Way to go...

Dear readers,

I'd like to begin this blog by saying that whoever invented that ultra-suede micro-fiber that adorns most furniture these days needs to be taken out back and shot.

So, I had my 3rd interview today for this job that I ~really~ want. I mean, I want this job badly enough that I actually picked out an outfit the night before! (Yeah, you heard me).

Well, as you could imagine, I did everything a person normally does when getting ready (shower, hair, make up, etc.) but it's sooooo damn humid here today that I toweled off after my shower but I ~still~ wasn't dry (I hate when that happens!) So, before I put on my new tights, I made sure to use a lil extra powder first... works like a charm!

I'd like to think that the interview went well but most of what happened there has left my head because as I stood up to leave, I noticed that I left a ~perfect~ talcum powder ass print on the chair!!!!

I immediately went to brush it off by pretending to push my chair back in... but noooooooo... As my wonderful luck would have it, it wouldn't come off.

So now, for all I know, their meeting room chair will hold the visage of my ass for all eternity...

Hee hee! Yeah, not ~quite~ the "impression" I meant to leave... Yay me!!!

Lightness and Air

I have a best friend.
Ok, I know, a lot of people have "best friends" but I really and truly have a best friend.
She fills me with lightness and air.
She saves me from the murky cloudy.
She tells me not what I want to hear, but what I ~need~ to hear.
She shares that she hates me sometimes... and that she loves me all the time.
She makes me laugh
... and scream
... and cry
and think.

Today she told me, among many other things that, "writers write every day."

I don't know what it is that keeps me from writing the ONE thing out there that I do know in my heart of hearts I am supposed to write, but I am going to try to find it now.

... and I think that with my best friend by my side; because I truly feel that she ~must~ be a part of it, I think I will find it.



"Plant the seed and let it run its course..."
~ The Watchmen

Let us stay Forever Now...

1983-84?
I'm 12 going on 13, my sister Andrea has one of those rare (back then) moments where she decides to do something totally cool with me. She buys me a ticket to see the Psychedelic Furs and Talk Talk play at Isle view Park in North Tonawanda! It was part of this three-day festival. Each day featured a different style of music, (Country, Metal and New Wave). The "New Wave" show is the least attended (like I could tell). To me, there was a shitload of people!!

Andrea and I pull up some lawn as we sit through the opening act... Some unknown College band from Jamestown called The 10,000 Maniacs(Go figure!)
Talk Talk comes on and suddenly we're engulfed by people. Everyone stands up and we can barely see over their heads.

Now comes the break before "The Furs." Andrea and I wait till most of the crowd heads to the beer tents and we make a beeline all the way to the front row. When the Furs come out, we are right in front! This was during the "Forever Now" tour so they opened w/"Love my Way." Andrea and I freaked b/c we (like everyone else our age) were die-hard MTV viewers, and knew all the dance moves from the video. Well, I'm sure I was the youngest person in the front row (and if I was 12, I'm sure I was wearing something super-spiffy like my "Smurf" t-shirt)::slaps forehead::: Anyway, we're dancing right along with him step for step, he sees us and he blows us a kiss... We scream!

1886
The "Mirror Moves" tour comes to Darien Lake Amphitheater, which is (at the time) nothing but a stage at the bottom of a grassy hill). My older brother, John, takes me because the girl he likes is going with her friends instead. I was recently busted by my Mom for smoking and the only reason she let me go was because John would've been out the price of the ticket if I didn't.

We get in his car and speed towards the park. Once we get on the Thruway, he asks me if I smoke. I say "No!" thinking that I'm in for a lecture. "Too bad," he says, "Cause I DO!!" He laughs maniacally as he lights a smoke and tosses me the pack. "Oh man! You have NO idea how much shit I get away with because Mom's always looking to bust you! You're the best thing that's ever happened to me!"

He buys me a tin pail of beer. Yeah, they served beer from the tap in these tin pails that cost $6 and held about 4 cups of beer (I still have mine!) I befriend the girl he's crushing on and she decides to date him on my advice. Til Tuesday opens and The Furs were brilliant as always! They add this horn section for "Sleep Comes Down" and I don't know why, but it reminds me of Gunga Din.

1987 - 88?
"Midnight to Midnight" tour - I'm probably in trouble for ~something~ again. All I know is that the local news is doing a live interview with Richard Butler and the opening act is about to take the stage. I leave the dinner table and go sit on the front steps. I don't want anyone to tease me for crying over missing a concert.

My brother comes outside and sees me feverishly trying to brush away my tears. He looks at me, shakes his head in exasperation and says, "Let's go." We make it to Darien Lake in 20 minutes. A record time no one has ever beat to this day.

I run into the same girl my brother used to date while waiting in line for the girls' bathroom but the line's waaaaay too long, so we decide to pee in the boys' bathroom. They don't seem to mind. My brother buys me (another) bucket of beer and a t-shirt that I wear every day for gym class... when I actually go to gym.

They play "Heartbreak Beat" and I am dancing like a mad woman underneath the stars on a beautiful summer night. I am on the cusp of turning 17. I am beautiful and everyone is watching me dance ... I vow to stay this way forever...

2002-03?
I see the Furs one more time in an old theatre in North Tonawanda (ironically). This time; ~I~ buy the tickets for my sister and I.

We walk in. The place is crowded but the first 3 rows are empty. Thinking of my past experiences, we sit in the front row. They take the stage, we all jump up and start dancing... Suddenly, we are being hit w/popcorn. We turn around... everyone is in their seats and they are yelling at us to sit down!!!!

We are devastated. Now we are sitting in the front row... sulking. Richard looks me in the eye. I mouth, "I'm sorry!" He winks and blows me and Andrea another kiss. We stand up and get heckled into sitting back down over and over through the entire show. I feel as if I've broken a vow. The 16 year-old me would have flipped off the entire crowd and danced like nobody was watching. The 30-ish me is self-conscious and astounded that these guys have taken the stage while it's still daylight out and have agreed to play in a place where they only serve beer in the lobby... Plus, they're ~inside!~

PS: They play "Forever Now" as an encore. It's like a spell is broken and suddenly ~everyone~ rushes to the front of the stage. Andrea and I find ourselves getting elbowed to the back. I can't be sure of this part but it seems to me that Richard sings to only us. :)

My First Love Letter

Ok... Unless you were following me on MySpace back in 05 this story is new to you.

I went to a catholic grade school and my very first crush was a boy in my first-grade class named Joey. Joey was a troublemaker. He was always being sent home with a note pinned to his chest for his Mom, and this made me love him even more! He rolled his sleeves up and slouched in his seat. He ate paste on a dare and would always say “Yeah” during roll call instead of “Present.”

