May 31, 2010
May 28, 2010
Stupid Is As Stupid Does.
I was lying on the couch yesterday afternoon contemplating a do-it-yourself hysterectomy
on account of havingbitchin' cramps significant discomfort in my lower abdominal region...and was flipping through the television channels when I came upon the Dr Phil show. The show's topic was, in essence, incredibly-stupid-young-people-doing-incredibly-stupid-"stunts"-in-which-they-took-on-dares-that-caused-physical-harm-to-themselves. (Like that aptly-named show/movie JackAss...are you familiar with it?) People doing the most idiotic things like jumping off roofs and crashing into buildings...and one speechless-inducing activity that might actually give new meaning to the word 'imbecile', lighting one's underwear on fire while wearing them.
Two thoughts came into my head as I watched the show.
1. A couple of theidiot parents of these idiots kids were on the show alongside them. Some were even smirking, in a "wow, I'm on the Dr Phil show - yuck yuck" kind of way...and I'm talking about the parents, not their kids. Let me tell you something. If my kid was going around throwing himself off of roofs and setting his wing-ding on fire he would be immediately placed in either a mental institution or military reform school. He would not be on national television displaying his idiocy for all the world to see. And I certainly would not be beside him, displaying my own idiocy as I blubbered about how "I keep asking him to stop doing it" blahblahblah. Step up, stop wanting your kid to think you're 'cool' and be a parent, plain and simple.
2. You know how when we were kids our parents thought we did stupid stuff?
And remember, too, how our parents would shake their heads and worry about how our generation, who were all doing all kinds of stupid stuff, would one day be running the country? Yeah, that's where I'm at now. I'm fearful of these idiot kids one day being decision-makers and having their decisions affect me.
Clearly, I'm getting old.
Speaking of stupid, here's one more thing for you to try and wrap your mind around: did you know that kids are now pouring vodka into their eyes?
Yup, it's called eyeballin':
It all makes my head hurt.
image courtesy of Cake Wrecks
on account of having
Two thoughts came into my head as I watched the show.
1. A couple of the
2. You know how when we were kids our parents thought we did stupid stuff?
And remember, too, how our parents would shake their heads and worry about how our generation, who were all doing all kinds of stupid stuff, would one day be running the country? Yeah, that's where I'm at now. I'm fearful of these idiot kids one day being decision-makers and having their decisions affect me.
Clearly, I'm getting old.
Speaking of stupid, here's one more thing for you to try and wrap your mind around: did you know that kids are now pouring vodka into their eyes?
Yup, it's called eyeballin':
One optometrist told the Washington Examiner that eyeballing can get “you drunk a lot faster on a lot less alcohol,” because it works much like an injection. But he cautioned against the practice (ya think?) as it can essentially melt the cornea.I'm starting to really believe that maybe our parents were right in worrying about our generation running the country because, well, look at all the crap that's happening now in our country...and the stupid stuff we did back in the day was tame and far less stupid compared to what kids today do!
It all makes my head hurt.
May 23, 2010
Serenity Sunday.
We're just lazing about today so far on Mister's day off so there's not a whole lot to report.
Planning on taking a ride through the countryside to the beach this afternoon so I'm hoping for some good photo opps.
In the meantime, I'll leave you with some of other 'relax and kick back' photos just in case plans change and we decide to do a whole lot of nothing today:
Try and slow down a bit today if you can manage it...it is Sunday afterall.
Planning on taking a ride through the countryside to the beach this afternoon so I'm hoping for some good photo opps.
In the meantime, I'll leave you with some of other 'relax and kick back' photos just in case plans change and we decide to do a whole lot of nothing today:
Try and slow down a bit today if you can manage it...it is Sunday afterall.
May 19, 2010
Let Me Eat Cake.
I gotta tell you...the last week has been nothing short of hellacious.
First there was my dental appointment which was supposed to be $350 but jumped to $800+ once I was in the chair and the words "root canal" came out of my dentist's mouth.
Then there was my baby dog Pookie's spay appointment, looming over me like an Acme anvil in a RoadRunner cartoon.
I swear, I am an irrational, neurotic lunatic when it comes toeverything that dog.
Anyway, we then got some truly horrific news about someone Mister was friendly with who used to work for him...and then 24 hours later we get more bad news from another friend about his mother passing on!
With this kind of bad juju circling about and making everyone and everything weary and wary, there was only one logical thing to do: bake a cake.
In my opinion, there is no question that cake is not the answer to.
There is no problem, situation, conundrum, event, circumstance, happening...
:::deep breath::: ...predicament, holiday, experience, calamity, miracle, catastophe or milestone... :::phew!:::...in which a cake is inappropriate.
Ask Mister and Juanita (Valdez - my barista daughter's new nickname) and they will tell you that there is nothing I love more than cake.
