Social Media. Admit it, it's a time suck. You know it is. There are 400 bazillion places to sign up your name, and you have to anyway, so people don't snarf your really cool moniker. Because, you never know when someone will take your uber-hip name and go and post on kick-yer-puppy sites or I Hate The Blind and then people come to your blog and leave you hateful comments and you have to explain that, "No, that wasn't me, it was an impostor who was pretending to be me, I would never hurt sweet little innocent puppies (they're so cuuute) and blind people rock" but if it was weasels, that would be a different story, because weasels are mean and fast and will probably get in your bed and bite your butt, so that's why they don't make good pets and why this post isn't about the care and keeping of weasels. But if it was, it would kick ass and be the best post ever. But it's not.
And social media like twitter, Facebook, a thousand and one Ning networks, blog directories, blogs, blogs, more blogs (I pretty much only read the stuff from my Blogroll anymore and the people who leave comments here...sorry, I know you are a kick ass writer, or you wouldn't be in my Google Reader, but I just can't keep up with that crap. It just sits there, mocking me and multiplies exponentially. Once in a while I read a post or two, but they just keep adding up, kind of like Octomom's progeny. So know it isn't that I don't love you, I am just freaking overwhelmed!) Besides, since the bloggy-bloggy thing is a community, I want to be able to comment on the blogs I read, and there's only so much time in the day. CPS frowns on ignoring children in order to read blogs. Apparently, kids gotta eat. Regularly! Who knew? If you want to be in my blogroll, let me know, and I will send you the proper forms and I assume you have a notary near you? And can mail chocolate? As you know, I prefer the dark stuff.
Facebook, I don't really know why I am there. Twitter is my love, and I hang there pretty regularly, and kind of feel like when I visit Facebook, I am cheating on my boyfriend. Only he doesn't know it? And you know, this new guy, the one I am steppin' out with? I am beginning to see he really isn't that hot, in fact his teeth kind of separate in the middle and he yaps about football all the time and constantly asks what my name is, and gets it wrong, a lot. Today it's some Celtic thing and tomorrow he calls me a hippie name...and he mentioned something about my True Nature being Vulcan, maybe he is brain-damaged. And he always wants to know what I would take to a desert island (which is strange conversational fodder and I think he is feeling me
up out because he is going to kidnap me and take me there and then I'll have to escape using dental floss and bamboo to make a killer raft because I have seen Gilligan's Island and Survivor, thank you) and he's always yammering on about people I don't know and don't care about, but they know my friends or something. So apparently I am supposed to care that they are getting groceries or upset that Dollhouse is being cancelled or something. So, yeah.
There was this one awesome thing he told me, quizzed me about What Random Object I Was and I ended up being a Fishbowl, which is totally not me, I am not all see-through and shallow...
"A clear sphere, your purpose is to hold something interesting, without being so interesting yourself. However, if you weren't there, another life would go down the toilet...."
So then he says:You're stranded on a desert island. You brought one item, and now you're really irritated that you brought it.
- What is it?
- Playstation 3
- Duct Tape
- A weasel
- Dental Floss
- Box of tissues
Facebook was also all flirty and told me I could answer "a weasel" to every question about the Random Object, so I tried that, too... then I was a Drinking Straw:
"An excellent suck-up. Despite your festive exterior, you're ultimately hollow inside. However, you're bendy, and that flexibility will help in your search to find the chocolate milkshake to fill your hollow recesses."
I like chocolate. And milkshakes. I wonder if weasels like milkshakes...?
T, who clearly needs to spend less time online