One day, someone stole my crayons from my desk. I immediately started crying because my mother had so meticulously printed my initials on EVERY crayon to prevent such a misfortune. Joey, taking pity on me, offered to share his crayons with me. I was so thrilled, I pretended not to notice the tiny “NM” printed on the paper wrapper of the Cornflower Blue Crayola.

Finally, I just couldn’t take it any more. I HAD to profess my love to Joey even if it meant that he might punch me in the stomach as I’d seen him do to other girls. I decided the best way to avoid physical harm was to launch a covert operation. I would write him a love letter!

“A Love letter! Perfect,” I thought to myself, “I can drop it on his desk near the end of the day!” I figured that the end-of-the-day confusion would allow me to place my missive of love on his desk and have plenty of time to get out of the way of any stomach punching.

That night, I spent agonizing hours hunched over the dining room table carefully constructing what was to be my opus of love. To this day, I have no idea what I wrote on that spiral-bound piece of notebook paper with my #2 pencil but I’m pretty sure it went something like this:

Dear Joey,

I love you.

If you love me, check this box.

After slaving over this soul-bearing note, I realized my mistake... I had written it on plain notebook paper! Love notes of this magnitude aren’t supposed to be written on plain notebook paper! What could I do? Re-writing it on stationery was out of the question. I was a lefty and a horrible printer. I was actually supposed to skip first grade but only if I learned to print legibly. Lucky for me, I refused to practice that summer or I never would have met my Joey.

The only viable solution was to make the note look better somehow. It needed a decoration of some kind to convey exactly how much Joey meant to me.

Seeing that my crayons were gone, I decided to remove several of the jagged strips of paper from the spiral in my notebook and tie them around my note, wrapping it up like a present... a small... crumpled up... wad-of-paper-like present.

The next day at school was a blur. I spent the entire day checking the pocket of my cardigan to make sure I hadn’t lost the note. I didn’t even participate in singing “Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes” for fear that it would fall from my pocket.

Finally, my moment came. As everyone in my class was getting ready to leave for the day, I executed my plan. I stood up with my trusty #2 pencil and went to the sharpener. This way I could survey Joey for the perfect opportunity (when he wasn’t punching people in the stomach) to make my move. Just as I ground my pencil to a stub, my moment arrived. Our teacher, Mrs. Smock, reprimanded Joey for horsing around and he was now sulking by himself with his head resting on his Evel Knievel backpack.

It was now or never... My palms were sweating profusely as I casually tried to stride past Joey’s desk. I reached in my pocket and deftly palmed my precious note. You couldn’t quite tell that the strips of paper had been tied into neat bows anymore because I had been squeezing the note all day, but I was sure that Joey would understand the painstaking amount of time that I had put into this note all for him.

With all the skill of a superior note-passer, I flipped the note out of my pocket and on to Joey’s desk where it gracefully slid and came to a stop just underneath Joey’s sulking eyes.

I did it!! With the delivery complete, I ran back to my desk so I could watch Joey’s reaction to my very first love letter from a safe distance. My mind’s eye was filled with endless afternoons of building Lego mansions together where our combined families of Fisher Price Little People would live happily ever after.

My reverie was suddenly broken with a shout.

“Hey!” Joey yelled as he stood up from his desk, my note grasped in his hand.

The entire room was suddenly silent. Joey’s outburst commanded everyone’s attention. All eyes were on him as turned, red-faced and angry from the teacher’s scolding, and pointed his finger right at me!!!

“Don’t you throw your trash on my desk... EVER AGAIN!”

With that, Joey took my heartfelt confession of primary school love, wadded it up (as if it could ~be~ any more wadded) and threw it in the waste basket.

I just stood there and looked at my love-letter resting on the top of the wastebasket... looking for all the world like a crumpled up piece of spiral book notepaper and not like a note at all.

The next day, I told Mrs. Smock that Joey had stolen my crayons and that I could prove it because my initials were written on every one. Joey was sent to the Principal's office and had to eat lunch alone for the rest of that week.

Heh, heh... Hell hath no fury like a first grader spurned. ;D

I want to be a Game Show Hostess...

I want to be a Game Show Hostess.
Oh, the contestants I will inspire!
I'll point to prizes all day long.
My arms will never tire.

Now, "Wheel of Fortune" and "Price is Right"
have "Barker's Beauties" and Vanna White;
but, I know the difference 'tween a vacuum and a "canner"
and I'll always point to prizes in a calm and pleasing manner:

A Water Bed!
A new Wet Bar!
Ten thousand bucks!!
A BRAAAAND NEW CAR!!!!!

If the clock runs out
and you haven't a clue...
I'll pout and stomp and say,
"Oh poo!"

...but if you win that fabulous prize,
you'll see a glimmer in my eyes.
You'll see a smile upon my face
and not a hair will be out of place.

Oh God! I want to be a Game Show Hostess!!!!
(((takes a bow)))


Thenk yew

Thrilling Head Gear...

Yes... It's true. I have a secret passion for Tin Foil Hats...





Luckily, so do some of my friends:





Hahaha! Thrilling headgear rules!! What better way to contact the Mother Ship?

Plus, we are sooo blocking those alien x-rays! ;D

Feel free to put your best thrilling headgear (read: Tin foil hat) pic in the comment section! =)

Wow... I've been a Marketer my whole life.

First off, so much for "Blog every week day month." Meh...

So, my Mom sends me this letter in the mail the other day.
Inside the letter is a note I wrote her when I was a little girl...

See, my brother and I were joined at the hip when we were little...





But we also could fight like cats and dogs and I guess that's where this note comes from...
Apparently, we must have pushed her to the brink one day and I'm guessing she went off on us so, in an effort to make amends, I wrote the following, in pencil on one o' those cheap paper pulp "Fun Books." The note (barely legible after 30 some-odd years) reads:

From my heart.
Mom + Dad, this is from my heart.
John and I haven't been the best of help and so we will dedicate July 2, to you.
We will help with chores and earns (SIC "errands" maybe?) and best of all... John and I will try not to fight for the rest of the week!!!!!!!!
We hope you enjoy this.

After I picked myself up off the floor from laughing hysterically, I took a good look at this note and realized that I've pretty much been a Marketer my whole life!

• Take note: I did not tell her that we'd change our act or do more chores around the house for general purposes... Naw! I gave her one whole day instead!


• Note how I build up the value of my offer with the words "best of all..." a statement that I use in certain points of copy to this day!


