I’m Pretty Much a Motivational Speaker

There’s no shortage of inspirational accounts on the Internet, and unless you’re new here, I am not one of those accounts.

OK. Maybe I’m being a little hard on myself. I decided to take a look at some of my tweets and updates and see if maybe I’m mistaken, if maybe I am actually some sort of motivational speaker and I don’t even realize it!

After two minutes of careful evaluation, it turns out I can be inspirational in several different aspects of life. Sure, it’s not “conventional,” but one can not be picky when one spends more time picking out a head of broccoli at the store than she does picking out her clothes in the morning. 

First of all, there is my prowess in the kitchen and around food:

The only time I’ve ever cut carbs is when I was slicing a bagel.

7:30: Eats breakfast. 7:35: Checks clock and mentally calculates how long until I can eat lunch.

I successfully opened a plastic produce bag at the store in under 2 minutes and the manager gave me my own reserved parking spot in the lot.

I react to the smell of fresh bread the way a cat reacts to the sound of a can opener.

The most unrealistic thing about commercials is when it shows people actually sharing a frozen pizza.

It turns out the answer to my problems wasn’t at the bottom of a jar of cashew butter, but the important thing is that I tried.

And my extraordinary social skills: 

On second thought, maybe faking my death was a slight overreaction to being stuck in a group text.

The woman who cut in front of me at the store had a box of tampons, ice cream, and wine in her cart. I wasn’t about to mess with that situation.

Home is where the people aren’t.

My friend just got her Ph. D, and I’m just over here wondering why they don’t make the macaroni out of cheese in the first place.

Them: Good morning!
Me: This feels like a personal attack.

Saw a guy throw a fit and then walk into an automatic door, so it’s been a pretty solid day over here.

I can be socially awkward, but not “Interview portion of Jeopardy” socially awkward.

Not to mention my domestic disability dominance: 

“My lavish lifestyle affords me certain luxuries,” – I say as I place a new Kleenex box that perfectly matches my bathroom on the toilet.

Welcome home, new body wash. Meet your family: a half-full bottle of conditioner and 983 almost empty bottles of shampoo turned upside down.

I like to do laundry in stages. For example, right now I’m in denial that I should be doing laundry.

Nothing travels faster than a roll of toilet paper you drop while sitting on the toilet.

The cashier at the dollar store told me to have a good day like my purchase of shelf liner suggested any other plan.

Unfortunately, “weather stripping” isn’t what I thought it was, and the employees at Home Depot didn’t care for my little dance.

I establish my dominance as the alpha neighbor by putting my trash out on the curb before everyone else.

Not to mention just living my life to the fullest: 

Monday through Friday: Hits the snooze three times in the morning.
Saturday: Wakes up before the alarm would go off during the week and can’t get back to sleep.

My personality is 30 percent genetic, 10 percent environmental, and 60 percent whether or not I’m hungry and slightly inconvenienced.

I tripped but then I found an almond on the floor, so it’s true what they say about one door closing and another one opening.

Don’t sweat the small stuff. Lump it all together with the big and medium things so you can have a major breakdown instead.

I just stapled the hem of my workout pants like some kind of white trash fashion MacGyver.

It took me five minutes to realize why the unplugged toaster wasn’t working, so I just went ahead and used my college degree as a napkin.

I just used a real trash bag in my bathroom instead of a plastic grocery bag like I’m some kind of Rockefeller or something.

So, as you can see, I basically have inspiration coming out of my pores. No, wait, that’s garlic. Oh well. At least  I tried. 

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It’s Not Easy Being Me

I’ve never had my identity stolen, thank god, but I have had a few instances with identity theft-ish things with my taxes and debit card. Needless to say, it’s very stressful and not that much fun.

But with that said, these criminals obviously aren’t that bright if they’re trying to take my identity. Why?

Along with a variety of psychological malfunctions, you are also getting an intolerance to soy and bullshit. But even more than that, you’re getting a lot of responsibility. 

If you checked out my Twitter or Facebook pages, you would know that being me requires that you are:

First and foremost, a social butterfly who is totally a people person.

Like a good neighbor, stay over there and be satisfied with the cursory “hello” head nod.

A chipmunk just ran into my leg, screamed and ran away. Given my history, it’s safe to assume it was male.

Relationship status: Just found an almond in my pajamas. This is as close to nuts in my bed that I’ve had in years.

