I saw this term in the comments section of someone else's blog today. (Yes, it's taking me awhile to get into "work brain" mode this morning ... I really need to talk to a doctor about this adult-onset ADD that I have self-diagnosed myself with.)
And it occurs to me ... damn straight, I am a hate blogger.
I hate dumb people, willfully ignorant people, people who insist that their point of view is inherently better than anyone else's even though it's obviously a subjective question, the Jazz at times, Glee at times, work at times, BYU at all times (sorry, BYU friends), reality TV generally and Max Hall specifically. (Since he hates me, it's only fair.) I'm sure I could think of more things I hate, given enough time ... but I really need to get back to billing those hours. (This blog is only getting a 0.2, for the record.)
I'd like to be a fluffy girl, who told lame jokes as if they were funny, who gushed about how her boyfriend/husband picked out what necklace she was wearing that day (personally, helping me accessorize is my girlfriends and gay friends' jobs, and I'm fairly certain if I asked the boy I am kinda-sorta dating for his opinion on a dress or shoes, he would roll his eyes and suggest that maybe I should simplify the process and get rid of some of the stuff I own) while still insisting that rigid gender roles are the WAY TO GO, who took photos of the things I baked or my toenail polish or myself making fish-face in oversized sunglasses at the pool. Those girls can never be hate bloggers.
But I am not like that.
And so I hate stuff.