I have been getting back into a band that I used to listen to in my early twenties called Lacuna Coil. For those not familiar with them, I believe “chick metal” may be a pretty apt description. Just picture Evanescence, only awesome, and without the gigantic corporate cock in their mouth. I was bored at home one evening, and hadn’t reached my download limit yet, so I Googled “chick metal” to try and find some other bands to download.
At least I have moved past Googling vagina.
I discovered the Urban Dictionary definition of Chick Metal: Metal that tries to seem tough or brutal but can’t raise above topics like…their boyfriend/ girlfriend.
This placed an icy fear in the pit of my stomach. Do I have a Chick Blog? Is my writing chick-lit? Do I engage in common chick ranting? Are the only thoughts that tumble out of my addled brain just fluffy-bunny, chick-tastic musings on *giggle* cute boys?
Because a cursory look through my posts seems to reveal a disturbing amount on the nature of love, dating, romance, fucking and divorce; all encapsulated in badly written prose, featuring an abundance of dick jokes and oral sex references.
Colour me giddy, hormonal teenage girl.
It would appear that my brain is as starved for attention as the average 50 Shades of Grey reader. Or, judging by my poor grammar, the average Twilight reader.
Generally, in life, I do have something to say about issues that don’t become plots of Sex and the City. I often have an opinion on real things that matter more than the self indulgent tripe of “romance” and “love”.
Ugh, make that pretentious, giddy, hormonal teenage girl.
On my days off you will usually find me in a secondhand book store. My Cherry Docs are freshly oiled, my hair messy and unbrushed. While I do try and catch the eye of the ridiculously cute hipster boy behind the counter, I leave with an armload of underground literature picks that I read and ponder when I get back to my tiny, overpriced flat.
Pompous, conceited, ostentatious, pretentious, giddy, hormonal teenage girl.
What I am trying to say, is that I do often have an opinion on a reasonable range of issues. My opinion is often backed up by facts that are incorrect, but it is spoken with the same wild eyed passion that people who have just analysed the Zapruder film possess. I would like to write about these “important issues” in my blog, but I fear that a post entitled “Why Wikileaks is important to the future of the media” will get even less reads than usual. I could rant about how file-sharing is NOT KILLING THE MUSIC INDUSTRY DESPITE WHAT RECORD COMPANIES TELL YOU, but I have discovered, over months of writing this blog, that the tags “cock shots”, “vagina” and “anonymous sex” get the most clicks on WordPress.
That last statement is sadly, absolutely true.
Also, my writing is revoltingly ego-centric. I use the first-person singular nominative case personal pronoun an alarming number of times. I did just then. And again. I am two blog posts away from being self obsessed enough to audition for Big Brother. One of my posts in the near future may just come out and say “you see, I am just the type of person who…” instead of dancing around the issue with a lot of self deprecating humor. Perhaps I am in a bleak frame of mind at the moment, but a cursory glance through my blog leaves me saying to myself: CC, nobody cares. Nobody cares about how you feel about this, they don’t care about what you want in a man, or how you think. Stop talking about yourself so much and talk about something real.
I mean, I tried to write about body image and wound up bitching about the guy I was fucking at the time. What the hell was that about?
And, since I have already failed in writing a post that doesn’t consist of, “I am, therefore I think, so I posit which leads me to feel”. I discovered that the generation gap of two years between this fellow and I was actually gigantic chasm that I would never, and could never, cross. During a random conversation of, ‘If you could be any video game character, which would you be?’ He responded: Ash from Pokémon, of course!
Now, being the old crone that I am, I had to Google ‘Ash from Pokémon. After reading it, my reaction was: Really? Not very masculine. I forgot that you had testicles without testosterone. What about Guile? Or Liu Kang?
That digression was just to get a few more clicks for this post. I’m adding the tag “Guile fucks Liu Kang doggy style”. That should get some reads.
I blame my hybrid almost Generation-Y birth date, and my obsession with social media, which will make revolting, egomaniacal exhibitionists of us all. Only something like Facebook would drive us to think, you know what? I’m going to tell people what I ate for breakfast. Then I’m going to check in on the toilet when I am taking a shit, then I will instagram it, and hashtag my ex-boyfriend, LOL!
So, in wanting to write a post about how I want to write about more important topics I have managed to write a post about myself and my inability to see beyond my own inability to see beyond myself. Confused?
Seriously though, Ash from Pokémon?!