Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Sorry I haven't written in a while

Just a little quickie here (and don't be so damn dirty-minded, people, I'm talking about writing) to apologize for not writing in a while. It's been so long since I posted here that I forgot my Blogger password, and had to reset it to get back in. Once I did, I thought I would look at my stats. Yesterday I actually posted a comment on the Bloggess' blog  (haven't done that in a while either), and I noticed I got some hits from that, and felt ashamed that my most recent post was from May. So I thought I would write up a little postie. That and I'm bored again at work and am actively trying to get myself laid off/fired so I can be one of the 47 irresponsible percent that Mitt Romney doesn't give a shit about because we're collecting our "entitlements" from the govmint.

So why the hell haven't I been writing in this here blog? Well, for one thing, when the Bloggess was in Austin for her booksigning in April, she told me to quit writing about bacon, so I've been at a loss as to what else to write about, because I live to write about bacon, damnit. But the Bloggess is my hero (I'd write heroine, but every time I read that word I think heroin, and if I write it it sounds to me like I have a drug problem and/or that I'm addicted to the Bloggess, which could be the same thing, or similar or whatever, but I'm rambling now so I should just stopit), and I really value her opinion so I decided to quit writing about bacon so that meant I had to stop writing.

Well, OK, that's not entirely the truth. Even though I met the Bloggess at the booksigning, it was for like 5 seconds while a nice Bookpeople employee took our picture on my iPhone, and she (the Bloggess, not the nice Bookpeople employee) didn't say anything about bacon writing, nor did I. She was very nice and sweet, though, and was trying very hard not to look too unnerved when I placed my hand on her shoulder while our picture was being taken.

However, prior to having my picture taken with the Bloggess, and after her bookreading when she took audience questions, she did tell us en masse in response to a newbie blogger's request for blogging advice to stop writing about bacon, because it's been done, and she was talking about writing about bacon, not about bacon itself. (Yes, I know that's a grammatically incorrect run-on sentence - I'm a trained journalist, so I know what I'm doing, people). In any case, I felt quite sure that she was talking to me, since I had been writing about bacon very prolifically. As a matter of fact I swear she was looking right at me when she told us not to write about bacon. So in essence she did tell me to stop writing about bacon.

But really, really, that's not why I quit writing in my blog. Or, not exactly why. The truth is that, while I really enjoy writing humorously, or at least attempting to write humorously, it was taking a lot out of me to do so. And I write too damn much any way (see I was attempting to write a quickie here, and I've already written five fucking paragraphs, which isn't a quickie, it's a hurry-up-and-come-damn-it-before-I-fall-asleep-this-is-such-a-long-bad-lay kinda thing). And I had other things to do, like watch paint dry and pick cat lint out of my navel, and writing in my blog was taking entirely too much time and energy from that sort of thing.

So I quit writing. I kept intending to come back, but I was afraid that all I had to say was bacon-related and I just didn't have the energy to come up with new topics, so I just didn't come here. I didn't even go look at my stats (obviously). However, I might be ready to give it a go again, but maybe this time I'll just write very short posts, although this was supposed to be a short post, and I screwed that up. I obviously suck at short-blog-post writing. I also suck at not-writing-about-bacon, since I now realize that most of this post is about bacon. Well holy-shit-on-a-shizzle - can't I do anything right? I may have to rethink this whole blogging thing, unless I can figure out a way to make bacon writing a successful, entertaining, money-making niche. Could happen, no matter what the Bloggess says.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Never forget, depression really does lie. Knowing this could save your life.

Something came up today that makes me just want to post this in hopes that anyone who is really depressed and needs this message reads it, can take comfort from it and decide to hang on. Depression sucks, suicide sucks even more, and it all really breaks my heart.

It breaks my heart especially because I know how pervasive and reality-distorting depression can be from personal experience. I too have struggled with suicidal thoughts in the past, and I have survived these thoughts. I've learned not to listen much to my mind when it's in depression mode and churning out negative shit, because it's fucking dangerous to do so. Still you have to be aware always, because depression really is a lying bastard, as The Bloggess says, and it is also a very subtle bastard too. One minute you're drinking coffee at your kitchen table worried if you pissed off a close friend then you're thinking what an asshole you are and within 30 minutes you get these thoughts that you really don't deserve to live and you believe every word that fucking depression is telling you. That's how subtle and dangerous it can be. And not a damn word is true.