I can tell just by talking to some people that they lift up the car door handle every time that you go to unlock it.

Age 23: Yay! Plans!
Age 33: Yay! Plans got cancelled!

I establish dominance at the store by never breaking eye contact with the person behind me when placing down the grocery lane divider.

Ever caught a 33-year-old woman singing “Uptown Funk” to the stray cat in her yard? If you’re my neighbor, you can say that you have.

I never talk on the phone while I’m driving. Or when I’m not. Basically I just avoid talking on the phone whenever I can.

I accidentally made eye contact with a creepy guy at the store while putting on ChapStick and now he thinks that we’re dating. 

Along those lines, you will be responsible for being a fashion icon.

I will never have the confidence of people who use magnifying mirrors.

Can someone else be a sex symbol today? My good T-shirt is still in the wash.

It took me two months to use a package of 7-day teeth whitening strips in case my dedication to beauty was ever in doubt.

I’ve never won the lottery, but I did just find a piece of cereal in my bra so I imagine it feels something like that.

If you played connect-the-dots with the stains on my shirt, it would reveal a picture of a grown woman who should probably use a bib.

I think I just blinded a chipmunk with the whiteness of my legs.

Well, set the “Consecutive days gone without spilling food on myself” calendar back to zero. It was good two day run.

An old man told me I reminded him of his late wife. I’m hoping he meant while she was alive. 

You don’t have to be Martha Stewart, but there is a certain domestic goddess status to maintain.

A good indication of your cooking skills is when you’re asked to just bring ice to a party.

A “Woman vs. Food” show but just me attempting to get food from the fork to my mouth without dropping it in my lap first.

I just used four paper towels to wipe out one Ziploc bag to reuse. I think I’m doing recycling wrong.

I just accidentally hit the switch for the garbage disposal instead of the light again. In related news, I no longer fear death.

The food isn’t done until the smoke detector says that it’s done.

I just burned my hand on the toaster. There will be no more fancy breakfasts around here.

I threw old kale under my feeder last night and now the squirrels are requesting coconut water and wearing yoga pants.

And finally, you are expected to be a motivational force, inspiring people with your knowledge.

Saw a guy pushing a “pull” door several times and instead of helping him, I said, “Never give up. Don’t let anyone tell you how to live.”

Sometimes I impress myself. Other times I try and get out of the car while still wearing my seat belt and wonder how I made it this long.

You say “bed.” I say “nocturnal worry pod of overanalysis.” It’s really just semantics.

My weekend to-do list just reads like a menu of things that I want to eat.

That’s one small step to the fridge, and one giant leap back to the couch.

The woman who cut in front of me at the store had a box of tampons, ice cream, and wine in her cart. I wasn’t about to mess with that situation.

All I’m saying is that I’ve seen more people smiling while eating than smiling while out on a run.

I just threw away my to-do list. Like I need that kind of stress in my life.

Stop, drop and roll is also great advice for when someone unexpectedly knocks on your door.

I woke up planning on being positive, but my spoon fell into my oatmeal and so now that plan has gone to hell.

If you’re happy and you know it, stay in bed. It only goes downhill from there.

Okay. So the answer to my problems wasn’t at the bottom of that jar of almond butter, but the important thing is that I tried.

If I burn my mouth on pizza one more time I will continue to eat pizza because it’s delicious and I can’t hold both a grudge and a fork.

“I’m in no mood for this today.”- Me, any time of any day when anything slightly inconveniences me.

I try to find the good in every situation. Wait. That was a typo. I meant “food.” I try to find the food in every situation.

I never forget a face. Just names. And dates. And why I walked into a room and where I was going with this.

See? It’s not easy being me, so you should probably just move on to someone else. Remember, I have issues.

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A Girl Has To Have Standards

It was the moment when he reached down into the console of his truck, picked out a used golf tee and started using it as a toothpick that I learned a) to always keep floss in my purse and b) that even though it means that waking up with hummus in my hair is the closest to breakfast in bed that I get, I was meant to be single.

I would like to think I’ve given the alternative a pretty fair shake — I did the dating scene for a while with the traditional hits and misses — but this particular incident was simply the dirt-covered toothpick that broke this camel’s back.

Plus, I have high standards.

Growing up my crushes always fell into one of two categories—completely unattainable or attainable but not interesting after I attained them.

This wasn’t an issue early on because it’s not like I had that many options. It took me a long time to grow into my nose and grow out my spiral perms, and while I had friends, I wasn’t the “cute” girl in the group.