I grew up in a city where every neighborhood had at least one bakery (if not 3 or 4) and going to that bakery was a big deal. I have memories of walking hand-in-hand with my grandfather downtown where he always bought me a charlotte russe. I bet not a lot of you even know what that is. It was a luscious dessert that came in a fancy cardboard sleeve. Our bakery's version was constructed with the bottom of the sleeve having a layer of airy sponge-like cake (like a ladyfinger) and the pièce de résistance of the thing was the 4 or 5" of real-deal whipped cream on top of the cake. As if that wasn't enough fun in and of itself, the cardboard allowed you to actually push all of this up from the bottom so you didn't miss a drop of its lusciousness. Like some kind of old school cake popsicle.
(To this day I have not lost my enthusiasm for real-deal whipped cream, either.)
Mister and I, both sentimentalists, talk frequently about how glad we are to have grown up when we did and how sad it is that kids nowadays will not have anywhere near the caliber of childhood memories that we have. And that includes the delicious anticipation of a trip to the bakery. Try pulling a kid away from the television/computer/cell phone today to go to the bakery...most of them would look at you like you have 3 heads.
I say 'most of them' because I have some hope that somewhere there are parents out there who are still teaching their kids the greatness of simple things.
Speaking of simple, I'm not a real big fan of what people are doing with cakes all over the place now. Cakes as art and all that fancy-schmancy stuff. Yes, I think the creativity is amazing; yes, I watch the shows; no, I don't think power tools and baked goods should ever exist in the same space. See the picture of the cake I baked the other day up top? Looking all perfectly imperfect, just like the best cakes do.
Think of it this way: your grandma never used a dowel to assemble anything she baked.
I make no apologies for my love of cake. In fact, I think that if more people got back to eating cake/dessert that there'd be less of the bad stuff that seems to dictate people's lives these days.
Besides, people come together over cake/dessert. We did, with the one shown above.
Also, please don't forego making a cake/dessert/bakery memory in favor of your waistline. I promise that when the big day comes and you're laying there looking back on your memories, you won't be thinking "oh, thank goodness I didn't partake in that fun time when everyone was having cake". Au contraire, mon frere.
I recall one birthday - my 4th, I think - where the plan was to go to my aunt's house. The relatives would be gathered and ready to heap attention, presents and cake upon my starry-eyed birthday self. Except I woke up sick that day. Too sick, they said, to have my party. It's 40 years later and I still remember my disappointment.
At the height of my misery I heard the distinct sound of car doors closing outside of our house and I raced to the window and saw my cousin, uncle and aunt getting out of the car...and my aunt had in her hands an honest-to-goodness princess cake. Pink! Layered like a wedding cake! I couldn't go to my birthday party so they brought it to me.
And that is when I learned the magic of cake.
Then there was the time when I was spending the summer in North Carolina countryside at my dad's house. I spent a lot of time learning how to cook from my father's formally-trained girlfriend (Le Cordon Bleu) and she decided that I should make a birthday for the elderly man, Mr. Taylor, who lived up the way. The cake was a big chocolate affair and I carried it across several back yards and presented it to him and his wife and he reached into his back pocket and wiped at his eyes with his handkerchief and I thought maybe he was sweating but later I figured out that he wasn't.
And that, too, is when I learned the magic of cake.
Last but not least...the first birthday I had with Mister. He completely screwed up the whole day by doing a whole lot of nothing and when evening time came I started getting a little hot under the collar in a "you-can't-seriously-think-that-I-want-to just-sit-home-on-my-birthday" kind of way. Finally, when I was thisclose to hysterics, he had no choice but to spill the surprise party beans. I hate surprise parties but somehow that didn't matter when we arrived at the restaurant and all of our friends were there and there was love & kisses & presents & laughter & fun and I forgot all about hating surprise parties.
Then out came a giant cake with a picture of me sitting on a motorcycle on it! I could not believe that this man had gone through all of this trouble and pulled all of this off on my behalf.
And that was the night that I was reminded of the magic of cake...and a whole lot of other important things.
First there was my dental appointment which was supposed to be $350 but jumped to $800+ once I was in the chair and the words "root canal" came out of my dentist's mouth.
Then there was my baby dog Pookie's spay appointment, looming over me like an Acme anvil in a RoadRunner cartoon.
I swear, I am an irrational, neurotic lunatic when it comes to
Anyway, we then got some truly horrific news about someone Mister was friendly with who used to work for him...and then 24 hours later we get more bad news from another friend about his mother passing on!
With this kind of bad juju circling about and making everyone and everything weary and wary, there was only one logical thing to do: bake a cake.
In my opinion, there is no question that cake is not the answer to.
There is no problem, situation, conundrum, event, circumstance, happening...
:::deep breath::: ...predicament, holiday, experience, calamity, miracle, catastophe or milestone... :::phew!:::...in which a cake is inappropriate.
Ask Mister and Juanita (Valdez - my barista daughter's new nickname) and they will tell you that there is nothing I love more than cake.