• I also follow up my "best of all" statement with something that the customer (ie: Mom) would have gotten anyway - a blissful reprieve. However, note that the caveat is defined in realistic terms. I didn't tell her we'd never fight again. Even I knew that stating that would be an unrealistic claim that I could never deliver. This lends an air of truth to my entire claim.


• But the crown jewel of the entire missive is, "We hope you enjoy this." Bwahahaha! Basically, I'm saying to her, "It's not gonna get any better so I hope you accept this."

Yup... a true marketer through and through! ;D

... I hope you enjoyed this.

'bout time... nuff said.

I planned an insightful blog post today about the unrealized potential behind the concept of Telecommuting but after posing the question on Linked In, I realized that I need to gather more feedback first.

So instead, today I will say this...

I FINALLY read the Watchmen by Alan Moore. I worked at a comic book store for seven years... I've been a "Fan Grrl" all my life... and yet, I've never read the Watchmen til just now.

Wow... What the hell took me so damn long?!?!

Well, that didn't last long!

Hahaha! So much for "Blog every day" month! I guess that's hard to do when you implement a self-imposed exile from your computer for the weekend!

ok... I guess I'm modifying my challenge to "Blog every weekday month!"

nuts.

Things...

186525455
THINGS I DIDN'T LIKE WHEN I WAS YOUNGER BUT I LIKE NOW:

• Classical and Jazz music
  
• Mushrooms
  
• SLEEPING! I distinctly remember a time when I ~hated~ to go to bed... can't even fathom that now.
  
• Constructive criticism - Not only did I finally learn how to not take it personally, I've learned that true constructive criticism is never personal. So basically, I've learned the difference between a leaders/peers and asshats!
  
• Being alone
  
• Watching the news or reading the paper
  
• Books w/no pictures hee hee! ;)
  
• Foreign films or anything w/subtitles
  

THINGS I LIKED WHEN I WAS YOUNGER BUT I FREAKING LOVE NOW:

• Reading
  
• Quiet contemplation
  
• Newport RI.
  
• Non-conformity.
  
• Really weird toys (ie: Happy Fun Robot!!! I actally own this! lol!)
  
• Camping
  
• Smaller venue concerts
  
• Writing - Which is a good thing considering my profession.
  

THINGS I LIKED WHEN I WAS YOUNGER BUT I DON'T LIKE NOW:

• Talking on the phone (except if it's business related)
  
• Candy (except when I'm PMS'ed) =)
  
• Soap Operas... Bleeech! .
  
• Mosh pits (I went from "Oi! Oi!" to, "Owie! Ow!!")
  
• Hard core punk rock... but I will ~always~ love the old school stuff!!!
  
• Talk shows - Meh... That's about all the energy I can muster on this topic.
  
• The Sunday "Funnies" ... they mostly suck now
  
• Picking up bugs. Never bothered me before... bothers me now
  
• Christmas ... well, the commercial crap. I still like to give gifts and gather w/friends and family
  
• Organized religion (that's not really new though... but there was a time, over 22 years ago, when I bought it all hook, line & sinker)
  
• Great big Concerts - Let's face it. Some people are just waaaaay to fucked up at these things. Ex: The younglings who party too hard beforehand and pass out before the gates even open. I tell ya what buddy, why don't you just give me the $$ you would waste on that Dave Matthews ticket and I'll kiss you upside the head with a bat and tell you what an awesome show you missed... same thing, eh?
  

...That's two.

Here come the turds!

Ok... Technically, this is ~not~ a post about Twitter but a few of my friends there have deemed the month of May as "Blog Every Day" month.

It sounded like an interesting challenge so I thought, "Why the hell not?"

.... that's one.
;)

I am so good at making an ass outta myself!

Taken from my old blog archives

I have an unbelievably amazing tendency to make a ~complete~ ass out of myself. This super power is usually most evident when I meet someone I admire. Here's a few of the more classic examples ranked from "D'oh" to "I'm going to bury my fucking head in the sand and just DIE!!!"

3) Glen Danzig (1993?) Rating - D'oh! - I'm at the San Diego Comic Con and my friend Greg (creator of "Lethargic Lad") invites me to a huge-ass party that Glen Danzig is throwing. The party is in an old 4-story Brownstone. The first floor consists of all the people who can't get to the second, third, and fourth floors... They are beating the snurd out of each other to get a shitty beer from the keg. The second floor is this weird junkie/make-out heaven with couches all about. I smoke ~something~ with a goth chick... big honkin' mistake. The third floor is all dancin' and sweatin' and "chunka-chunka" music that doesn't bode well with the crappy beer and god-knows-what-was-in-that-joint-I-smoked from floors one and two.

The fourth floor is "industry" only. Lucky for me, Greg's in the industry so he gets me past the bouncers and I walk into geek heaven. All my independent artist heroes are gathered in this spacious loft area and I am geeking out big time! Holy Shit! There's Dan Clowes! and Jaimie Hernandez (but I can't bring myself to talk to him... refer to #2)and... and... Evan Dorkin! Yeah, it was spaz central for me.

There's a separate room blocked off with big XXX signs and partitions. There is loud music and hedonistic screams coming from the other side. Suddenly, Glen Danzig's head pops up over a partition and sees my pal Greg. "GREG!" he screams "Get yer ass back here and check out the titties!!!" Greg and I start towards the stripper room when Glen stops me and says, "Sorry sweetheart, you're too young for what's going on in here." Now, I think I was in the 22 - 23 yr-old range but I was too flabbergasted by the fact that I was just shut down by Danzig to say anything, so I stayed in the reception room and watched Evan Dorkin piss in the corner.

#2) Gilbert & Jaimie (Hi-me) Hernandez - Rating - Kill me now - This is simple... G & J are the authors and artists of the best comic book EVER, "Love & Rockets," and YES the comic book came before the band. So, they do a guest signing at a rival comic book store so I try to keep a low profile as I trudge in w/my two favorite collections (one from each bros Hernandez) under my arm.
Faux pax #1, I hand the wrong book to each brother. The dialog is as follows:

Jaimie: Hey! This isn't my book

Gilbert: Yeah and this isn't mine!

Me: Ummm... yeah, I knew that (I REALLY DID) but I thought you'd like to sign each other's books {{turning purple}}

-They proceed to do JUST that and sign each other's books with "brotherly" comments to each other ie: "Jaime Sucks!!" etc.

So... let's pick up the conversation after I give each brother their proper book...

ME: "Ummm... I really like your comic..."

Jaimie: "Yeah? Thanks..."

AWKWARD SILENCE

ME: "Yeah, Maggie reminds me a lot of myself... except for the lesbian part"

Jaimie: (nearly choking on his water) "Really?"

