I'm just saying.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Am I crazy...
...or is Robert Pattinson the inspiration for James Cameron's sparkly blue tiger people?
I'm just saying.
I'm just saying.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Facebook, where everyone sees everything.
It's been way too long since I've blogged. My apologies to my one reader who follows me on Twitter anyway.
I have a new job, far away from chlorine and angry parents. So far it's been great. A daily commute to NYC is hardly ideal, but I'd be foolish and childish to complain. One of my responsibilities at the new job is to monitor the Facebook account of my show. So Facebook and I are pretty tight. When I come home at night, the last thing I should want to do is get on the computer and spend even MORE time on Facebook and Twitter, but of course I do it anyway.
Tonight as I was clicking through the tubes and stalking on ye olde FB, I came across a picture that both horrified and delighted me. My friend was "highlighted" by getting tagged in an album posted by a work friend of hers. Because the work friend didn't mark her pictures as private, I was able to click through the entire album.
Now, why would I want to do that? you ask. I wish I knew. I only knew one person in the entire album. She was in a grand total of 10 (out of 80+) pictures. Yet I kept clicking through. Then I found this beauty:
I have a new job, far away from chlorine and angry parents. So far it's been great. A daily commute to NYC is hardly ideal, but I'd be foolish and childish to complain. One of my responsibilities at the new job is to monitor the Facebook account of my show. So Facebook and I are pretty tight. When I come home at night, the last thing I should want to do is get on the computer and spend even MORE time on Facebook and Twitter, but of course I do it anyway.
Tonight as I was clicking through the tubes and stalking on ye olde FB, I came across a picture that both horrified and delighted me. My friend was "highlighted" by getting tagged in an album posted by a work friend of hers. Because the work friend didn't mark her pictures as private, I was able to click through the entire album.
Now, why would I want to do that? you ask. I wish I knew. I only knew one person in the entire album. She was in a grand total of 10 (out of 80+) pictures. Yet I kept clicking through. Then I found this beauty:
Saturday, May 16, 2009
My twousandth.
I am celebrating my 1,000 tweet on Twitter by a blog post to express the emotions I could not constrain to 140 characters. And yes, in response to Tiffany Leigh, if it weren't obvious by now I do attach more significance to a nice round number.
SO my twousandth (word play!) is dedicated to why I loathe, detest and despise Megan Fox.
Megan Fox is hot. Annoyingly so. But she knows that. When women are that attractive, it does something to their brain. They have a hugely false sense of entitlement, which we occasionally fall victim to without realizing what we're doing. But like I said, she's hot. So, it's not entirely her fault and in some instances, her behavior is forgiven. When someone who falls between a 4 and a 7 (I'm being nice with the 7) acts like that, it's entirely unacceptable.
Megan Fox also talks about things as though she's the expert, when really she probably wouldn't know her ass from her elbow. For example, earlier this week when she was talking about getting a sleeve tattooed from her elbow to her shoulder, Fox mentioned Ewan McGregor's sleeves. Well there's a little bit of justice on that one.
Fox is also a bitch. She's the kind of girl who lies about everything unnecessarily, just to make herself seem cooler. Poor thing doesn't realize that if she'd probably be pretty cool if she hadn't been doing that her whole life. Megan Fox is the kind of girl that always complains about not having any good friends while acting like a victim the whole time. She doesn't have friends because she's a bitch and treats people like shit.
Megan Fox always sleeps with the people you like. Even if you said a long time ago, "hey I'm kind of into Brian Austin Green, so if you would please not sleep with him, I'd super appreciate it," she'll go out of her way to do it to Brian Austin Green.
Also, Megan Fox has bad tattoos. She thinks they make her cool. They do not make her cool. Finally, she'll complain about how she can never get a date, yet every other night she's on her back with her knees by her ears.
Hey, Megan Fox! YOUR TATTOOS ARE UGLY AND YOU ALWAYS LOOK LIKE SOMETHING SMELLS LIKE DIRTY LITTER BOX.