I grew up in a city where every neighborhood had at least one bakery (if not 3 or 4) and going to that bakery was a big deal. I have memories of walking hand-in-hand with my grandfather downtown where he always bought me a charlotte russe. I bet not a lot of you even know what that is. It was a luscious dessert that came in a fancy cardboard sleeve. Our bakery's version was constructed with the bottom of the sleeve having a layer of airy sponge-like cake (like a ladyfinger) and the pièce de résistance of the thing was the 4 or 5" of real-deal whipped cream on top of the cake. As if that wasn't enough fun in and of itself, the cardboard allowed you to actually push all of this up from the bottom so you didn't miss a drop of its lusciousness. Like some kind of old school cake popsicle.
(To this day I have not lost my enthusiasm for real-deal whipped cream, either.)
Mister and I, both sentimentalists, talk frequently about how glad we are to have grown up when we did and how sad it is that kids nowadays will not have anywhere near the caliber of childhood memories that we have. And that includes the delicious anticipation of a trip to the bakery. Try pulling a kid away from the television/computer/cell phone today to go to the bakery...most of them would look at you like you have 3 heads.
I say 'most of them' because I have some hope that somewhere there are parents out there who are still teaching their kids the greatness of simple things.
This is not me. But it could be.
Speaking of simple, I'm not a real big fan of what people are doing with cakes all over the place now. Cakes as art and all that fancy-schmancy stuff. Yes, I think the creativity is amazing; yes, I watch the shows; no, I don't think power tools and baked goods should ever exist in the same space. See the picture of the cake I baked the other day up top? Looking all perfectly imperfect, just like the best cakes do.
Think of it this way: your grandma never used a dowel to assemble anything she baked.
I make no apologies for my love of cake. In fact, I think that if more people got back to eating cake/dessert that there'd be less of the bad stuff that seems to dictate people's lives these days.
Besides, people come together over cake/dessert. We did, with the one shown above.
Also, please don't forego making a cake/dessert/bakery memory in favor of your waistline. I promise that when the big day comes and you're laying there looking back on your memories, you won't be thinking "oh, thank goodness I didn't partake in that fun time when everyone was having cake". Au contraire, mon frere.
I recall one birthday - my 4th, I think - where the plan was to go to my aunt's house. The relatives would be gathered and ready to heap attention, presents and cake upon my starry-eyed birthday self. Except I woke up sick that day. Too sick, they said, to have my party. It's 40 years later and I still remember my disappointment.
At the height of my misery I heard the distinct sound of car doors closing outside of our house and I raced to the window and saw my cousin, uncle and aunt getting out of the car...and my aunt had in her hands an honest-to-goodness princess cake. Pink! Layered like a wedding cake! I couldn't go to my birthday party so they brought it to me.
And that is when I learned the magic of cake.
Then there was the time when I was spending the summer in North Carolina countryside at my dad's house. I spent a lot of time learning how to cook from my father's formally-trained girlfriend (Le Cordon Bleu) and she decided that I should make a birthday for the elderly man, Mr. Taylor, who lived up the way. The cake was a big chocolate affair and I carried it across several back yards and presented it to him and his wife and he reached into his back pocket and wiped at his eyes with his handkerchief and I thought maybe he was sweating but later I figured out that he wasn't.
And that, too, is when I learned the magic of cake.
Last but not least...the first birthday I had with Mister. He completely screwed up the whole day by doing a whole lot of nothing and when evening time came I started getting a little hot under the collar in a "you-can't-seriously-think-that-I-want-to just-sit-home-on-my-birthday" kind of way. Finally, when I was thisclose to hysterics, he had no choice but to spill the surprise party beans. I hate surprise parties but somehow that didn't matter when we arrived at the restaurant and all of our friends were there and there was love & kisses & presents & laughter & fun and I forgot all about hating surprise parties.
Then out came a giant cake with a picture of me sitting on a motorcycle on it! I could not believe that this man had gone through all of this trouble and pulled all of this off on my behalf.
And that was the night that I was reminded of the magic of cake...and a whole lot of other important things.
May 15, 2010
Unpregnant Pause.
Last night, Mister and I were lazing about on the couch watching something that must not have been very interesting on television because my mind started wandering so badly that I started to think that it was a shame that Mister and I did not have a child together.
I've no idea where that came from except that I was laying on the couch and he was rubbing my feet like he does every night and I was feeling warm, tingly love and gratitude toward him which is exactly the kind of thing that starts the whole baby-making process, in case you didn't know.
So I said, out loud and quite out of nowhere to Mister, who was engrossed in whatever boring thing was on the television, that it was a shame that he and I did not have a child together.
Here was his reaction to that:
You see, Mister is very indulgent of me and my whims; he is the kind of guy who likes to give me what I want. He's just very generous and after hearing the stories about some of his former paramours who took that aspect of him and ran with it as far as they possibly could...
and then ran some more...
lucky for him my needs are neither great nor expensive, 99% of the time.
Still, his thoughts get all willy-nilly if he thinks he hears want or longing in my voice and his immediate instinct is to fix it and make it better. See, although there are somelunatics women out there who still have babies when they're my age (46) and I could technically be one of them if I truly wanted to be, I truly don't want to be and Mister mostly knows this. But he still gets nervous whenever I say anything about babies. Which, by the way, is kind of fun to watch.