So, if anyone reading this is really depressed and struggling with suicidal thoughts Please don't leave us. I don't care who you are, what you've done or not done, and whether you feel like you are loved or not, remember this, emblazon it into your soul:  

You are loved. Absolutely. Positively. Whether you're good or bad. You just are. 

I don't care what depression is telling you, I don't care whether you believe you're loved or not. Pretend you believe that you're loved. Pretend it's true. Because it is, I fucking promise you. I know this. You can know it too.

 And please, please call the national suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255. We want you here. Please stay.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Now the media tells me I'm sick of bacon. And am possibly a man.

Recently I stumbled across this article on MSNBC.com about one of my favorite subjects: bacon. However, the author informs me that I am sick of bacon. This is so disconcerting to me. I'm sick of bacon? Really? But I'm not sick of bacon! How can I be sick of bacon when I'm not sick of bacon? When did I become sick of bacon, and why didn't I find this out until now? How does she know something that I don't? Is she like a porcine clairvoyant?

This author also tells me that she and everyone else are sick of bacon too, so I'm not alone, but that doesn't make me feel any better.  How can everyone possibly be sick of bacon? What is happening to the world when everyone is sick of bacon? Armageddon is next, I am sure.

In addition to the startling news that I am apparently undergoing bacon fatigue without my knowledge and that everyone is tired of bacon, there were many other things that disturbed me about this article:

  • First of all, the author also informs me that bacon is very trendy these days, which is apparently why we're all sick of it. Now, it bothers me that I've become a part of some sort of trendy trend where bacon has reached a zenith in American society. I'm just not the trendy kind: I wasn't a cool kid in elementary school, junior high school, high school, college or adult life, and I'll be dadgummed if I'm going to be cool now. It's cooler not to be cool than it is to be cool. Unless you were cool first. But if you're cool first and then everybody becomes cool after you, it isn't very cool is it? So it's better not to be cool at all. But unfortunately bacon is now very cool, even as we're all sick of it. And I love eating bacon. How can I love bacon while maintaining my cool uncoolness? I'm not really sure how to resolve this moral dilemma.
  • Secondly, as much as I love bacon, even I have a problem with bacon being in everything. According to this author, bacon, trendy that it is now, is definitely in everything. Yes, it's delicious on baked potatoes, fabulous in dark chocolate, and probably decadent in homemade ice cream, but a corporately-manufactured bacon sundae? Bacon in tequila? Bacon flavored potato chips? Bacon caskets? That's even too much for me.
  • Thirdly, is there a vast pig-wing conspiracy conspiring to make us all slaves to bacon? This article makes me wonder. I mean, I quit being a vegetarian and started consuming large quantities of bacon at about the same time that bacon started trending in the American collective consciousness. So either the pig-powers-that-be brainwashed me with the smell of fried bacon along with everyone else, or I single-handedly started a trend. Which would make me a trendsetter. Which would make me cool. Which brings me back to my moral dilemma above in #1. So looks like I'm screwed no matter what.
  • And Fourthly, bacon is not only trendy, it is gender-specific to males, at least according to the author of this article: "Bacon, real or otherwise, could simply be the 'go ahead, you deserve it' product for men . . . For a market that worships male youth culture, bacon is the perfect product, yoked to masculinity, accessibility and indulgence that you don't need an ID to buy." Apparently I'm more masculine than I thought I was. And so is my mother. And almost every other female I know. Maybe bacon is the new penis envy.
I find this article much more troubling than a sucky economy, rising gas and food prices, climate change, politicians screwing over the U.S., 12/21/12 and the zombie apocalypse. Here I am, finding out I'm trendy when I hate being trendy, overwhelmed by bacon in everything and worried that when bacon kills me my body will be stuffed in a bacon casket. Which means I'll be like a giant filet mignon for God. Furthermore, because of bacon I'm now gender-confused. And it all may be a secret government plot to subdue me with with smoked, fatty, fried pork products and by-products like fake bacon shakes.

