So, I did this post on how Facebook is THAT friend that likes to cause drama. I got several comments...okay, just three...that pointed out a few other wonderful aspects of Facebook. Laura pointed out that Facebook doesn't cause drama, people do. And she is right, there are many ways to take little shots at your friends. You could tag them in those embarrassing photos from the 80's where their hair was the size of a planet and had enough hairspray in it to eradicate the ozone layer completely. Make sure you have the whole body in the shot so we can see the pants that come up to their sternum and the Swatch watch.
Another lovely feature of Facebook is the "In a relationship with..." link. Sure, when you first see that your friends have now hooked up on Facebook you are thinking, "Aww, they make cute couple". I'm thinking, "Aww, that poor guy is gonna get dumped and his 584 friends on Facebook will all know about it before he does". I know I am constantly scouring my homepage just waiting for the post that reads, something like "Ron Ursumshitt is no longer in a relationship". Can you believe that there is actually a "Like" option on those posts? Why not just put a link that says, "I'm an insensitive @ss" with the little thumbs up icon. If his girlfriends next post is noting that she is single, she dumped him. Yes, if you do the math you even get to know who dumped who.
Friend Facts was a great drama creator and very creepy app that like to ask the question, "Do you think your sister is Hot or a good kisser?" Do I want to know? I mean, I am from the south and all... I actually don't want to know if my niece has ever had phone sex, thank you very much. Of course, Tiffany was offended because Facebook pointed out that I am a better dancer than she is. I'm sorry but it's true.
Learning this made me decide to turn my computer off when I am not using it. It creeps me out BIG TIME that Facebook knows how I dance.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Summer and spandex
I heard on the radio that a sense of humor is something that is learned and not a trait that you are born with. This got me to thinking who I could possibly have gotten my sense of humor from. The first thought that came to mind was an image that I have tried to block out of memory for many years. I can't be the only person who has these types of memories, can I.
It was the summer, I was eight years old and enjoying a good swim. My family and friends had all come to visit. We were all gathered around the pool when it happened. A distant sound got everyones attention, it was almost like a battle cry, “Yeeeaaaaahooooo”. Everyone turned toward the source of the noise and no one could believe their eyes.
My Dad had somehow managed to jam himself in my sister's one piece bathing suit and had emerged from the house for all to see. Now, let me tell you that spandex stretched that tightly around the male anatomy is not a sight for young eyes. Or eyes of any age. First of all, it was smashing body parts in a way that was, at best, uncomfortable and probably also explains why I don't have any younger siblings.
Secondly, the suit had been stretched to the point where it had become mostly transparent. It was like applying a very thin layer of paint to squashed manly bits and thinking it's a good idea to go out in public. This suit was pulled so tight that, had it been a slingshot, it could have launched a bowling ball into a shallow orbit.
To make matters worse, Dad started running towards us. As he dove into the water the bathing suit wedged itself into places that I never wanted to know existed. His voice was much higher pitched as he emerged from the water. Surprisingly the suit was still a one piece and had not become a bikini or...do they make a four piece?
Rumor has it that it was a chore to get the bathing suit off. It was kinda like giving birth, complete with umbilical cord and placenta (you don't want to know). A portion of the procedure was subcontracted out to a proctologist. I'm not sure why but my sister never wore that suit again. Imagine that.
It was the summer, I was eight years old and enjoying a good swim. My family and friends had all come to visit. We were all gathered around the pool when it happened. A distant sound got everyones attention, it was almost like a battle cry, “Yeeeaaaaahooooo”. Everyone turned toward the source of the noise and no one could believe their eyes.
My Dad had somehow managed to jam himself in my sister's one piece bathing suit and had emerged from the house for all to see. Now, let me tell you that spandex stretched that tightly around the male anatomy is not a sight for young eyes. Or eyes of any age. First of all, it was smashing body parts in a way that was, at best, uncomfortable and probably also explains why I don't have any younger siblings.
Secondly, the suit had been stretched to the point where it had become mostly transparent. It was like applying a very thin layer of paint to squashed manly bits and thinking it's a good idea to go out in public. This suit was pulled so tight that, had it been a slingshot, it could have launched a bowling ball into a shallow orbit.
To make matters worse, Dad started running towards us. As he dove into the water the bathing suit wedged itself into places that I never wanted to know existed. His voice was much higher pitched as he emerged from the water. Surprisingly the suit was still a one piece and had not become a bikini or...do they make a four piece?