Knowing that I cannot conceive of having a baby at this stage of the game (ha ha, I said conceive - no pun intended), it nonetheless leaves me feeling rather melancholy knowing that my baby-making days are behind me.
And then I snap out of my temporary, more-than-likely-perimenopause-induced-psychosis and do a little dance and sing a little song:
A baby?
Can you imagine?
And then what? I'd turn into a...Mommy Blogger!...and, not for nothing and no offense to anyone, but I think we've got an abundance of those already.
Babies are nice and all but then there's that whole raising them thing...been there, done that.
Plus I'm not big on rules and schedules and the only thing that would come out of the in relation to raising a kid is mayhem and reform school or juvie or whatever they call places like that now.
Also, (much to her relief) I was not the PTA type when my daughter was still in school and nothing about that has changed since (although I did bake amazing, artistic cupcakes for every possible event back in the days when cupcakes were still legal).
And I probably have a whole lot less patience now than I did back then which means I'd probably be a Joan Crawford kind of mom nowadays.
Yes, there is no question that my baby-making days are firmly implanted where they belong now - behind me.
Mister will be so relieved when he reads this.
I've no idea where that came from except that I was laying on the couch and he was rubbing my feet like he does every night and I was feeling warm, tingly love and gratitude toward him which is exactly the kind of thing that starts the whole baby-making process, in case you didn't know.
So I said, out loud and quite out of nowhere to Mister, who was engrossed in whatever boring thing was on the television, that it was a shame that he and I did not have a child together.
Here was his reaction to that:
and then ran some more...
lucky for him my needs are neither great nor expensive, 99% of the time.
Still, his thoughts get all willy-nilly if he thinks he hears want or longing in my voice and his immediate instinct is to fix it and make it better. See, although there are some
Knowing that I cannot conceive of having a baby at this stage of the game (ha ha, I said conceive - no pun intended), it nonetheless leaves me feeling rather melancholy knowing that my baby-making days are behind me.
And then I snap out of my temporary, more-than-likely-perimenopause-induced-psychosis and do a little dance and sing a little song:
Hooray! My baby-making days are behind me!
I'm as happy as can be!
Because my time is my own and I am free!
A baby?
Can you imagine?
And then what? I'd turn into a...Mommy Blogger!...and, not for nothing and no offense to anyone, but I think we've got an abundance of those already.
Babies are nice and all but then there's that whole raising them thing...been there, done that.
Plus I'm not big on rules and schedules and the only thing that would come out of the in relation to raising a kid is mayhem and reform school or juvie or whatever they call places like that now.
Also, (much to her relief) I was not the PTA type when my daughter was still in school and nothing about that has changed since (although I did bake amazing, artistic cupcakes for every possible event back in the days when cupcakes were still legal).
And I probably have a whole lot less patience now than I did back then which means I'd probably be a Joan Crawford kind of mom nowadays.
Yes, there is no question that my baby-making days are firmly implanted where they belong now - behind me.
Mister will be so relieved when he reads this.
May 14, 2010
Bloggers WITH Makeup Day.
One of the first things I read when I woke up this morning when I set down at the computer with my the first dose of personality in a cup (coffee) is that today is Bloggers Without Makeup Day.
Sorry if you're participating, but...
What a bunch of redonkulousness!
Apparently the premise of the whole thing is that you, dear reader of blogs, are not seeing the 'real' author of the blogs you read because in their profile picture or whatever they are wearing makeup.
For the record, I, for one, have not ever been in the act of reading a blog and suddenly started wondering what the blogger really looked like under her makeup. I have never once thought to myself, "gee, that was a terrific post I just read by one of my favorite bloggers but, ya know, I'm not sure I can trust what she was saying because in her picture she clearly is wearing blush".
And what's with the 'really' thing?
I can get someone to take my picture one morning at the exact minute I wake up; hair piled on top of my head and all confused and bleary-eyed and use it as my profile picture - because once a day that's what I really look like.
Or how about a picture when I'm cleaning my house? Sweaty and disheveled in that ancient, holey t-shirt I wear when cleaning and post it as my new profile pic...because that, too, is what I really look like sometimes.
Better still, why not a picture of me at that time once a month when I'm a raving, crying lunatic who may or may not be simultaneously gorging on salt and chocolate? I'm really that person, as well.
I'll take this even further and say that the "real me" has hairy legs and underarms if I don't shave them and might even have a Frida Kahlo unibrow if I didn't pluck/wax that area.
What's so wrong about wanting to present your best self to the public?
I happen to adore makeup. I'm obsessed with mascara. My eye makeup is 'smoky' which involves the application of several shades of shadow and a good deal of liner.
This is my 'look'. This is how those who know me, know me.
(And if I didn't have to hide out from my stalker behind my Kissy Lovestuff pseudonym I would be proudly sporting my full-makeup profile picture here)
However, very often I actually do go without foundation or mascara or liner but that's a choice usually based on something like being lazy or wanting to get some sun and is not at all based on me trying to make some kind of pointless statement. I'm not a feminist (but that's a topic for another day - no emails, please); I have no problems whatsoever with all of things out there that are available to enhance and beautify. I love how they make me look and how they make me feel and all that is stirred together in the pot of stuff that makes up the real me.