So maybe I really should be sick of bacon. Except I'm not, no matter what the media tells me. In fact, all this bacon-centric consternation is making me hungry for a big, fat, greasy bacon cheeseburger. That doesn't really make me a dude, does it?

UPDATE: Please feel free to leave me a comment. I just found out that my Blogger comments settings were set to use that stupid CAPTCHA crap, which I can't stand. That may be why I haven't had many comments. My apologies. I don't want anyone (except spammers) to have to jump through hoops to comment on my posts.  So the CAPTCHA is GONE. I dearly love to get comments, and I try to reply to all comments I get. So please give me a shout! (Please note that if you are a spammer, I will get all stabby on your ass, metaphorically speaking, and will delete your spammy nonsense.)



Friday, April 6, 2012

Five or six or maybe eight things I’ve learned about Twitter

It's now been close to four months since I've been actively using Twitter. During that time I've learned a few random things about Twitter that I'm going to share with you (and no, this isn't going to do a damn thing to help you gain more followers on Twitter, improve your social media skills, attract more chicks or dudes, whiten your teeth or anything else useful):

  1. Twitter is very addicting. It's so much so for me that now that I have an iPhone, I read my Twitter feed in the john. At least I haven't started live tweeting there. Not yet anyway.
  2. Twitter is also a great way to avoid working. However, it doesn't sit very well with your boss when you tell her you were tweeting instead of doing your TPS reports. Especially when social media isn't even remotely part of your job description.
  3. Big-boobed spambots on Twitter, much like email spambots, seem to think I'm a man with ED and lots of money rather than the post-menopausal woman of modest means that I really am. Sorry ladies, I'm just not your type.
  4. It's not a good idea to tweet and talk on your iPhone at the same time. Unless you're 14 years old. Then you probably have the motor skills, and the brain cells, to do that. Post-menopausal women born way before 1982 and named Zippy don't.
  5. I only follow 25 people and I still can’t keep up with everyone’s tweets. How those of you who follow 25,000 people or more keep up with them is completely beyond me. Obviously you've got attention deficit disorder working for you. Or you're 14 years old. Which in many respects is the same thing.
  6. @altonbrown is the shit. For real. I enjoy reading his tweets as much as The Bloggess’. And there was something really sexy about the photo he tweeted this Tuesday of him with his facial stubble and holding a green smoothie. Don't ask me why: I have no frickin' idea.
  7. Having your blogging icon, The Bloggess, follow you on Twitter totally rocks. If that's all I ever accomplish on Twitter, I'll die happy. 
  8. And, yes, #7 may truly be all I accomplish, because even though I'm addicted to Twitter, I still really don't get it. All I know is that I spend entirely too much time on it. Maybe I need to take up knitting socks for cats or something like that instead. At least then I'd get something tangible done.

Friday, March 9, 2012

The Big Blue Funk; AKA My Head is Up My Ass

For the five of you who are my only and most ardent fans, I apologize for my lack of posting lately. Unfortunately, I've had my head up my ass for the last few weeks. Part of this is due to: a) getting a new iPhone, becoming completely enamored of it and spending a fair amount of my spare time just playing around with it (to the chagrin of my boyfriend); b) watching a lot of television, and c) spending the rest of my spare time berating myself and otherwise letting myself fall into a blue funk of stupendous proportions. All of these may  be related, but I think it's more that the iPhone and television are distracting me from my stupendous blue funk.

Blue funks suck quite a bit. And when the Bloggess says depression is a lying bastard, the girl ain't just talking smack. It is absolutely true. I've had depression accuse me of all sorts of shit, and absolutely none of it makes me feel very good about myself. Problem is I don't know how to make it stop. My depression mind loves this shit, loves to tell me how bad I am and lovingly obsesses over every little crappy detail in my life that can prove its theorem that I am just a bad little bitch. I know it's not true, but still, part of me believes it.

