i love xanga. it provides hours of entertainment and fascination. but i am worried, because it seems that xanga is stealing my thunder.
while i love to write about my various escapades and embarassments (and i have a lot), i realize now that by publishing them online, i am killing all future opportunity to actually tell these stories in person. i'll embark on an enthusiastic rendition of "how my skirt flew in my face but thank God i was wearing red gym shorts underneath", only to be met with this response: "oh yeah, i read about that in your xanga." and i deflate like a round inflatable object deflating. it's as bad as retelling a joke. but it's MY joke! i own it! and it's still funny! darn it, it's still funny!
xanga is great. but there is no way that, with cold stoic text-on-a-screen, i could do justice to the story of, say, how i woke up at 4 am one morning to discover two people having sex on the hood of a car outside my window. facial expressions are needed. sound effects. gestures.
plus, i suspect that some people prefer reading my xanga to actually talking to me. so while i would like xanga to assist in making people like me, i have actually succeeded in creating an alter-ego who shows me up constantly. like a new friend who suddenly becomes Miss Popular. i go to parties and people are like, "hi caren, where's xanga-caren? she's so funny and eloquent and not annoying at all. gosh, i love xanga-caren. where is she?" and i'm like "hellloooooo i'm right here, look at me i'm fun and i can blow spit bubbles" and they're like " sure sure caren, hey i gotta run. tell xanga-caren to give me a call sometime and we'll hang." and i am left alone in a crowded room, my face all wet because the spit bubbles popped, and as the people walk away they say, "oh and btw caren you have spit on your face."
curse you, xanga-caren. xaren.
i should put you on probation. but without you, i don't know how i would survive the work day.