Unsurprisingly, I often end up in discussions about social media with people. It’s what I love, it’s what I do for a living- it’s an ongoing supplement to nearly everything in my life. No matter how much fun it was, an event didn’t really happen until it’s been tweeted, “liked”, and checked into.

(If mimosas are consumed, but no one twitpics it, did brunch ever really happen?)

So, yes, social media is a big part of my life. And in my conversations with people about it- especially clients- we often end up talking about the different platforms, what they’re for… and which is my favorite.

If you know me at all, you know I’m a Twitter gal. I get my news from Twitter. I make friends on Twitter. Twitter brings me Charlie Sheen jokes and endless cat pictures/comics/videos/accessories on the daily. If it wasn’t for Twitter, I would never have seen this:

Or this:

Hell, I think in Twitter. I absolutely love the challenge of trying to fit a entire witty, intelligent, informative, hilarious, or otherwise complete AND interesting sentiment into 140 characters. Less, if I can. It’s like a never ending game where people are constantly forced to share only what really matters if they want to get their point across.

If only real life was like Twitter, with everyone forced to be efficient with their words! There’d be no more long-winded, boring, redundant explanations from bosses. No more horrible phone calls where you’re trapped and can’t get a word in edgewise to say goodbye.

Guys. Guys!!!!

THERE WOULD BE NO MORE SMALL TALK.

Think about it. On Twitter, you’re surrounded by a world of veritable strangers. Most of them are simple, beloved e-friends- people you share a love of the West Wing or bears wearing hats with- nothing more.

If I read something on Twitter that’s not interesting to me, I simply don’t engage. You only talk about the things you want to, with the people who want to… and even then, only in short bursts.

I. Freaking. LOVE it.

No one on Twitter ever says “hey, what’s up?” just to say something, like they do in real life, on the phone, in emails- even on Facebook. On Twitter, someone only @’s you to say: “Look at this cat wearing a monocle!” or “Honey badger don’t care! Honey badger don’t give a sh*t!!!”

And this makes me very, very happy.

P.S. Yes… I realize this entire post makes me sound like a female Ron Swanson. Well, just call me Ronnette. Now where are my cornrows??

(Though I do think Ron would appreciate the Sheen Pyramid of Greatness…)

Mama said share.

So, I may have mentioned before that I’ve never seen Glee. And before you yell at me and tell me how zomg it is the amazeballs!!!!! - it’s not that I didn’t want to; I just missed half of the first season and I can’t stand starting shows halfway through YES EVEN IF IT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER FOR THE STORY (call it an OCD thing), and then suddenly it was season two and then two and a half or some shit and frankly, I have like 9 seasons of the Real Housewives to keep me occupied so I figured I’d just get around to it sometime, ya dig?

Well, I’ve recently discovered that A) you can rent awesome shows from iTunes and play them on your iPad for 99 cents, and B) 45 minute elliptical workouts are a hell of a lot better when you’re watching something that you adore and not freaking ESPN 8, a la Espanol to one side and C-SPAN to the other because apparently the people on either side of you at the gym prefer to be BORED OUT OF THEIR SKULLS on the treadmill. Maybe it’s a tactic to black out ever having gone at all, so you don’t remember how miserable it is? Either way, not my cup of tea.

SO. Once I put this magical possibility together in my head, I realized that Glee is available for iTunes “renting” and it is a glorious 43 minutes per episode. AKA the perfect length for a workout, and bonus- whenever I’m feeling extra tired, a musical number kicks in! THANKS KURT-AS-BEYONCE, I NEEDED THAT.

Now sneak attack back to the ring!!!

Mmmm hmmmmm. Work that sass, ladiiiiiiiiiies!

Anyway.

So yes, folks. I am officially a Gleek, and loving it. The hardest part is that I’m only allowing myself to watch it when I’m working out, so I foresee a LOT of gym hours in my future.

(Clearly, I’m not above treating myself like a five year old who wants a candy bar if it will get my ass on the treadmill. Only my Snickers is the Acafellas, and my Reeses is watching Sue Sylvester take you down a peg or eighteen.)

Oh and, sidebar… make sure no one’s around when you watch the scene where Kurt comes out to his dad. Because HOLY TEARBALLS, BATMAN.

If you like this post, I actually run a community blog called In It To GYM It with 100+ contributors, all… you guess it… In It To GYM It. If that’s your bag, feel free to check us out over there.