Bloggers Without Makeup Day and other such proclamatory days that involvesheep mentality group participation feel to me like an ever-so-slight erosion of credibility and individuality.
Kind of in the same way that something like Hawaiian Shirt Friday does, you know what I mean?
"When you look at me, I want you to see the real me."
Good Lord, that sounds like a line straight out of a soap opera or cheesy romance novel.
Call me crazy, but if I'm thinking that by showing you a profile picture in which I'm wearing makeup that I am somehow not showing you the me I want you to see, then I should just take a picture with no makeup, upload it and call it a day.
No?
Too understated?
Too undramatic?
In revolt of all of this nonsense, I am proclaiming today to be Bloggers WITH Makeup Day.
In fact, you know what? I think I'm going to channel my inner Mimi and wear extra makeup today just to prove a point!
Viva la L'Oreal! MAC! Clinique! Maybelline! Revlon! Lancome! etc...
Sorry if you're participating, but...
What a bunch of redonkulousness!
Apparently the premise of the whole thing is that you, dear reader of blogs, are not seeing the 'real' author of the blogs you read because in their profile picture or whatever they are wearing makeup.
huh?
For the record, I, for one, have not ever been in the act of reading a blog and suddenly started wondering what the blogger really looked like under her makeup. I have never once thought to myself, "gee, that was a terrific post I just read by one of my favorite bloggers but, ya know, I'm not sure I can trust what she was saying because in her picture she clearly is wearing blush".
And what's with the 'really' thing?
I can get someone to take my picture one morning at the exact minute I wake up; hair piled on top of my head and all confused and bleary-eyed and use it as my profile picture - because once a day that's what I really look like.
Or how about a picture when I'm cleaning my house? Sweaty and disheveled in that ancient, holey t-shirt I wear when cleaning and post it as my new profile pic...because that, too, is what I really look like sometimes.
Better still, why not a picture of me at that time once a month when I'm a raving, crying lunatic who may or may not be simultaneously gorging on salt and chocolate? I'm really that person, as well.
I'll take this even further and say that the "real me" has hairy legs and underarms if I don't shave them and might even have a Frida Kahlo unibrow if I didn't pluck/wax that area.
So, next up there should be a Bloggers Without Shaving Day?
Ugh.
I happen to adore makeup. I'm obsessed with mascara. My eye makeup is 'smoky' which involves the application of several shades of shadow and a good deal of liner.
This is my 'look'. This is how those who know me, know me.
(And if I didn't have to hide out from my stalker behind my Kissy Lovestuff pseudonym I would be proudly sporting my full-makeup profile picture here)
However, very often I actually do go without foundation or mascara or liner but that's a choice usually based on something like being lazy or wanting to get some sun and is not at all based on me trying to make some kind of pointless statement. I'm not a feminist (but that's a topic for another day - no emails, please); I have no problems whatsoever with all of things out there that are available to enhance and beautify. I love how they make me look and how they make me feel and all that is stirred together in the pot of stuff that makes up the real me.
Bloggers Without Makeup Day and other such proclamatory days that involve
Kind of in the same way that something like Hawaiian Shirt Friday does, you know what I mean?
Please forgive me if you are at work reading this today, Friday,
and are wearing a Hawaiian shirt so that everyone thinks you are a 'team player'.
Good Lord, that sounds like a line straight out of a soap opera or cheesy romance novel.
Call me crazy, but if I'm thinking that by showing you a profile picture in which I'm wearing makeup that I am somehow not showing you the me I want you to see, then I should just take a picture with no makeup, upload it and call it a day.
No?
Too understated?
Too undramatic?
In revolt of all of this nonsense, I am proclaiming today to be Bloggers WITH Makeup Day.
In fact, you know what? I think I'm going to channel my inner Mimi and wear extra makeup today just to prove a point!
Viva la L'Oreal! MAC! Clinique! Maybelline! Revlon! Lancome! etc...
May 13, 2010
POLL: Who Knows About Your Blog?
Being that this is a new blog, I - of course - want to get it out there and increase its readership.
Aside from my husband and daughter, no one else that I know personally knows about this blog and I'm not sure if I should tell anyone even if it would mean many more readers?
So, I'm wondering...
Please, by all means feel free to leave me a comment and tell me why you do or don't share, etc.
Thanks in advance for your input. It's appreciated!
Aside from my husband and daughter, no one else that I know personally knows about this blog and I'm not sure if I should tell anyone even if it would mean many more readers?
So, I'm wondering...
Please, by all means feel free to leave me a comment and tell me why you do or don't share, etc.
Thanks in advance for your input. It's appreciated!
May 12, 2010
What If You Suddenly Became Newsworthy?
Like any addict worth their addiction, I very much have a love/hate relationship with Facebook.
~I like being able to interact with old and new friends but, loner that I am, I do not like being too connected to anyone or anything.
~I also do not like oversharing/TMI at all.