I was instead the one that was left over and relegated to holding the sweaty hands of the left over boy at the school roller skating parties while Boyz II Men’s “End of the Road” played in the background.

However, I wasn’t all that concerned with that scene, as I had much bigger plans.

I was a tomboy and decided early on that I was going to marry a professional athlete. The crush varied depending on the season, but it usually included me covering my walls with their posters and creating elaborate situations in my head in which I held down the fort at home while they traveled on the road for their games.

At no time did anything sexual enter these situations, as aside from putting my Barbies and G.I. Joe in compromising “mature” situations, those thoughts never crossed my mind. It was simply an infatuation that ran from one player to the next before progressing into Sylvester Stallone through the “Rocky” years—all five films—and then any other action star or famous male with either an accent or a jersey.

I had more realistic crushes in school, of course.

This usually amounted to me reading into a Valentine (that they were required to give everyone in class) as a declaration of love, scribbling their name in my notebook and keeping a stash of assorted flavored Lip Smackers at the ready just in case.

In case of what? I didn’t know, but at least my lips would be strawberry fresh.
Naturally things changed once I got older and declared myself free of the sweaty-palmed rejects and delusions of nabbing a major league lover. As mentioned above, I did the dating thing and decided it wasn’t for me.

Now I’m sure Toothpick Boy was/is a fine companion for some germ-loving gal who doesn’t mind using dirty sports props to pick lettuce out of a molar, but I like my space. I like my freedom. I like knowing that dental procedures won’t be performed with dirt-covered plastic.

Of course, there might be exceptions. I mean, Hot Gym Guy did say, “No thanks” when I offered to spot him as he was walking into the locker room, so there’s a chance that once the restraining order is lifted he might just give it a go!

But otherwise I’m happy just dating myself.

This post came about because of these awesome—as in so much awe that I use the word “awesome”—comments on my Facebook page about a post I wrote for 22 Words awhile ago dealing with ridiculous reasons for breaking up with someone.

Go read the comments. They’re better than this post, but first let me know:

What’s the most ridiculous reason you’ve ever broken up with someone?

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Engagements, Oversharing and Butt Facials

This picture has nothing at all to do with this post, but seeing as today is Friday I thought I would throw it in here anyway. Actually, considering the random nature of this post, I guess it actually fits right in. 

(Also available here.)

Anyway, I’ll have a new post for you next time, but it’s the end of the month so I thought I would let you know that I have FOUR different posts for you to click on and read today instead. 

First over on YourTango we’re talking love, toxic friends and oversharing: 

10 Beautifully Unexpected Ways Husbands Proposed to Their Wives

10 “Toxic” Friends You Need to Remove From Your Life

Dear Internet Oversharers: Get Off Facebook, Get See a Therapist

I’m also resharing this piece I wrote last year because given everything going on right now–and just the fact that winter doesn’t help with depression–it still seems really applicable. Maybe someone else can relate, so there’s that. 

And finally, if you fear someone is going to get close enough to your ass and your crotch to notice some redness or bumps and you have an extra $200 or so laying around, then there’s still time to schedule your “Vajacial” and “Shiny Hiney” services before bathing suit season.

That’s right! Facials for your front and your back doors! I know you’re all intrigued at this point, so head on over to In The Powder Room and read all about it….no, really. I’m not kidding. Butt facials. Go check it out and I’ll see you back here next week. 

Spa Treatments For Your What Now? 

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P.S. Facebook has changed it’s reach AGAIN and only 5-10 percent of people are seeing my updates. To ensure you’re not missing a thing, add my Facebook page to your “Interests” lists, subscribe to my blog or follow me on  Twitter.

 

Realistic Social Media Notifications

If you’re on any form of social media, you know that you can opt in or opt out of getting notifications any time someone “likes,” retweets, pins or comments on your updates or on the status of your friends.

I generally opt out of getting the emails because too many emails make me twitchy and I really don’t need extra noise. When I go to the site, I’ll see it. The end.

But I might change my mind if I was sent more realistic social media notifications—something more than “Anne commented on your status update” or “Bill retweeted one of your tweets.”  I have a few suggestions in case anyone wants to contract out my services.

Facebook

That relative that you were forced to “friend” is replying “LOL” to all your updates from the past month.

Fifteen people posted Someecards or memes expressing their addiction to coffee/wine, their love of Friday/hate of Monday or being a parent.

