Confessions of a Rambunctious WhipperSnapper

It began with a secret.

The one I had been carrying around for three years. The one whose existence had always reminded me that the world will never accept me for who I am. The sort of secret that made me pretend to be someone else.

Then, one day, in a place I always thought of home but was hundreds of miles away from my actual home, strange yet familiar, I broke down. I wanted one more day away from my overwhelming problems. I wanted to run away for just a few hours more. But I couldn’t stay there forever. I had to go home. I had to face myself.

I came back home, still in a haze, meandering through each day. Something made me turn to the internet to find some peace. One google search led to another, and I found a few blogs by other people who were the same as me. Other people who faced the same problems that I did. Other people who wanted to stop living a lie.

I wasn’t alone.

Reading a few years worth of blog posts in just two days filled my mind with words. I signed up for a blog myself. I couldn’t think of a name. Then I remembered an old story from an Archie comic, in which Mr. Lodge calls Archie a whippersnapper. I probably heard the word rambunctious on an episode of Frasier. And I intended this blog to be a sort of diary. That is how I came up with the title.

It was on the virtual pages of this blog a few years ago, during this very month,  that I first said – or rather typed – those words out loud. It was the first time I stopped being in denial and admitted to myself that, yes, I was gay. Yes, it wasn’t a phase. And yes, I had to stop fighting myself.

I still remember the moment I hit publish. It was like  huge boulder lifted from my back. Yes, I had said it! Someone knew! Someone out there in the ether of the internet, knew that I was gay. And the world didn’t end. Everything was still the same.

Of course, I wasn’t completely out of the woods then. As I look back and read those posts, I am reminded of the scared little boy I was in a twenty five year old man’s body. It was as if my life was on hold since the moment I discovered that I was a little different from my friends and classmates and that they might not appreciate it. I still had a lot of growing up to do.

As I read those posts now, I find them very over-the-top, quiet melodramatic and most of them make me cringe. But I still go back and read. It reminds me of how far I’ve come. It reminds me that there was a point in my life where I never imagined that I could be living the sort of life I’m living now. It keeps from taking things for granted and to never try to be someone I am not ever again.

Those posts also remind me of the community that this blog helped me build. It gave me something that I most required at that moment. A group of friends who accepted me for who I was, warts and all, no questions asked. A group of mostly anonymous strangers who I had never met or might not ever meet who not only encouraged me but also let me lean on them.

They laughed at my sad little jokes, praised every little step I took in the right direction, called me out when I was wrong and let me think that my borrowed thoughts were some sort of profound wisdom. They helped me become whole.

That is why I always keep coming back here. It feels familiar. Like a place that you once used to haunt along with a group of close friends. A lot of them have disappeared into the black hole of the internet. Some of them, even a couple I met in real life, have become strangers again. Yet, I remain thankful to anyone who read my posts, or posted a comment or sent me an email or just passed through without saying a word. All of you made me feel less alone. I’m glad you came into my life, even if it was for a few fleeting moments. I don’t hold a grudge that you left. But I will always cherish the time we spent together.

So if anyone out there is reading this, remember, don’t think that you have no one to turn to. You do.

You are not alone. Don’t keep your secrets to yourself.

It ain’t worth it.

I really can’t quit you, personal blogging. I get to do my most favourite activity: talk about myself at length without being interrupted by someone else. Shut up and publish all my terrible posts, blogger dot com.

I remember when I started blogging in December 2007. I was such a different person at that time. For one, I was only ugly fat and not morbidly obese like the present. Second, I wrote things here I couldn’t even admit to myself (eg: I liked British sitcoms! BUT BUT THEY WERE RACIST TO US TILL 1947?).

And of course, there was the community. I “met” a lot of people through the blog. Some, I’m still in touch with. Some I’m friends with. Some got freaked out by something I said and vice-versa. Some are lost in the past. Some have disappeared into the abyss of the internet. Some are getting married to their version of the anti-christ. It’s all good.

I hate to use these words because, REALLY?, but blogging also helped me to find a little bit of who I am. Turns out I wasn’t the broken shell of a human being being who was dead inside and wasn’t able to feel any emotion whatsoever. In reality, I was a broken shell of a human being who was dead inside and wasn’t able to feel any emotion whatsoever who also likes to write sentences who only he finds amusing! WHO’DA THUNK IT?

