Maybe this is my blog

Maybe the last thing the world needs right now is another blog. Maybe this is my third attempt at one. Maybe you didn't know that until just now, which I'm totally chill with because the first two sort of sucked and this one might too, but so what, happy 2011.

Maybe I get too tied up in html code and lose myself in design, the little my Type A-personality knows. Maybe then instead I'll dish on stuff I do: pop culture, my daily routine, obscure Prince trivia, being into things; or maybe make lists, itemize my life, maybe I'm obsessed with condensing everything.

Maybe I'm just bored. Maybe I changed the font of this post from Helvetica to Times, back to Helvetica, only to choose whatever-font-you're-reading-this-in-now. Maybe if I could find someone who finds that attractive I'd be all right with never caring about my hair.

Maybe you secretly have a crush on me. Maybe you Googled my name, which lead you to this blog, to research all my interests and evaluate our chances together, so that maybe like, if we met at a bar, we'd accidentally pick the same Stooges song off the jukebox, casually recite dialogue from Singles, both be wearing cardigans and we'll make out. Maybe I just went from bored to absolutely delusional (jazz hands!).

Maybe I want Christophe Honoré's life; he's amazing and lives in Paris and well-read, and did I mention he lives in Paris? Maybe sometimes I'LL TYPE LIKE THIS for extra dramatic/comedic effect, and you'll laugh and I'll smile inside . . . LIKE A LOSER.

Maybe I don't know what I'm doing but who does? Maybe everything is just one long string of "maybes," maybe? All I know is that I just spilt coffee on my jeans and that actually burns for real, so talk you later.


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