Friday, April 29, 2011

What's With The Puss?

Jesus has risen.  I spent 46 days attempting to clean out my inappropriate thoughts.  I sat bottom naked in quiet places and OM'd.  I discovered the Buddhist Tantra, Vajrayana.  I found myself invigorated when I focused my attention toward the jewel wheel on the sexual organ (at least twice daily).  I confessed several sins (the ones that were funnest to say out loud), repeated my sins (I forgot how fun they were!), confessed them again with a few added details (for liveliness), and I can honestly say that Lent is fucking dumb.

Some good did come of the experience.  I discovered many things that are just plain better than Facebook.  In hopes that you (my 3 followers) will check this blog again someday, I leave you with this 13 second clip of puss questioning.


Damages is better than Facebook.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

28 Days Later

Bless me Father, for I have sinned.  It has been 28 days since I updated my Facebook page.

I cannot tell a lie.  It's been difficult not getting my 15 minutes of fame every 5 minutes with a clever post or status.  It burns, not in my urethra when I pee, but in my chest and forehead.  My mother would be disappointed to learn that the mannish girl she pushed out of her baby-hole 57 years ago grew up to be such a conflicted hypocrite.  Albeit super sexy, but alas a hypocrite.

It took 28 days, but I finally get it.  I don't hate Facebook, nope, not at all.  In fact, some folks might toy with the idea that I'm with Facebook child.  Shouldn't have skipped Jazzercising with Tina on Tuesdays to perfect my erotic Facebook profile picture.  Just a little padding for all the sliding I'm about to do.

Being among the first to know when my favorite band, comedian or author is coming to town...well that's how I wound up on first base with a virtual tongue in my mouth.

Easing my social awkwardness (as my best friend Trixie would say..."remember how we are better NOT in person")...suddenly I'm on second base with a fumbling hand on my perky breast.

Creating clever zingers, trying out new comedic material and receiving "not funny. not funny at all" instant feedback...oh my!  Is that your big toe?  We've hit third.

Staying in touch with family and friends that live out of state...bittersweet.  Wait, what?  We went all the way?  Home plate?  Sorry, I didn't notice I was creating a fan page.



Monday, March 28, 2011

In An Open Relationship With Facebook


I would like to start off by thanking Facebook for adding the two new relationship statuses, in a civil union and in a domestic partnership to the supercool relationship drop-down menu, although I'm confident it wasn't Mark Doucherberg's idea (afterall, few are).

Let's review, shall we?  Facebook relationship statuses defined:
Single = Banging myself daily
In a relationship = Banging the girl I love twice a month
Engaged = Banging the girl I love twice a month but am ready to move our relationship forward (i.e. banging on holidays)
Married = We don't bang, we play Scrabble
It’s complicated = Actively stalking someone (but I think we’ll be talking in real life soon)
In an open relationship = Putting it in a different butt every night
Widowed = My vagina died.  I don’t know when or why, but it’s definitely dead
Separated = Fucking someone over
Divorced = Being fucked over
In a civil union/domestic partnership = I'm mega gay and my kids won't receive my social security benefits when I die

People break up, make up, make out, remain friends, and sometimes plot to kill each other.  Thankfully we have Facebook to track our profile settings and attempt to deliver helpful advice during our most trying times.  Change your relationship status to single and start seeing ads for Weight Watchers and dating services.  Congrats on your engagement!  I hope you'll find these ads for blood diamonds and vacations in Europe amazingly unaffordable!  Are you one quarter away from getting your Master's?  Why not finish up at Notevenaschoolatall University...click here for details!

I'd like to give back to you, Facebook, and I hope you'll find these ads I've created helpful to the problem areas in your life.















Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Why Can't We Be Friends?

Have you ever noticed the sting you get in your vagina or anus right before you find yourself shouting the safe word?  How about that uncomfortable burn after eating too many jalepenos?   Or the way you feel when a toot comes out the front instead of the back (wrong. you feel bad and wrong).

Well these are the sensations I feel when I'm browsing on Le Facebook, stumble across old Veronica Badbreath's page and see the beloved Add as Friend button.  Oh really, Veronica Badbreath?  Cue the music because we are living in a defriended world and I am a defriended girl.

Why'd you do it, Ronnie?  Did I post too much?  Not enough?  Was I too gay?  Did I bang your daughter?

Defriend, unfriend...these terms didn't even exist until social networking knocked on the door and pooped in our toilet.  Rude!  Before we know it defriend will be added to the dictionary.  It may take awhile, as the word approval process has undergone serious scrutiny since the addition of soul patch in 2004.  Merriam doesn't know what Webster was thinking and let's just say they aren't friends on the Book anymore either.