Mama said share.

So, remember that time I wrote this super whiny post about “blah blah my life is so hard because I’m doing way too much of all the things I love to do BUT ALSO I’D LIKE TO GET PAID FOR IT PLEASE”? And you guys were totally awesome and you were all “Dude. We hear you. You rock. If you whine build it, it will come” and that’s why I freaking love you so much?

Thanks for that. Seriously. Likealot.

(((Group hug)))

Moving on!

So, since I’ve been rocking this whole “OMG one foot in front of the goddamn other” ‘tude, I’ve noticed that every tiny little thing that happens has a very, uh, magnified effect in regards to how I feeeeeeeeeel about it. Basically, if I stub my toe, or I rip my tights, or that Thai for lunch gives me heartburn (which it does because I’m eighty apparently)…

DAY = RUINED.

Fortunately, this extreme seems to go both ways, in that something like buying tickets to see an awesomely bad movie or knowing that you’re getting on a plane to Boulder in the morning or a particularly awesome gif can mean

DAY = TOTALLY REDEEMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Case in point:

I noticed I was dangerously close to being out of face wash on Monday. Le sad.

So I stopped at CVS and, remembering what the kind lady from my recent splurge-facial (oh god there’s at least 15 jokes in there) told me about the necessity for microbeads in one’s life, I picked up this bad boy from Neutrogena:

Simple enough, right?

Fast forward to the next morning.

You know that super, SUPER annoying commercial, with the two girls who are allegedly supposed to be dorm mates and one of them totes has a hangover even though they’re clearly preteens, and the non-hungover crazy peppy whore is all “I know what you need, gurrrrl, you need some of this amazing unicorn-urine-punch-you-in-the-face-with-special-zit-removal-powers-and-happiness face wash!!!” And the other girl is all “FINE, Peyton, I’ll use your stupid unicorn shit but then you have to SHUT YOUR FACE UNTIL I GET SOME BOONE’S FARM HAIR OF THE DOG IN MY LIFE”, but then she does use it and she magically comes out of her angry hangover cocoon and is born a beautiful butterfly who farts Lisa Frank rainbows and leaves a trail of glitter wherever she goes, and they start dancing around the room to some pop-alicious song about “waking up to love” or some shit, which sort of makes no sense because isn’t today’s message to women supposed to be “Forget Prince Charming, you good enough all by your badass self, chica*!”

*The “chica” is used to represent the company’s sensitivity to cultural diversity. Why am I not in marketing, again?

Right, so. Know the one I mean? No?

Seriously?

Fine. Here it is.

So ANYWAY, that commercial is so unbelievably annoying that I have to mute it every time it comes on, even though this action requires things like “movement” and “doing something other than drinking wine”, which are both things I AM OPPOSED TO DOING when I’m pantsless on the couch. That’s how much I hate it.

But.

This stupid Neutrogena face wash? For reals guys. It was just. like. that.

It makes me feel like belting out Miley in the shower while eating clementines. Because there’s just a hint of citrus in it… a GENTLE amount of citrus. The citrus hint is so tender, it’s not even mentioned on the bottle. It just wraps you up snugly in a faint and pleasant, not-overambitious citrus hug, probably with Norah Jones playing softly in the background.

And it makes me happy.

Baby steps, and the little things.

Sadly enough, I was in no way compensated for this post and the Neutrogena people don’t even know I’m alive, as far as I know. Though I am absolutely not opposed to them stumbling across this and offering me money for it. Just saying. What?

Mama said share.

Okay. So. I’m literally sitting here, forcing myself to put e-words on the e-paper, because I have so much going on right now- not good, not bad, necessarily, just crazy- that the idea of writing a normal blog is totally and completely freaking overwhelming. I have so much to say but none of it ever, you know, finishes.

Twss.

(Some things never change, eh?)

But… I MISS you guys.

I miss making you laugh, I miss knowing what’s going on in everyone’s lives, I miss being a part of the interwebby community.

In an effort to get a job doing what I love, (instead of working a job I hate and doing everything I love in my free time), I am basically doubling said spare-time (NON-PAID) efforts to get more experience, while I continue to hunt for the right job, the right place, the one who will take a chance on me. I know it’s what needs to be done, but I. Am. Exhausted.

