May 2009

Earlier this week a review site strung me up. The review of this blog was a good ole fashioned skewering, but the reviewer was thoughtful and still kind. He says we are stripes and plaid; I say we are dessert and gravy, both yummy, neither particularly necessary.

I get it. Their points are valid. Maybe I’m not a Mommy Blogger. That is entirely possible, and clearly they’re not my target audience, but hey, I wanted the feedback, and even more. I wanted the traffic.

There. I said it. It’s good traffic, if I get a loyal reader or two out of it, good for me.

The comments are long and read more like twitter or a chat room, but they are mostly hipsters with pseudonyms making very personal attacks. I won’t even glance at the ones that talk about my kids, because I think we all know that’s a slippery slope.

I cared a little bit, but then I remembered where I was. I was looking at a comment stream of women whom I’ve never met. These are people who don’t live in my community, won’t be a BlogHer (because really, they’re above that right?), Blog World or the #140conf (did I mention I’m speaking there?). These are folks with well guarded identities who talk about you and not to you.

Case in point.

Here’s the thing. I don’t pick on people. It’s not what I do, and I’ve made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t.

*Taking a Break from the High Road*

That was a bitch ass move, if you weren’t a total fucking coward you would’ve @JessicaGottlieb & known that I’d see it. Oh, and your legs aren’t nearly as hawt as you think they are.

And B, I won’t even comment on you, because you had my attention via email and you’re too busy trying to be hip and cool. Sorry, hair bleach will only take you so far, try being pretty on the inside too.

*Back to the dumb ass high road*

Gosh that felt good.

So yeah, the high road? Fuckit.