Just got home from a day with my parents in Irvine. My Dad and I ran some errands, drank some coffee (I had a Starbucks Gingerbread Latte, if you must know), and we ate some dinner with Mom.
They're not pleased with the blog. Well, let me rephrase. They like the blog, but they hate the posts I did a few days ago about getting all hammered and stumbling home drunk from the Cozy Inn in beautiful Downtown Culver City. Mom says she wants to give my blog address to her lady friends from work, and she would be embarrassed for them to have to read about my intoxicated shenanigans.
Well, I've decided not to remove the offensive material. After all, what's the point of having a journal online if you're just going to censor everything you do that might be halfway interesting.
You hear that, Mom? The drunken stuff stays! But you should give your friends the address anyway. They've gotten falling down drunk, too, I bet, probably some of them in the very recent past. I bet one or two are drunk right now. The only difference is that I'm the only one with the balls to go on the Internet and tell the whole world (or the 258 people out of the whole world that have visited this site, according to the handy free hit counter on the right).
Don't mean to sound resentful, because I'm not. Just making a point. I refuse to censor myself on this blog, and those people who can't handle it (or maybe just don't want to know how I really feel about all this sort of stuff) can go read Billy O. (I don't know if you've heard, but he's got some shitty books to sell!)
Well, I'm glad I raised a man with the courage of his convictions. You have so much worthwhile on here (and yes, I do really like your blog) that my friends probably won't scroll down far enough to read or even be interested in your shenanigans.
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