In any case, I think it will eventually pass, and I'm not going to jump off a roof or anything. I cycle through these funks from time to time and I always make it through. It just means that I'm having a bit of problem posting. It just seems so overwhelming, and I'd like to be all fun and witty and try to keep the five of you entertained, but it's a little bit difficult at the moment. I'm also trying to figure out what the hell I want this blog to be about. I like being funny, but it's not always easy to write funny, and you and I both know I'm no Bloggess, and you're probably breathing a sigh of relief because I just admitted that. (Don't worry, I've known all along I'm not like the Bloggess, so you don't have to tell me that).

Anyway, I hope the five of you won't give up on me and will come back. I'll try to post some more, but it will probably just be short and sweet, which is probably what it should be anyway. God knows we don't need more hot air and bullshit in this world. Just look at it as I'm trying to be more blogging eco-friendly or something. Shit, that really didn't make any sense to me either, but I'm somewhat sleep deprived and hallucinating. My head is definitely up my ass. I'd better shut up and go to bed.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Beating Myself Up

♡ 2012 Mimi and Eunice. Copying is an act of love. Please copy and share.

There's not much for me to say at the moment, except this is where I've been for the last couple  of weeks. I'll try to come back here soon with my humor more intact. In the meantime, please enjoy this comic by the fabulous Nina Paley.


Friday, February 10, 2012

Gardeners, horny vaginas, parallel universes, and my blog

Periodically a few times a day I obsessively check my blog statistics. I don't know why: it's the same five of you who drop by here all the time. Or maybe it's just me looking at my own blog, except my Google stat thingamabob says I have visitors from China, Australia, Germany, the UK and Canada, so I guess it's not me, unless it's five parallel universe me's from other countries. (Which makes me wonder how you would say "Zippy" in Chinese, you know, just in case I run into my Chinese parallel universe self at some point. Could happen.)

Anywho, I just wanted to tell the five of you that as I took a gander at my stat pages a few minutes ago, I was bamfoozeled to find that someone used a stream of Bloggess-worthy search keywords to find my site: "gardener also has to stuff horny vagina."

Wow. Just wow. I really don't recall writing a single post yet that talks about a vagina, much less a horny one. Much less a horny one that must be stuffed. By a gardener. First of all, I'm not totally sure why someone would even type those search words, but obviously they have a gardener fetish. Or they're a really horny gardener. Secondly, I have no idea why my blog would come up when someone typed those keywords, unless I'm a porn writer in one of those parallel universes and my blog in that parallel universe is a porn site.

However, it occurs to me that in another parallel universe this person must have typed "gardener also has to stuff greasy bacon," and so found my blog that way.  It just got translated to my Google stats through a weird time/space continuum black hole warp thingamajig as porn keyword terminology. That totally makes sense to me.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

WTH is wrong with television these days?

In the last month for some strange reason, I've started watching television on a semi-regular basis, and I'm not really sure why. I've spent a good deal of my adult life shielding myself from the boob tube - what on earth would possess me to engage in TV on a regular basis (albeit semi) just now? I suspect it has something to do with my new-found love for "The Big Bang Theory," which has led to a crush on "How I Met Your Mother," which I'm afraid might eventually lead to a lustful fling with "Two Broke Girls" - and I'm not even a lesbian.

So, it's been a while since I watched TV semi-regularly. When my mom visits or I visit her, I do watch TV, but that's usually like for one week every few months or so. I have hardly ever watched TV at home by myself, and I only have broadband TV because my mother has to have her CNN, soaps, comedies and crime shows when she visits. The only time I'd watch TV on my own was to watch a movie on Pay-Per-View. But somewhere along the way while watching TV with my mom, I got exposed to The Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother, and I just couldn't get them out of my head. (Two Broke Girls was a side benefit).

However, this post is not about why I've started watching TV again - that will have to be another post. There's something else about watching TV that's really bothering me, so right now I really want to ask the five of y'all reading this blog one thing: WHAT THE HELL has happened to television in the last 15-20 years? Back in the dark ages (when I originally watched TV semi-regularly), there were 3 main channels and premium cable was for the upper middle class and satellite was for the rich. Back then, when the fall came around, so did the new television season, which meant all new shows. Reruns didn't start until, like, the spring. Back in the day, they didn't announce a new season, show a couple of new shows and then show a couple of reruns, and then go back to some more new shows. And yes, you young whippersnappers, back then I walked in the snow to work. 20 miles. Both ways. Barefoot. AND I LIKED IT.