I think the most maddening thing about the Facebook defriend is how maniacal my mind is when I discover that I only have 305 friends, when just an hour ago 307 was proudly displayed.  Rational people will tell me things like "oh, don't be silly, they probably deactivated their accounts." 

Crazy-ass me knows better though.  I grab a bottle of wine, a bag of Reeses, and scroll through my friends list aimlessly and repeatedly.  I will likely have Single White Female playing in the background (special edition DVD) and get frequent eyerolls from Mark Zuckerberg, my dog.  I'll try harder than I ever did in physics and if I am fucking lucky, I'll never figure it out.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

What Withdrawal Symptom Are you Suffering From?

ahhhh the infamous Questions that cause us to scratch our virtual heads.  Does SHE like me?  Who is my Greek God parent?  Am I mega fat or just fat?  Without Facebook, I don't even know who I am.

Not only that...who are you?  Facebook Polls tell me a lot.  Do you have Bieber fever?  Is Snooki still your favorite little meatball?  Have you ever typed Google into Google?  (As head of IT, I sure hope not because turning it off and on again will not fix that shit.)

When I participate in a Facebook Survey, I discover parts of myself I never knew existed.  
What kind of goth/punk would you consider yourself to be?  
a) Mall Goth 
b) Baby Bat 
c) Romantigoth 
...oh wait here it is...yes, definitely the next one
d) Perky Goth

Personality Quizzes (with amazing grammar and punctuation) make me horny.  I just discovered I smell like shea butter because I'm up for anything on the weekends, don't care when my friend borrows my favorite shirt, and I let dogs lick my face.  Doi, shea butter.

And the Questions...now this is where you really start to understand the concept of how something that seems like "the worst" can also be considered "the best."  Do any guys like fat gurlz?  Should I get a brown hamster?  Why are gay men so much cooler than lesbians?  My butt isn't THAT big, is it?

I leave you with this Poll.  Feel free to share it with others.  The results will give me a better understanding on whether or not I'm using the correct protocol during this intimate process.


Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Depression, Withdrawal Symp...oh fuck it, I totally relapsed

Easy Peasy?  I make myself sick!  A basic rule of preventing relapse: avoid situations that may place you in the path of temptation!

There I was, at home in my office for the first time in 6 days...shortcut to Facebook on the bookmark bar.  It stared at me, gave me sexy eyes, and licked its lips before whispering..."You know you can't end this.   I know you (i.e. I own all your private information).  I want to give you the attention you deserve (i.e. I share your private information with third parties).  You can always count on me (...to make mediocre at best attempts to protect your information)."

It was as easy as point and click...5 minutes of fanatical scrolling...then a log off.  Whyeee?  It all boils down to this....when things are going good in your life, Facebook is a goddamn lesbian softball tournament (i.e. the greatest thing on earth). 
Wow!  DJ Tanner is a photographer at Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.  Studied Women's Issues at Carleton College.  Lives in Milan, Italy.  AND is in a relationship with Natalie Portman.

When your life hits a speed bump, Facebook is like a booger hanging out of your bosses nose.  You can't really say anything.  You just let it be and you never take your eyes off of it.  
Whoa.  Kimmy Gibbler simply lives in Detroit, MI.  Upon closer review, you'll notice she has 57 friends, wait 56...defriended.  She ate a Cinnabon for breakfast, an Auntie Anne's Pretzel for dinner and masturbated 15 times before noon.

DJ is creating statuses.  Kimmy is stalking statuses.   Who am I in this scenario?  Neither.  That shit's for normal people, people that aren't special.  People that don't have tiger blood, you know, Adonis DNA.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Irritability, Withdrawal Symptom #2, 3, 4, 5, and even 6

I just returned from five sunny days in California.  So far my Facebook separation has been easy peasy.  Maybe it's because our marriage wasn't very strong to begin with.  I was ever faithful during the week, but the weekend...that was when I got a little slutty.

Still, I felt the pangs.  First at Disneyland, seems Facebook would've been the perfect way to distract myself from the 200 people standing in line ahead of me.  Every man, woman, child, and nanna had crack eyes for their handheld devices.

Fast forward to the rural, magnificent and historical Hearst Castle.  Despite the multitude of actual backgrounds that would make for a beautiful photo, staff would prefer you pose in front of a green screen.  Afterward, if you so wished, you could upload your photo instantly to Facebook allowing all 213 of your friends to continue to not give a shit.

Thinking of taking in an afternoon of culture?  One moment you are wiping your tears while listening to a Holocaust survivor.  The next, you are being urged to like The Museum of Tolerance, an institution that warns against the dangers of herd mentality.

And let's not forget the accommodations...like the Marriott on Facebook and housekeeping guarantees a pubic-hair-free bathroom on your next visit.

What's next?  I'd like to think maybe this: