With funny pictures and witty sayings.
For days at a time.
All while not writing blog posts.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Making your own e cards...where all good bloggers go to die.
And make crap.
With funny pictures and witty sayings.
For days at a time.
All while not writing blog posts.
With funny pictures and witty sayings.
For days at a time.
All while not writing blog posts.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Fifty Shades of WTF?
I generally jump onto whatever “book o’ the month” bandwagon comes along. I read all the Harry Potter books, the Twilight books, Shutter Island, The Help…you get the picture. So of course, when I heard about Fifty Shades of Grey, I just had to read it, too.
I heard all the hype…it’s “mommy porn”, it’s “erotic romance” blah blah blah. Okay, sure…I’m down with that. What the heck? This book was THE topic of conversation at the ball field a few weeks ago. Okay, sure, if these chicks can get into it, so can I. So I got it. From the public library. (Which, incidentally, and a little shocking for my tiny Texas town, hasn’t banned it). And I read it.
O. M. Jesus.
Fifty Shades of WTF?
Seriously?? People are into this?? Ohmigod! These are some seriously whacked “mommy porn” readers!!! I am re-evaluating every mom that I know at this point! Not to mention, every mom that participated in that conversation!
If you haven’t read it yet, SPOILER ALERT! Stop reading now! Really. Stop. This is not a review....this is just a random collection of thoughts I've had about the books since I've read them. And some of it is really specific. And you'll get pissed off. And I don't want to hear it, trust me.
My thoughts on these books (in no semblance of order):
-The writing is terrible. I can’t even deal with it. The grammar, the conversation, the description of genitalia…all of it. BAD.
-Why in the name of all that is holy did no one tell me that the whole thing is about BDSM??? (And for those of you that don’t know, ‘BDSM’ means ‘bondage and S&M’….and if you don’t know what that means…ummmm…go ask your mom). I’m all on board with the steamy sex scenes BUT…just when it’s getting good, he hauls off and SPANKS her?!?! Like, repeatedly. And hard. Ummm, no thank you. Don’t get me wrong….what you do in your bedroom is totally your business. It’s just not really my thing. AND now everyone that I know that has read it? I picture getting spanked. And then I just get grossed out….because I don’t want to think about it. But I can’t NOT think about it. Oh good lord.
-And a second “Dammit, I wish I would’ve known before getting sucked into the poorly-written lives of these seriously crazy characters” item: she’s a VIRGIN. Really? You are really trying to sell me on the fact that a young woman saved herself for 22 years to be tied up and spanked by a ridiculously hot and seriously eff’d up billionaire?? Really?? I would think if you had NEVER had sex in all your 22 years and some dude hauled off and smacked you, you’d be scared shitless. And wondering what all the hype was about. But, maybe that’s just me.
-If I had a nickel for every time Anastasia Steele (the main girl character’s name) says and/or thinks “Holy shit”, I’d have crapload of nickels.
-Sexy books should never refer to female genitalia as “womanhood”. Ever. Nor should your sexual preferences be referred to as “kinky fuckery”. Both of these terms make me laugh. And I’m pretty sure that was not the author’s intention.
-While I commend the writer on promoting the idea of safe sex and planned parenthood, I also lose my focus when, during the hottest parts, Christian Grey (the main guy’s name) has to “pull out a foil packet” and put on a condom. Really?? You are a billionaire with kinky sexual preferences and had a seriously messed up childhood….get a vasectomy.
-The seriously messed up childhood. Talk about a buzz kill. Okay, he’s hot, he’s rich and he likes it rough. Cool. Do we need to delve into the whys and wherefores? No. Just when I’m thinking, “Okay, this is getting good”…we have to have an entire chapter devoted to his ‘scars’, his cracked out mom, her pimp, etc. etc. etc. Terrible. Sad. NOT what I want to read about in what’s being touted as “mommy porn”.
-My husband wants a refund (but since I got them at the library, they were free)…mainly because he was expecting me to be hot and waiting for him after reading them. Annddd…what with the spanking and the ‘kinky fuckery’ and whatnot….that hasn’t really been the case. He’s disappointed.
To be fair: I’m halfway through the second book…I have not read the entire trilogy, so perhaps some of these issues are resolved later on in the story. I mean, maybe Christian gets a vasectomy and Anastasia stops saying ‘holy shit’. For some reason, I think not.
Sidebar: I had NO CLUE these books were supposed to be the author's take on Edward and Bella if they were human and adults. I totally missed that. Soooo...yeah....I guess that whole point of view was wasted on me. And I *read* the frickin' Twilight books....
Friday, May 11, 2012
MOM: Methods O' Madness
Mother’s Day Weekend is this weekend. And although I am FIRMLY of the belief that I’m not a “Mommy Blogger” (and if I am, I’m sure all of you think my kid is royally screwed up at this point), I am a Mom. And I do have a blog. So…yeaaahh…I guess that could add up.
I refuse to admit it.
Anyway: Mother’s Day Weekend. Awesome. Hand-made school craft from the kid, grilled steak from the man…good times.
And absolutely, positively, with no exceptions (okay, maybe diamond-type exceptions) NO Mother’s-Day-themed crap like the “Charmed Memories” bracelet from Kay Jewelers or the “Fields of Europe” bouquet from 1800flowers for this Mom. This Mom would much prefer sunshine, river time and Miller Lite, I promise. The whole kitschy "Oh mom, you're so wonderful I bought you this pre-designed, over one million made like it in the world, all-the-thinking-done-for-me *fill in the blank*!", is just not my thing.
Don't get me wrong, I like Mother’s Day. I really do. It's just all the pressure to "make sure Mom has the best day ever!" or "Make this Mother's Day the most memorable." Really? Just make it an enjoyable day....where maybe I don't have to play "mom" as much as I normally do. Tell me thanks for all the crap I do, do some of that crap for me and just generally give me a little extra attention. Honestly, my husband is pretty good at it…it really is all about me, what I want to eat, what I want to do, etc.
The problem is: I find it really hard to ‘turn off’. Meaning, if there is crap on the floor, I’m picking it up. If there are dirty clothes in the bathroom hamper, I’m sorting them. If the kid wants a sandwich, I will fix it. And all the while, he’s all, “Honey, it’s Mother’s Day…you don’t have to do that!” or “Will you stop cleaning and just relax??”. Yeah, I’d love to. But I can’t. (I know...Type A much?) Please don't get me wrong...I don't enjoy cleaning, I'm not Suzy Homemaker and I'd much rather the kid learn to make her owning frickin' sandwich (for the love of all that is holy...two pieces of bread, some mayo and some turkey! What is so hard?!!?). BUT, it's what I do.
So basically, you're telling me, "Hey, it's your day and we want you to do none of the stuff you normally do in a day, so fill your day with things that you NEVER do."
NEVER do? Well, I guess "never-since-having-kids-NEVER". Hmmm...okay, here goes...this Mother's Day, I will:
-Sit and read and refuse to answer "Mom! Mom! Momma! Mooooommmmmm! MOOOOOMMMMM!" all day long.
-Drink coffee until my bladder can hold no more rather than scarfing down one cup to make my eyelids open.
-Pee without A. having a conversation through the door, B. being watched or C. screaming at someone as to the location of the paper towels.
-Leave wine in the bottle.
-Not know what time it is. Like, all day.
-Ignore all silent yet reproachful looks from the dog. (I know she's thinking something terrible about me, but I just haven't figured it out yet.)
-Wear a sparkly, "going out" shirt, for no reason whatsoever.
-Not watch Disney channel.
-Not sweep, mop, vaccuum, scrub, pick-up, straighten, etc. (but you're probably going to have to help me with this one, Ronnie).
Whew...this Mother's Day thing is gonna be tough.
I refuse to admit it.
Anyway: Mother’s Day Weekend. Awesome. Hand-made school craft from the kid, grilled steak from the man…good times.
And absolutely, positively, with no exceptions (okay, maybe diamond-type exceptions) NO Mother’s-Day-themed crap like the “Charmed Memories” bracelet from Kay Jewelers or the “Fields of Europe” bouquet from 1800flowers for this Mom. This Mom would much prefer sunshine, river time and Miller Lite, I promise. The whole kitschy "Oh mom, you're so wonderful I bought you this pre-designed, over one million made like it in the world, all-the-thinking-done-for-me *fill in the blank*!", is just not my thing.
Don't get me wrong, I like Mother’s Day. I really do. It's just all the pressure to "make sure Mom has the best day ever!" or "Make this Mother's Day the most memorable." Really? Just make it an enjoyable day....where maybe I don't have to play "mom" as much as I normally do. Tell me thanks for all the crap I do, do some of that crap for me and just generally give me a little extra attention. Honestly, my husband is pretty good at it…it really is all about me, what I want to eat, what I want to do, etc.
The problem is: I find it really hard to ‘turn off’. Meaning, if there is crap on the floor, I’m picking it up. If there are dirty clothes in the bathroom hamper, I’m sorting them. If the kid wants a sandwich, I will fix it. And all the while, he’s all, “Honey, it’s Mother’s Day…you don’t have to do that!” or “Will you stop cleaning and just relax??”. Yeah, I’d love to. But I can’t. (I know...Type A much?) Please don't get me wrong...I don't enjoy cleaning, I'm not Suzy Homemaker and I'd much rather the kid learn to make her owning frickin' sandwich (for the love of all that is holy...two pieces of bread, some mayo and some turkey! What is so hard?!!?). BUT, it's what I do.
So basically, you're telling me, "Hey, it's your day and we want you to do none of the stuff you normally do in a day, so fill your day with things that you NEVER do."
NEVER do? Well, I guess "never-since-having-kids-NEVER". Hmmm...okay, here goes...this Mother's Day, I will:
-Sit and read and refuse to answer "Mom! Mom! Momma! Mooooommmmmm! MOOOOOMMMMM!" all day long.
-Drink coffee until my bladder can hold no more rather than scarfing down one cup to make my eyelids open.
-Pee without A. having a conversation through the door, B. being watched or C. screaming at someone as to the location of the paper towels.
-Leave wine in the bottle.
-Not know what time it is. Like, all day.
-Ignore all silent yet reproachful looks from the dog. (I know she's thinking something terrible about me, but I just haven't figured it out yet.)
-Wear a sparkly, "going out" shirt, for no reason whatsoever.
-Not watch Disney channel.
-Not sweep, mop, vaccuum, scrub, pick-up, straighten, etc. (but you're probably going to have to help me with this one, Ronnie).
Whew...this Mother's Day thing is gonna be tough.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
It is all explained...
So, my proclivity to yeast infections could explain my need to....ahem...trim the jungle more often than I should?
Who knew?
Monistat for Hair Growth
http://suicidesevemonistat.blogspot.com/
Who knew?
Monistat for Hair Growth
http://suicidesevemonistat.blogspot.com/
Thursday, May 3, 2012
This is pretty much the only etiquette I know...sorry Mom...
So, you got invited to a crawfish boil, huh? Not sure what to wear, what to bring, how to act? Well, dear readers, I’m here to help you out. Being a transplanted Louisianaian, I have actually had to deal with answering these questions at our annual crawfish boil where most of the invitees happen to be from Texas or even states north of the Mason Dixon. Would you believe I have a friend from Minnesota who came last year and she and her family had so much fun, her kids have been pestering her to come again?! Weird, right? Me….friends with a mid-westerner! They’re just so dang polite! It cracks me up…seriously. Anyway, I digress…so, not sure how the whole thing goes down? Well, here ya go.
Crawfish Boil Etiquette:
1. Bring camp chairs. For the life of me, I cannot figure out what redneck drunkards sat on at backyard get-togethers before the invention of the camp chair. God bless you, Mr. Camp Chair Inventor Guy….they should write you a Bud Light: Real Men of Genius song.
2. Don’t wear white. Like anywhere on your body. You are going to eat bugs…MUDbugs…white is not a good call, trust me.
3. Don’t ask if they’re spicy. They are. Duh.
4. I will not peel crawfish for you unless A. you are under the age of 10, B. you are over the age of 80 or C. a wounded veteran. Sorry…it ain’t happenin’.
5. It’s really best for everyone if we avoid the “crawfish anatomy” lesson while standing at the table peeling and eating crawfish. I choose not to investigate too closely the gunk that comes out of the crawfish, the juice that shoots across the table when I peel a crawfish or the inside of the head I just pulled off the crawfish. We get it; they’re kinda gross….but they taste REALLY good.
6. Along those lines, let’s not look down on those who choose not to suck heads. It doesn’t make me any less of a Louisiana girl and I won’t give in to your peer pressure.
7. Clean up after yourself. Yeah, I know, a whole discussion on how gross they are, and then I’m telling you to be clean. You will be dirty (which is why #2 is important) and you will smell like dead fish. BUT, please make sure your empty cans, corn cobs, crawfish heads, etc. make it to the trash can. Bending over to pick up fly-encrusted crawfish body parts or half-empty hot beer or half-eaten grilled meats at 10:00 am the next morning while nursing a hangover = NOT my idea of a good time.