SO my twousandth (word play!) is dedicated to why I loathe, detest and despise Megan Fox.
Megan Fox is hot. Annoyingly so. But she knows that. When women are that attractive, it does something to their brain. They have a hugely false sense of entitlement, which we occasionally fall victim to without realizing what we're doing. But like I said, she's hot. So, it's not entirely her fault and in some instances, her behavior is forgiven. When someone who falls between a 4 and a 7 (I'm being nice with the 7) acts like that, it's entirely unacceptable.
Megan Fox also talks about things as though she's the expert, when really she probably wouldn't know her ass from her elbow. For example, earlier this week when she was talking about getting a sleeve tattooed from her elbow to her shoulder, Fox mentioned Ewan McGregor's sleeves. Well there's a little bit of justice on that one.
Fox is also a bitch. She's the kind of girl who lies about everything unnecessarily, just to make herself seem cooler. Poor thing doesn't realize that if she'd probably be pretty cool if she hadn't been doing that her whole life. Megan Fox is the kind of girl that always complains about not having any good friends while acting like a victim the whole time. She doesn't have friends because she's a bitch and treats people like shit.
Megan Fox always sleeps with the people you like. Even if you said a long time ago, "hey I'm kind of into Brian Austin Green, so if you would please not sleep with him, I'd super appreciate it," she'll go out of her way to do it to Brian Austin Green.
Also, Megan Fox has bad tattoos. She thinks they make her cool. They do not make her cool. Finally, she'll complain about how she can never get a date, yet every other night she's on her back with her knees by her ears.
Hey, Megan Fox! YOUR TATTOOS ARE UGLY AND YOU ALWAYS LOOK LIKE SOMETHING SMELLS LIKE DIRTY LITTER BOX.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Twitter-less
A week or so ago, I decided that I was over-tweeting, the cyber version of over-sharing. As much as I love Twitter (follow me bitches), I am fully aware of its ridiculousness. It's absurd to tweet every single thought one has, but I was doing it. So, as a test I thought I would start writing down everything I was tempted to post to Twitter.
Most of the thoughts that came out were just as inane and worthless as my other tweets, so I am glad I didn't post them. Even though I agree with Tom's column about keeping tweets uncensored, I do edit myself--as we all should. We don't go around blurting out everything we think. Although today, I did scream at a car as it sped down College Avenue. "THAT WAS A CROSSWALK ASSHOLE!"
Regardless, I try to avoid tweeting a.) my emo self-loathing thoughts, b.) my frivolous annoyances with my roommates and c.) anything to do with whomever I have a crush on. Here's why:
a.) No one likes a Debbie Downer, especially me. I'm not going to broadcast to my 80 or so followers that I'm having a "fat day." Because even though it's Twitter--who effing cares that I feel ugly on any given day, that's fishing for @-replies of people saying "no, you're beautiful." Which I wouldn't receive anyway, thus making me feel even worse.
b.) Both of my roommates are on Twitter, even though one of them forgot she had an account. To post stupid frustrations about the hand towels not being folded the way I like, or the Brita pitcher being too close to empty for my preference comes across as passive-aggressive. I am fully aware that when things like the direction of the toilet paper roll frustrate me, it has less to do with the toilet paper than my general mood. So, I leave those out of my tweets.
c.) I also don't like tweeting about love interests, because it's also another passive-aggressive type thing to do. Also, it ain't your business.
Even though I shy away from those subject matters in the first place, the other tweets that make it into my updates could still use a second glance before I tweet away. That is where my experiment comes in. I'll be honest, I wasn't entirely tweet-free for the whole week, but nearly time I reached for my phone to text a tweet, I jotted it down instead.
Here I provide you with the transcribed highlights of my non-tweeting adventures over the past few days.
Most of the thoughts that came out were just as inane and worthless as my other tweets, so I am glad I didn't post them. Even though I agree with Tom's column about keeping tweets uncensored, I do edit myself--as we all should. We don't go around blurting out everything we think. Although today, I did scream at a car as it sped down College Avenue. "THAT WAS A CROSSWALK ASSHOLE!"