~I do like when I post something that I think is funny and it makes other people laugh, too.
~I have developed what I think is a permanent eye twitch caused by what is clearly an epidemic of grown up people who can't spell or don't know the difference between your/you're, their/there/they're, to/too, etc.
~I like being a fan of (or liking) the pages of people/places/things that deliver to me the kind of information that I crave.
~I do not like that I often feel as if I am back in an AOL chat room
~I will run screaming in the other direction rather than partake in small talk or anything 'surface-y' (i.e. superficial) and am instead very, very interested in the (intellectual) things that float other people's boats. But on Facebook there seems to be a whole lot more of the former and not very much of the latter, which frustrates me.
~When I think too much about it, I can get seriously
There's more, but I'll leave it alone for now.
There were a ton of comments left for this article but the best one was the one in which the commenter suggested that you imagine yourself to suddenly become newsworthy. What if you hit the giant lottery or Oprah mentioned you or you were discovered by a Hollywood agent who just happened to be in the 7-11 you were in and instantly knew you'd be perfect for that movie he was casting starring all those A-list actors? In other words, what information are you putting out there, what groups are you joining, etc, that you wouldn't want to be made really public...like, public as in CNN or People magazine or The Soup?
You're not really thinking that no one would be able to gain access to your Facebook account if they really, really wanted to, are you?
Unless your friends list consists of your mother, father and grandmother, do you think that at least half of the people on your friends list wouldn't give you up in a heartbeat if the price was right?
(And if you have a family like mine, even some of those people can't be trusted!)
Silly you.
But seriously, in the age of rampant identity theft, computer viruses that steal your personal info, etc., how sure are you that what you're putting out there is 100% secure?
Common sense would dictate that nothing is 100% secure anymore...but you can up the percentage by taking some logical precautions, right?
For example, don't list any personal info you wouldn't want the world to know (duh).
If you don't want people to know where you live, then don't post where you live.
If you don't want people knowing your political affiliation, then don't post what it is.
Et cetera.
Common sense, indeed.
I wanted to be out there; I wanted credit for the things I did/do attributed to my real name.
I didn't want to feel like I was being forced into hiding because my stalker has no life and sadly needs to infiltrate mine.
That's all changed. I actually have come to love the
I'm even staring to think about how to migrate completely over to Kissy.
That would require giving myself up to some people so I'll have to consider that very carefully before I do it.
I don't want anyone selling me off to the highest bidder and all when the things I do start earning me that six-figure salary and Oprah wants me on her show.
I strongly advise the following (when joining a social networking site):
1) If you create an account, just put your name in and very little else. I gave my city, occupation, high school and college, and a few music favorites. That’s it. No politics (I think I had to choose something so put down Macedonian Independence Party and for religion: Gadzooks). Basically NOTHING THAT COULD POORLY REFLECT IF AN EMPLOYER LOOKED AROUND.
2) I would stay away from putting pictures there. Email those to friends (or put on a blog and put links in emails).
3) If you strictly limit your Facebook activity to chat (and always be polite) you will get the advantage of establishing contacts and sharing light-weight personal information with each other. Sex topics are out. Take the view that you are at a high school reunion, and chat accordingly.
4) Whatever you do, set just about everything to share with Friends, or Friends of Friends. But nothing more (there’s a Internet/world default that’s truly insane and should be attended to ASAP).
5) Don’t feel you have to respond to ANY requests to be a friend. Just leave them on the queue. Ignore them if they come in to your email account. People will eventually forget they tried to Friend you. I’d rather leave a request unprocessed than proceed with an explicit Denial action.
6) Log in, log out. I’ve read that if you are logged in and then navigate away, the subsequent URL may be used/shared by Facebook.
As to Facebook’s future, I’m not sure. In the past we had AOL’s Hometown, then Tripod, then something else, then Myspace, and now Facebook. It seems that people use these things for a while but eventually they become too hard to manage, or get clogged up with too much junk, which causes people to move on to the Next Big Thing.
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How To Put Facebook On A Privacy Lockdown takes you step-by-step through the settings you should have to insure your privacy and the privacy of those on your friends list.
How To Put Facebook On A Privacy Lockdown takes you step-by-step through the settings you should have to insure your privacy and the privacy of those on your friends list.
May 10, 2010
My Mother's Day T-Shirt.
A gift from my awesome-to-the-10th-power daughter...perfect for me, lover of all things cupcake:
And here are my oh-so-fabulous sneakers:
Fun!
May 9, 2010
May 8, 2010
Olden Days.
We found out this week that Mister's employer has decided that starting very soon they're going to be open on Sundays.
Not a wise decision, if you ask me (not that anyone is), and not just because Mister's work schedule is going to be all willy-nilly as a result.
I'm not going to divulge the industry Mister is in because I have to be careful about that sort of thing so that I don't make it easy for my stalker to find me, but I will tell you that the industry he works in is sort of retail-ish.
So, yeah, pretty much every place that sells stuff (i.e. retail-ish) is open on Sunday nowadays.
Except Chick-Fil-A.
