How to piss me off in a huge way. Or, find your own warthogs.

I like to think of myself as generous. You can use almost anything of mine. As long as you ask.

But if you use my, oh, blog content, for example, my memories and my words, all without asking, you will make me really, really mad. If you pretend my words are your own, you will piss me the fuck off.

I know for most of us, anyway, the point of blogging is to write. And when I say write, I mean the following: To come up with something and then put it down in your own words. Not, oh, say, MY words. On YOUR blog.

Because doing that, it's called plagiarism. It turns out it's also called copyright infringement. And my friend Dagny pointed out that the good people at Blogger have a place where you can file a complaint.

Because I don't know if you've ever visited a blog that linked to yours (well, which did yesterday - but today, no longer does), started reading a post, and thought, "Wow, that sounds veryvery familiar!"

This was the first time this had happened to me.

The post starts out talking about her third date. In which she goes on to have the exact same conversation with a guy from New Jersey that I had!

The one I wrote about last year!

And when I say exact same? I mean, um, verbatim. Glad you liked the dialogue. Except that it's mine.

What I discovered was that there are several posts that use large chunks of my writing. Verbatim.

So, you know, you can call it "Of doors and rabbit holes," but The One who wasn't the one, the door that was closed over and over - that's MY not-One - not yours. That's MY door! That's MY hurt the size of the Grand Canyon!

And "Warthog theory" - are you fucking kidding me? That's my Warthog Theory Goes Out the Window angst from last July! My warthog theory, and my unicorn! I don't even care if you use the same ideas. Just don't lift my text and pretend it's yours!

Theft always makes you feel violated, but somehow taking ownership of my warthogs, and my devastation over my ex-boyfriend are more galling than someone swiping money from my wallet. It's like someone reached into your brain and your heart and snipped off a little piece of each.

I share all this stuff on LG because I want to. But I don't expect people to take pieces of me and pretend they're theirs.

Who takes your stories and your words and offers them up as their own?

Find your own warthogs. Draw from your own heartbreak. Honestly.