Nowadays, even though I do most of my blogging in my diary - because even I’m not that narcissistic to put so many banal things on the internet - it always feels good to come back here.

* * *

I can’t believe I actually wrote the words I’m not afraid to be real in the last post. Ugh. Who am I? A contestant on MTV Road Rules? Such a fucking drama queen! What’s next? Shouting I’m not here to make friends! to random people on the street? (To be fair, I did say that once to a dick co-trainee during the second week of my first job so that wouldn’t be such a stretch. Can’t believe I was in denial about being gay at that time. I mean, HELLOOO!).

Also, writing more blogposts in one week than I have written in three years? If it was still 2012 I would have made an ‘ARMAGEDDON MUST BE NIGH’ joke.

. . . but fuck blog protocol (I really need to start using another profanity. I'm not Kathy Griffin at NYE, for crying out loud).

I finally sat through When Harry met Sally and saw it at one go. *Spoiler Alert* - They do end up together. Whoopti-fucking-do. Damn straight people. They have it so easy. All they need to is to start hating someone and voila!, they end up spending the rest of their life with that person. Why in the blue hell do gay people love this movie? I guess that's because all of us need some sort of myth to believe in. Like Brangelina. Or the secret of the universe hidden inside Lady Gaga's magic peen.

* * *

Speaking of stupid things people believe in, is it me or everyone is getting married this season? About four different sets people I went to school with choose to spend eternity with each other's cooties. Some were even younger than I am.

I usually try to avoid weddings like the plague that they are, but since a few of these people were my drinking buddies and a few of them might be useful for a few (future) cheap laughs, I sorta went along.

Everybody had an average of four large dinner parties. I can never understand why people have so many do's when they are getting married. It's like their telling the world, We're going to spend the rest of our forlorn miserable existence together. We would like you and everybody else we know to believe that we are good, monogamous people, even though one of us looks like a whore. So come celebrate with us and stuff yourself with so much food that you need to loosen your belt buckle. Also, we make so much money that we can afford to feed a thousand people some pseudo-exotic fruit which, let's pretend, came from some exotic country. Now shut your pie hole and eat something.

If I were straight, I would have actually run off and got married in Vegas or something. But hey, it's your money. If you want to spend it feeding more than a thousand ungrateful souls, half of whom are jealous and the other half just pretending to like you, then please go ahead. Who am I to judge?

Although, I did get to meet some people I went to school with and laugh at their sad little existence. One of them had a really nice and interesting wife. If I wasn't so gay, I would've hit that. Too bad she's married to that insufferable old coot. I'm pretty sure she's going to become a cougar in twenty years.

* * *

I think I might have a small crush on the Baskin Robbins delivery guy. Well, at least that explains the freezer full of uneaten tubs of ice-cream in this arctic winter we've been having. They really DO have 31 flavours, ya know? Pretty neat. Coming back to the guy, he's smart, educated and does not take any tips. It's against "company policy". Geez. What a dork! Just take the money and drop your pants, you fool.

Sigh. Porn movies make it look so easy. (Not that I would know. I heard it from one of my ..ummm.. friends.)

Why does the sort-of-romantic part of my life always involve food in one way or the other? I think I have issues. Freud would have a field day. Thankfully, that mofo is dead.

No, I don't know anything about psychology. I accidentally read up on him a few years ago on wikipedia while I was aimlessly surfing the interwebs.

I was at work at that time. What else was I supposed to do?

* * *

I stopped being technologically relevant quite a few years ago. Technology is a tricky thing. You can only keep up to it till a certain point of time. I remember back in the "day" when I all of us who had invitation-only GMail accounts thought we were the über-geek. We used to laugh at all those with just 5 MB (or was it 2 MB?) Hotmail and Yahoo accounts. "You're not using Gmail yet? Really? I don't know how you survive with measly 2 MB of email space. Okay, if you want it that much, I'll send you an invite". For the record, I barely invited less than a dozen people. Why? Because, well, I'm cheap like that.

Anyways, there is a fine line to going from being the only one in your training class to know the difference between 32-bit and 64-bit operating systems to one day tuning into a gadget-oriented TV show and going "They can do THAT now? Ama-fucking-zing!". One really does not know when that line is passed. Hell, I went from espousing the benefits of peer-to-peer networks to discovering BiTTorrent just late last year. Yes, I know. Shameful. However, thankfully, I have over compensated for that.