ME: "Yeah"

{{More awkward silence}}

ME: "Ok, I gotta get outta here"

Jaimie: "No. Stay! It's all good... So.... You really like our book huh?"

ME: "Yeah."

Lather, rinse, repeat... I am totally blushing and feeling like that 23-year-old idiot all over again!!! In hindsight, these guys were so cool and they actually remembered me when I saw them (briefly) at Danzig's party but they ~still~ made me so nervous!

OK... so now it's time for... NUMBER ONE... Read on (if you dare!).. I don't know about you, but even ~I'm~ cringing ... and I lived it!!!

So here it is... My #1 most embarrassing brush with fame EVER!!!

I was working at New World Record (eclectic CD shop) and the rule there was that you had to be the coolest person you could possibly be whilst masking whatever malady you possessed that actually made you a nerd (ok, this is ~my~ opinion) You had to take a TEST to work there and I was the first female to pass that test (Yes, my bio does not lie. I ~am~ a fountain of useless knowledge!!) I got a shit-load of flak from people for invading their space with my female body parts an' all too but I was used to it from my years at the comic book store. Anyway, it was kinda taboo at NWR to profess serious love for Canadian bands b/c... well, I don't know why but it just was and I am a HUGE fan of Canadian music.

One day, Marty (buyer/manager) announced that there were some free tickets to the Tragically Hip show that night from the label and they came with backstage passes!!! He said that he had told them that he didn't think that anyone from NWR was interested... knowing full well that I had just about peed myself upon hearing the announcement.

So, like a victim from the book "The Magic Christian" .. I'm sure I kissed some ass and got me and my buddy Randy the tix & passes...

I don't need to say how awesome the show was but I guess I just did anyway.

After the show, everyone w/a backstage pass gets herded into a "Reception room." The first thing we spy is a big-ass tub of Budweiser (blech!). Everyone makes a bee-line for it, except me. I scan the room and see a tub of Sam Adams (yum!) at the other end. I grab my pal Randy and we start the drinking.

A few minutes later, the band shows up and one of them admonishes me for drinking the good beer. That's enough right there to send me into full-on geek mode!

My pal Randy is no help... He's freaking out because a shit-load of old-school Buffalo Sabres (the ~entire~ French Connection - to be exact) come in w/the Hip.

To make a long story even longer, I ~finally~ drink up the courage to approach Gordy (lead singer)...

NOTE: I am practically crying from reliving this embarrassing moment but here goes!

ME: Hi

Gordy: Well, Hi there.

ME: Ummmm.... I really like your music ((Sounds familiar, eh?))

Gordy: Well, thank you.

ME: Ummmm.... I knew that I was going to meet you but for some stupid reason, I didn't bring anything for you to sign...

Gordy: Ok, well... how 'bout I sign your backstage pass?

{{Note: the pass is placed over my left breast}}

ME: Ok...

HERE IS WHERE I SAY THE STUPIDEST THING I HAVE EVER SAID IN MY LIFE!!!

ME: Um, don't think that I put that (the pass) there because I wanted you to touch my breast or anything.

(((OMFG?!?! WHAT the HELL was I THINKING!??!!?!?)))

With that, Gordy starts trying REALLY hard not to laugh and he starts to write ~very~ delicately. Meanwhile, I realize my MASSIVE faux pas and try to cover it up with...

"Well, you can if you want to..."

NOTE: I just had to get up and walk away while I'm laughing my ASS off and turning purple! I have told this story before, but the act of ~writing~ it brings all these memories to the front... holy shit!!! It's a complete WONDER that I made it past my 25th birthday!!!

With that last statement, Gordy just bursts out LAUGHING (forget trying to save me further embarrassment) and writes the following on my pass:

"LET'S GET YELLOW"

... and to this day, I still often wonder...


What the hell does that mean!?!?!?

TwitterPoetry

Ok... First off, I just realized that all I have been doing lately is posting about Twitter, which made me think of this great cartoon from Gaping Void.



Yeah... That pretty much sums it up over here too.

So, I'm going to try to make this my LAST blog about Twitter... for a lil' while. ;D

The other day, I posted this on Twitter:

How many birds in cages die, thinking the ceiling is the sky?

I received an answer from fellow Twitterpal WmLee and what followed was a day of "Seuessian" rhyming of epic proportions!

Here's the best of it:

How many birds in cages die, thinking the ceiling is the sky?
And if they escape, are their little minds reeling 'cause they're finally in the big room with the huge blue ceiling?
Do they exhaust themselves reaching the top or do they fly and never stop?
Or is having a 'constant' comfort enough to make them stop worrying about up-and-down stuff?
Do they thrill at the thought of catching fresh food or long for the paper on which they once pooed?

Then we digressed into other topics...

@WmLee Whee!! You are awesomely filled with awesomeness!!! We should start a Twitter poetry game! :D

WmLee - Count me In! I'll play when I can. I'll word smith AND work, while dodging The Man! (Heh. This'll be fun!) We need rules?
Me - Rules? Rules!? Rules are for fools.... who sit in their corners whilst staring and drools! lol! I dunno. Let's just go off each other
WmLee - Duty calls, but I'll return / to see what rhymes we can discern!
Me - Take your time! I've got all day to conjure rhymes the Twitter way!
WmLee - My work is not my job, okay? It's just what I do to get some pay. The job, I mean. My work is cool- Best description- my downtime tool.
Me - Of work and pay, I could have more... but people don't get what Turd Polishin's for! =)
WmLee - It's pay that makes my world go fast... while Time bleeds away just like my cash.
Me - I shouldn't really be this poor. After all, it's money and I can always make more!
WmLee - Honestly, most days, I'm not convinced/ My dollar's worth more than 50 cents!
Me - Not long ago it was that way for folks who live in Canada, eh? =)

Me - I'm writing Twitter Poetry w/ @WmLee /and having a hard time... as you can see /not rhyming all replies now. hee hee! (Please! Somebody stop me!)
WmLee - My tweet, so sweet, good enough to eat! And so Twitter did, and didn't gag upon the feat! (Okay, stop ME, too!)
Me - I need to know if it's just me or do you now want to rhyme everything you see?
WmLee - Egads! I Do! A Seussian prob! Do you think his will adversely affect my job?