Regardless, I try to avoid tweeting a.) my emo self-loathing thoughts, b.) my frivolous annoyances with my roommates and c.) anything to do with whomever I have a crush on. Here's why:
a.) No one likes a Debbie Downer, especially me. I'm not going to broadcast to my 80 or so followers that I'm having a "fat day." Because even though it's Twitter--who effing cares that I feel ugly on any given day, that's fishing for @-replies of people saying "no, you're beautiful." Which I wouldn't receive anyway, thus making me feel even worse.
b.) Both of my roommates are on Twitter, even though one of them forgot she had an account. To post stupid frustrations about the hand towels not being folded the way I like, or the Brita pitcher being too close to empty for my preference comes across as passive-aggressive. I am fully aware that when things like the direction of the toilet paper roll frustrate me, it has less to do with the toilet paper than my general mood. So, I leave those out of my tweets.
c.) I also don't like tweeting about love interests, because it's also another passive-aggressive type thing to do. Also, it ain't your business.
Even though I shy away from those subject matters in the first place, the other tweets that make it into my updates could still use a second glance before I tweet away. That is where my experiment comes in. I'll be honest, I wasn't entirely tweet-free for the whole week, but nearly time I reached for my phone to text a tweet, I jotted it down instead.
Here I provide you with the transcribed highlights of my non-tweeting adventures over the past few days.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
In-Depth Analysis: Kia Soul Commercial
The other hamsters are running on their wheels, going nowhere. But the three other hamsters who have the Kia Soul can go anywhere. Judging by the way they're jamming to "Fort Knox" by Goldfish, they have soul on the inside, too.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
On Cheese and Za
In the past week and a half, I've been called out twice for calling pizza without toppings "cheese." According to Tom and a 6-year-old it's called "plain" pizza. I followed Tom's logic to a degree: "all pizza is cheese." The 6-year-old just said, "no it's called plain, why are you calling it cheese?"
His authority on life quickly lost credibility however. I was babysitting him and his younger brother when he asked me took me over to a children's website designed to help kids under 10 learn to read. When describing myself, after designating my gender (the socially constructed one), skin color, mouth shape (laughing) and hair color ("I would say orange. No, no, yellow," said the little boy calling me a ginger) I had the chance to pick out the shape of my eyes and add face accessories. He then asked me to wear a mask. The only two options are glasses or a mask. I didn't think twice about it until an hour later.
After playing with Lincoln Logs, coloring and eating pizza, the older brother said to me that I should wear heels. I said sorry and pointed my Chucks under the kitchen table, "I only have those, buddy." He then suggested I wear his mother's.
I refused, saying that his mother's shoes would be too small for me. Although I do have freakishly small feet and probably could have fit into her pumps even if she is about 5 inches shorter than me. No, my first thought was "ew, OMG, what if someone tried on MY shoes when I wasn't around?" Because that is CREEPY.
The little bugger kept pushing it, and came to me with a pair of open-toed heels. He then asked me to take off my socks and put the shoes on. That's when I felt the most uncomfortable. I asked him why he'd want me to do that. He looked at his suddenly-pigeoned toes and he pouted, "I like it."
Who can reference me some Freud, because I know he had something to say about that.
So, this kid clearly has some stuff to deal with, and thus he cannot pass any judgement regarding my dialectical anomalies. However, it remains for me to reiterate that it had been little over a week that I was initially criticized for my adjective usage. Am I really that off in what to call pizza without any toppings?
I have lived in North Jersey, Alabama, North Carolina and SEPA (Southeastern Pennsylvania--I've been trying to make it work since I was 17). I was born in Southern California. Also, my mother is Canadian and my father grew up in Philadelphia, so my accent is both neutral and strange. I realize that half of the things that come out of my mouth are ridiculous, and have thus compiled a list of phrases and mispronounced words that frequent my dialogue. I have left out the hoagie/sub and jimmy/sprinkle debate for brevity's sake (because it's hoagie and jimmy, duh).
