This is killing me. Killing me.  It's like the first day at a new school and you want to make a good impression and you spend hours the night before choosing your outfit and you wake up at 5 am and shower and stare at your giant pores with a magnifying mirror and sit staring out the window for two hours because you got up too early.  (I never did that before the first day of school, new or not, but I certainly did it for plenty of baseball games.  That's right. I was that kind of fan.)  And the thing is, you were so the most popular, fantastic, talented person at your old school, but now you're at your new school and you're a nobody and therefore, offensive and a dork.  I just keep thinking that a year from now I'll write an entry about how silly it was of me to fret over my new blog and I'll muse over all the clever things I've had to say and I'll reread all the banal, uneventful crap that has happened over the course of the year that my writing has made funny.  And I'll think "Oh you silly girl, look at your first two seventeen entries, filled with angst... boring, worrisome! You loathsome new blogger." 

Dear Internet,

I want to make a good impression.  I want to be funny and not too self-involved although blogging, in general, requires a certain level of self-involvement. I want to use clever words and invite striking insight in my comments section.  I want to belong.  I want to be one of the cool kids. I want to be on someone's blogroll.  I'm sorry internet, that now that I'm here in my own special place, all I'm capable of doing is bitch about how I used to be able to write (I think) and now I just sound like a worldess dolt.  Please be to me now what Kerry Stossel was in fifth grade, when she told me where to buy Benetton clothes.  It seems so obvious now, the Bennetton store, but in my ignorant, Barbie-playing bliss, I had no idea.  Save me now internet, from myself.

Sincerely,

Girl Who Has Resorted to the Cliched "Letter to the Internet" Entry in Only Her Second Entry But Who's Fashion Knowledge is Probably Far Superior to Kerry Stossel's Nowadays