We went on for a little while longer but I think I've made my point. Twitter is more than a "Micro Blog." It's more than a SocNet too. Some people complain that Twitter is too "noisy" (no offense Barry!!) or feel a need for rules (offense intended... douchebag) but those are the people that just don't get it yet or never will. It's a resource, a web tool, a way to find interesting people and things, a way to get news, a way to converse with complete strangers and not have to be involved in the minutia of everyday life yet still be immersed. It's a community and it's definitely NOT a community. =) ... Nuff said... for now. ;-)

BTW - This blog could never have been written were it not for Summize - a great Twitter tool.

Twitter is like...

As most of you know, I have a love affair with Twitter that almost borders on obsession. Well, it turns out that I am far from alone on this one. I received a "tweet" this morning from fellow Twitterbud m4cks inviting the Twitterverse to play a little game with him...

Finish the following sentence. "Twitter is like ____________."

Needless to say, m4cks was shortly flooded with participants (including yours truly). The coolest part was that this little game turned out to be a great micro "who's who" of the Twitterverse!

So, my dear readers, if you've ever wondered what Twitter is all about, look no further! And if you're new to Twitter, you'll also find this as a great resource for some of the fun, creative and interesting characters that can be found there.

Enjoy!

thepunk Twitter is like walking into the middle of a hundred different interesting conversations.

primeluva Twitter is like a fat kid in a candy store. You can't just get enough...

mortonfox Twitter is like having a conversation in a noisy pub.

inkedmn Twitter is like freaking crack.

zik Twitter is like sliced bread.

Karoli Twitter is like passing notes in class.

CarrieP Twitter is like reading everyone's internal monologue.

wars128 Twitter is like cheese..its good!

mkhall Twitter = (the voices in my head) + (text messaging).

Anant Twitter is like a stalkers dream come true.

bbittner Twitter is like a friendly, enjoyable Rickroll

and

Twitter is like, a good place, to like not have to like deal with people, who, like, say the word "like" all the time.

amandalee @m4cks: twitter is my hot hot sex

lonesoph1st Twitter is like a cooler 90's IRC chat.

theberrygirl Twitter is like a phish show, circa 1993, but it smells better. (LOL! Well put! - Lola)

and

Twitter is like getting notes passed to you in class, from the really cool kids, all day.

alphabetting Twitter is like the voice of the masses shouting LOL as far as the eye can see.

and

Twitter is like the worlds biggest social lounge.

netdoc66 "Twitter is like going to a new chicks crib and sniffin the panties in in her dirty clothes hamper, wunderbar!" J/K'in that's nasty!

studionashvegas Twitter is a Ninja, AND a Pirate.

and

Twitter is like stalking someone you really like... but you have their permission first. But then again is it really stalking?

truetone Twitter is like the voice of the force. I feel a disturbance.

lycaon Twitter is a global orgasm.

and
Twitter is this person on a computer somewhere asking me what I think twitter is about

and

twitter is the stupid customer on the other end of my phone

and

twitter is the boyfriend I wish I had

and

twitter is like the night of passionate lovemaking I dream of having every night

and

twitter is like finding out she's pregant and it isn't yours

dknighton Twitter is the Spitzer-esque prostitute that will eventually cause me to lose my job and be publicly humiliated.

kolson29 Twitter is like having a bar full of ppl to talk to whenever I'm working about

AlisonL [Twitter is] a perfectly good reason to nose your way into everyone's business - and then opine away

croncast Twitter is like a samuri (sic) sword.

istarman Twitter is like reading the stream of consiousness (sic) from the 'net

spsmyth Twitter is like good sex that keeps going and going and going...

margalit [Twitter is] IM for grownups

rikoala Twitter is like all of those other voices in my head that won't shut up!!

and

Twitter is like that f#$&ing song I cannot get out of my head!

mitchellashley Twitter is like a bitch bucket for business travelers.

Bekemeyer Twitter is like, "Why is there air?"

WildMe Twitter is like a gang-bang with no sex

xtopher1974 Twitter is like a Robert Altman film -- a managed chaos of snippets of conversation, that somehow creates a whole. (PS - I lurve that! - Lola)

alphabetting Twitter is like lunch with your favorite chatty friends

storming Twitter is like a coffee shop. I like the passing notes one.

rickt Twitter is like the first time you managed to cop a drunken feel in the back stairway at the Blue Monkey listening to The Farm.

KarrieLyne Twitter is like a can of Pringles. "Once you pop, you can't stop!" =)

thecurio Twitter is like a place where both voyeurs and exhibtionists (sic) can enjoy themselves equally.

and

Twitter is like a loosely coupled, distributed publish/subscribe messaging infrastructure. Hmm. Not as interesting.

MarkDykeman Twitter is like being cloned at a particularly large and interesting party.

danzarrella Twitter is likeD by me?

decaturcomp Twitter isn't crack, that belongs to blackberry, twitter is x without all that silly hugging

K82 Twitter is like a box of chocolates that has been tainted by a thumb through the bottom of each, looking for the good ones. How rude!

deanpence [Twitter is like] … a cheating spouse. What's so great about hotdogsladies and chrisbrogan? Pay attention to me! :P

walelia Twitter is like glitter across the dark velvet of cyberspace

MountainDaisy Twitter is like being distracted by shiny pretty things.

lonesoph1st Twitter is like legal voyeurism.

beckymochaface Twitter is like wine, shoes and your favorite show served up as little Reese's pieces

studiorhoad Twitter is like a spouse after 40 years of marriage. Can't live without 'em. Can't shoot 'em. ;)

raw_knee Twitter is like messages in fortune cookies - you never know what you'd get but you know that it would fit in a short piece of paper.

Tatty [Twitter is like] a welcoming warm stay at home mom, when the outside world's gone mad.

mturro [Twitter is like] a crowded

hymeTwitter is like a trenchant FOOL

decaturcomp Twitter is like an Obama speech but with jokes.

Lolagrrl Twitter is like 140 little drops of awesome. I want to wrap it in a blanket and feed it Oreos.


lizziebeth [Twitter is like] Crack!

NeoGabox [Twitter is like] an alucinogen (sic)(I am not sure if its correctly written) mushroom... xDabout 3

adarshbhat Twitter is the real public radio

abiteofsanity [Twitter is like] high school...

CooperHawkes Twitter is like crack mixed with X-tasy that's been put into a bottle of beer..

And last but certainly not least:

DarJon Twitter is like.. well.. a micro-blogging platform.. =)

More on Twitter & Censorship from FoulBastard

Here's FoulBastard's Blog on the whole banning/flagging/censorship issue that arose from Twitter.

Here's the root of the problem folks... The "watchdog" model that Twitter (and many SocNet sites) follow is BAD news... There is no rhyme or reason (or business logic) behind the banning/Flagging process. ANYONE can flag/ban ANYONE for ANY reason and instead of investigating the issue, these sites just say, "OK!" Why according to this, all we need to do is flag EVERY Twitter user and then we will ALL be banned!