Rumor has it that it was a chore to get the bathing suit off. It was kinda like giving birth, complete with umbilical cord and placenta (you don't want to know). A portion of the procedure was subcontracted out to a proctologist. I'm not sure why but my sister never wore that suit again. Imagine that.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
The Magic of Gardening
Two years ago I knew nothing about gardening but I wasn't afraid to try something new. I mean, how cool is it to be able to grow food in your own back yard. I headed right to the store and grabbed a bag of dirt. I'll never use the saying “dirt cheap” again, dirt was kinda expensive. I also needed to get some seeds. Let's see, they have lettuce, tomato, pea.....Dude, where's the bacon seeds!? I was so disappointed to find out they didn't have those.
So I plant my seeds in some dirt that had the word “Miracle” on the bag (someone thinks very highly of their dirt) and wait for the magic to happen. And wait. And wait. Then, Imagine how excited I was to find the first little sprouting of green coming from the soil and how disappointed I was to find out it was just mold. But a few days later I actually did have some tiny sprouts. "Bwaahaahaa, I've created Life!!!" For the next week or so I felt like the jolly green giant as I went out to water my tiny little garden. “Ho ho ho”, I would say (in the voice of James Earl Jones).
Finally, it was time to plant the little guys out in the yard. And the next morning they were all dead. I think I planted them in the garden a little too soon, you live and learn. I also learned about composting, I get to throw my garbage in the back yard and make my own dirt. Great, now I can start saying “dirt cheap” again.
So, last years garden was a little bit more successful. I waited until the plants were fairly big before I moved them to the yard. I planted a ton of seed just in case some died. I watered them often, I had squash, zucchini, radishes, lettuce, tomatoes and twelve herbs and spices (just to one-up Colonel Sanders). This garden was magnificent, it grew to be so huge that it looked like Jumanji in my back yard. And this ended up dying from all these giant plants competing for food and water. Like a crowd of teenage girls fighting over a Jonas Brothers concert ticket.
This year, I think I got it all figured out. Plus, a friend recommended that I use black cow manure in my garden. I really can't believe that you have to BUY cow crap, this is getting ridiculous. I mean, if I have to pay for manure to be some magical solution to my gardening woes wouldn't it make more sense to have David Copperfield poop in my back yard?
So I plant my seeds in some dirt that had the word “Miracle” on the bag (someone thinks very highly of their dirt) and wait for the magic to happen. And wait. And wait. Then, Imagine how excited I was to find the first little sprouting of green coming from the soil and how disappointed I was to find out it was just mold. But a few days later I actually did have some tiny sprouts. "Bwaahaahaa, I've created Life!!!" For the next week or so I felt like the jolly green giant as I went out to water my tiny little garden. “Ho ho ho”, I would say (in the voice of James Earl Jones).
Finally, it was time to plant the little guys out in the yard. And the next morning they were all dead. I think I planted them in the garden a little too soon, you live and learn. I also learned about composting, I get to throw my garbage in the back yard and make my own dirt. Great, now I can start saying “dirt cheap” again.
So, last years garden was a little bit more successful. I waited until the plants were fairly big before I moved them to the yard. I planted a ton of seed just in case some died. I watered them often, I had squash, zucchini, radishes, lettuce, tomatoes and twelve herbs and spices (just to one-up Colonel Sanders). This garden was magnificent, it grew to be so huge that it looked like Jumanji in my back yard. And this ended up dying from all these giant plants competing for food and water. Like a crowd of teenage girls fighting over a Jonas Brothers concert ticket.
This year, I think I got it all figured out. Plus, a friend recommended that I use black cow manure in my garden. I really can't believe that you have to BUY cow crap, this is getting ridiculous. I mean, if I have to pay for manure to be some magical solution to my gardening woes wouldn't it make more sense to have David Copperfield poop in my back yard?
Monday, November 2, 2009
Facebook is THAT friend
I noticed recently that Facebook has become the instigator of drama by sending notifications to my friends that I would not normally send. Not because I don't like to start drama just because I am simply too lazy to do it myself. I don't know about you but I kind of like this new feature of Facebook. It allows me to piss of my friends and requires very little effort on my part.
For example when Facebook informed me that my friends think Tiffany is funnier than I am. That is basically insulting to both of us seeing as she has a serious blog and I have a humor blog. Or do I?