I love everything I’m a part of- Events Chair for the Social Media Club DC, Events Admin for 20 Something Bloggers, Social Media volunteer at a local non-profit, Contributing Editor at DCBlogs.com (check out my round up today, what what!)- and oh yeah, my own Twitter and Facebook and LinkedIn and the IITGI site and that Twitter, and a couple new tumblrs and the website design stuff and that whole applying for jobs thing that is so vital to the whole “Getting a New Job” process… resume changes and cover letters and salary requirements, oh my.

And, you know, trying to be healthier and occasionally see friends and call my mom every now and then and oh right, all that usual day-to-day stuff you have to do if you want to be considered a functional adult.

(OVERRATED.)

The main problem is, I just can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. Example: when I go for a run, I generally start out at a reasonable pace. Then, somewhere in the middle, I inevitably feel like I’m going to die and really, really just want to STOP. But as soon as I get to the top of the hill, or know I only have a couple minutes left on that treadmill to make my goal, suddenly I’m sprinting toward that finish line- my 47th wind hits, I suppose, and it comes in strong.

I can’t even see the crest of that hill. I can’t hear the people cheering at the finish line, ready to celebrate my accomplishment and take me out for a nice steak dinner. If anything, it seems as though it’s fading farther and farther away with each rejection, with each person who tells me “I’m a shoo-in” for something they clearly don’t understand.

Why do you build me up, Buttercup baby just to bring me down? And mess me around…

This post is probably the most ridiculous hot mess of a thing I’ve ever written. (And we all know that’s saying something.)

Me, in probably a month or so. Watch out.

But I’m hitting publish anyway, because honestly, selfishly… I really just want to hear your voices.

How are you?

P.S. Oh, right. Also, in an effort to procrastinate against the many constructive things I could have been doing this weekend, I made a new header/rebranded the blog. So, uh. Whaddya think?

Mama said share.

If you’ve been to this corner before, even for a second, you’re probably aware that I have what science would refer to as “a sick and twisted” sense of humor.

I tend to lean towards the darker side of things. If it can be snarked, I’ll do it. If something annoys me, I’ll mock it.

Jokes and jokes and jokes and jokes.

I get the whole “positive outlook” thing, but it’s just not me. I’d rather laugh in the face of a problem than throw rainbows and reflection and personal growth (twss) at it.

See?

Honestly, I can’t help it. I bleed sarcasm.

Fact:

I will never do yoga for meditation purposes.

I will never make a “vision board”.

I will never go on a retreat, of any kind.

I will never sit in a circle jerk talking about my feeeeeeeeeeeeeelings with a bunch of strangers.

(That’s what good friends, a lot of wine, and Diane Lane/Lifetime/cheerleading slash dance movies are for.)

To clarify, I don’t look down on these things. Truly.

I just look sideways at them. With a bit of a squinty eye.

If they help you, if they clear your head, if they set you on the path you want to be on, power to you. Revel in your sunshiney happy place. Own it.

Pink elephant says blow it out your what?

But it just ain’t me. I’ll be over by the bar, people watching while I channel my inner Daria/Always Sunny/Seinfeld cynic…

And, quite frankly, loving every second of it.

Mama said share.

If you will remember from yesterday’s post about how kickass my fave local band Redline Addiction is (are you following them on the Tweet yet? Liked them on Facebook? Bought their albums??? GET ON IT!)- there’s another very important part to this Challenge; the “Personal” aspect.

Personal: What three musical moments have impacted your life most?

Let’s do this.

Moment The First!

When I was still a wee Masshole in the 4th grade, I got my very first CD. I played it over and over and over and OVER until I’m sure my parents wished I’d never heard of that hot new band…

ACE OF BASE!!!!!

Not only did I have the album on repeat for the better part of 1994, my teeny bopper pals and I choreographed an entire dance routine to “The Sign”- a very, very literal one- and performed it at my elementary school’s talent show for all the world to see.

Even as a munchkin, I knew not what “embarrassment” was. And I’m about to prove that I remember every. last. move…

It was cuter when I was 10. Promise.

(The crimped hair, BoSox t-shirt, and super-flared jeans are all throw backs to my years as a 90′s kid in New England. Wicked pissah, right??)

Moment The Second!

When we made it to middle school and decided that Swedish pop bands weren’t cool enough for us anymore, my super edgy friends and I dove into the swing and ska phase that swept the nation. (I guess we weren’t so edgy after all, huh.)

I’ve always loved the old school big bands and brass boys- Glenn Miller, Duke, Dizzy, Benny Goodman, Louie Armstrong. But with the arrival of Reel Big Fish, Less Than Jake, and the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies (whose album my father refused to buy me- ha!)- my love of horns suddenly had a modern place in my life.

When The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, my MOST FAVORITE BAND EVER IN THE WORLD WORLD AT LEAST THIS MONTH ANYWAY I’M A TEENAGER AND I’M FICKLE, YO!!! came to town, I begged and begged and begged my parents to let me go to my very first concert, unsupervised, on New Year’s Eve, with a pack of 14 year olds. They said no approximately 4,389 times… and then relented just in time for a very convenient Christmas present.

We were having an okay time at the Worcester Centrum, but we wanted to get down to the floor where the actual skanking was going on! Only problem was, you needed a very fancy (read: expensive) orange wristband to do it.

So, we did what any kid would do. We bought king-sized Reese’s cups (orange!), and folded the wrappers into “bracelets.”

I don’t think we fooled the guards for one second, but they must have felt sorry for our pimply little faces, because they let us onto the floor, where we proceeded to have the Best. Night. Ever. Of our pathetic adolescent little lives, anyway.

I still have that Reese’s wrapper.

Moment The Third!

Throughout my life, whenever someone has asked me who my favorite artist of all time is, I’ve not once hesitated. It is, without question, Billy My Main Man Joel.

As long as I can remember, his songs have moved me like no one else’s. Scenes from an Italian Restaurant, She’s Always a Woman, The Entertainer, Piano Man, Captain Jack, We Didn’t Start the Fire, The Longest Time, Uptown Girl… (well, okay… ALL OF THEM, basically).

And yes, especially “Only the Good Die Young,” even though I will never forget this moment; my father and I were driving home listening to it (Hi, Dad!), and at the tender and awkward age age of 16, I proudly belted out every last word. He pulled into the driveway, stopped the car, looked at me, and said,

“Do you know what that song is about?”

OHMIGOD OHMIGOD WE ARE SO NOT HAVING THIS TALK RIGHT NOW EFFFFFF MY LIFE!!!!!!

Somehow, that moment passed without me dying. And years later, when I finally- finally- got to see my musical hero live in Madison Square Garden… that is a night I will never, ever forget.

It is, undoubtedly, one of the very biggest checks on my Bucket List.

LOVE YOU BILLY, you musical genius you!!!

Bonus Round!

I promised to RickRoll a bar if y’all got me to 3,500 followers on Twitter, and by George, you did it. So last Friday at our DC Amazeballs Happy Hour, I dragged the crew over to one of my favorite spots in town, Fado, who not only allowed us to partake, they supported me throughout with Tweets and Facebook posts. You guys are the best!

Karaoke has always been one of my favorite extracurricular activities, and the Ginger’s is often my go-to song… so in short? I’d say we rocked it.

Update: So, I just watched the Ace of Base and Rick Astley videos and succession, and I realized that my skills as a choreographer are currently EXACTLY the same as they were when I was 10.

Like the post tag says, it’s a good thing I make a mean martini. (And a mean tweet. There’s no dancing in tweeting, right, MTV?!)

Mama said share.

Hey there, cowboy! Get ready, cause I’m about to crack an egg of knowledge all over your head.

And by “knowledge” I mean pure, unadulterated awesome.

My father is to thank for sending me this shitshow of awkward-yet-mind-blowing-hilariousity I’m about to drop on you…

It really is no surprise where I came from, is it?

Happy long weekend 4th of July, poodlekins! If that video’s not freaking American, I don’t know what is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey! Have you tweeted yet today? (If you don’t know what this is about, please to clicky here!)

Follow @LivitLuvit, my favorite contestant in the @MTVTJ search for MTV’s first Twitter Jockey! #zyncmtvtj

(Feel free to get creative, the above suggestion is just for your copy & paste convenience. Cause I’m good like that.)

The actual VOTING will start on July 7, and it will be via Facebook. (I know, the irony…) Anyway! You will only get to have to vote once, so make sure we’re Facebook friends and I’ll send ya a reminder! WOOT!!!

Mama said share.

… is what I would name my monkey if I could get my hands on one.

Because then at least we’d HAVE some round these parts.

I’m not sure what it is lately. My own mother recently asked me if I just wasn’t writing about my life…

Or if it was just *that* boring.