Censorship on Twitter?

Violation of 1st Amendment rights on Twitter or more bad customer service policies?. A Twitter-er has been banned because of content on a separate blog that incorporated user submissions. It seems to me that most social networks ban too many users for unspecified reasons. Login to Twitter and follow @FoulBastardArmy for details or check out the thread on Trumors.com

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Too Sexy!!

I'm about 5 or 6 years old and my Ma (or maybe it was my Gramma) had just bought me a play money set that came w/a little plastic wallet. Inside the plastic wallet is a little ID card for me to fill out and put in the plastic ID window of my plastic wallet that holds my plastic coins and fake money...

I decide that in order to make my fake plastic wallet look as real as possible, I MUST fill out my new ID Card in PEN!

My Ma was not big on giving me pens b/c as a left-handed child, I was a bit messy w/the pen and I usually wound up with more ink on me than on the paper... so, after much begging, my Ma hands me one of those new-fangled pens that had four different kinds of ink (oooo! Yeah! Just click on the color I want, and presto!)

With my prized, forbidden possesion in hand, I head down to the basement where I can concentrate on crafting my fabulous new ID card without interruption from my older brother and/or sister. I needed the silence to concentrate b/c I had the WORST handwriting in the WORLD! Even for a little kid, it was barely legibile!

Now this card was pretty tiny (like, 2x3 inches) so I ~really~ have to concentrate on this one!

I start oh so slowly... EeNNnnnnnnnnn - AAyyyyyyyyyyyyy - EeNnnnnnnnnnnnnn - CEeeeeeeeeee *deep breath* WWWWHHHHYYYYYYYYY *Whew*

MA?

WHAT?

HOW DO WE SPELL OUR LAST NAME?????

She tells me

MA?

WHAT?

WHERE DO WE LIVE?????

She tells me

MA?

WHAT?!!

WHAT'S A "P" AND A "H" WITH A TIC-TAC-TOE BOARD NEXT TO IT???????

WHAT ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE?!?!?!?

I decide I better stop bugging her...

The next space on the ID card has only one word next to it ......... "SEX"

Now mind you, this story takes place in 1977-78, the disco revolution is in full swing and ~everything~ I hear on TV is punctuated by the word "Sexy."

Why, just the other night, we were watching "PM MAGAZINE" during dinner and I saw a story about the latest disco fad... People were wearing T-shirts to the clubs that had all their "stats" printed right on them... Age, "Sign" Height, Weight... so basically people can walk around and find people who are "Sexy"

I immediately think that this ID card is just like the T-shirts I saw on "PM Magazine"

Now, here's the conundrum... I'm a little kid... I have NO idea what "sexy" really means, but I know that it's ~very~ important to the adults... and what if I have to *gasp!* actually show my ID card to someone!! Oh man! I wish I hadn't pissed off my Ma! She could've told me how to handle this adult situation! If I admit that I'm not sexy, then I'm not "cool" but if I say I am sexy... then what do I do if someone sees My ID card?!? I'm a Kid fer cryin' out loud!! Why would someone put such a loaded question in a ~kid's~ toy??!?!?

Finally, after much debate, I decide that I need to be "cool" above all else... Then I look at the card and see that the space provided for me to provide how "sexy" I am is really, really ~small~... so the opus I planned to pen about how I came to my conclusion is limited to ONE word... Finally, my pre-school brain had enough... I had to play along... I begin to write on my card...

DINNERTIME!

My ma calls me upstairs, I must return my Ma's pen before I go wash up for dinner... "So what have you been doing down there in the basement sweetie?" she asks as I hand back her pen... Confused and embarrassed of the fact that a fake ID card in a ~child's~ toy would actually ask me how "sexy" I thought I was just in case someone needed to know AND I had to sum it up in one word... I tried to explain the dilemma I had experienced to my Ma... but I was overcome so I thrust the card into my mommy's hand as I ran to wash up for dinner...

My family's laughter chased me up the stairs.. The single word I chose to write next to "sex" was...

"A lot"



You may commence with the laughter. :D

Lost in Translation

Here's an old favorite from an old hard-to-find blog of mine... I laughed so hard when I re-read it, I had to share it again to my new tens of readers. ;D

My Mom used to play the piano all the time when I was younger. I ~loved~ to watch her play! Her favorite music to play was Ragtime. She had a bunch of Scott Joplin sheet music and her two favorite pieces of his were "The Maple Leaf Rag" and "Solace"

Well, for some reason, that music popped into my head so I went to this website to dowload it (shhhh!)

Anyway... I only found one version of "Solace" (it has Itszak Perlman playing violin to the piano rag... not bad!) I see that the source also has some Flamenco Guitar as well so I start downloading that too when I suddenly get an IM from the source... it's in a different language. I recognize that it's a romance language and I'm pretty sure that it's Italian, but I have ~no~ idea what it says so I type back, "I'm sorry. I don't understand you." I get another reply of gibberish but the first word is "Scuza" (sp?)

Now, I know that... that's Italian so I write back Italiano? I get a "Si" so I decide (do not ask me why) to try to communicate with this person... Maybe it's because that's kinda' what I tend to do all the time... in work and in life... Anyway, I type something along the lines of "I'm American. I speak un poco espanol ... very poorly. See? I couldn't even remember the verb "to speak" ... I'm hopeless.

Then I remember... I have a friend at work who is teaching himself to speak Spanish. To me, this means that foreign language is fresher in his brain than it is in mine... So I print out the next reply I get which is, "io capisco poco spagnolo :-) sei molto brava" I call him up but there's no answer, so I run downstairs b/c I figure he's prolly outside smoking. I burst outside and shove this paper under his nose and ask him if he knows what this means... He doesn't know but he says he'll find out for me...

That's when I have my "light bulb moment." Duh... I'll go to one of those translation web sites and figure it out. So, by the time I get back upstairs and find a translation site, my friend gets back to me with this...

"io capisco poco spagnolo = I understand a little spanish.
sei molto brava = sei is six, molto brava is like 'very good' or something.
Wierd..."

I get about the same thing at the same time... He tells me that it's even funnier when you generate an english interpretation from the translation of your original english message...

So, I start to try to converse with this person and every time I translate a sentence from English to Italian, I translate ~that~ translation back to English just to see if it's making sense... and that's where it started...

The following is the conversation I had... After it was over, I hit the back buttons on my browser and saved it b/c it was just too damn funny to me. The person's name was Maria... I think... What you will read is what the website translated from her, what I wrote back (in English) and What I "really" said according to the web site... hee hee!