8. Bring your beer/drinks iced down already. I have a beer fridge…and it *will* be full of my beer. Hell, we can fill up the beer fridge for a Saturday night get-together with the neighbors, so 100+ people? Yeah, sorry man, no room for your beer.
9. Tying in with #8: should you choose to stop and get beer at the store on the way and it is hot, PLEASE do not stick a few in the freezer to get cold while you get your party on. You will forget them. They will freeze. They will explode. Worse than having to pick up crustacean body parts that smell like dead fish in the heat with a hangover? Opening your freezer to find Miller Lite-cicle crusting the interior.
10. I love parties. I love people. I love all people….I really don’t like people who don’t like other people. In short: don’t harsh my buzz, dude. If you have a problem with minorities/gays/cops/southerners/yankees/cowboys/motorcycle owners/hunters/fisherman/public educators/doctors/lawyers/men/women/men who dress like women/etc, keep it to yourself. Nobody cares and we’re all here to drink beer and eat crawfish. Chances are good that one or more of those groups of people are represented at any given party at my house, so be nice. And eat crawfish.
11. HAVE A CRAPLOAD OF FUN! Now is the time to bust out your best fishing stories, your funniest kid stories and your most ridiculous high-school sports stories. We’re all here for a GOOD TIME!
LAISSEZ LES BON TEMPS ROULEZ!
Crawfish Boil Etiquette:
1. Bring camp chairs. For the life of me, I cannot figure out what redneck drunkards sat on at backyard get-togethers before the invention of the camp chair. God bless you, Mr. Camp Chair Inventor Guy….they should write you a Bud Light: Real Men of Genius song.
2. Don’t wear white. Like anywhere on your body. You are going to eat bugs…MUDbugs…white is not a good call, trust me.
3. Don’t ask if they’re spicy. They are. Duh.
4. I will not peel crawfish for you unless A. you are under the age of 10, B. you are over the age of 80 or C. a wounded veteran. Sorry…it ain’t happenin’.
5. It’s really best for everyone if we avoid the “crawfish anatomy” lesson while standing at the table peeling and eating crawfish. I choose not to investigate too closely the gunk that comes out of the crawfish, the juice that shoots across the table when I peel a crawfish or the inside of the head I just pulled off the crawfish. We get it; they’re kinda gross….but they taste REALLY good.
6. Along those lines, let’s not look down on those who choose not to suck heads. It doesn’t make me any less of a Louisiana girl and I won’t give in to your peer pressure.
7. Clean up after yourself. Yeah, I know, a whole discussion on how gross they are, and then I’m telling you to be clean. You will be dirty (which is why #2 is important) and you will smell like dead fish. BUT, please make sure your empty cans, corn cobs, crawfish heads, etc. make it to the trash can. Bending over to pick up fly-encrusted crawfish body parts or half-empty hot beer or half-eaten grilled meats at 10:00 am the next morning while nursing a hangover = NOT my idea of a good time.
8. Bring your beer/drinks iced down already. I have a beer fridge…and it *will* be full of my beer. Hell, we can fill up the beer fridge for a Saturday night get-together with the neighbors, so 100+ people? Yeah, sorry man, no room for your beer.
9. Tying in with #8: should you choose to stop and get beer at the store on the way and it is hot, PLEASE do not stick a few in the freezer to get cold while you get your party on. You will forget them. They will freeze. They will explode. Worse than having to pick up crustacean body parts that smell like dead fish in the heat with a hangover? Opening your freezer to find Miller Lite-cicle crusting the interior.
10. I love parties. I love people. I love all people….I really don’t like people who don’t like other people. In short: don’t harsh my buzz, dude. If you have a problem with minorities/gays/cops/southerners/yankees/cowboys/motorcycle owners/hunters/fisherman/public educators/doctors/lawyers/men/women/men who dress like women/etc, keep it to yourself. Nobody cares and we’re all here to drink beer and eat crawfish. Chances are good that one or more of those groups of people are represented at any given party at my house, so be nice. And eat crawfish.
11. HAVE A CRAPLOAD OF FUN! Now is the time to bust out your best fishing stories, your funniest kid stories and your most ridiculous high-school sports stories. We’re all here for a GOOD TIME!
LAISSEZ LES BON TEMPS ROULEZ!
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Lost in Translation
So I have a friend who adopted a 12 year old boy from Colombia last year. I won’t regale you with the details, but let’s just say it was a long journey with a FANTASTIC outcome. Let me also tell you that this friend attended a Christian (Baptist) school until 8th grade, went to Baptist church EVERY Sunday and Wednesday, went to a Baptist university and had never had sex until her wedding night.
Yes, I know. We have had many conversations about how it is we’re friends.
She also doesn’t cuss.
Or drink.
Seriously, how does she even like me?
Who knows?? But I feel like it’s helping me out with God that she’s my friend. When I’m standing up there awaiting judgment and he’s ticking off on his fingers all the ways I screwed up, I’m pretty sure I’ll just drop her name like she’s the Kardashian of heaven and BOOM! I’m in.
She is, however, one of the funniest people I know. Without cussing. Or drinking. How does she do it??
So the other day, she told me this story about how she got a new car…a Volvo. Since she had never had children, she had a cute, sporty little 2-door Audi. When she realized she was not only going to have to cart around a 12 year old, but also all his buddies, soccer gear and stink, she decided it was time for something more practical. So, she gets a Volvo—a family car. The four-door job with plenty of luxury (leather, power, etc), but chock-full of practicality. She is also one of those people who names her cars. On the way home from the dealership, the family (including their son who is still learning English, remember?) was discussing what to name the new car.
Son: “Mom, this car is a girl, right?”
Mom: “Yes, all cars are girls…she needs a girl’s name.”
Son: “And what kind of car is it?”
Mom: “A Volvo.”
Son: “What about ‘Volva’?”
Mom: “SNORT….um, no son, we cannot name her the female version of ‘Volvo.’”
Son: “Why not? What’s so funny?”
Mom: “Well son, a ‘vulva’ is part of a woman’s vagina.”
Son: “Ohmigod!!!! MOOOOOOMMMMM!!! Gross!”
Oh, wait….now I see how we’re friends.
*Printed with her permission. And red-pen editing assistance. Yet another reason we are friends…
Yes, I know. We have had many conversations about how it is we’re friends.
She also doesn’t cuss.
Or drink.
Seriously, how does she even like me?
Who knows?? But I feel like it’s helping me out with God that she’s my friend. When I’m standing up there awaiting judgment and he’s ticking off on his fingers all the ways I screwed up, I’m pretty sure I’ll just drop her name like she’s the Kardashian of heaven and BOOM! I’m in.
She is, however, one of the funniest people I know. Without cussing. Or drinking. How does she do it??