Because the founder of Chick-Fil-A, S Truett Cathy, is brilliant.
Way back in 1946 he established his "closed on Sunday" policy and it hasn't changed since even though Chick-Fil-A has almost 1400 restaurants.
That some company's 'closed on Sunday' policy is still in place in today's day and age is, well, like I said...brilliant. Who wouldn't want to work for a company that thinks you should probably have a day unto yourself and your family once a week? Or who recognizes/promotes/encourages the balance between work and family?
You know what that equates to, right? It equates to the old-fashioned ideal of valuing your peeps.
Which equates to high morale...loyalty... and success all around.
I know...crazy concept, right?
I'm actually old enough to remember when almost nothing was open on Sundays and if it was open, there were restrictions on what you could buy.
(For example, I think you could buy gas but not alcohol or clothing.)
As we weren't the church-going type of family, Sundays were for long drives and barbeques and doing things out of doors in which the use of imagination, creativity and sometimes a little mischief were required. We called doing things like that 'playing' and our parents shoo'd us out the door to pursue it. Because back in those days parents were still in charge of their kids, not the other way around like it is now.
Sunday's have a certain feel to them; they were slow, easy days and I don't know about you but I'm still on that vibe. I like to kick back on Sundays...do low key things...take a drive...cook a big meal that we all sit and eat together, etc.
Naïvely, I was going to write that I wonder if some of you don't know that feel?
Well, yeah, I guess there are plenty of people who don't...or who don't care to preserve it. Shame, that.
Everyone is always so busy running around being connected electronically and impersonally...there really should be one day where we're connecting together, live and in-person.
Isn't it bizarre that somehow that's become radical thinking?
Here's an interesting site called Closed On Sundays. Their purpose is stated as: Re-establishing Sunday as a day for restoring family relationships. Novel, huh? Imagine the audacity of suggesting such a thing!
(I kid, I kid.)
Check out their page on why businesses should close on Sundays. Even if you're not church-going folk (like my family, sinners that we are), they offer some pretty solid reasoning.
There's even a Facebook page that wants to Bring Back Blue Laws!
Listen, I get that life is hectic and people don't have a lot of spare time and I get that not being able to do some of the things that need to get done on Sundays would be a huge inconvenience to a lot of people.
What I don't get is why the mall, for instance, needs to be open from 10am - 7pm on Sunday
(:::cough cough greed cough:::).
What if it were open from 11am - 3pm? You could still shop for whatever essential (?) thing you need at the mall (like that new MAC lipstick shade or those new sneakers that can't be bought on any of the other six days of the week) and the people who work there could still have a barbeque or a nap or play with their kids when they got home from work.
There's that balance thing again.
Another crazy concept...
Not a wise decision, if you ask me (not that anyone is), and not just because Mister's work schedule is going to be all willy-nilly as a result.
I'm not going to divulge the industry Mister is in because I have to be careful about that sort of thing so that I don't make it easy for my stalker to find me, but I will tell you that the industry he works in is sort of retail-ish.
So, yeah, pretty much every place that sells stuff (i.e. retail-ish) is open on Sunday nowadays.
Except Chick-Fil-A.
Because the founder of Chick-Fil-A, S Truett Cathy, is brilliant.
Way back in 1946 he established his "closed on Sunday" policy and it hasn't changed since even though Chick-Fil-A has almost 1400 restaurants.
Chick-fil-A, the second-largest quick-service chicken restaurant chain in the country, gives all employees Sunday off to spend with family, to relax and to express their faith if they choose to do so. Yet, Chick-fil-A generates more sales in six days than most national chains produce in seven. Closing on Sunday is just one of the “principles before profits” ingredients in founder Truett Cathy's inspiring recipe-for-success.Hobby Lobby, the ginormous arts/crafts conglomerate that has 443 stores in 35 states, is also closed on Sundays.
That some company's 'closed on Sunday' policy is still in place in today's day and age is, well, like I said...brilliant. Who wouldn't want to work for a company that thinks you should probably have a day unto yourself and your family once a week? Or who recognizes/promotes/encourages the balance between work and family?
You know what that equates to, right? It equates to the old-fashioned ideal of valuing your peeps.
Which equates to high morale...loyalty... and success all around.
I know...crazy concept, right?
Me, 1970, wearing the homemade
halter top that I probably
made on a Sunday
(For example, I think you could buy gas but not alcohol or clothing.)
As we weren't the church-going type of family, Sundays were for long drives and barbeques and doing things out of doors in which the use of imagination, creativity and sometimes a little mischief were required. We called doing things like that 'playing' and our parents shoo'd us out the door to pursue it. Because back in those days parents were still in charge of their kids, not the other way around like it is now.
My sis, Santa, me - circa 1966?
Picture not taken on a Sunday
Naïvely, I was going to write that I wonder if some of you don't know that feel?
Well, yeah, I guess there are plenty of people who don't...or who don't care to preserve it. Shame, that.
Everyone is always so busy running around being connected electronically and impersonally...there really should be one day where we're connecting together, live and in-person.
Isn't it bizarre that somehow that's become radical thinking?