MARIA: I understand little Spanish. six much good one (this is the point when I write uno momento) and run outside to talk to my buddy.

ME: Hello, I'm back. I found a translation web page.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: Hello, they are behind. I have found a Web page of translation.

MARIA: I would drive crazy to serve some to me in order to express to me... come calls to you?

(at this point, I email my friend this message... agreeing that these translation websites do suck... He replies, "Well, shit, I would drive crazy to serve some to me in order to express to me as well!! Woudn't you?") LOL!!!! That was priceless. :::giggling like crazy!!:::

ME: hmmm. Maybe this web page is no good. That made little sense.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: hmmm. Perhaps this Web page is good. That one has had small the meant one.

MARIA: six much good one. of I was sure... qual' is your name? I of it do not have one true. chimano me to second of humor.... nearly pits one music : -)
(WHAT?! By now I'm thinking of my Parasite Pals lunchbox with the "engrish" that says, "Tickles Tapeworm like much the good food. Great friends we are to the extremity. LOVE ME! TAPEWORM!")

ME: My name is Nancy. I could not understand what you said about music.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: My name is Nancy. I could not understand that what you have said approximately music.

MARIA: you have reason... mi I call Maria

(The next part actually works out perfectly... I say Hi back and ask her where she lives in Italy. She tells me she lives in Palermo which is in Sicily)

ME: Palermo must be lovely. I live in Florida.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: Palermo must be beautiful. Alive in Florida.

MARIA: it is beautiful Palermo, a lot sciupata in true... Florida will be charming I I believe

ME: It is nice. I moved here from New York one year ago.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: He is pleasant. A year is moved me here from new York makes.

(here's where I think we both realize that we are hardly communicating...)

MARIA: never they have not been in America physically, but ideally they have been end where son succeeded to embrace : -) not me muoverò more from Palermo quì morirò : -)
((WHAT?! I try to stay on whatever track I can..))

ME: My ancestors are from France and Italy. I would like to go there someday. :)
WHAT I REALLY SAY: My ancestors come from France and Italy. I would want to go some day here:) (not bad...)

(~here's~ where any semblance of understanding goes ~right~ out the window) :-D hee hee!!!

Maria: creed that all we have ancestors in common... non you will truly remain disappointed....

ME: That was a little hard to understand but I do have some family still in Italy... somewhere. I only met them once when I was very young.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: That one was little a hard one to understand but I have still sure family in Italy... in some place. I have come them to contact only once when I was much young person

MARIA: it does not count the time that passes I not vredo of having one family, but not ago nothing

LOL! So it's here that my boss comes into my office to introduce me to this girl who will be helping me with some research... He asks me what I'm doing and I sheepishly look at him and say, "Ummm... blasting the Sex Pistols on my iTunes?" By the time I'm done talking with her, my new friend Maria is gone... swirling back into the Palermo sunset... or the flipping of her lap top shut is ending and bring to it the exit of the cafe full of internet ... who knows? ;)

Everyone Needs Their Own Midget Story...

Luckily, I got mine!

DISCLAIMER: I have heard lately that "little people" see the word "midget" as being on par with the "N" word... I have no idea if this is true or not... So, with that said... :::Ahem::: My use of the word "Midget" in the following story is not intended as a derogatory statement of any kind.


So there.

As I walk this world, I have met all sorts of people from all corners of this country and beyond... So far, everywhere I've been and everyone I've talked to has confirmed one true thing in my mind... ~Everybody~ needs their own midget story. Every time I have ever said that, I am met with "Oh my God! You're right! I LOVE midgets!" This is when I proceed to tell them of my story ... the best midget story ... ever.

Now, I have only ever related this tale in the fine oral tradition of the noble Native American and I hope that its transference to the blog world will do the story justice... I guess only those that have heard it will be able to tell me so...

Oh, one more thing... I swear to you that the story I'm about to tell is 100 percent true... This really happened!!!

Ok, so I'm at the "Regal Beagle" (my nickname for my fav local bar back home)and it's a cold and snowy evening. It had been snowing pretty steady all day and the plows were on the road in 24/7 mode to try and keep the streets fairly clear. When I arrive at the "Beagle" earlier that evening, I noticed that the plows had not come through the municipal lot where I parked... "No big deal, I thought to myself..." I went into the beagle and completely forgot about the weather outside.

It continued to snow as the evening progressed and the drinks flowed... after quite a few hours of Pool, shots, Canadian beer and video crack, I decided I better call it a night... Well actually, I didn't decide... Stevie the bartender decided for all of us b/c it was last call at 4am (Time flies, innit?)

I only lived about 5 blocks away at that time and in all reality, I should have just left my car at home and walked, but the thought of stumbling to Allentown at 4am in the freezing cold did ~not~ appeal to me at all. I get to the lot and I see that indeed, the plow had come through and the back of my car was now buried up to the rear bumper.

"Thas'ok," I thought to myself... Hell, I'm a freakin' Buffalonian fer cryin' out loud! This is nothing! I proceed to stomp as much of the snow down as I could and spread it around a little. I get in my car, warm it up, and proceed to throw it reverse and hit the gas... HARD.

I almost made it... almost... so I throw it in drive, pull back in, and do it again... Now, anyone who's familiar with winter driving is familiar with this technique... This will usually work but you need to be patient! Take the car as far as you can, then reverse direction, Lather, rinse, repeat... Well, being the maverick that I felt I was, I got impatient and spun the wheels WAY too much.... I had turned the snow bank underneath my car into solid ice... I wasn't going anywhere... Damn.

I go back to the regal beagle to get a shovel and to my surprise, there isn't one!! WHAT?!? (something about the restaurant next door borrowing it... said restaurant is closed at 4am) So, feeling stranded and unsure of what to do, I start to head towards the lot. If I leave it over night, I will surely get a ticket... plus I gotta trudge back here tomorrow... blah,blah, woof, woof...

Just then, My savior arrives in the form of one behemoth of a City snow plow/salt truck... SALT! I'm saved!!!

I jump up and down and wave as he pulls over... (turns out he's heading to the Greek restaurant to get "lunch") A smiling face looks out from the cab window... a good 4ft. above my head. "Can I help you?" the driver says. "Yesh! I'm stuck in the back parking lot... can I have some salt?" I holler. "Sure, but you need a bucket." he replies.
I run back to the beagle and get an ice bucket from Stevie... "Ok, I got one!" I shout as I slip and slide my way back to the plow... 'Ok, I'll be right down!"