Of course, that doesn't imply that I've turned totally helpless. I'm Indian. Most of us are probably born with an embedded chip in our memory. I've seen little kids who haven't yet said their first words but have coded their own iPhone application.  Go, figure.

So my almost dead inner geek woke up this morning when I read about this:

   [AP Photo]

Screw WiFi and say halo to my little friend. That's right, bitches. It's called MiFi. The Novatel MiFi 2200. (Sounds less like a wireless device and more like a WMD!)

A wireless hotspot in your pocket.

*Obligatory they-can-do-that-now shrug and head shaking*

As you all know, I am kind of obsessed with the internet. And not just check-email-every-half-hour obsessed. No siree Bob. I need to carry it around with me wherever I go, lest the world starts to end and I miss reading about it. If some natural or unnatural event is going to kill me, I would like to either write a post about it beforehand or at least send a tweet. And if I do have some time, update the status on my facebook. Something like "______ is dying of a really strange disease usually only seen in M Night Shyamalan movies".

Currently, my mobile internet requirements are being serviced by my handy GPRS enabled phone. Now GPRS is good and all, but it's only two notches above a late-90's style dial up 56k connection if you're trying to use it on your computer. Although sometimes, it's a lifesaver. Last year, when i had gone to almost-remote hilly town, the only thing connecting me to the virtual world was my trusty GPRS.  Granted, sometimes it was so slow that you would have to combine web surfing with other activities like reading a book/watching a sitcom/shooting at the local population.

The sad news is that the MiFi device can only work on 3G networks, so it will take a couple of years before being launched in India. We are just getting started on 3G networks. And right now MTNL is the only company offering it. No offense, but I pity the fool who uses MTNL. It's like wearing a jockstrap two sizes smaller than your actual size. We still get an MTNL bill sometimes even YEARS after getting that connection disconnected.

Not that the private operators are better. Recently, my mobile service provider has converted my unlimited data plan to a limited data plan. And the broadband providers are going to follow suit. Now they are going to put caps on unlimited broadband plans. So, pretty soon, when you sign up for a plan which promises unlimited, uninterrupted internet, you are in fact signing up for a, rarely fast, limited-usage account. It's like using two condoms and still ending up pregnant.

I don't use a WiFi at home. That's because basically, I really can't figure it out. And since I'm cheap, I don't want someone else piggybacking on my internet. OMFG, that makes me sound like one of those people who wanted to tea-bag Obama.

However, I'm still looking forward to the launch of this card.

Why? For the simple reason that then I can watch You Tube videos while sitting on the can!

Oh, joy!

Recently, the most common question that I ask everyone is "What day is it today? No, seriously". I actually do lose track of what day, date, month or even what year it is. In fact, I have been using my own personal time standard, in hours are defined by the time left until the next meal and sometimes two, or three "normal" days are clubbed together because I really don't remember them as separate entities anyway.

Not that I am to blame. It happens when one is not gainfully employed. Everyday seems like a Sunday. And not a Sunday in which you know that the next day the grind starts again. No, a Sunday which is followed by another Sunday, which is followed by another Sunday, which in turn is followed by, no prizes for guessing, another Sunday.

So, to me, the past year and a half have been like an extended weekend. (Actually, some people I know would like to call it by a different name, but this is what I've decided upon. An extended weekend. Has a nice ring to it doesn't it? Hi, I'm on an extended weekend. What? Oh, that's part of my work actually. Yes, I specialize in extending weekends. It's a inborn talent, really. No, I don't have any branches. Yet.)

However, there is one thing that even someone as clueless & as intoxicated as me can notice.

I've come to realize that people treat those who are gainfully employed and those who take extended weekends which last more than a year, a tad bit differently. I know. Outrageous, isn't it?

I vividly remember the days when I used to work. By work, I mean laughing at every stupid forward people send and exploring wikipedia for useless trivia (Did you know Mata Hari was actually not a really good spy? Yup. Surprising isn't it? There is so much useless trivia out there, and so little time. Sigh. Also, it only sounds interesting when you are being paid to do something else. Otherwise, who really cares. Pshaw!)

It turns out that a job is like an ass. Everyone seems to have them.

So when you answer the question "So, what are you doing these days?" with the ominous word "Nothing", most people react in a very predictable way.

First, comes the indignation.

"What do you mean by nothing? So you actually aren't doing anything? Nothing AT ALL? Are you crazy?!"

Then comes the surprise.