Thought: Just because you can (be open on Sunday), doesn't mean that you should(be open on Sunday) .
Here's an interesting site called Closed On Sundays. Their purpose is stated as: Re-establishing Sunday as a day for restoring family relationships. Novel, huh? Imagine the audacity of suggesting such a thing!
(I kid, I kid.)
Check out their page on why businesses should close on Sundays. Even if you're not church-going folk (like my family, sinners that we are), they offer some pretty solid reasoning.
There's even a Facebook page that wants to Bring Back Blue Laws!
Listen, I get that life is hectic and people don't have a lot of spare time and I get that not being able to do some of the things that need to get done on Sundays would be a huge inconvenience to a lot of people.
What I don't get is why the mall, for instance, needs to be open from 10am - 7pm on Sunday
(:::cough cough greed cough:::).
What if it were open from 11am - 3pm? You could still shop for whatever essential (?) thing you need at the mall (like that new MAC lipstick shade or those new sneakers that can't be bought on any of the other six days of the week) and the people who work there could still have a barbeque or a nap or play with their kids when they got home from work.
There's that balance thing again.
Another crazy concept...
May 6, 2010
So Lucky That It Wasn't " It ".
I haven't written in a couple of days on account of the fact that I almost died the other night and when you almost die it takes a couple of days to digest that.
Ha ha! I said digest!
The reason that's funny is because the reason I almost died is because a piece of london broil wedged itself firmly in my windpipe...so there's the irony of having to digest the fact that I damn near died the other night.
If Mister wasn't home, there is no doubt that I'd be a goner. Especially since the only other person present was Daughter and she was just standing there yelling "Mom? Mom?? MOM!?!?!" so the likelihood of her coming to her senses and kicking in to action to save my life was, well, slim to none (in her defense, she was standing there watching me, her mom - who she loves mightily - choking to death so she immediately went into Defcon 1).
Mister, on the other hand, doesn't panic. He simply responds accordingly to emergency situations and gets the job done. One minute I'm freaking out, the next minute he's performing the Heimlich maneuver on me and the minute after that he's back to eating his dinner.
Scary stuff.
I do not ever want to ever again have the thought in my head that "this is it" like I did the other night (unless I'm in my 90s...then it might be okay).
I really thought it was.
And I distinctly remember feeling mad on top of the terror I was experiencing, like: this can't be it! I've still got way too much to do...still have Mister and Daughter to give love to.
And on that note....POP!...Mister Heimlich'd me and saved my life.
(You can imagine the things that have been suggested as a way of repaying him for this...but let's just not go there.)
I was posting about this whole thing on Facebook and a friend said that he had to give himself the Heimlich maneuver one time. This completely freaks me out. Had I been alone the other night I would be dead right now, without question, because I was in TPM (Total Panic Mode) which basically renders you unable to anything except...panic.
So I want you to click here and read about what you're supposed to do if you are alone and choking on something. If you read about it it will probably stick in your mind and maybe you'll remember it if God forbid you ever find yourself in the situation.
Because I know you're like me and you still have stuff to do and people to love.
Ha ha! I said digest!
The reason that's funny is because the reason I almost died is because a piece of london broil wedged itself firmly in my windpipe...so there's the irony of having to digest the fact that I damn near died the other night.
If Mister wasn't home, there is no doubt that I'd be a goner. Especially since the only other person present was Daughter and she was just standing there yelling "Mom? Mom?? MOM!?!?!" so the likelihood of her coming to her senses and kicking in to action to save my life was, well, slim to none (in her defense, she was standing there watching me, her mom - who she loves mightily - choking to death so she immediately went into Defcon 1).
Mister, on the other hand, doesn't panic. He simply responds accordingly to emergency situations and gets the job done. One minute I'm freaking out, the next minute he's performing the Heimlich maneuver on me and the minute after that he's back to eating his dinner.
Scary stuff.
I do not ever want to ever again have the thought in my head that "this is it" like I did the other night (unless I'm in my 90s...then it might be okay).
I really thought it was.
And I distinctly remember feeling mad on top of the terror I was experiencing, like: this can't be it! I've still got way too much to do...still have Mister and Daughter to give love to.
And on that note....POP!...Mister Heimlich'd me and saved my life.
(You can imagine the things that have been suggested as a way of repaying him for this...but let's just not go there.)
I was posting about this whole thing on Facebook and a friend said that he had to give himself the Heimlich maneuver one time. This completely freaks me out. Had I been alone the other night I would be dead right now, without question, because I was in TPM (Total Panic Mode) which basically renders you unable to anything except...panic.
So I want you to click here and read about what you're supposed to do if you are alone and choking on something. If you read about it it will probably stick in your mind and maybe you'll remember it if God forbid you ever find yourself in the situation.
Because I know you're like me and you still have stuff to do and people to love.
Note: If you're chewing something and you find yourself wondering if what you're chewing might be too big to swallow, it probably is. Do not swallow whatever it is. Politely remove it from your mouth and proceed to take human bites from that point on.
May 1, 2010
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