So the other day, she told me this story about how she got a new car…a Volvo. Since she had never had children, she had a cute, sporty little 2-door Audi. When she realized she was not only going to have to cart around a 12 year old, but also all his buddies, soccer gear and stink, she decided it was time for something more practical. So, she gets a Volvo—a family car. The four-door job with plenty of luxury (leather, power, etc), but chock-full of practicality. She is also one of those people who names her cars. On the way home from the dealership, the family (including their son who is still learning English, remember?) was discussing what to name the new car.
Son: “Mom, this car is a girl, right?”
Mom: “Yes, all cars are girls…she needs a girl’s name.”
Son: “And what kind of car is it?”
Mom: “A Volvo.”
Son: “What about ‘Volva’?”
Mom: “SNORT….um, no son, we cannot name her the female version of ‘Volvo.’”
Son: “Why not? What’s so funny?”
Mom: “Well son, a ‘vulva’ is part of a woman’s vagina.”
Son: “Ohmigod!!!! MOOOOOOMMMMM!!! Gross!”
Oh, wait….now I see how we’re friends.
*Printed with her permission. And red-pen editing assistance. Yet another reason we are friends…
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Updated and Short-Changed
Was I inspired by Pinterest? Was it some great new thing on HGTV that got me thinking, "You know, I really need to update my look?"? Or maybe it was Cosmo's list of '20 Swim Suits to Flatter Any Body Type' (except if you're tall, short, thin, fat, blonde, brunette or red-headed)??
No, no and um, haven't you figured out that no one believes your vicious swim suit lies, Cosmo??
No, dear friends, I decided to update my blog design simply because the lime green was entirely too reminescent of the H&R Block online income tax filing site. Lime green is one of my favorite colors...it's the color of Save the Hoohas, for crying out loud! But no, frickin' H&R Block had to go and ruin it for everyone...including those of us trying to protect our girly wallets from abusive practices like sugaring, waxing and vajazzling.
The government screws everything up.
Moving on....I will not dwell any more on taxes...they're not filed yet and I've got plenty more time to stress out about that crap between now and April 15 (a whole 11 days....I'm good).
Anyway, I was also motivated by a new blog that I recently discovered (and have yet to post on my blogroll....hang on a minute....aaannnd...DONE). And you totally need to go read it. Her blog is called "People I Want to Punch in the Throat". Yeah, you can already see why I like it, right? So check it out. She's funny. And sarcastic. And witty. And will punch you in the throat.
Oh, and if you don't like the changes round these here parts, then I'll punch you inthe throat...wait...probably can't say that because it's probably all copyrighted and shit. Soooo....let's say, right eye. Yeah, so okay, here goes....if you don't like it, then I'll punch you in your right eye! Oooo....burn!
She recently published a list of ways to "make it" as a blogger. Most of which I'm doing, but I just need that one little post to go viral. Anyway, one of her ideas was to post your blog to pinterest.
Pinterest.
Seriously??
Holy. Effing. A.
I guess I cannot avoid getting sucked into the black hole that is Pinterest. I am, above all, committed to my art. (Or just really just want more people to give me attention via the internet....)
So, I got on the site and requested an invite.
First of all, it took like 30 mintues to come to my inbox. (Sidebar: anyone else feel dirty saying 'inbox'?? *snicker*) 30 minutes!?!! Really?!! What's up with THAT, Pinterest?? If I request my password from the H&R Block website, it's like .25 seconds! You gotta work that shit out, man.
THEN.
THEN....I get an email from them. Which says THIS:
Well, "Ben and the Pinterest Team", let me tell you one damn thing: You can take your waiting list and shove it! What the hell is that about??? I got wait-listed for frickin' Pinterest??? You get wait-listed for college, for the best table at a fancy restaurant or for the summer camp your kid is dying to get into. You do NOT get wait listed for bullshit time-filler websites full of crap that I will never have A. the time, B. the money, nor C. the motivation to do!
Oh, it is ON Ben and the Pinterest Team. O-N. ON.
I will punch you in your right eye.
No, no and um, haven't you figured out that no one believes your vicious swim suit lies, Cosmo??
No, dear friends, I decided to update my blog design simply because the lime green was entirely too reminescent of the H&R Block online income tax filing site. Lime green is one of my favorite colors...it's the color of Save the Hoohas, for crying out loud! But no, frickin' H&R Block had to go and ruin it for everyone...including those of us trying to protect our girly wallets from abusive practices like sugaring, waxing and vajazzling.
The government screws everything up.
Moving on....I will not dwell any more on taxes...they're not filed yet and I've got plenty more time to stress out about that crap between now and April 15 (a whole 11 days....I'm good).
Anyway, I was also motivated by a new blog that I recently discovered (and have yet to post on my blogroll....hang on a minute....aaannnd...DONE). And you totally need to go read it. Her blog is called "People I Want to Punch in the Throat". Yeah, you can already see why I like it, right? So check it out. She's funny. And sarcastic. And witty. And will punch you in the throat.
Oh, and if you don't like the changes round these here parts, then I'll punch you in
She recently published a list of ways to "make it" as a blogger. Most of which I'm doing, but I just need that one little post to go viral. Anyway, one of her ideas was to post your blog to pinterest.
Pinterest.
Seriously??
Holy. Effing. A.
I guess I cannot avoid getting sucked into the black hole that is Pinterest. I am, above all, committed to my art. (Or just really just want more people to give me attention via the internet....)
So, I got on the site and requested an invite.
First of all, it took like 30 mintues to come to my inbox. (Sidebar: anyone else feel dirty saying 'inbox'?? *snicker*) 30 minutes!?!! Really?!! What's up with THAT, Pinterest?? If I request my password from the H&R Block website, it's like .25 seconds! You gotta work that shit out, man.
THEN.
THEN....I get an email from them. Which says THIS:
Hi!
Thanks for joining the Pinterest waiting list. We'll be sure to send you an invite soon.
In the meantime, you can follow us on Twitter. You can also explore a few pins.
We're excited to get you pinning soon!
- Ben and the Pinterest Team
Well, "Ben and the Pinterest Team", let me tell you one damn thing: You can take your waiting list and shove it! What the hell is that about??? I got wait-listed for frickin' Pinterest??? You get wait-listed for college, for the best table at a fancy restaurant or for the summer camp your kid is dying to get into. You do NOT get wait listed for bullshit time-filler websites full of crap that I will never have A. the time, B. the money, nor C. the motivation to do!
Oh, it is ON Ben and the Pinterest Team. O-N. ON.
