Present Imperfect

Maybe It Really Is Tan

May 01, 2003

I'm keeping secrets from you. "You," meaning "me," I think, because as far as I know, nobody reads this but me. I have a double-journal life. I have a bricks-and-mortar journal at home that nobody reads, sometimes not even me, because my handwriting is...not illegible, exactly, but perhaps an acquired taste. I'm never going to be a decent blogger because I don't actually want people to read my journal. This is a simulacrum of a journal. In it, I can tell you lies such as:

I love seafood.
I have a dog named Potatoes.
I was born in Sweden.
My favorite color is tan.

There would be no point in telling lies to the paper journal. The paper journal will not be stumbled across by someone typing my name into a search engine. (My name is also the name of a semi-famous Australian soft-core porn actress, I think.)

Then again, there is equally no point in telling lies to the electronic journal, because people who don't know me will believe that I love seafood and people who know me will realize that this is a lie.

I fucking hate seafood.

Which brings me to another(?) point: There are some seemingly innocent personal preferences the possession of which may result in society deeming you insane. One is the hatred of seafood.

I am not allergic to seafood, but sometimes I pretend I am so that people don't say "how can you NOT like seafood?!" I don't know how I can NOT like seafood, I only know that I do not. My mother also hates seafood. I also hate milk. My grandmother also hates milk. I am simply one in a long line of women who hate food with which the rest of America has a long-standing love affair.

I also hate soda pop. I hate carbonated things. Except beer, but even then I live on ales, which are less bubbly.

I have never eaten Jello. It frightens me—not from a "no hooves and lips" perspective, but from a moving-of-its-own-accord perspective. I welcome hooves and lips in their more traditional hot dog form, though I generally avoid those in favor of hamburgers.

Now my blog entry for the day has degenerated into a discussion of junk food. With myself.