Your friend Ann changed her profile picture seven times in 10 minutes in an attempt to look sexier.

No one “liked” Anne’s new profile picture after three minutes, so she changed it again.

Your cousin just rolled his eyes at the link to your latest blog post.

A friend just invited you to an event tomorrow night that’s being held on the other side of the country.

“That” couple is having a private conversation through one of their status updates. He loves her.  She loves him back. They are “so blessed.”

The “bad boy” from high school just posted a picture of him braiding the hair of his toddler twin girls.

Don’t bother checking your Facebook fan page. Only 3 percent of your fans are seeing your posts.

Pinterest

Gina started a wedding board to send hint after to hint to her boyfriend in a passive aggressive, Pinterest-y way.

Sally shared the same pin of her last blog post to 12 different boards in five minutes.

Beware! Three friends a going through a phase and pinning nothing but inspirational posters.

Someone liked one of 235 recipes you pinned that you’ll probably never make.

Becky created a board of Creative Projects to Make with Cat Hair.

Twitter

Someone almost retweeted you but instead just added it as a “favorite” because they were ticked they didn’t think of it first.

Lisa says, “GOOD MORNING!!!”

Several people you follow are engaged in a Twitter Party. Avoid until party is done.

Bob is tweeting at famous people in an attempt to get them to follow him.

You are now only 15 people away from 2,000 followers and only three friends away from having three friends.

Someone is retweeting every compliment they’ve ever received.  (Suggested action: block or unfollow)

Jenny made toast, took a picture, posted it with a recipe and added multiple hashtags #bread #toaster #lunch #food #eat #noonecaresitstoast

Three people unfollowed you because you didn’t follow them back after they had been following you for five minutes.

Your super funny tweet got no stars.

Justin Beiber tweeted, “I like tacos.” It was retweeted 465,000 times. Maybe you should give up.

LinkedIn

Someone you have never worked with just asked you to endorse them for biomedical engineering with a focus on potato blight in Idaho, or something similar you have no knowledge of.

A complete stranger is waiting for your response to an invitation to connect with no customized message attached.

Mary is celebrating a 5-year work anniversary at a job you didn’t even know that she had.

A connection just endorsed you for “grocery shopping” and “snacks.”

Well, yay! Finally an endorsement that makes sense.

Your turn. What notifications would you suggest? 

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Patti from “Insane in the Mom Brain” Has Issues

I was introduced to this week’s blogger on Facebook by Rach from RachRiot because a) they’re best friends in a “can’t imagine them in the same room” type of way and b) apparently both me and Patti had some of our blog material stolen by the same lovely, considerate person.

And as everyone knows, nothing bonds two people quicker than a mutual hate of someone else. Oh, and humor. Something else that she has a ton of and I pretend to have.

So without further ado, welcome to her world. Buckle up.

Name: Patti Ford-Reedus-Pratt

Blog: Insane In The Mom-Brain

Where and why do you write?

I write in a van down by the river. I write a bunch of nonsensical words that spew out of my head very quickly and without any thought whatsoever. Most of the time I think to myself “Girl, nobody is gonna get this and they’re all gonna think you’re an idiot.” Then I post it anyway because if I don’t let all of this weird crap out of my head then I will probably explode.

Also, I’m an attention whore.

First thing you think of when you wake up in the morning.

The first thing I think when I wake up in the morning is “F*ck you, alarm clock!” Then the second thing I think is, “Yay! It’s time to get up and have coffee and poop!” The third thing I think is, “I may have some sort of mood disorder.”

What’s the one “issue” or frustration annoying you the most right now?

My main frustration right now is that I’m not “allowed” to kick the junk all of the people who annoy me. I’d like just one hour to go junk kicking. ONE HOUR. No murder. Only nad and taco kicking. I mean, come on!

Three websites you visit every day.

Facebook (attention whore, duh), Amazon (one click ordering and free shipping are my bitches) and HOUZZ (who ARE all of you people with the beach mansions and why aren’t you inviting me over?)

What’s an unusual talent and/or accomplishment you could never put on a resume?

The fact that I won The Nobel Peace Prize for my accomplishments in the field of Physics in 2011. The reason that I can’t put that on a resume is because it isn’t true. That doesn’t keep me from saying it though. I think that most people are too lazy to research things anyways, so I could probably get away with it if I started wearing glasses or something so I looked smarter. And maybe just every now and then I can throw out words like “Alpha particle” or “Transverse Wave.”