"Why? What happened? You were doing so well! Are you crazy?"

Then, the weight of the information they have been provided with begins to settle in and a pattern seems to emerge.

"So you're sitting at home? Voluntarily? Why? Are you crazy?"

Then comes the search for plausible excuses.

"Are you sick? No?"

"Are you trying to lose weight? No?"

"Are you studying? No?"

"Are you helping out your family with the business? No?"

Then comes the slight tilt of the head and the first step towards the road of acceptance.

"Awwww. Oh! I'm sure you deserve it. I remember you used to be working so hard".

"Good for you".

"I would never have the guts to do something like this".

Then come the suggestions.

"If you're not busy, you should help out your family with the business".

"If you're not busy, you should study more and add to your resume".

"If you're not busy, you should try losing weight".

"If you're not busy, you should try writing a blog".

"If you're not busy, you should help my son get his wife pregnant".

Then comes the show of fake support along with a huge effort made in trying to encapsulate the overwhelming feeling of jealousy along with a naked attempt to try to make me feel like a loser.

"So you're staying home for the past year doing nothing? So you're doing NOTHING? How do you pass your day?"

"I would go bananas if I had to spend even a day doing nothing! Haha! How do you do it?"

"Aren't you yearning to go back to work?"

"You would have been an ________ by now if you hadn't left your job!"

"What's a blog?"

Then comes what I lovingly call the insane reasoning portion of the evening.

"This is not an age to take a break at. One should only take a break when one's sixty".

"Don't you want to get married?"

"You have to do something. Everyone does something or the other. You can't just sit at home".

"Don't you want to get married and give your parents a few grandchildren to play with?"

"You'll start losing the use of your mental faculties if you keep doing nothing for a long period of time. Stop laughing. It's true. I've seen it happen".

"No one does what they really want to do. So go back to work and get married. It's high time you got settled".

That sums up the conversation with 95% of the people.

One of the things about being jobless is that the "different" treatment you get from people. Suddenly, people find it really awkward to talk to me. And my opinion just does not hold the same value for them as it used to before. People really don't know how to start a conversation with me anymore. And there are so many topics they try to steer clear from. Things they presume that I would get offended by.

We are so used to identifying and associating people with what kind of work they do that it's really hard for us to look beyond that. Even when we introduce ourselves to other people, in most cases, the first thing that really comes out after our names is our occupation or whatever we do for a living. Because even personally, that's our yardstick for defining who we are. I used to do that too. But my "extended weekend" has made me realize that whatever job or line of work you do doesn't have to define who you are. We are so obsessed with titles, positions, the whole concept of "making a name for yourself" that we let it take over our lives. People define success not by how happy they are but by how many weekends they spend replying to work emails on their blackberry. It's in trying to "be somebody" that we lose track of who we really are. I know that because I did.

I'm not trying to knock anyone here. As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I, for one, love being treated like a pariah. A few of my friends and some assorted family friends have tried to "turn me around" and "talk some sense into me" but most of the time, they end up projecting. It's funny how the same people who used to tell my parents that they were "so proud" of me, now avoid me like the bubonic plague, even using me as an example of explaining to their children on how not to do things. The general consensus seems to be that I've lost it and that this is more evidence that I am a "spoiled" brat. Well, not that there is anything wrong with that. However, as always, I'm too drunk too care. I don't give a flying f@ck about what these people think anyway!

Yeah, almost everyone treats me differently. Even God. He answers all my prayers with "I'll get to you in a minute, asshole". To be fair, all of my prayers revolve around food and sex. And I guess God thinks that you can only have one of them at a time.

*Chomp Chomp*

Is he trying to tell me something?

Sometimes I wonder what being gay is all about. I mean, is there someplace I need to go and signup for membership? And then get it renewed every year?

Does it change my life so much that I suddenly start enjoying the things I didn't enjoy earlier? Do I have to watch all the episodes of Sex & the City before I join? And do I have to watch every lame gay movie out there even though I won't be able to identify with any of the characters?

(Okay. So what if I will watch any lame gay movie which has gratuitous nudity. Sue me for showing some human emotion. Geez!)

A lot of people around the world say that being gay is a lifestyle. But you don't need to have an IQ of more than 15 to realize that it's not as simple as a lifestyle choice. Being vegan is a lifestyle choice, choosing to drive a hybrid over a gas-guzzling hummer is a lifestyle choice, choosing to have apple cider instead of wine is a fucking lifestyle choice.

