Some words about addiction

When I was 19, I got a tattoo. It was the most rebellious thing I have ever done. And even that turned out to be not so rebellious. When my mom came to pick me up for Thanksgiving break, she saw the anti-bacterial ointment, thought it was treatment for an STD, and confronted me. The tattoo seemed very inconsequential in comparison. Anyway, I digress....when I was 19, I got a tattoo and the tattoo artist (Spike!) told me that 'I would be back....' Everyone always gets a second one, he said. I didn't. I'm not so much fond of pain...or blood...tattoos result in a lot of both.


I am, however, addicted to widgets and applications for my blog. Addicted. I cannot stop embedding things into my blog. I started with a stat counter. Now I want to show you my Wishlist...my library...and all my recent obsessions that can be found on the top bar.

Obviously, Internets, you need to know what shoes I want to buy...what books I am reading (when I'm not too busy widgeting....)...and that I covet that cute little tea print....only no one really looks at them...and that is okay...except it isn't....because I want you to really KNOW me....

Decorative self expression minus the blood and pain. Perfect!

I am not alone. The NYT talks about bloggers who bling their blog. As one warns--we can't get carried away ...“I don’t intend to be Mr. T, but I don’t want to be Audrey Hepburn, either, with just a string of pearls..."

Exactly. Only...if you've ever met me...you know that I'm a little more Hepburn and a little less T. I hope. I have her pants...from the Gap.