear by my crazy pills, that help me to get out of bed in the morning with a “ready” attitude and cease the loop that I lost control over for a long time.

I miss the connection I had with the web.

It was scary being so vulnerable, and unfiltered. Over the last eight years, I think I developed a tiny bit more tact and a lot more positivitiy. I want to share in the mundane, show-off the travel finds and delicious food that comes my way, share the constant doodles and documentations and dreams I’ve archived in journals, photographs and postcards. I think it’s time I share them. I want this blog to be the outlet I’ve been looking for.


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