I supposed it’s just because I’ve realized that my one year blogiversary is on Saturday, but I’ve been reflecting on this whole webspace/writing thing. I’m sure all the words on here could’ve written about 3 novels. It’s been a good run so far.
I think it’s interesting that

A) I’ve stuck with this so long and got so obsessive that I went out and bought the domain — plus have it almost filled to capacity with stuff (though the mp3s have more to do with that)
B} sometimes it seems like everyone and their mom has a blog
C) I’ve met so many people through this whether fellow bloggers and/or just readers
D) I don’t think I’ll ever get used to someone referring to me as Candice Kittypower, though I’ve taken that naming practice into real life
E) despite having so many words about myself and what I do on here, I never fail to be surprised when someone references something I’ve put up or say that they read it.

Wednesday night was hilarious because the just about the first thing out of Ryan Man Man‘s mouth when we sat down was: “so, I hear you have a problem with my moustache?” “Wha?” I feigned. “I never said anything like that.” “Kate said you did. She said she read it on your blog — whatever that means.” In case you don’t want to work your way through that old megapost, the incriminating piece in question was:

My highlight was this group Man Man (aka Magic Blood aka Gamelon) from Philly, that seemingly appeared out of nowhere to be a B-52s/Talking Headsesque colossal bit of wonderfulness. They’ve got a fucking xylophone! It’s two keyboardists and two percussionists, but everyone also plays percussion too. Dude, they’ve got a song where the chorus is “Meow Meow.” Man Man can have all my kids. I’m in love. But, we’ll only consummate after the singer guy cuts that damned poor excuse for a moustache off.

Oopsies. Busted, party of one please. I owned up to it and we argued back in forth, but hey, it’s his face and he actually likes looking like Freddie Prinze Sr. so…what can I say?
And despite what some may think, there’s so much self-censoring going on around here. Isn’t it almost scary to imagine that these long posts of “I went here did this, then that, blah blah 2500 word narratives” are only part of the story half the time? I try to leave out the parts of episodes that make me appear to be insane, a n____o (let’s not give the p0rn seekers any leads, shall we?), a step away from rehab, too misanthropic, and/or the dumbest girl alive, but believe me, there’s a lot of shit packed into those long posts. Sometimes I throw in really scandalous shit about 3/4 in because I know y’all don’t really read all of that. Not blatantly of course, but it’s in there. Or maybe I’m just fucking with you. You tell me.
There’s been plenty of days when I want to talk some serious shit, but I know that person might read this, so I save it for the journal. Like Saturday, there was this party where P. Friendster and I ran around boozing it up for real. (Poor P. He tried to match me drink for drink, but felt that shit the next morning. I’ve got a pickled liver. I can go about my day and be alright, so me in the moment is no real judge.) Now, I’d like to talk about the party, but I’m kinda torn. It was thrown by a friend K (who I seriously need to hang out with more) who greeted me with a “Miss Kittypower” which really threw my shit off. I’m tempted yet not gonna get all into the stuff that happened at the party — especially not how I got cockblocked and am still bugged by that — except I just did, but that’s so vague that it’s almost meaningless.
It took almost a year but it’s kinda like a science.