The End Of Me Become the Start Of You

Google has an intriguing feature: How to of the Day. I confess: I'm fascinated. One of today's featured instructions - How to Remove a Hickey - arrives a bit late in my illustrious career, but it is intriguing to observe that in 2006, humans are still possessive and stupid enough to mark territory with bruises. These directions are loose, full of folk cures and mildly humorous, which they would not be if I were writing them. No, my instructions would be brief and to the point:

How to Remove a Hickey
1. Instruct all love monkeys: no marks!
2. Don't fuck people who fuck with you!

Simple! Yesterday's feature was the tres amusement How to Dissuade Yourself From Becoming a Blogger, which is filled with cheesy goodness. Enjoy:

Rest easy in the knowledge that it's perfectly okay and respectable to not have a blog at all.

BWAH!

The information you post on the Internet is likely to linger for years and years to come, as web pages are archived by "snapshot" services like the Wayback Machine. Once it's out there, you can't take it back. An employer running a Google search on your name years down the line might be turned off by your now documented obsession with your cat.

Help me, Mama!

Keep in mind that, unless you expressly make it otherwise, blogs are extremely public. This is not your secret diary that you write your innermost thoughts in because only you have the key and you wear it around your neck 24/7.If you have stuff that you don't want your mom, your best friend, your significant other, your secret crush, or your cat to know, don't go blabbing it to complete strangers on the internet.

I can't breathe! It's Friday and I was going to post a photo of my cat, but he may read my blog and find out - not to mention his secret crush on that boy in third period Civics!

Oh, that explains so much, really.

Yesterday was a bad day to be me, or anyone within 50 feet of me. Lupe and I had a fight that uprooted the mulberry bush we've danced circles around all summer. Let's examine this as choreographers might:

Tata: A
Lupe: B
Tata: A
Gianna: (Intervening) C
Tata: A!
Lupe: B!

Oh God. Now you know! And while this argument must have been a joy to witness or overhear, the silence that followed my walking away was thunderous. I was furious. I obsessed on why I was so angry. An hour passed. And another. People typed very quietly. I was never going to speak to Lupe again. I was consumed by a fiery rage.

Lupe: If I left a yogurt out all morning is it still good?
Tata: Yogurt changes consistency as it comes to room temperature but it's okay to eat.

DAMN IT! I couldn't help myself! This was no way to hold a grudge! She guessed that I wouldn't be able to refrain from answering a question. It was a brilliant stratagem, I had to admit. The spell was broken. After a few minutes, I noticed I could hear typing again, and occasionally people speaking. Still, it was very quiet for an office full of people who weren't cowering under their desks. Some of them went to lunch. Later, I went to the ladies room and when I came back, I found a note and a bag of toy dinosaurs.

Dinosaurs.

I picked them up and twirled the bag. The top of my head no longer felt like it would blow off. I realized I was smiling, which for a moment made me mad all over again. Then I just wasn't angry anymore and started laughing. To the air in the office and no one in particular, I spoke over the cubicle walls.

Tata: I had no idea I could be bribed with a blue plastic triceratops.

There was a short hush, during which everyone sat still.

Lupe: That's a pretty cheap bribe.

In my most six of six-year-old voices:

Tata: But...it's blue...!
Lupe: Did you watch Dateline last night?
Tata: What was on? I didn't see...