A Tiny Wednesday Rant-ish Thing

Urg. Why are people so stupid? Tell me that, people. Really. Tell me.
I should not be posting this anger here. I shouldn't write about my frustration with other people because they have the address to this blog and even though they never read it, they could. There's a faint possibility that they will be bored of their lives one day and decide to click on the hardly clicked on bookmark that leads here. Then they'll read this explosion of mine and be hurt. Or angry. Or hurt.
But I want to write it anyway. I want to, maybe because I'm in need of an internet vent, maybe it's nice to know they *could* read it and feel hurt but most likely won't, maybe because I secretly want them to read it and feel like moronic jackasses.
Enough of a prenote? Are you dying to know? No? Whatever.

Some friends of mine have Twitter. They got it because I told them to and we form something of a little Twitter group. Most of the time it's cool. Not today.
Today, you see, said friends are planning to go shopping. And let me clarify some things.

1. I am not upset about not being invited. I'm not really that into shopping (and *maybe* my friends realized this and that is why I was not invited. But probably not).
2. I have absolutely no issue with my friends getting together without me. I'm actually quite pleased that I do not have to organize everything that we/they do. Yay for other people taking initiative.
3. I realize that my friend cannot legally drive all of us because she is only allowed to drive one non-family member unless a 25+ supervisor is in the vehicle. If I had been invited, I could have gotten my own way there, but that's another thing entirely.

None of that is the problem. The problem I have is that my friends decided to make these plans on the public network that is Twitter. Not through Direct Messaging or texting, or a private email, all of which would have been just as simple. They communicated their plans to each other via @reply.

I follow them both. They must have known I was going to read their tweets. What the hell were they thinking? Or rather, were they thinking at all? Or are people just so inconsiderate and rude that they don't have the decency to keep their private plans private and not post them all over the internet?

I've come up with the following possible reasons for the above:

1. They purposefully wanted to exclude me and then throw in my face that I was being excluded. This isn't at all likely as my friends aren't the kind of dramatic bitches that you find in an episode of Gossip Girl, but it's a possibility, nonetheless.
2. They were absentminded enough to think that I wouldn't read it/find out about their plans.
3. They didn't care if I found out about their plans or how I felt about it.
4. They really didn't think about me at all.

I don't know which one of these is preferable. I don't think they were trying to hurt me and, if they were, it didn't work (as mentioned, I don't care that I didn't go shopping this afternoon) but I honestly don't understand why if they were making plans for just the two of them, they had to do it on Twitter, a public domain, unless they are deluded enough to think people care. I'm pretty sure they were both tweeting directly from their cell phones so here comes the really big question: Why didn't they just text each other's phones directly?

The other big question is: Am I a passive aggressive bitch for posting this or is my need for validation justified?

Five: It's a bigger number than four. FACT.

In addition, only 1/5 of the blogs for this 5/12 completed month have been written by me.

Stupid fractions, exposing my laziness. . .

Getting back into blogging is always awkward after any kind of hiatus, and rather than deal with that this week I just--didn't. So yeah. I do still love this blog, it's something to look forward to in the infinite amount of random crap that is the Internet. Much as I love the interwebz in general, I do mean "infinite amount of random crap" in the most literal way possible. It allows you to just jump from thing to thing, nothing is organized by subject and pretty much everything is equally accessible, as opposed to books. Which is awesome but distracting, as is everything else mankind has managed to get our easily distractible hands on.

**Stars in place of transition, which I am pointing out for some self indulgent reason.**

**And then I went and Googled some stuff while I was thinking of something to make this blog longer, which just evolved into Robot Unicorn Attack.**

If it was, say, 1990 and we were doing this via handwritten letters, do you think we'd still keep this correspondence?* Aside from the whole principle of the thing, I don't think it would work as well. But I'm glad we ARE, and the Internet is awesomely convenient for such things.

That's not to say the ENTIRE Internet is awesome, just like in normal communities/societies/whatever it's found ways to corrupt, and that's kind of depressing. (Here I'm kind of specifically referring to all the people on Nerdfighter Secrets who complain about feeling excluded--at first I was like "lolwut? It's NERDFIGHTERIA, this can't be happening." But it is. *sigh*.)

Imagining people complexly kind of sucks. But, I guess, loving people complexly entails loving them even though you know they kind of suck. I'll leave you on that cheery note, see Alex (hopefully) Thursday.

Footnote: *Disregarding the fact that we wouldn't've met each other, and the postage rate to Canada, and that only one person would have the previous letter(s) at a time. So disregard all of it, really. . .

Dailybooth and, uh, yeah, hi.

Guys. It's 9/13 and we only have three (soon to be four) blogs listed in the sidebar under September. This is a problem.

Maybe I shouldn't be talking, given that a) there have been several long stretches during which I have not blogged due to a busy schedule and b) one of these long stretches was, uh, three weeks ago? (Shame shame.)

I understand that we all have lives of varying busyness at varying intervals and I don't begrudge anyone (including myself) for forfeiting blogging in favor of... other stuff. However, it does make me a little sad on the inside when there are no blogs to brighten my day in a virtual smorgasbord of sunshine and rainbows. Or whatever.

All I'm saying is: Hopefully we all get adjusted and get back into the groove of blogging soon.

-- SEXY TRANSITION (sup Michael Buckley) --

So I was on Dailybooth a few moments ago - not posting pictures of myself (I don't have an account, nor am I interested in getting one) but instead creeping on the livefeed (out of curiosity; I've never been there before) - and contemplating how the internet is a great tool for exploiting narcissism. Not even exploiting it-- just discovering it. I mean, how much more narcissistic can you get? It's a website dedicated to taking pictures of yourself. And asking people to become your audience as you take these pictures. WHAT? The whole thing reminds me of Myspace and too much Picnik editing on photos and it gives me a headache.