I will punch you in your right eye.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Friends
I talk about my "friends" quite a bit. I was blessed (if I may brag a bit) with the gift of making friends easily. I love people, I love to talk, I love to laugh, I love to have fun and generally, people want to be around people like that. So it works out. As I mentioned in my Facebook rant, I have over 400 friends on Facebook...and know all of them.
I do, however, understand the difference between a "friend" and a "FRIEND", you know what I mean? I'm very close to lots of people I've met since moving to Texas...some of them I pretty much consider family. Most all of the close friends I've made here are totally the kinds of friends you call when you run out of gas on the side of the highway because you have ignored your gas light for 3 days in a row. Or to get advice on the best place to buy a new car, find a dentist or put your kid in daycare. Or when you had the crappiest day imaginable and need a margarita. Hey, those are good friends...don't misunderstand me.
You all know by now, I'm a Louisiana girl...I was born and raised there. I lived in the same house my entire life and went to the same Catholic school for 13 years. I have friends that I have known since BIRTH. That is no exaggeration....one of my closest friends' mom has a "bump picture" of her and my mom when they were pregnant. She and I were born 6 days apart! We have, literally, known each other since the womb. I also have a friend I've known since kindergarten...and her mom and my mom happen to be close friends as well. My other super-close friend from Louisiana moved to my hometown in 7th grade, so we've known each other since junior high. The four of us were not always close...in fact, there are times I look back to junior high and high school and remember us in totally separate crowds. The two cheerleaders, the drill team girl and the mouthy speech/rodeo kid destined to end up best friends?? No way! (Sidebar: Betcha can't guess which one was me?)
They're not so much friends as sisters. After 30+ years of knowing someone, there are pretty much no secrets you can keep...even if you wanted to. We are one part Steel Magnolias, one part Friends and a dash of The Breakfast Club. We have survived junior high, high school, college, sororities, parent's divorce, cancer, boyfriends, renting apartments, break-ups, graduate school, single-life, marriage, buying houses, pregnancy, fertility issues, drug problems, money problems, a husband sent to war, career issues, deaths of loved ones and adoption. We don't talk everyday, but we all know what's going on with each other and check in regularly. We are so different in our likes/dislikes and our personality traits, yet very much the same in our values and beliefs. We are so much like family that we can disagree with one another and the idea of breaking off the friendship NEVER crosses our minds because, quite simply, family stays.
All those "Hollywood stereotypes" of Southern women may be a bit cheesy (Um, hello, bad accent, poufy hair and mint juleps? Yeah, we'll keep our normal accents, ponytails and Miller Lite, thanks). BUT there are definitely grains of truth in them. The strength, the depth of emotions and the ability to put a good face on top of all of it...all of these are character traits of these women I call my friends. It actually makes me laugh to think we are old enough or responsible enough to even be called "women"...when we get together and start talking and laughing, we sound much more like "girls". In fact, a couple of summers ago when one of us had moved to California, we all went out to visit. We ended up in our pajamas drinking wine, playing board games and talking until 3:00 am....still having slumber parties at 30.
So this weekend, I'm heading back to Louisiana....to be surrounded by these women who have known me longer than I've known myself. We will laugh, we will celebrate, we will talk...and ultimately, our souls will be fuller for it.
I do, however, understand the difference between a "friend" and a "FRIEND", you know what I mean? I'm very close to lots of people I've met since moving to Texas...some of them I pretty much consider family. Most all of the close friends I've made here are totally the kinds of friends you call when you run out of gas on the side of the highway because you have ignored your gas light for 3 days in a row. Or to get advice on the best place to buy a new car, find a dentist or put your kid in daycare. Or when you had the crappiest day imaginable and need a margarita. Hey, those are good friends...don't misunderstand me.
You all know by now, I'm a Louisiana girl...I was born and raised there. I lived in the same house my entire life and went to the same Catholic school for 13 years. I have friends that I have known since BIRTH. That is no exaggeration....one of my closest friends' mom has a "bump picture" of her and my mom when they were pregnant. She and I were born 6 days apart! We have, literally, known each other since the womb. I also have a friend I've known since kindergarten...and her mom and my mom happen to be close friends as well. My other super-close friend from Louisiana moved to my hometown in 7th grade, so we've known each other since junior high. The four of us were not always close...in fact, there are times I look back to junior high and high school and remember us in totally separate crowds. The two cheerleaders, the drill team girl and the mouthy speech/rodeo kid destined to end up best friends?? No way! (Sidebar: Betcha can't guess which one was me?)
They're not so much friends as sisters. After 30+ years of knowing someone, there are pretty much no secrets you can keep...even if you wanted to. We are one part Steel Magnolias, one part Friends and a dash of The Breakfast Club. We have survived junior high, high school, college, sororities, parent's divorce, cancer, boyfriends, renting apartments, break-ups, graduate school, single-life, marriage, buying houses, pregnancy, fertility issues, drug problems, money problems, a husband sent to war, career issues, deaths of loved ones and adoption. We don't talk everyday, but we all know what's going on with each other and check in regularly. We are so different in our likes/dislikes and our personality traits, yet very much the same in our values and beliefs. We are so much like family that we can disagree with one another and the idea of breaking off the friendship NEVER crosses our minds because, quite simply, family stays.
All those "Hollywood stereotypes" of Southern women may be a bit cheesy (Um, hello, bad accent, poufy hair and mint juleps? Yeah, we'll keep our normal accents, ponytails and Miller Lite, thanks). BUT there are definitely grains of truth in them. The strength, the depth of emotions and the ability to put a good face on top of all of it...all of these are character traits of these women I call my friends. It actually makes me laugh to think we are old enough or responsible enough to even be called "women"...when we get together and start talking and laughing, we sound much more like "girls". In fact, a couple of summers ago when one of us had moved to California, we all went out to visit. We ended up in our pajamas drinking wine, playing board games and talking until 3:00 am....still having slumber parties at 30.
So this weekend, I'm heading back to Louisiana....to be surrounded by these women who have known me longer than I've known myself. We will laugh, we will celebrate, we will talk...and ultimately, our souls will be fuller for it.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Facebook Rant (don't take it personally Facebook...I will always love you...)
I am a HUGE fan of the Facebook (and apparently I'm too stupid to Twitter). I find it's a great diversion when waiting around for someone, sitting at ball practice or riding in the car. I will "Like" your pictures, your status and pretty much anything else on your page. I comment on and read status updates regularly. I have 400+ friends (and yes, I know all of them....perhaps the meeting is a little fuzzy and I friended them while talking to them at the bar, but STILL...I know them.)
All that is to say, my rant here is not against Facebook, but the people ON Facebook who do not follow the rules. Yes, I know, there are no rules to Facebook, but for God's sake, there should be.
