Maiden Voyage Into the Sea of Humiliation and Big, Scary Monsters

I first went online in 1999 after a good friend, disgusted with my computerless ass, gave me her old HP. Grateful though I was, that humming, whirring box of hell intimidated me with its beeps and horrible lights, its terrifying dial-up squeals, caused my stomach to knot and make weird screaming noises . I trembled, sat frozen on the edge of my bed, palms sweating, unwilling to touch the devil's hand, a.k.a., mouse. My friend was patient. "Jesus Christ, woman," she said, "stop with your Amish tendencies already. Sit. Relax. Play around a bit." She patted my hand a tad too roughly. Well, it was a slap, really. She can be kind of mean sometimes. "Do it now," she said, her eyes glowing in that special way only minions of the Dark Father have.



So I did it, mainly because my friend was beginning to freak me out, especially when the green wormy things squirmed from her nostrils and lit from her face on gossamer wings, then flew around my bedroom for awhile before spontaneously combusting into tiny poofs of green smoke that smelled of eggroll and wet dog. That sucked. Frightening as the computer was to me, it had nothing on my friend. So I did it. I clasped hands with Satan's that day and I haven't let go since.



Yet my fears continue. I am afraid of blogging, afraid of showing the world what an ass I am. I am an ass, yes, but an ass with pride, an ass who is intensely private, a secret ass, egotistical, an ass with delusions of grandeur; I believe that I am the biggest ass in the universe, the Chosen Ass. I fear that I may soon regret these very public revelations, but most of all, I fear that you will, too.