Why do you blog?

It's not bad enough that we judge ourselves every time we look in a mirror, see ourselves in a photo, hear our out-going message on the voicemail... now we have opened ourselves up to a blogosphere that may not accept us.
They don't understand, we whine. They didn't get the joke. I stink at this. Who reads this shit anyway? Why does it matter? What am I supposed to say? Why do I have so many hits and so few comments? Who did I offend now?
I hear all of this from new bloggers and sometimes from people who have been doing it for a while. Bloggers come in all packages. They want to announce something good and new: a company, a book, a baby, a pet, a move. They want to help a cause: themselves, their business, a disease, weight loss, child rearing, a political movement.
There are the comment whores who will write and ask anything for the feedback, sometimes resorting to the contest giveaway. I have been know to name drop in the title just to see how many random hots it will bring in.
There are the intelligent writers who ramble on so long my blackberry thumb tires on the scroll button. There are the cutesy Mommy bloggers and the REAL Mommy bloggers. There are men who think they are Mommies and men who hate Mommies. there are the fashionistas and the anti- everythings and there are the rip-off bloggers: they take whatever they find elsewhere on the internet and post it on their site, like, "Look, I have chosen all the news fit for you. Today."
Somedays, it just feels like so much work, but when you're away for a week and not posting or commenting daily and your traffic comes to a screeching halt- dropping you more than 600 spots in the blogroll, you feel kind of crappy. Like you failed a really important test in high school- which happens to be a recurring nightmare for me.
So, what kind of blogging am I to resort to?
or better question: what kind of blogging have I been doing?
Is it bad to say I write about the things I do, the people I meet, the stuff I think odd or funny?

I was talking to a writer friend and we both agreed that we are the kind of people that THINGS HAPPEN TO. He said it was that we were receptive to it, not that we went looking for it- because honestly, I could have gone anywhere to have my brows shaped and only one waxer would have told me the story of giving the beautiful virgin bride her first Brazilian Bikini wax job.
Maybe that's the answer. I'll start telling you all the weird happenings, all the things I usually save for short stories and characters in the novel. As long as you promise not to steal them.