The moral of the story is that I should either order pepperoni from now on, or eat less pizza.
I leave you with this:
His authority on life quickly lost credibility however. I was babysitting him and his younger brother when he asked me took me over to a children's website designed to help kids under 10 learn to read. When describing myself, after designating my gender (the socially constructed one), skin color, mouth shape (laughing) and hair color ("I would say orange. No, no, yellow," said the little boy calling me a ginger) I had the chance to pick out the shape of my eyes and add face accessories. He then asked me to wear a mask. The only two options are glasses or a mask. I didn't think twice about it until an hour later.
After playing with Lincoln Logs, coloring and eating pizza, the older brother said to me that I should wear heels. I said sorry and pointed my Chucks under the kitchen table, "I only have those, buddy." He then suggested I wear his mother's.
I refused, saying that his mother's shoes would be too small for me. Although I do have freakishly small feet and probably could have fit into her pumps even if she is about 5 inches shorter than me. No, my first thought was "ew, OMG, what if someone tried on MY shoes when I wasn't around?" Because that is CREEPY.
The little bugger kept pushing it, and came to me with a pair of open-toed heels. He then asked me to take off my socks and put the shoes on. That's when I felt the most uncomfortable. I asked him why he'd want me to do that. He looked at his suddenly-pigeoned toes and he pouted, "I like it."
Who can reference me some Freud, because I know he had something to say about that.
So, this kid clearly has some stuff to deal with, and thus he cannot pass any judgement regarding my dialectical anomalies. However, it remains for me to reiterate that it had been little over a week that I was initially criticized for my adjective usage. Am I really that off in what to call pizza without any toppings?
I have lived in North Jersey, Alabama, North Carolina and SEPA (Southeastern Pennsylvania--I've been trying to make it work since I was 17). I was born in Southern California. Also, my mother is Canadian and my father grew up in Philadelphia, so my accent is both neutral and strange. I realize that half of the things that come out of my mouth are ridiculous, and have thus compiled a list of phrases and mispronounced words that frequent my dialogue. I have left out the hoagie/sub and jimmy/sprinkle debate for brevity's sake (because it's hoagie and jimmy, duh).
- Tin foil = aluminum foil
- Melk = milk
- Oatside = outside
- Wooder = water, but mostly referring to water ice
- Hohme = home
- y'all = you all
- crick = creek
The moral of the story is that I should either order pepperoni from now on, or eat less pizza.
I leave you with this:
Friday, March 27, 2009
Vin Diesel is Probably the Coolest Man Ever
Earlier this evening, I convinced a fellow classmate to skip the remainder of our class to take advantage of the free tickets I received for an early showing of Fast and Furious. We got there with negative minutes to spare, and thus had to sit in the second row. Needless to say, I am now paralyzed from the neck down because of the position I had to hold for 93 minutes while watching cars explode and race through drug tunnels.
The movie was as good as was expecting it to be (read: not good). But I was left thinking about how fucking awesome Vin Diesel is, and is quite possibly the coolest man ever. Bear with me:
I told you. COOLEST MAN EVER.
The movie was as good as was expecting it to be (read: not good). But I was left thinking about how fucking awesome Vin Diesel is, and is quite possibly the coolest man ever. Bear with me:
- He was originally cast opposite Ben Affleck in Reindeer Games but left shortly after production started because he was worried about the quality of the screenplay. GENIUS.
- Vin started his own video game company
- He played D&D when he was young (normally, that would be a downgrade, but because he's so freaking badass it's a huge upgrade)
- His bicep is bigger than my entire body
- His name in Vin Diesel. He was born Mark Vincent, but he's just way too cool for such a regular name
- He was in The Pacifier, which I will freely admit to watching repeatedly
- Steven Spielberg started his career. Seriously, Spielberg saw him and said "yeah, I like this guy." Then he cast Diesel in Saving Private Ryan.
- Vin Diesel was the voice of The Iron Giant. Bet you didn't know that. Now you do.
I told you. COOLEST MAN EVER.
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