Man, pretending to be an award-winning physicist is easy.

Favorite place to be?

On a beach in Mexico with a Modelo in my hand, at an awesome drag bar, on the back of a motorcycle being drive by Norman Reedus or anywhere in my imagination. Except when my imagination involves spidery or murdery things, which is actually quite often.

If you could rule the land for one day, what laws would you create and enforce?

If you’re a bully, asshole or Internet troll (all kind of the same thing) then you get a public junk punching followed by six months of house arrest where you have to watch only The Kardashians and listen to Celine Dion and Mariah Carey on a freakin’ loop.

What TV show would you want to appear on?

I’ll tell you what I don’t want to appear on: Naked and Afraid. My ass is my least favorite part of my body and that seems to be the part that they showcase on that show.

Ain’t no way no how I’d ever let all of America see my naked butt. Utah, maybe, but the rest of America? No thanks.

As for a show I’d like to go on, I’d want to either be a zombie on The Walking Dead (the first zombie that gets a make out session with Daryl) or maybe I’d like to go pickin’ with Mike and frank on American Pickers or do that Tight Pants dance with Jimmy Fallon on The Tonight Show.

Best and worst things I could find in your refrigerator right now?

I don’t know if you mean best as in most healthy or most delicious. You really should be more clear in your questioning if you’re going to interview very important people such as myself. I mean, seriously.

Well, if you mean most healthy then that would be spinach. If you mean most delicious that would be slice and bake cookies. The worst thing is some fresh mozzarella that’s been in there for weeks and has gone bad but I don’t want to touch it to throw it out because stinky cheese scares the crap out of me.

What question do you wish I had asked you and what would be your reply?

I wish you had asked me what I did this summer. I would have said, “I spent most of it at the beach. I met a boy there.” Then you’d say, “You hauled your cookies all the way to the beach for some guy?” Then I’d say, “Well he was sorta special.” And you’d say, “There ain’t no such thing.” Then I’d say, “He was really romantic.” Then I’d have started performing “Summer Nights.”

Oh well, opportunity missed.

Good going, Abby.

Good friggin’ going.

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I know, I know. What’s my problem? Anyway, go check her out and I’ll see you back here on Sunday with a new post. I’m sure “Summer Nights” will be out of my head by that point.

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Nicole from “Moms Who Drink and Swear” Has Issues & a Giveaway

Today you’re in for a real treat, as this week’s blogger has more than 1 million Facebook fans—yes, I said 1 million in a Dr. Evil voice—but is still completely down to earth despite the picture she sent me below.

In her own words, she is “gently and consistently offensive, but tenderhearted! I mean no harm, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be harmed by something I write. However, since I’m only responsible for what I write, not what you understand or how you interpret what I write, harm is a subjective term, so you could feel harmed, even though I told you that I mean no harm.”

Amen, sister. Amen.

But more than a blogger, best-selling author and Facebook freak, she’s also a mental health professional with two advanced degrees – one in psychology, the other in gerontology—and is a Licensed Clinical Professional Counselor working part-time in private practice.

Given my own issues with mental health, this make me love her even more in a “non-creepy-but-I-will-stalk-from-a-distance” kind of way. I’m certain that once you read below, enter a giveaway for a FREE copy of her book that I’m jealous someone will win and then go check her out, you will become a stalker as well.

Restraining orders, be damned.

Name: Nicole Knepper, but I like to be called Sugar Tits

(Editor’s note: Who doesn’t?)

Blog: Moms Who Drink And Swear

Where, what and why do you write?

I write profanity-laced brain seepage all over the plan, but specifically on my blog and on Chicago Now. I like to write at McD’s and at home snuggled up with my wieners.

First thing you think of when you wake up in the morning?

I want coffee and I wonder if one of the dogs took a shit under the piano bench, and if so, what is the consistency of the shit?

What’s the one “issue” or frustration annoying you the most right now?

Myself. Always myself. I am chasing the fantasy that someday I’ll be able to manage my time.

Three websites you visit every day.

Chicago Tribune, Wall Street Journal, Vice

(Editor’s note again: By “Wall Street Journal,” I assume she means my blog. The two are easily confused.)

What’s an unusual talent and/or accomplishment you could never put on a resume?

I see auras. I’m not even f#cking kidding. It’s like energy coming off a person. I can just see and feel it and then I can work my own energy to make the interaction work.