How do you choose to be gay? Do people suddenly wake up one day and decide they would like to bang people of the same sex? Does anyone in their right mind think that people would suddenly choose to be something that is fraught with so many complications?

But it's very hard for people to even try to understand how you're just born gay. It's not something you choose. It's something you just know and thanks to society's fake morality, something you ease into.

Why do people fall for society's fake morality?

Well that's because who would you rather listen to? The guy who tells you that you need to be good otherwise God will send you to hell or the guy who says that it's not perverted unless it's forced and unwanted.

People are scared of going to hell. I don't know why. I saw Speed 2. After seeing something so horrid, nothing scares me know. Not even the idea of hell.

See, all religious books are like collections of short stories strung together with a slightly boring narrative. They should learn how to write short stores from Jhumpa Lahri.

What? Am I the only one who loved Unaccustomed Earth?

I mean, c'mon. I believe more in the wicked witch of the west (no, we're not talking about Oprah here) than believe in the one about how heaven and earth were created by God on a Monday morning. I mean I don't know about you, but I pretty much never used to like to work on a Monday morning. I'm pretty sure that God would have done what I did. Pretend to be sick and pocket some free aspirin.

But most people buy into this morals and values stuff and drink the kool aid about keeping up appearances.

Like some members of my family. My Dad and my brother can't even bring themselves to tell people that I currently am in my 'gap' year. Okay, the second gap year has started, but that's my problem. Not anybody else's. However, my brother doesn't see it that way. He sees it as a bad reflection on the family.

We even had a sort of "discussion" about me being gay a few months ago. Remember the pride parade in Delhi? I had gone on a luncheon that day with some of my friends. So my brother reads about it in the papers the next day and assumed that I had gone to the parade. Not only do I feel stupid for not going, he also asks me if I am gay. Now, I didn't want to come out to him at that very moment, because that would have been out of spite, even though I was tempted to very, very much, so I just answered with a "So, what if I was?" And he rambled about how I'm bringing bad repute to our family's name and shit like that. So words were exchanged between us, he said things which he meant, I said things which I meant and people were told where they can go and the word "fuck" was used both as a verb and as an adjective, mostly by me.

Anyways, I'm sure my Dad and Brother will have a lot of words for me when I do eventually come out to them.

But you know what? I really don't care. Because I am what I am. I'm not going to change or be apologetic because of some idea of a perfect world both of them have in their mind. Worst case scenario, they don't be part of my life. You know, I love them and all, but I won't lose any sleep over it.

I can't expect everybody to be as progresive as my Mom.

When I came out to her I never realized what a big bombshell it was for her. The good thing did was continue to talk about it with her. We've had various conversations about my future and being gay and all. At one time, she wondered if I could have my cake and eat it too (with a Tom Cruise/Shah Rukh Khan type of deal). But I told her I'm not like that. Then a few weeks after that, one of my brother's friend came to visit, and she told my Mom that her husband had left her and their kids for another man. So that day my Mom told me that she completely agrees with me that a sham marriage is a really, really bad idea. Really, really bad.

Fine. I'll stop saying really for the rest of this post. But it is a really, really bad idea.

And now, after almost eleven months of knowing that her son is gay, my Mom is actually a tad bit enthusiastic about it.

And no, I don't need anyone to feel bad about the lack of projected support from the rest of my family. Because my Dad knows better than to argue with me and my brother thinks that repeating the last 30% of what the other person just said consists of a comeback.

And the world knows that if I have an argument I want to win, I'll move heaven and earth (well, no one can actually do that, but I do promise to move my fingers. A little bit.) to win it. Even Socrates ended up agreeing with me when I went back in time to argue with him. (Okay. I did not. But Speed 2 reminded me of Speed which reminded me of Keanu Reeves which reminded me of Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure in which both Bill & Ted time-nap Socrates. I'm really digressing, aren't I? Fine. Be a bitch about it.)


To steal a quote from and end in the spirit of gossip girl,

The truth always comes out, it's one of the fundamental rules of time. And when it does come out, it can set you free or end everything you fought to preserve.

xoxo,

Rambunctious Whippersnapper






p.s. Why does it sound sexy when Kristen Bell says it and so lame when I do?


It's because I'm fat, isn't it?