(Ahem.)

Nowadays it seems like the new television season just starts willy nilly, whenever it wants. For example, this month CBS announced "an all new season of The Big Bang Theory!" and "How I Met Your Mother!" What about the fall? Wasn't fall the new season? Aren't we supposed to be winding down towards reruns in April or May now? I'm totally confused. Then I'm watching Two Broke Girls Monday night, and I'm thinking, OK, I guess it's a new season, now, right? So, we should be getting new episodes of Two Broke Girls, right? No, they show an episode of Two Broke Girls that I saw LAST MONTH before Christmas. Twice. WTH?

This even seems to extend to syndicated programs now. I mean, I know these are reruns to begin with, but when I decide I want to watch 2 hours of the Big Bang Theory on TBS, they seem to show the same 2 hours over and over. Since I've missed most of all the seasons of The Big Bang Theory, and I've just decided in the last 3 months that I'm totally in love with this show, I want to see all the previous seasons so I have a little more context. And I'm dying to see when Leonard and Penny started dating the first time around. But no, all I ever see is how Leonard and Priya hooked up, 30 thousand times just in the last month. OK, gang, I really do  know now how Leonard and Priya hooked up and that Priya made Leonard kick Penny to the curb. Enough already! I can never seem to catch other episodes when I want to to have a Big Bang Binge - it's just Leonard and Priya, Leonard and Priya, with a few episodes from the first season thrown in occasionally. That's it.

And don't get me started with the commercials - when the hell did they start making the fucking commercial breaks FIVE MINUTES LONG???? I mean, just when I start to really get into the show, they suddenly cut to commercial and don't come back until I've almost completely forgotten the plotline. They really shouldn't do that to old people. Our memories are very fragile things.

Also, the commercials are FUCKING LOUD. Jebus Crisco, people - I may be old, but I'm not deaf - AT LEAST NOT YET. I'm so startled whenever the commercials come on that it takes me a moment to recover myself to hit the mute button on my remote control.

And then, some days, particularly on the weekend, when I'm sitting down to dinner and want to watch something on TV, THERE'S NOTHING ON. EVEN WITH 100 CHANNELS. What's up with that? I'm paying good money for this; you'd think they'd have some decent shows. Even the Pay-Per-View sucks.

I know that 99% of the rest of the world already knows these things. It's old hat to you guys. You already knew that the new TV season changes around, that reruns can spring up anytime, that commercials are long, loud and obnoxious and that you can have hundreds of channels and nothing's on. (And don't get me started about reality TV).  I'm not telling you anything new, I know. But I'm kinda new to this semi-regular television watching in the Modern Era, or the Post-Modern Era, or the Post-Post Modern Era. And I'm just appalled.

I may just start renting episodes of TBBT and HIMYM so I can see the episodes in consecutive order without commercials (I'll probably skip the Leonard and Priya episodes though). But I probably won't rent TBG when it comes out on DVD; renting three shows seems a bit excessive to me.

That might work out better for me. I've wasted way too much time watching shows on television that I've already seen. I could be putting that time to a much better use. Like going back to surfing the Internet for hours on end and tweeting. At least that way I'm using my reading, writing and social skills, right?




Thursday, January 19, 2012

I'm not a Twitter virgin anymore - #GOD HELP US

Tuesday and Wednesday I nearly wore myself out tweeting. Which is amazing, considering I opened a Twitter account over two years ago, tweeted about four times and stopped. I just didn't get it. It seemed like such a big fuss over 140 words. Booorrring. I just didn't see the point. I did gain two followers, but they were my stepmother and my cousin, and we never really tweeted to each other. I just sort of shrugged my shoulders and forgot about my Twitter account except whenever some spambot with boobs tried to follow me and I'd have to sigh and report them to Twitter as spam. I mean, guys, come on, I'm a heterosexual, menopausal female. I don't get into either boobs or Viagra. Know your demographic before you try to follow it.