Favorite place to be?

By the water. Not the bathtub or shower water or doing dishes or laundry water, but a body of water like the ocean or a lake.

If you could rule the land for one day, what laws would you create and enforce?

Oooohh. I think I would have a silent day. If people wanted to communicate, they would have to write down stuff. It would make people think a bit more about what comes out of their brains and why.

(Another editor’s note: sign me up)

What TV show would you want to appear on?

I want to be a corpse on a crime show and I want the backstory to be grisly and puzzling.

(Fun fact: I once went to a Halloween party in Chicago and Gary Sinise (from CSI: NY and Forrest Gump) and his band, the Lt. Dan Band, were the entertainment. I miss CSI: NY. OK. Back to Nicole.)

Best and worst things I could find in your refrigerator right now?

Best – Meyer lemon raspberry jam. Worst – Celery in the beginning stages of rot.

What question do you wish I had asked you and what would be your reply?

I wish you had asked me if my mother was a hamster or if my father smelled of elderberries. I would have answered in the affirmative, because of flesh wounds.

(Last note: I had no idea what she was talking about, but apparently it’s a Monty Python reference everyone knows but me. Let’s move on.)

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Because she is so tenderhearted, she has offered to give away a copy of her book, “Moms Who Drink and Swear” to a random person who comments on this post answering the question below. The giveaway is open to U.S. residents with a sense of humor and a random winner will be drawn on Tuesday morning and notified via email.

Since there are a few movie references in this post, what’s a movie quote that you use all the time?

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Hashing it out with Hashtags

When people hear I’m an editor, the first thing they often assume is that I’m the grammar police.

I am not.

However, I do love language and a little part of my soul dies every time I see it abused. And unfortunately, that happens every time I go on the Internet and am inundated with strings of acronyms and hashtags instead of actual sentences.

Now let’s get something straight.

I like Twitter. I like texting in small doses. I like Facebook updates that don’t involve a laundry list of your accomplishments, ailments or actual laundry list. But to each their own, I get it.

What I don’t get is how it’s now acceptable to stop actually using full words and stringing them together in these things that we call “sentences” to complete thoughts and instead abbreviating them to an acronym or hashtag.

Instead of writing something excitedly, people now lazily throw in #excited. They go with  #missingyou instead of writing “I miss you.”  And instead of adding a caption to the photo of their completely ordinary breakfast, you get 12 hashtags that make absolutely no sense and just look ridiculous–#breakfast #eggporn #toast #breakthefast #truth #food #idontevenknowwhatimdoinganymore #hashbrowns

Really? It’s come to that?

I’ve heard the excuse that it’s faster, but if you type “UR” instead of “you’re” and then add extra “Os” to indicate “UR SOOO happy it’s Friday,” I think that you’re blowing your cover—or that you don’t know which “you’re” you should use.

Simply #WTF

That combination hashtag/acronym above is my attempt at a segue into texting/online abbreviations, such as the ever-popular “LOL” that most often serves as a convenient way to end a boring electronic conversation.

Half the time these things make no sense — no one is literally rolling on the floor laughing their ass off (ROFLMAO), and if they are, they had best log off and seek immediate medical attention — and the other half of the time I have no idea what they mean because THEY AREN’T ACTUALLY WORDS.

So because I’m annoyed and am looking to change my world in some way—the rest of the world is up to you guys—I have proposed some more practical meanings to common acronyms that make more sense to me.

ROFLMAO: Ready? Okay. First Let’s Make Acronyms Original

WTF: Where’s The Food?

STFU: Scanning Twitter for Unfollowers

GI: Google It

IRL: I’m Relaxing. Leave.

RMBI: Read My Blog Instead

OMG: Overused Minced Garlic

BFF: Boobs Falling Flat

CRGOYDF: Conversation Required. Get Off Your Damn Phone

TTYL: Tea Trumps Your Latte

SMH: Swiffering My House

NIWYM: No Idea What You Mean

IMHO: I’m Making Hummus, Okay?

FML: Feeling Mighty Lazy

FWIW: Frequent Whining. I’m Writing.

ASAP: Attention! Send Abby Pesto

LOL: Laundry. Overflowing Laundry

BRB: Busy Reading Books

YJMTUYW: You Just Made That Up You Weirdo

FTW: F*@$ This Winter

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Any suggestions you would add to the list?