Even when I was simply bored and playing an innocent game of bejeweled blitz Facebook felt compelled to let Melissa know that I had just whooped her butt. Even though I think that the real message was simply, “Melissa has more of a LIFE than I do”.
I think I could do without the “You're a crap bag friend” feature. You know the one that nags you to reconnect with someone by writing on their wall. And it's even worse when it's my daughter who they are telling me to reconnect with. Like I'm a douche bag father. Hey, I gave her lunch money that should be worth more than writing on her wall. “Sorry kid, I can't go to the mall with you, Facebook thinks it would be better bonding time for me to write on your wall.” Great, Now I'm getting parenting advice from a social networking site.
So, Facebook has become that friend who likes to talk shit about you behind your back. Spreading rumors and gossip, trying to start drama and ruin friendships and trying to have your kids taken away for neglect. And, much like that instigating friend, the facts don't really matter it's the drama that counts.
For example when Facebook informed me that my friends think Tiffany is funnier than I am. That is basically insulting to both of us seeing as she has a serious blog and I have a humor blog. Or do I?
Even when I was simply bored and playing an innocent game of bejeweled blitz Facebook felt compelled to let Melissa know that I had just whooped her butt. Even though I think that the real message was simply, “Melissa has more of a LIFE than I do”.
I think I could do without the “You're a crap bag friend” feature. You know the one that nags you to reconnect with someone by writing on their wall. And it's even worse when it's my daughter who they are telling me to reconnect with. Like I'm a douche bag father. Hey, I gave her lunch money that should be worth more than writing on her wall. “Sorry kid, I can't go to the mall with you, Facebook thinks it would be better bonding time for me to write on your wall.” Great, Now I'm getting parenting advice from a social networking site.
So, Facebook has become that friend who likes to talk shit about you behind your back. Spreading rumors and gossip, trying to start drama and ruin friendships and trying to have your kids taken away for neglect. And, much like that instigating friend, the facts don't really matter it's the drama that counts.
I want you later
So, a friend asked me what I did today and I told her that I spent the day jackhammering quarry tile. Her response was, “That's kinda hot”. This seems to be a common thought among women which I simply can't seem to understand.
I mean, I am covered in construction debris and I worked two hours longer than my deodorant. I fail to see how this could be considered “hot”. I can see the practical side of this for a woman who is looking for a man who is handy around the house. That might be very attractive for a woman in a, “Why don't you shower first” sort of way.
But she insisted that when a woman says, “I want you”, she means “Now”. This might be one of those gender difference things that I could never understand because my gender bits dangle. Or, salute if the situation calls for it. Or if it's morning (another thing I don't really understand). But let me get back to my point (I can't help but notice what a poor choice of words “point” is at this particular moment).
There has to be times when “I want you” could mean “later”. I put some thought into it and came up with a list:
After I've had a few more drinks.
When you turn 18.
After you finish your STD prescription.
After you win the lottery.
When your Husband is out of town.
When you are released from prison.
After your sex change operation.
See, “I want you” doesn't necessarily have to mean "now" while you are sweaty and covered in dust, construction debris and whatever that black stuff is (I really hope that is grease from the jackhammer). The only thing worse than a fly in the ointment is a tile shard in the...
I mean, I am covered in construction debris and I worked two hours longer than my deodorant. I fail to see how this could be considered “hot”. I can see the practical side of this for a woman who is looking for a man who is handy around the house. That might be very attractive for a woman in a, “Why don't you shower first” sort of way.
But she insisted that when a woman says, “I want you”, she means “Now”. This might be one of those gender difference things that I could never understand because my gender bits dangle. Or, salute if the situation calls for it. Or if it's morning (another thing I don't really understand). But let me get back to my point (I can't help but notice what a poor choice of words “point” is at this particular moment).
There has to be times when “I want you” could mean “later”. I put some thought into it and came up with a list:
After I've had a few more drinks.
When you turn 18.
After you finish your STD prescription.
After you win the lottery.
When your Husband is out of town.
When you are released from prison.
After your sex change operation.
See, “I want you” doesn't necessarily have to mean "now" while you are sweaty and covered in dust, construction debris and whatever that black stuff is (I really hope that is grease from the jackhammer). The only thing worse than a fly in the ointment is a tile shard in the...
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