2000-08-03 - 18:24:37
I hate when people password-protect their diaries. Especially if it's the day after I've bookmarked them, because I haven't read enough to remember why I bookmarked their diary, and now I can't find out. Probably they are trying to prevent nosy people like myself from reading their secrets, but that makes them especially enticing to the voyeuristic types who haunt DiaryLand.
When DiaryLand had message boards (before there was password protection), people would write, "how can I keep my diary a secret?" The answer, of course, was not to fill out your membership profile so you'd never show up anywhere. Oh, and oops! Don't post on the message board, because we can see your name and go read your diary. I always made a point of reading those, even though none of them were at all interesting.
Of course, this is incredibly silly, because if I found out that anyone I knew in real life was on DiaryLand in any way, I would password-protect my diary faster than you could say "flaming hypocrite".
(My real diary, not this one. Password-protecting this would be completely self-defeating.)
What really bothers me, though, are people who link to password-protected diaries. Why do that? You know we can't read it. Are you just trying to prove that you are soooo much cooler than the rest of us, because we can't get to that link and you can? I wish I knew.
(Ok, I don't really care why. I just wish people wouldn't do that. If something's secret, it should be kept, well, secret, not paraded around.)
When I was six I insisted that my family call me Carol Hollywood.
Between the flamingo in the same room as the grizzly, the strobe light apes, and the chicken with its head coming off, we were half scared and half laughing our asses off.
From Mr. Bad Example
While serving the cake, they were also signing people up for video game karaoke--they show you game clips, then turn down the sound and have you make the sound effects.
This wins the "Geekiest Thing I've Ever Heard" award, hands down.
He's cute. Yes he is. He spends hours in the mirror confirming this fact, ogling himself, making wigglee eyebrow looks that a suave gentleman might do to a doe-eyed girl that he was hoping to impress.
it rocks. rocks like a rocking thing with a built in rockofier.
and i'm climbing back up to that place were i could look out and be like, "oh yeah, that's what i need to be doing."