Anyway, in the last few months I started reading The Bloggess' tweets in order to tide me over until her next post, and I found them as hilarious as her blog. I got really hooked on reading her tweets. Often times I wanted to tweet back to her, but I didn't really understand how. And I was afraid to try, afraid I might shoot myself in the ass. But I was happy reading her tweets, and sometimes the tweets of her followers, or the tweets of the people she stalked, like Nathan Fillion. But I didn't dare tweet, not to myself or anyone else, no sir-ey. Too scary, too risky. I just wasn't sure of myself. It seemed like only the cool kids tweeted, and I'm not a cool kid.

Then I took a long MLK vacay to do art this week. Which I did, but then on the last day of vacation, January 17, out of the blue I decided for no good reason to do what I hadn't done in a long time. I tweeted. Then I tweeted again. And I liked it. So I did again. And again. And again some more. No one was really there to hear me, so to speak, but I amused myself pretty well.

Then late Tuesday night, The Bloggess tweeted about SOPA. I'd read about it before, but she reminded me that I needed to do something, even if no one heard me. I wrote my little post on SOPA, then I took to Twitter to tweet a little about it. Then I went to bed.

Wednesday I went back to work, but I got all crazy with tweeting about SOPA, and I even did the #SOPASTRIKE hashtag. And when I did that, my tweets magically appeared under the hashtag with other people's tweets! Wow! How awesome was that! There I was, hanging with the cool kids, tweeting my little heart out about a subject everyone was pissed off about. I was intoxicated like I'd had 10 margaritas on speed (not that I've ever had 10 margaritas and/or speed). I could just feel all my little dopamine sensors buzzing away and the addiction center in my brain lighting up like a pinball machine. Or the flashing lights on an ambulance - take your pick.

I stopped for a while to work, but found myself clicking back to Twitter to tweet throughout the day. So THIS is what everyone is all excited about, I thought to myself. Blathering on if only to amuse yourself. After work, I went home and tweeted some more. Then I found to my amazement that I had picked up another follower, someone who seemed legitimate, not like the spambots trying to follow me and entice me with their big boobs and come-on lines, not giving a shit whether I was a horny awkward young male or a granny in Minnesota darning socks. That was cool too.

But I really wanted to share this experience with someone, someone on Twitter, someone I knew. However, my stepmother and cousin haven't tweeted in over a year. At all. And yes, I have a new follower, but well, I don't know him from Adam just yet. There's not really anyone else I know personally who tweets.

I did think about The Bloggess. I know her, but I don't really know her, and she sure as hell doesn't know me. I emailed her once, and I comment on her blog from time to time, but she wouldn't know me from a zombie off the street, except I'm a little more alive and my limbs aren't falling off and I don't smell like two-week old fish, at least I don't think so. And she's got a zillion people emailing her, commenting on her blog and tweeting to her. Plus, what if she didn't respond to my tweet! OMG!  That would just be awful! I also was afraid I'd tweet like a blathering idiot and just look like a sycophant.

So I decided not to tweet to her, even though I was dying to tweet: "@The Bloggess: OMG I just started tweeting and I cannot stop! God help us all! HAHAHA #NEWBIETWEETING." Or some such nonsense like that.

But then, just before I went to bed, The Bloggess tweeted:


I could not resist. I lived with a geek/nerd for almost seven years, and have worked with them for many more. Hell, I almost became one myself! I know what they're like, and when it comes to geeks and nerds, duct tape is almost always involved. And not in a kinky way, either. Suddenly, I knew what I could say to her that was clever and witty and sure to get a response! So I said:


But before I sent it off to the intertubes, I pondered for a moment: should I really do this? I read over it again a few times. Did it make sense? Was it really that clever or funny? Probably a bazillion other Bloggess followers responded with something similar, and some probably said it in a much wittier way than I did. Still, it was fast approaching 12:30 am. I needed to go to bed. I was tired, but still high from my Twitter mania. I held my breath, thought a second more, then said, Oh what the hell. I clicked Tweet.