Rule 1: PLEASE use the "Share" button sparingly. If every single one of my friends "shared" the latest and greatest Some E Card, my whole wall would be covered with the same damn card over and over and over. Also, can we agree to stop posting the sentimental/motivational/depressing quotes over fuzzy pictures of rainbows or lily pads on a pond? I like a good quote just as much as the next girl, but for the love of Pete, type it as your status!
Rule 2: DO NOT tag me in your status update unless I'm ACTUALLY with you. I see this all the time and it drives me batty! Joe Blow: At Hooter's--love these wings! Remember when we came here and got wasted Joe Schmo?!!? -with Joe Schmo But you're not WITH Joe Schmo, are you?? Because otherwise, why would you need to ask him if he remembered getting wasted with you at Hooter's?? You should be actively talking about it across the table at said Hooter's at this very moment! So, what the hell?!?
Rule 3: You do not have to share every damn thing you look at on Pinterest. For the love of all that is holy. I am OVER the Pinterest. No, I don't have an account. No, I don't want you to send me a link inviting me to create an account. YES, I do want you to stop sharing every dream kitchen, funny poster and cool hairstyle you have looked at in the last 5.7 minutes!
Rule 4: Along those lines, I do not want to know every song you're jamming out to or video you're watching on YouTube. Seriously, you're home alone, drinking beer and playing around on the internet....I get it. If you want to have a party, invite me over, don't post your music and stupid commentary on Facebook. I'd be happy to come over, have a beer and make fun of you to your face. No problem! I'll even bring my own beer!
Rule 5: I do not play games on Facebook. Bottom line. Grow your own fucking farm, build a city, go on a treasure hunt, open a restaurant and join the damn Mafia...I could not give less of a shit. Just stop posting the stupid updates.
Rule 6: Take Facebook for what it is...a social media site. I do not read every single Facebook post before updating my status and, while I agree it looks shitty of me to post something like, "Beer + Lake = LOVE", which just happens to appear after your heartwrenching post about your dog getting run over, it's gonna happen. And it's not because I'm a heartless bitch...I love dogs and my family members just as much as the next person. It's actually because I didn't read all status updates before I posted mine. And it's MY page, so I'm posting about what I'M doing. If I was helping you bury your dog or was bringing a casserole to your house because of a death in the family, my status would reflect that. If I'm not, it won't. And, generally when I have words of condolence to offer, I write a private message to your inbox, comment on your status update, email, call or text you. I definitely make a point to let people know I'm thinking about them, praying for them and there for them as a friend should be. Unfortunately, being what it is, Facebook doesn't always organize my thoughts that way.
Rule 7: Another "use sparingly" request: the Check-In. I'll admit, I'm totally guilty of "checking-in" places...once I figured out how to do it from my stupid phone, that is. I DO, however, use the check-in only in cases where I'm checking somewhere that A. is cool or B. will make people comment. I'm kinda a Facebook attention whore that way. For example, I recently went back home for a visit to my hometown in Louisiana and I made sure to check-in at a local restaurant just because I knew some of my FB friends would comment that it was cool or that they were jealous or whatever. I DO NOT check in everytime I get to my house. It's my house, I'm there alot....does it warrant FB mention?? I don't generally think so.
Rule 8: Don't post pictures you can't see. You know the ones I'm talking about...the crappy cell phone pictures that you take in a bar or during a concert or show or whatever and you can't make out a damn thing in them. Yeah, those. Keep them on your phone, show them to me when you see me....but don't put them on Facebook because no one knows what the hell they're looking at.
In summary: perhaps it's time to clean up the ol' Friends list.
All that is to say, my rant here is not against Facebook, but the people ON Facebook who do not follow the rules. Yes, I know, there are no rules to Facebook, but for God's sake, there should be.
Rule 1: PLEASE use the "Share" button sparingly. If every single one of my friends "shared" the latest and greatest Some E Card, my whole wall would be covered with the same damn card over and over and over. Also, can we agree to stop posting the sentimental/motivational/depressing quotes over fuzzy pictures of rainbows or lily pads on a pond? I like a good quote just as much as the next girl, but for the love of Pete, type it as your status!
Rule 2: DO NOT tag me in your status update unless I'm ACTUALLY with you. I see this all the time and it drives me batty! Joe Blow: At Hooter's--love these wings! Remember when we came here and got wasted Joe Schmo?!!? -with Joe Schmo But you're not WITH Joe Schmo, are you?? Because otherwise, why would you need to ask him if he remembered getting wasted with you at Hooter's?? You should be actively talking about it across the table at said Hooter's at this very moment! So, what the hell?!?
Rule 3: You do not have to share every damn thing you look at on Pinterest. For the love of all that is holy. I am OVER the Pinterest. No, I don't have an account. No, I don't want you to send me a link inviting me to create an account. YES, I do want you to stop sharing every dream kitchen, funny poster and cool hairstyle you have looked at in the last 5.7 minutes!
Rule 4: Along those lines, I do not want to know every song you're jamming out to or video you're watching on YouTube. Seriously, you're home alone, drinking beer and playing around on the internet....I get it. If you want to have a party, invite me over, don't post your music and stupid commentary on Facebook. I'd be happy to come over, have a beer and make fun of you to your face. No problem! I'll even bring my own beer!
Rule 5: I do not play games on Facebook. Bottom line. Grow your own fucking farm, build a city, go on a treasure hunt, open a restaurant and join the damn Mafia...I could not give less of a shit. Just stop posting the stupid updates.
Rule 6: Take Facebook for what it is...a social media site. I do not read every single Facebook post before updating my status and, while I agree it looks shitty of me to post something like, "Beer + Lake = LOVE", which just happens to appear after your heartwrenching post about your dog getting run over, it's gonna happen. And it's not because I'm a heartless bitch...I love dogs and my family members just as much as the next person. It's actually because I didn't read all status updates before I posted mine. And it's MY page, so I'm posting about what I'M doing. If I was helping you bury your dog or was bringing a casserole to your house because of a death in the family, my status would reflect that. If I'm not, it won't. And, generally when I have words of condolence to offer, I write a private message to your inbox, comment on your status update, email, call or text you. I definitely make a point to let people know I'm thinking about them, praying for them and there for them as a friend should be. Unfortunately, being what it is, Facebook doesn't always organize my thoughts that way.
Rule 7: Another "use sparingly" request: the Check-In. I'll admit, I'm totally guilty of "checking-in" places...once I figured out how to do it from my stupid phone, that is. I DO, however, use the check-in only in cases where I'm checking somewhere that A. is cool or B. will make people comment. I'm kinda a Facebook attention whore that way. For example, I recently went back home for a visit to my hometown in Louisiana and I made sure to check-in at a local restaurant just because I knew some of my FB friends would comment that it was cool or that they were jealous or whatever. I DO NOT check in everytime I get to my house. It's my house, I'm there alot....does it warrant FB mention?? I don't generally think so.