With that... he opens the door......... Midget!

I could not, for the life of me fathom how he had the inside of that Plow rigged up so he could drive it, but there he was... in his splendid tiny glory... climbing down out of one of the biggest goddamn trucks I'd ever seen!

I do my best to hide my surprise by thanking him profusely over and over. We shuffle our way to the back of the truck and I start looking for the chute that he will open to fill my bucket with salt... I see nothing.

NOTE: What you are about to read is single-handedly ~the~ most surreal moment of my WHOLE entire life!

I ask him, "Ummmm... so how do we get the salt." His matter-of-fact reply: "Well... Ya' gotta boost me."

So it was at 4:30am on a blustery, snowy, cold-ass Buffalo morning that I found my self boosting a midget into the back of a gigantic salt truck... I lace my hands, he steps on... and up he went... Of course, his boots are covered in snow, and he's struggling to get in the back... so what could I do? I put my hands on his little butt, and like a wild game of acid-basketball, I went for the jump shot, and heaved him into the back of the truck... he disappears with a little "ufff" noise...

Now lemme just say... When I put my hands on his little butt to push him in, I had a moment of clarity where I said to myself, "Lolagrrl... It's 4:30am, you're buzzed and you have your hands on a midget's ass ... NO ONE will ever believe you."

Anyway, he leans over the back of the truck, I toss the bucket up, he fills it and lowers it down to me... Then I look up at him and say, "Now what?"

His reply, "Well, now you gotta catch me."

And so it was at 4:30am on a blustery, snowy, cold-ass Buffalo morning that I found myself readying to catch my midget savior as he hung from the lip of the truck where I had flung him...

The fact that I got my car out is anti-climactic.

And so it goes.... :)

Who Writes These Things???

I got one of those chain emails from a friend of mine the other day... You know the ones I'm talking about... Not the "Pass this on to 30 people in 30 seconds or you will DIE" email; the, "Diary" type entry email that highlights the suffering of neglected pets or the evils of abortion or the plight of some cause or even this little gem that should never die.

These things have been around since the birth of email and I've always wondered (as a writer) who the hell writes these things?!?!

Well, today, I DO! >;-)

DAY ONE: Today I am am born. Happy Birthday to me! My mommy doesn't even know I'm alive yet because right now I am very, very small. I am only a few dead skin cells and about 5 pieces of dog hair but I am already growing. I'm so happy to be alive! I can't wait to meet my new mommy!

DAY TWO: I have already grown sooooo much! I've added so many dead skin cells, hair and lint to me that I now have a discernible shape.... I am a DUST BUNNY! My Mommy has made me so comfy under this bed. I love her sooooo much!

DAY THREE: I have many brothers and sisters now. We all are sooooo happy here under Mommy's bed that we dance for her every time she opens the door or walks by. She still doesn't know we're alive, but soon we'll be large enough to roll out from under here and lovingly attach ourselves to her shoes, socks, slippers and pant cuffs. Oooo! I can't wait for that day! I know it will be here soon!

DAY FOUR: YAY!!! I think my Mommy is aware that I'm alive! Last night she started coughing and sneezing something fierce! I think my Mommy knows that I am causing her to feel this way. It's my way of saying, "Hello! I love you!" tee hee!!

DAY FIVE: My brothers and sisters and I had such a wonderful time with Mommy last night! She stayed up all night talking to us and telling us stories! My favorite story went like this: "AhCHOO! Hurk! Cough, cough, wheeeeeze! groan.... sunuvabitch!" Isn't it the BEST story ever!

DAY SIX: A gigantic snake that made the most horrible sucking noise invaded my home today.... Today my Mommy killed me.

SAVE THE DUST BUNNIES!!!!! STOP VACUUMING!!!! END THE SPREAD OF DYSON NOW!!!! CALL YOUR CONGRESSMAN!!!

If you believe in this blog post, PLEASE help save the dust bunnies! Link to me, digg it or track back NOW! We MUST stop the senseless slaughter of dust bunnies everywhere! Re-post this on 20 blogs in the next 20 minutes or all your hair will fall out and your feet will smell like cheese!!! Do it! NOW!!!!!!!

Oh boy. I'm going to hell aren't I?

This is why I love you...

Yesterday, I was feeling a little blue. I've been working my ass off with my freelance writing/marketing/turd polishing business and sometimes, I feel like I'm not getting anywhere... Couple that with the winter blahs and well, you have a recipie for disaster!

So... in the middle of my bout of self-loathing and depression, I get an IM from my buddy Phil.

A little about Phil: He's one of those guys that you need to stay in touch with because he always manages to find the time to be that most creative and "awesomely filled with awesomeness" kinda guy. I mean, the man decided he wanted to learn to play the guitar so what does he do? Lessons? Nah! He BUILDS his own guitar, ~then~ teaches himself how to play!!! Needless to say, I have nothing but admiration!

Anyway, So, Phill IMs me and asks the dreaded question, "How are you?"
This, of course, is my cue to launch into my depression rant from which I can see no end; however, I know that the end results will probably make me even more depressed.

When I pause to take a breath and look back over the bile I've just spewed online, Phil replies to me... but not with your usual guy-looking-like-deer-in-headlights, "I'm sorry" babble that makes you realize at once that this man would rather be evicerating his pancreas with a rusty spoon than talking to you in all your depressive glory...
Nope. Not Phil.
instead, he replies with the following...

So I'm talking to my Uncle the other day and I was telling him how you and I have been playing Scrabble on FaceBook. Basically, I was saying that I had forgotten how much fun the game is and that we should play sometime; to which my Uncle replies, "You mean 'Fatgirl and Asshole.'"
I say, "What?"
My Uncle continues, "My kids were playing it not to long ago and my daughter was mad at my son because he had passed of "fatgirl" as a word... so later on in the game, she responded with the word, "asshole." When I looked at the board and saw those words, I decided to call the game Fatgirl & Asshole."

Now I don't know if it's because I write for a living or if I can just hear Phil's warmth and glee translate over my cold computer as he writes, but I damn near fell out of my chair laughing at the thought of re-dubbing Scrabble as "Fatgirl & Asshole." In fact, it's a day later and I'm still laughing!!

But leave it to Phil to listen to me vent and then come back with something just so out of the ordinary, that it gives me pause and lightens my mental load better than any sympathetic words of comfort ever will.

Thanks Phil. This is why I love you so.

Now log on to
FaceBook so I can finish kicking your ass in Fatgirl & Asshole, willya?!?!

PS: My apologies to Phil & his Uncle as I'm sure I butchered the original telling in my paraphrasing.