Then I closed my laptop. I went to bed and had grandiose delusions of The Bloggess reading my tweet, laughing, retweeting it, and then I'd wake in the morning to hundreds of followers and the stats going through the roof on my blog. Well, just for a moment. Of course I know how ridiculous this thought was. What do you think I am, a fucking idiot? Well, probably so, and you'd be right that I am an idiot, but not a fucking idiot. I really didn't expect The Bloggess to find my tweet endlessly amusing and retweet it. She's got better things to do, like get into absurd fights with her husband Victor. Or record the audiobook version of her new book, which she's been doing most of this week.

Morning proved me right. She didn't retweet my tweet. If she had time to read it, I'm sure she went, "Yeah right, so what, duh!" and moved on to a much wittier tweet. And, really, I'm glad. I don't know what I'd do if she retweeted my little comment. Probably wet myself with glee and dread.

Still, it was fun to come up with something kind of clever and tweet it to The Bloggess, even if it was lame and any duffus could come up the same thing. And I probably could have said it better, but I'm not sure how.

Besides, it's not about getting The Bloggess to retweet something you said in the vainglorious hope that you rack up Twitter followers and stats on your blog overnight. It's about taking a chance and reaching out to communicate with another human being and maybe make them laugh or think with a few sharply written words. And I am discovering that Twitter is great practice in learning how to write concisely and well. Which is why I'm really enjoying using it. When I write a blog post (or anything really) I write too long. Sometimes it even bores me. God help you five people who drop by here and read this crap.

But with Twitter, you have only 140 words to say something. And yes, you can string several 140 words to communicate one thing, but you still communicate it in a lot fewer words than in a blog post, or anything else. It forces you to boil the essence of your thoughts down. It refines your thinking, your writing, and even your wit. It's so efficient. I think that's part of the reason I got addicted so quickly to Twitter.

Now if I could just get some folks who aren't scammers or big-boobed spambots to tweet me. That would be really cool. Then again, if that happens I might not ever stop tweeting. That could be a scary thing for us all - God help us, indeed.


Tuesday, January 17, 2012

SOPA SUCKS

OK, I know I don't have a lot of people who read my blog right now, but I just wanted to let the five of you know that SOPA SUCKS and if you don't know anything about it, you need to go find out now. Then bug the shit out of your Congressperson (if you live in the US) or the State Dept. (if you don't) so the US guvment won't vote for this crazy piece of crappy legislation. Keep the Internet free, folks.

Now that I've done my civic duty, I'm going to bed. Now go do yours, then you can go to bed too.

Nitey-nite.


Monday, January 16, 2012

Resolving not to resolve

Well, here it is now, 16 days into the new year of twenty-aught-twelve, and I'm just now posting and writing about resolutions. Better late than never, I suppose. Everyone else seems to be writing about their new year's resolutions, so I guess I'll write about mine, but I have to say one thing: I think resolutions really, really suck.

We have all these grand ideas about how we're going to start the year fresh and new: we're gonna detox, lose those 10 pounds we gained over the holidays, exercise every day and eat our veggies, quit cursing and be nicer to the jerk who stabs us in the back at work. Be all Christian, or Buddhist or whatever. So we drink disgusting shit for two weeks to clean out the icky shit in our guts, we go to the gym every frickin' day for a month, give up red meat, bite our tongue from saying "fuck you" to said jerk at work while our stomachs churn with acid as we try to put the "white light of love" around him while he tells the boss you're the one who fucked up the project when it was his fault all along.

Dear God, it exhausts me just trying to type that shit up. Because ya know what? I've been there, darlin', I've been there. And usually within two months I'm sick of eating vegetables and no bread or steak (or bacon) (or bacon dark chocolate), I don't ever want to see another treadmill with twenty TVs blaring in front of me, I want to say fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, and I want to (lovingly) tell the jerk at work to, well, fuck off. And I think most of us feel the same way, or at least those of us with Type B personalities do. You Type A's just get yourselves off on the challenge. Well, go knock yerself out, honey. I'm not joining you this time.