Rule 8: Don't post pictures you can't see. You know the ones I'm talking about...the crappy cell phone pictures that you take in a bar or during a concert or show or whatever and you can't make out a damn thing in them. Yeah, those. Keep them on your phone, show them to me when you see me....but don't put them on Facebook because no one knows what the hell they're looking at.
In summary: perhaps it's time to clean up the ol' Friends list.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Fake Holidays
Leap Day: This is not an actual holiday. It is a calendar fluke which happens every 4 years. Yes, it’s fun to do the math on how old you would actually be had you been born on Feb 29 (fun facts …if you are 84 then you would really only be 21…and the age of people born on Leap Day must be a multiple of 4...). BUT STILL--not a holiday.
Daylight Savings: This is also NOT a holiday. It's something that some random guy who didn't want his golf game interrupted invented so that he could have more sunlight during the day. That's it. No major celebration, no traditions observed on this day, no cultural significance to any particular group, etc.
SO WHY, I ask you, is my inbox flooded with "Leap Day Savings events" or "Daylight Savings specials" from every retailer from Target to Amazon to the American Kennel Club??!!??!?! REALLY!?!?
This all adds up to the fact that the US can commercialize anything, even fake holidays. The jury is still out on the random Monday holidays where all the banks and post offices are closed (Columbus Day, Presidents Day, Labor Day, etc.). I mean, I get it...at least these days are dedicated to the celebration of some sort of historical achievement and/or particular group of US citizenry, but let's face it, we all just sleep in and enjoy our three-day weekend. And, of course, I'm sure I'll get plenty of sale notifications in my inbox...."Don't delay! Take advantage of *Insert Monday Holiday Here* Savings TODAY!"
Commercialism: FAIL.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Irksome
1. This:
Do I really want to think about who is in the car in front of me at the red light? No, I don't. I want the frickin' like to change so that I can be on my way. I do not want to see your family of stick people with your 2.5 children and your dog. Do you know what I always wonder? What if the dog dies? Do you take his sticker off? Do you buy a new dog and just tell him he has to use the same sticker?? Isn't that like getting divorced and giving your new wife the same wedding set?
2. Telemarketers calling my CELL PHONE! WTF?? How did they get this number?? There are people I'm related to who don't have my cell phone number.
3. Crocs. Do I really need to explain how bad they are? You've seen them, right? TERRIBLE.
4. Those obnoxious sports decal stickers with your kids' names on them. I was behind a Suburban the other day that had FOURTEEN of them, I swear! And they were for two kids! Seriously?? You have two kids and they are into SEVEN sports each???? No wonder you drive a frickin' Suburban...you must have to sleep in that thing to get them to all the practices and games they have.
5. Knee-length shorts. Can we all just agree to commit either way? Either commit to jeans or commit to shorts. None of this namby-pamby "I can't make a decision so I'm going with 'jorts'" nonsense. I'm afraid the jury is still out on capri pants...I can't help but feel like a huge dork when I wear them (which is not often), but then other people can totally pull them off in that "I'm going yachting after we finish the back 9 at the country club" way.
6. Book series. Yes, I know...how hard is it to be irked by books when you love to read as much as I do??? But seriously...the series....it's killin' me. I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of not one, not two, but THREE different series to publish the next book! THREE! Believe me, I know writing is not a quick process (sometimes I write the same blog post for three days...and that's just a few paragraphs), BUT STILL. My thought: don't publish it until the whole damn thing is finished. I don't care if book one starts in 1982 and everyone drives Trans Ams and wears parachute pants, publish it at the same time as book four, which takes place in 2012 and the 7-year-old sister is now 34 and having kids! I'm over the waiting BS.
7. Bottled water. Because I'm pretty sure Nestle Pure Life has totally made me its bitch. And I hate that. I'll admit...the, like, ONE green thing I do is reuse a water bottle and fill it up out of the water fountain. But, it sucks. It's tap water. It tastes like crap. But I feel like such a craphead buying bottled water and drinking 8 bottles of it a day. Nestle: You own me no more!
8. The way my husband never seems to lose a damn thing. Text message, "Hey, where are my truck keys?", Me: "In my jeans from yesterday", Him: "WTF? Why didn't you put them on the bar?". I'm sorry....what? Whose truck keys are they, douchebag?? How is that I managed to lose YOUR truck keys?? In fact, so far this week, I've lost the truck keys, the pliers and two pairs of socks....that weren't mine to lose to begin with.
9. People who call, I send them to voicemail and they immediately call back. Then, when I answer and I'm like, whispering, "Hey...is everything okay? I'm in a meeting..." they're like "Oh yeah, I was just on my home from work in traffic and thought we could chat!". Really? If I don't answer, take that as a hint that I: 1. can't find my phone or 2. can't talk right now. Either way? I'll call you back....promise.
10. The bar. And no, not the bar where they sell beer and shots and occasionally you stumble onto a kick-ass live band or karaoke. The bar that is in my house and serves as a nifty little divider between my living room and kitchen. And also serves as a place for every last thing under the sun. Currently on my bar at this very moment: library books, the spare change jar, 48 baseball caps, 75 pairs of sunglasses, 3 legal pads, 14 pens, a belt, the charger for the emergency flashlight, the charger for my husband's new drill, chapstick....and the list goes on and on. O. M. G. I'm OVER the bar.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Bloody Mary visits for dinner
Dinner conversation at my house:
Kid: Did you know if you say “Bloody Mary” three times, you’ll be cursed? And not like the drink, because you can say that and not get cursed.
Me: *choking on my water* Oh, really? Where did you hear that?
Kid: From Allie, at school.
Me: Well, how does she know?
Kid: She said “Bloody Mary” three times. And she got cursed.
Me: Cursed, huh? Interesting. So did you tell her about the drink part?
Kid: No, I just know that.
Me: Awesome, of course you know that a Bloody Mary is a drink (sorry, Mom). So, she got cursed?? What happened to her?
Kid: Her bicycle disappeared.
Me: Oh yeah? So is that what it means to be cursed? Like, how would I know I’m cursed?
Kid: Well, you would like, go to your office in the morning and your laptop would be gone.
Me: I’m not sure I’d consider that a curse…
Kid: No, Mom, like gone forever! And you would never get it back.
Me: So have you tried it?
Kid: No. And I can’t say it again. I’ve already said it twice.
Me: *snort* I’m pretty sure it’s three times in a row, honey.
