Heard about this Brooklyn blog, The Pen and the Poop, from Sunset Parker. The blogger is Elise Miller, the author of the Star Craving Mad, a book about "motherhood, minutiae and mayhem." Miller’s blog  looks like fun. Here’s an excerpt:

This is what’s so special about blogging versus writing in a journal
the old fashioned way. In my journal I kvetch and whine and do the
whole self-loathing thing without anyone ever reading what I’ve
written, without any sort of reality check or rationality barometer.
With the blog though, I’ve got people to tell me, in a public forum no
less, how maybe I’m not in my right mind to think such horrible things
about myself and it almost brings me to tears of gratitude and regret
for all the ink I’ve used up on such matters. So thank you Hubby and
Amelia’s Plum. It really makes me uh, it just, I guess I am pretty hard
on myself. You should see my journals. Or maybe you shouldn’t. Some
entries have that psychological thriller look, you know those scenes
where the cops stumble upon the serial killer’s notebooks? Like that.
And it takes up so much time and energy hating on myself, because then
I have to think up all the ways I can fix myself. And then I stress out
because the only way to fix the monster is to become Gwyneth Paltrow,
but without the fashion sense lapse. Or Kate Moss without the drug
habit. Or Angelina without the homewrecker rep. And I doubt that’s
going to happen. Although it is Halloween and I do have a long blond
wig somewhere, so you never know. This is just the possibly deranged
risk I take opening up about my insecurities, seeking some meaningful
connection in a hopefully artistic way, while fishing for subject
matter for a future novel. But I really do have a receding hairline,
with those shiny blue scalp spots where hair used to grow, which is
yucky. Will it grow back? I think it might.