Sometimes, I wish I was an anonymous blogger. I want a license to spew unapologetically on my blog. I want to be the most immature person on earth when I feel like it – and the most refined advice giver you’ve ever met as well. In essence, I want to go filter free.
But, you see…I can’t. Why you ask? Well for one, my mother-in-law reads my blog (Hi Patty!). Really though, I’m not as concerned with her as I am about oh, I don’t know…MY BOSS! In fact, I’m not convinced that he hasn’t Googled me at some point, which is a bit unsettling. And then there’s my dad. My poor dad cannot adjust to the fact that I’m now a 30-year old woman who just so happens to cuss like a sailor. In the times that he does read my blog, his first comment is always something about me being a “potty mouth”. (Dad, really?). And then he’ll say he liked everything else about the blog post.
Why not just go anonymous?
One problem with anonymity: I’m an attention monger. I think intrinsically, bloggers are attention seekers. They like to bitch about what they hate and wax poetic about what they love – and they think the world should care (or at least they hope). I for one, fall very much into this category. I’ve always been kind of an attention whore. I’ve been like this all my life. My older brother is the biggest attention hoe-bag on the planet and my husband runs a close second. You must be thinking; how do you get a word in edgewise? Well, I blog. I get to say whatever I want here! Er…at least I try to.
And lately, I’ve been having some oh-so-funny experiences that I’d LOVE to blog about. It’d be a freakin’ riot to write about these little adventures! But damn it, I’m too big of a puss about whose going to read it! GAH!
Anonymous bloggers have more fun
I follow a handful of bloggers who have chosen to conceal their identity and clearly, they have A LOT more fun saying what’s on their mind – unfiltered style. You’ve got the thirtysomething chicks over at “Twitarded” who have their fingers on the pulse of what goes on deep into the psyche of Twilight obsessed woman everywhere. I doubt you’ll find a couple of cruder beyotches in the blogosphere, but hell, I love ‘em! They feed my immature, nasty imagination. Recently, “Latchkey Wife” joined the girls of “Twitarded” to triple the shock value. And ‘course, reading their blogs not only makes me “LOL”, but it gives me a major case of the jealousies (noun meaning: the feeling you get when you read something and you’re all, “shit why didn’t I write that?” Noun courtesy of Jamie Varon).
Anonymity isn’t just for the likes of Twitards that write endlessly about jumping Robert Pattinson’s bones or pooping in his trailer. I’ve read Mommy blogs in which even they don’t want you to know who they are. Why? Because they too have a strong affinity for four letter words that start with EFF.
So what do I do? Throw caution to the wind and just blog away, free-style? Well, not sure about that either. I’ve read about bloggers getting the big heave-ho from work after blogging about co-workers, for example. But cool enough, this particular blogger got the last laugh because she’s now a profesh blogger who makes loads of $$$ off her F-bombs. Once again: jealous.
Ok, how about I change things up on Life at Thirtysomething? What if I get a new, cheekier name? Any suggestions? Whoever has the coolest one wins! (Don’t ask what). The easiest thing I could do is remove my picture and any mention of my name. But then, can I still post my blogs on Facebook – where everyone knows it’s me? Of course we run into the little problem of being an attention monger who loves your praise in the form of comments and pats on the back in person. Oh lord. Some people stress about their jobs, or world wars. I stress about my blogs. Tomate-O, tomat-O.