Dad: Yeah, like “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary”.
Kid: *GASP* DAD!!! Now you’re cursed!!
Dad: Uh oh! What do you think that means??
Kid: The red truck is gone!
Me: Really? You think Dad got cursed so the red truck disappeared?? (again, not much of a curse since the stupid thing isn't running all that great right now...)
Kid: Yes!
(She bolts up from the dinner table, runs to the front door and throws it open)
Kid: Whew! It’s still there!
Me: Well, do you think the Tahoe will disappear if I say it?
Kid: Probably.
Me: Okay, let’s try it. “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary”. Well???
Kid: It’s still there. It didn’t work.
(Comes back to the dinner table)
Kid: Allie must be lying.
Me: Yeah, probably so. Does Allie have a big sister or brother?
Kid: Yeah, a sister. *pause* Maybe I need to tell Allie that Bloody Mary is a drink and not a curse.
Me: Um, no, probably not. I’m sure her big sister will take care of that soon enough, sweetheart.
And this is why you should sit down with your family and have dinner together during the week.
Kid: Did you know if you say “Bloody Mary” three times, you’ll be cursed? And not like the drink, because you can say that and not get cursed.
Me: *choking on my water* Oh, really? Where did you hear that?
Kid: From Allie, at school.
Me: Well, how does she know?
Kid: She said “Bloody Mary” three times. And she got cursed.
Me: Cursed, huh? Interesting. So did you tell her about the drink part?
Kid: No, I just know that.
Me: Awesome, of course you know that a Bloody Mary is a drink (sorry, Mom). So, she got cursed?? What happened to her?
Kid: Her bicycle disappeared.
Me: Oh yeah? So is that what it means to be cursed? Like, how would I know I’m cursed?
Kid: Well, you would like, go to your office in the morning and your laptop would be gone.
Me: I’m not sure I’d consider that a curse…
Kid: No, Mom, like gone forever! And you would never get it back.
Me: So have you tried it?
Kid: No. And I can’t say it again. I’ve already said it twice.
Me: *snort* I’m pretty sure it’s three times in a row, honey.
Dad: Yeah, like “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary”.
Kid: *GASP* DAD!!! Now you’re cursed!!
Dad: Uh oh! What do you think that means??
Kid: The red truck is gone!
Me: Really? You think Dad got cursed so the red truck disappeared?? (again, not much of a curse since the stupid thing isn't running all that great right now...)
Kid: Yes!
(She bolts up from the dinner table, runs to the front door and throws it open)
Kid: Whew! It’s still there!
Me: Well, do you think the Tahoe will disappear if I say it?
Kid: Probably.
Me: Okay, let’s try it. “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary”. Well???
Kid: It’s still there. It didn’t work.
(Comes back to the dinner table)
Kid: Allie must be lying.
Me: Yeah, probably so. Does Allie have a big sister or brother?
Kid: Yeah, a sister. *pause* Maybe I need to tell Allie that Bloody Mary is a drink and not a curse.
Me: Um, no, probably not. I’m sure her big sister will take care of that soon enough, sweetheart.
And this is why you should sit down with your family and have dinner together during the week.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Twitter Reject
I'll admit it...I *tried* to be cool. And I failed.
I tried to do the Twitter.
Problem is?
I can't.
WTF??
Why is it so damn confusing?? Sure, I can tweet, but what how in the hell do you retweet someone else's tweet?? You can do that right? And can you respond to someone's tweet or comment on it like you do on facebook??
Seriously, I need a tutorial.
The radio morning show I listen to plays a game called "Who's Tweet is it Anyway?" and they basically pick three celebrities, read their tweets out loud and the two deejays and a caller have to guess who's tweet it was. Whoever gets the most right wins tickets to a show or whatever.
Okay...sounds simple enough. But holy hell! I don't get it. These people are just posting these random funny tweets about whatever they're doing that day or whatever's going on in the world of politics and then, without fail, they have some super-witty hashtag to add to it.
What the hell is a hashtag? Do you have to put one? If you do, does it have to be super-witty? Because, let me assure you people, I have tried! TRIED! And I'd like to think I'm a fairly witty person (um, hello?? You're reading this crap, aren't you?), but apparently I lack the amount of wit and sarcasm needed to create a Twitter hashtag that's worth a damn.
"Heading to the grocery store to grab stuff for dinner! #ilovechicken"
"Taking the kids to see The Smurfs! Love Neil Patrick Harris! #wtfwashethinking"
"What is up with Michele Bachmann being such a hater? #drinkmorewine"
"Lindsay Lohan has successfully completed her morgue community service...think they still have formaldehyde left? #wellpreserved"
"Anybody else notice that 'caucus' sounds alot like 'carcass'? #governmentisdead"
See? I just can't do it. (Okay, actually, I kinda like the last one...but I feel like people reading it will think I'm a. an anti-patriot or b. a moron). I suck at Twitter.
Coolness: FAIL.
I tried to do the Twitter.
Problem is?
I can't.
WTF??
Why is it so damn confusing?? Sure, I can tweet, but what how in the hell do you retweet someone else's tweet?? You can do that right? And can you respond to someone's tweet or comment on it like you do on facebook??
Seriously, I need a tutorial.
The radio morning show I listen to plays a game called "Who's Tweet is it Anyway?" and they basically pick three celebrities, read their tweets out loud and the two deejays and a caller have to guess who's tweet it was. Whoever gets the most right wins tickets to a show or whatever.
Okay...sounds simple enough. But holy hell! I don't get it. These people are just posting these random funny tweets about whatever they're doing that day or whatever's going on in the world of politics and then, without fail, they have some super-witty hashtag to add to it.
What the hell is a hashtag? Do you have to put one? If you do, does it have to be super-witty? Because, let me assure you people, I have tried! TRIED! And I'd like to think I'm a fairly witty person (um, hello?? You're reading this crap, aren't you?), but apparently I lack the amount of wit and sarcasm needed to create a Twitter hashtag that's worth a damn.
"Heading to the grocery store to grab stuff for dinner! #ilovechicken"
"Taking the kids to see The Smurfs! Love Neil Patrick Harris! #wtfwashethinking"
"What is up with Michele Bachmann being such a hater? #drinkmorewine"
"Lindsay Lohan has successfully completed her morgue community service...think they still have formaldehyde left? #wellpreserved"
"Anybody else notice that 'caucus' sounds alot like 'carcass'? #governmentisdead"
See? I just can't do it. (Okay, actually, I kinda like the last one...but I feel like people reading it will think I'm a. an anti-patriot or b. a moron). I suck at Twitter.
Coolness: FAIL.
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