Get a load of this, if my blog were a human, she could go take her driver’s license test today. And if she were like me she would totally ruin her 16th birthday by failing her test and then commence being a total bummer the rest of the day.
I’m not sure if this milestone is something I should be proud of or a little ashamed of. Blogging is positively archaic, and not cool archaic like typewriters and triceratops. It’s pathetically archaic like fax machines and the busy signal.
And blogging on a personal website all by yourself about yourself? I should probably die of embarrassment, because who does that? If I Will Dare were a human she would be disavow any knowledge of my existence, because OMG, old people, amirite?
I was here before the trend started, at the heyday, and now long after it has died. Let’s chalk it up to stubbornness and not giving a shit. I like typing in this little window, hitting publish, and having my words live out in the ether. I never cared if anyone ever read them. I still don’t. This blog was started for my amusement and remains because I am still amused by it. Plus, the iwilldare.com domain name is pretty bitchen. This is the place my blog was born and probably where it will die. I never switched domains or quit and restarted. Just mostly steady writing in this ethereal place for sixteen years.
I still remember making I Will Dare in the wee small hours of July 2000, chain smoking at the dining room table I used as a desk in that shitty apartment in Prior Lake, HTML for Dummies at my feet, and the Blogger instructions printed out on the table next to me. I remember that feeling of elation when I hit refresh and there was the sentence I typed alive on the Internet. I WAS A GOLDEN GOD!
Ahh, I’m getting a little misty-eyed with nostalgia. Thinking about all the men who flitted through my heart; all those posts about my crushing loneliness; that cloying, attention-seeking writing voice I had for much longer than a care to admit; all those sentences that lack capital letters. . . gah! I could die.
Sixteen motherfucking years. I feel like a deserve a merit badge or that lucrative Nutter Butter sponsorship I’ve been after for like thirteen years. I know I will get nothing. This is a day important only to me, and that’s okay, because it’s kind of the whole point of this joint, you know?