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Twitter, oh, Twitter. I debated even looking at it when it first became popular, spending way too much time on Facebook as it is. But I’ve crossed over to the dark side, and I don’t think there’s a vaccine for this kind of addiction.
I am now Twitter’s bitch. Most of the people I follow are a cast of characters that would put a Nora Ephron casting call to shame. I know I’ve been on way too long, because I often have dreams about the fabulous sitcom one could create within this walk of shame, and the abundance of humorous one-liners and quips. I think there is quite an art to digesting life’s ups and downs into 140 characters. Trust me. It’s not easy.
I am pretty selective about who I follow. If I don’t have coffee snorting out my nose, if I’m not peeing in my pants, or if I don’t find myself saying “OMG [in big capital letters], I’ve so been there,” then I probably won’t follow. I don’t follow celebrities…they’re whores already. I like to give the rest of the common folk a chance. I follow new moms, authors, cartoonists, sparring couples, folks from different parts of the world, hot chicks, bad boys, soldiers, grumpy old men and lovely aging women.
Some people say it is an enormous time waster. If you are a multi-tasker, however, and know how to discipline yourself and know how to do things with one hand [insert giggle here], it can be done. [Training tip #1: You just must take caution, however, if you find yourself even saying words, like, “with one hand,” you will get some people following you, uninvited, who are ready to do all kinds of things to you “with one hand.” That’s the ewwww factor you must learn to live with…then proceed to chopblock them.]
There is an unwritten rule amongst my Twitter family. We are there to hold each other up, touch each other inappropriately, question – and embrace – each other’s motives. Being devious is a delight. Menacing is encouraged, although no meanness is allowed. Having a flair for fun reaps its own rewards. It’s the one family you can actually depend on that will NOT make you feel unworthy, unloved, too short, too fat, too boring, or just that you are a downright pain in the ass. And if someone does, it’s as easy as pushing a button to get them removed from the family. And if that doesn’t work, well, there’s always Uncle Nunzio. But I digress…
Everything and everyone is fair game on Twitter. In-laws, boogers, sex, no sex, and other taboo subjects that will never end up on Facebook, less you be the wrath of your sons and daughters, nieces, nephews and their friends, and their friends, and their friends. Nobody on Twitter will ever roll their eyes, and say “O, mommmmmm.” [Training tip No. 2: We know you love your children, but do them a favor – just don’t.]
Many say, “Now, why would I want to hear about somebody having a cup of coffee or going to the bathroom?” It’s not the cup of coffee, it’s the capability to make yours blurt out your nose when you read their take on it. It’s not about going to the bathroom, it’s about some of the more intimate details going on in that bathroom, both clean and dirty. Another ewww factor. Sweet.
So if you just don’t get Twitter, then you just don’t get it. And we appreciate that you resist the temptation to follow. It’s not that you might lack a sense of humor…well, yeah, you probably do…but we’re really afraid you just might tell mom on us.
So the Obamas, dressed to the nines, celebrated their 17th anniversary this weekend. I was somewhat surprised. Only 17 years? Pssssshhhh. Rookies, I tell ya. Yes, it’s admirable, and probably an enigma these days to even be married that long, but in my eyes, they’re just babes in the woods.
Their daughters are still cute, innocent little things, all ribbons and bows. The worst thing they probably deal with at this point is whether to let them listen to Taylor Swift or Kanye, and to make sure they don’t go to school dressed like Lady Gaga.
But the Obamas are still in that honeymoon stage of their marriage if’n ya ask me. I’m no expert, but I feel there are a few telltale signs when you’ll be pretty sure you’ve kicked this antiquated institution’s ass.
For instance, I don’t think you’re really there yet:
- If you haven’t played fart-and-pull-the-sheet-over-your-head.
- If you still cringe when he blows a huge lumberjack sneeze in the shower.
- If you still get embarrassed when he walks around naked and the cleaning lady shows up.
- If you still don’t believe in the saying “opposites attract.”
- If you still don’t accept his idea of a candelit dinner only happening when the power goes off.
- If you still wonder why his hand is always scratching something, instead of holding yours.
- If you haven’t realized that your husband is living proof that you can take a joke.
- If you haven’t realized that in marriage, as in war, it is acceptable to take advantage of the enemy.
Sometimes people ask The Mister and I the secret of our long marriage. It’s really not rocket science. We take the time to go to a restaurant on a date at least once a week, have a nice dinner, and sometimes listen to soft music and go dancing.
He goes on Tuesdays…I go on Fridays.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BLOG!
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy, when skies are gray,
You’ll never know dear,
How much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.
Yeah, I stoled that….