(In not those exact words, perhaps, but, yanno. A daugter knows.)

The problem is, my life IS boring… boring, and simple, and drama free, and oh so goddamn CONTENT.

I have my man. My amazing friends, both near and far. A couple of furbabies that make me laugh for hours on end, a couch made for my ass to sink into, and Netflix streaming in all the watch-instantly Dexter and Friday Night Lights a girl could ever want.

Life is good.

Maybe a little *too* good… because I am stumped, people. What am I supposed to share with you? The glorious view of my cat’s butt from the couch and how happy it makes me?

Oh, shit… I already did that.

No shame. ... (Okay, a LITTLE shame.)

Of course, there was this past Saturday night, when we had to beat down some d-bag in AdMo for calling random chicks pregnant on the street, before dancing the night away with some odd ducks wearing fanny packs and fighting off the 21 year old trying- very poorly, I might add- to roofie Lexa.

Maybe my life isn’t as boring as I think…

Mama said share.

I had a bit of an adventure yesterday.

I met a new friend for a perfectly lovely lunch, and will hopefully be building a website for her campaign next month. (Speaking of which, did you see my sugarplum Jess’ awesome new online portfolio I made for her yet? Didja? DO IT! And then hire her!)

Anyhoo. While I am rocking my new healthy diet ‘n exercise lifestyle (blech), I couldn’t turn down the sample of homemade potato chips the bartender brought over for us. Trust me, it would have been a sin to waste those puppies.

About a half an hour after getting back to my desk, I was talking to a colleague when I started choking…

and felt my throat start to close up.

Now, I have never been allergic to a thing in my life. Maybe some sniffles in the Spring, but an actual hives/itching/choking sort of allergy? Never. So, I was a wee bit terrified.

We’re fortunate enough to have a clinic at my job, so when the half-closed throat sensation didn’t go away, I headed over.

After waiting for a half an hour and not dying, I decided perhaps I had developed a very sudden and severe case of strep, rather than a life-threatening allergy. A clearly inexperienced but very sweet nurse finally called me in and took my vitals.

“It’s a good thing you came in!” She said. “I’ve seen strep cases come on so suddenly.” She took blood pressure, temperature, felt my glands, peered down my throat and in my ears, but couldn’t see anything noticeably wrong, so she called in the wizened old nurse practitioner to give me a look.

“It’s just very strange,” I was saying. “I haven’t had strep in years, and I’ve never been allergic to a thing in my life!”

“Well, our bodies change, dear,” Inexperienced-Yet-Sweet Nurse patted my hand, as her veteran colleague entered the room. Without looking up from my folder, this was the first thing she said:

“So, did you have anything sharp at lunch today? Potato chips, perhaps?”

I blinked. “Um, I did, actually… OHHHHhhhhhhhhhh.” I began laughing as the truth sunk in.

“I cut myself on a potato chip, didn’t I?”

She peered down my throat.

“Looks that way. Here. Have a swig of Maalox and drink some fluids. I think you’ll pull through this one.”

Tail between my legs, I slunk out of the clinic and back to my desk, where I had to share my diagnosis with my colleague.

“Apparently, this whole “extreme workout” thing is getting out of hand. Even the way I EAT is extreme now… I don’t even chew!”

Sigh.

And now, to distract you from my idiocy, I give you…

Taylor Lautner looks like a llama.

Sorry, Maxie. But he really, really does.

 Happy Tuesday. Eat safely out there, kiddos… only you can prevent potato-chip throat injuries.

Mama said share.

The videos that made me happy in my pants this week.

This is bootleg, BUT SO WORTH IT. From Tosh.O last night…

Next up, this one is… decent. But it was really B’s commentary after he showed it to me that made it:

me: weak
B: i liked it.
me: it’s the same thing for a whole minute!
B: yeah, but its a dog. on a trampoline.
      dog + trampoline = smile.

So, I one-upped him with this gem CarissaJaded sent me. WIN.

Also? We’ve decided we need some balloons in our apartment, STAT.

And finally, by now we’ve all seen the “Epic Oakland Bus Fight: White vs. Black,” yes?

But you probably haven’t seen this…

Happy Friday!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

P.S. Ollie’s Place, a NYC no-kill animal shelter, is going through a rough time financially. If you can spare even a few dollars, every little bit helps! Do it for the furbabies! Donate here.






Yes, this is an ad. Mama is poor, yo:

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Mama said share.