Then again, I like Dailybooth when the account belongs to people I care about - namely Youtubers. I guess it's the concept of celebrity; if you are famous (I used the term liberally, of course), then I care what you do. If you are not famous, then I think you are a major attention seeker. Plus, it's just the fact that it's essentially a website composed of people sitting in front of webcams. If I don't know anything about you, then why should I care about seeing your face? It's an honest question (honestly). What is the motivation behind Dailybooth?

That said, I don't have a personal vendetta against non-internet celebrities who use Dailybooth; they can do what they want. I just don't want to see it... which essentially means that one trip to the livefeed will be my first and last. Simple.

This doesn't make sense. I don't even like the concept of celebrity, and least not in the modern American sense. It's crazy. As much as I like Emma Watson, I don't want to know what she eats for breakfast, mostly because it's such an invasion of privacy. Celebrities = human. Stop treating them like something more - or perhaps, more accurately, something less.

I apologize for my incoherence. I'm tired. TTFN.

You'd have to register as a motor vehicle

I'm sitting here sporadically punching letters on my keyboard and hoping that a witty four or five paragraphs will magically spring from my fingertips and seep into my computer screen. Yeesh. Two weeks of not blogging and I'm already out of practice.

You know what? I'm going to succumb to my obsession and rave on, rave on about 30 Rock.

Oh my god. If you don't watch 30 Rock, what the hell is wrong with you? Seriously! WHY? Do you have a reason not to? No. Listen. If you have a computer with internet - which you do, you cheeky minxes; you're reading this on the internet right now - you can watch it on Hulu. Or the NBC website. Or order it from Netflix or whatever if you are so obliged. I don't watch TV - like, ever - and yet I still watch 30 Rock. Religiously. Just kidding. I'm not really kidding.

I want to marry that show. I want to take Liz Lemon up on her promise to marry a woman in 20 years if they both haven't met that special someone by then, and I'm not even gay. I want to Take the Midnight Train to Georgia with Kenneth the Page. I want to be Jack Donaghy's personal assistant, smoozing it up with Jonathan. I want some of that magic cereal Tracy Jordan consumes every morning. I want to groove to Werewolf Bar Mitvah. I want to work on my night cheese. I want to be Kenneth and see the world in puppets. I want to dance for Dr. Spacemen's flu shot. I want to hug the blue guy-- oh my god, I want to hug the blue guy!

In summation, I want to go to there.

Critiquing time! (Also known as "stealing Tuesday from Rena") (Sorry)

Three of my friends read this and said that they liked it, but they're my friends so they may be morally obligated to say that. (Not that you, Alex & Rena, are my enemies, but you know, the internet sometimes allows you to be more honest...) Especially since I shared it with three people in my English class and they didn't like it so much. In fact, one of them explicitly said that he didn't understand what I was trying to say. Now, I know what I'm trying to say, so it's difficult for me to see if this is legitimately confusing or not. All in all, I'm trying to figure out if this is total crap and is just me trying to hard to be pseudo-poetic or if the three people in my peer edit group just didn't get it. (Nothing against them; they're all intelligent people - probably more than I am, honestly - but, I don't know, I haven't yet figured out how IB English grooves.)

I'd appreciate your brutal honesty on this (although I'd appreciate it more if it is phrased not so brutally :] ). A) do you understand the overall synopsis of what is going on, b) do you think it reveals something about me and/or my personality, and c) do you think I should stick with this or try a different approach entirely? Also, d) if you think I should stick with this (disregard this question if you hate it), should I use more complete sentences (for example, should the first sentence be "I'm/I am lying here...") and e) what do you think of the italics? And f) is reserved for any miscellaneous comments of yours.

By the by, this is supposed to be 100 words or less, which is why it's so short. If you're critiquing this, though, don't worry about the word count; I can edit that down later. :)


"Lying here in her basement, staring at those blurry glowing Christmas lights. Force my eyelids closed. Ignore the muffled red light. Think about not thinking. Wonder, if I don’t think, am I dead? My deadweight of a hand trembles, slaps my forehead in either exhaustion or reprimand. Jesus, what am I so worried about? Worried about not sleeping. I sigh and fumble for my glasses, shove them back on my face, languidly adjust them with the heel of my palm. Little twinkle lights are sharper now, little demonic lasers. Still can’t see my enemy."


Thank you thank you thank you so much. You guys are awesome.

Actual Lateness of the Night

You may or may not know that I started work at my brand new first job on Thursday. I'm a grocery clerk which basically means I stock shelves, direct customers, pack groceries, bring all the products to the front of the shelves and mop the floor after closing.

For the past three nights I've worked 4-10:30pm, which is fine. I like the organizing of the shelves; I like helping people find dill seed powder*; I'm okay with mopping.

The problem is that I get home at quarter to eleven and fall into bed. No, I guess getting to bed on time isn't problematic but it is if you're a night writer, such as myself. I have no time. The entirety of the last three days have either been at work, or spent counting down until work. I feel like I haven't really done anything because I'm so conscious of how long I have before I have to get ready to leave and walk to the bus stop and take the bus and go to work.

But, then again, money. It's going to be so nice to have money. Gotta go. 11:30. Sleep. Wake. Restart. I'm actually not working again until Friday so that's nice. Hopefully I'll get used to the job and it'll become a normal part of my routine. Soon. And hopefully I'll soon know where everything is, including shoe polish.

*First of all, I was incredibly pleased that I knew where it was.