Let’s Get Clicky

Technology makes it so much easier to complain about technology, now doesn’t it? Let’s do that for a minute and then get to the part where I refer you to read an ironic post that I wrote.

Facebook is rivaling the Grinch in terms of seasonal spirit by starting to force blog fan pages to pay in order for their followers to actually see what they post. Now I know it’s annoying that I’m complaining about this again, but seriously?

It’s ridiculous, and I’m not going to pay Facebook to share my nonsense with the masses when that money could be spent buying pesto.

No, instead I’m going to be POSITIVE and invite you to subscribe to my blog via email (see that nice little option on the left side of my blog?), follow me on Twitter (one-liners I should probably keep to myself) and remind you to make sure you’re selecting the “Show in Newsfeed” and “All Updates” on Facebook.

Unless you’re actively trying to avoid me, in which case — carry on as you were. Let’s move on.

I’ll have a new post for you here this later week that doesn’t involve self-promotion that makes me feel uncomfortable and twitchy like this does, but today I’m back over In The Powder Room talking more about technology and cults.

What do those two things have in common? I suppose you have to click…HERE to find out.

So let’s summarize:

• Facebook is lame.
• I prefer pesto to popularity.
• You have various options to either interact with or ignore me.
• The serving size suggestion on hummus is about as useful as a Kindle is to a Kardashian. 
• Clicking this link will trick In The Powder Room into thinking that I have friends.

One of those things doesn’t belong, but I felt it was valid. Anyway, go forth and read about cults, soak in the irony of that statement and I’ll see you here for my next post.

Unless you’re actively trying to avoid me, in which case — carry on as you were.

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More Letters I Probably Won’t Send

You can find the first installment here.

To Mr. Tech Support Guy on the Phone:

You asked if I had any more questions. Sorry if “Do you think I sound pretty?” wasn’t what you had in mind. Considering this conversation was recorded for training purposes, I suggest you review it and take notes on how to be a bit more specific with your language.

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To Twitter and Facebook Suggestions:

I appreciate you looking out for me, but you’re greatly overestimating my desire to find more friends. If I haven’t “friended” someone after multiple suggestions, you can bet that it’s because I’m content not connecting with the creepy biology teacher from middle school or my bank. I’m also not interested in homeschooling the kids I don’t have or connecting with singles in my area.

And I will assume the suggestion that I should follow Mr. Peanut implies that I’m nuts, which to be honest, is probably not far from the truth. You nailed it with that one.

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To Amateur Photographers:

Tis the season, fa la la, but the millionth close-up photo of Starbuck’s “red cup” has been taken, so it’s safe to move on to other things now. After all, it is just A RED CUP FROM STARBUCKS filled with overpriced hot liquid. We’re not talking about the golden ticket from Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory here, people.

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To the Woman in Front of Me at the Checkout:

I enjoy pleasant conversation with strangers quite often, and our dialogue about the lazy person who left the bug spray in the candy next to the lane was a great way to pass the time. But apparently I have one of those faces that says, “Yes, tell me weird things that I probably shouldn’t be told” because the conversation took quite an odd turn.

The fact that your grandma—who was bitten by a scorpion and died, a fact brought up by the importance of bug spray—married her cousin seemed a little out of left field. But I would like to thank you for clarifying that it was actually “okay” and that you aren’t a product of inbreeding, despite—in your words, not mine—the lack of your back molars and motto of, “kill it and grill it.”

I appreciate you clearing that up.

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To People Who Write Open Letters:

I get that you feel the Internet is the perfect passive-aggressive way to dispense your invaluable opinion on something, but it’s really not that effective. These letters usually start with the “Dear X,” greeting— often to a public personality—followed by the very expected takedown of said person you are writing the letter to, and/or what you feel is a highly controversial/unique opinion.

While stating this opinion to a recipient who will never read it, you often act like you’re just remembering additional complaints in the middle of your letter when we all know you have carefully planned when to say them. The letter often ends with your “knockout” point of contention and a “sincerely” before you sign off.

Here’s an idea. Why don’t you write a real letter to the person who has offended you?  Oh, yes. That’s because they couldn’t care less and are wiping their ass with their money.

Now I realize that this whole post is a form of an open letter, but I am under no delusions that you will write back or that my opinion will actually sway the collective “you” to see the error of your ways. And the other times that I wrote a semi-open letter, I just wanted my yoga pants and bra to feel happy in their new home.

Sincerely,

Abby

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