Cause you know what? This year, I'm really tired, and thinking of resolutions just wears me out. I don't want to make them anymore. I'm tired of making resolutions and then defaulting on them two, three months down the road. Then I feel all guilty and resolve to try again, only to cop out again another two months later. Then the cycle repeats itself until December, when I just say, screw this! and proceed to eat every cookie, sweet potato fry and piece of bacon (and bacon dark chocolate) in sight until past New Year's when I make the same damn resolutions again, in great hope, dread, and nagging shame. This year I'd rather save myself the self-disparaging thoughts, agonizing guilt and self-sabotaging poundage.

This year in June, I'm turning 48. That means I'm two years shy of 50. It also means that I've spent a good portion of my life making new year's resolutions and breaking them. It means I've spent a good part of my life striving to be a better person and failing miserably and feeling disgusted with myself the whole freakin' time. And you know what? I'm so done with that. I'm done with feeling guilty all the time. I'm done with trying to be better, think better, feel better, do better. I just want to be. I just want to enjoy my life. Who knows how much longer I have to enjoy it. I hope I have a lot longer, but no one knows for sure how long they have. The point is to enjoy life while you're here, not when you can keep your sucky resolutions.

Resolutions seem designed to keep us from enjoying life, despite all the protestations to the contrary. Except for those Type A's who seem to enjoy flogging themselves into submission against their basest desires for that entire bacon dark chocolate bar while watching a night of Big Bang Theory reruns (oh wait, that's my basest desire - I'm projecting again. Type A's fight against wanting to consume an entire gallon of Hagen Das ice cream while watching back to back episodes of Dancing with the Stars, American Idol, and The Kardashians - and those are indeed base desires worth fighting against, IMHO).

Sorry, got off track there. What was I talking about? Ah, yes. Resolutions are the antithesis of enjoying life. You spend your time doing a bunch of stuff you hate doing that eventually you quit doing and then you hate yourself because you're not doing them because if only you'd do them and do them successfully then you could start enjoying your life because then you'll be thinner, healthier, smarter, wittier, kinder, more loving, and purer, and you'll be like a cross between Mother Teresa and Albert Einstein except you'll have longer, shinier hair, toned arms and thighs and glowing skin. And men (or women, depending on your sex and/or sexual preference) will be falling at your feet in worship of the ground you walk on.

Isn't that what resolutions are all about? Trying to attain something we can't possibly attain, thinking it will make us happy, only it makes us absolutely fucking miserable? NO THANK YOU. I've figured out your ruse, Resolutions, and I'm not falling for that crap anymore. So my only resolution is not to make any. And to enjoy my life without making any unattainable resolutions. Which means no more guilt and shame.

Now, this doesn't mean I'm going to suddenly become absolutely reprobate and debased. I'm not going to sit on my tush consuming endless bars of bacon dark chocolate while watching endless reruns of Big Bang Theory, How I Met Your Mother, and MASH. For one thing, I can't afford to buy endless bars of bacon dark chocolate at seven bucks a pop (though I might watch endless reruns of Big Bang Theory cuz I'm just frickin' in love with that show). And no, I'm not going to tell the jerk at work to fuck off, because, well, thankfully I don't work with jerks anymore. But if I did I don't think I would start telling them to fuck off, but, who knows? It's a brave new world in no-resolution land.

But no, I only want to do the things I enjoy as much as I possibly can. If I exercise, it will be taking walks outside, because I love that. If I eat veggies, I will eat the ones I love and sometimes with the flavorings I love, including butter and bacon. I'm not going to force myself to love the jerk at work (or any jerk anywhere else), but I'm not going to focus on hating the guy either. If I want to watch a night of Big Bang Theory reruns, I will from time to time. And I will enjoy a square of bacon dark chocolate occasionally, maybe once a day for a week without guilt (besides, dark chocolate and bacon are super foods, according to my mom). And I will create art and write poetry, because I enjoy it. I will spend time with people I love because they're fun to be with.

These are all resolutions I can get behind. Not one of them involves debased behavior. And all of them lead to enjoying life, without any guilt. Now this is what resolutions should be all about.