Contrary to rumors floating around the blog world, I did not die and go to gay heaven (i.e. hell), although I am convinced that's the only way I'll ever get any action. My fat ass is still very much on this planet. I'm not going anywhere. At least for the next two millenia.

Also, to dispel other rumors, I did not join the cast of Weeds, the blind guy didn't see me and I certainly did not have sexual relations with that woman.

*da-da-doom-dish*

(I hope that was the right sound effect. If not, well, I'm not a fucking sound technician, so give me a break.)

However, the rumor about me having a big schlong is something that I'm neither going to confirm nor deny. Draw your own BIG conclusions. Though with my luck, you know which one it would be.

Anyways, before I humiliate myself anymore and drive away the three people who still love me, I just wanted to say a big thank you to all those who missed me. I love you all even though I do question your intelligence. (insert wicked smiley)

And to all those who did not miss me, well, sleep with one eye open tonight. There's going to be a fat guy climbing down your chimney with a big brown bag and it ain't gonna be Santa.

*cue evil laugh*

(I said I'm not a fucking sound technician. Geez.)


p.s. I wasn't away on purpose. There were some extraordinary circumstances that required my immediate attention and were the cause of my absence.

The Blog police has finally managed to locate the missing blogger, Mr Rambunctious Whippersnapper aka Whippy aka Ramby aka RWS aka Ramb (you get the drift).

Mr WhipperSnapper was found today, lying unconscious on his bed.

He was wearing a black t-shirt which had the words "Mayor of WhipperSnapperville" on the front and "I disappear like that, sometimes" on the back.

The police got suspicious when various blogs started to miss a few stupid, lame, repetitive and moronic comments. It led them to the conclusion that Mr WhipperSnapper is either dead or in a coma. Sadly, he was just missing.

After they found him, there were various attempts to revive him. One fine day a mysterious lady appeared wearing a dress made out of the Union Jack and threw some dew drops on his face. The next day a minister wearing a bandage on one hand and holding a dumbbell on the other, came in and read out some hitherto unheard of psalms from the bible. Also, all the time there was a fly buzzing around him, watching his every move, clamoring for him to wake up.

Then, thanks to his co-conspirators, after a few days, suddenly, he woke up, still a little sedated, muttering "I need to blog ... I need to blog .....", over and over again.

----------------------------------------------------------------

I know, I know. Very, very cheesy. But I couldn't resist. We shall resume normal programming shortly. You all are wonderful people.

- you get arrested for attempted homicide and all you think about is how to spin this into a funny anecdote for your blog

- a friend tells you a personal event or anecdote, you thump the table yelling "Post", "Post" (live demonstration provided by this woman)

- you break up with someone by leaving a comment on their latest post in which they gush over your most recent date

- you consider your blogs as part of your estate

- someone says something personal to you, they never fail to add a stern, "Please don't blog this!!" followed by "I MEAN IT"

- you legally change your name to your blog pseudonym

- you don't blog for a day and your readers assume you're dead and they call your local emergency number

- you receive a bad appraisal, and ask for a justification, your boss shows you browsing records which show that you spend 99% of your workday on yourblogname.blogspot.com

- your parents leave the following comment on your blog "Son, please come down and have your dinner. We miss you. It's been four weeks."

- you pretend to suffer from MPD just so you can use the same username for all your blogs

- your conversation skills are limited to "LOL", "Gr8 Post", "LMAO" and "ROTFL"

- your children are named after the people who comment the most on your blog

- you get fired because your boss reads about your "sexy and fun shopping trip to SOHO" on the day you took off supposedly for visiting your sick grandmother in the hospital

- you blog about your date WHILE you are on it

- you can identify your readers by their IP address

- the most exciting thing to happen in your life in the past year was on the day your blog had 100,000 visitors

- you publish more posts in a day than the number of times you take a leak

- you start a blog on the lines of stuff white people like, hoping for a similar book deal

- you quit your job and start writing a book when danbrownfan_1965 writes a comment praising your writing and calling you a future booker prize winner

- you only listen to music by artists who have their own blog on my space

- you haven't seen daylight in six months

- you need to get surgery done on your index finger as it has gone numb because of being frequently used to refresh the comments section of your blog

- your comments on other people's blogs are bigger than their posts

- you remind people that they already have blogged about a particular event

- people close down blogs because of the frequency of your comments

- you ask other people to felicitate you in exclusive blog posts on their blog because you are their most frequent commenter

- you write a list which enumerates symptoms to identify obsessive blogging