So, moms are good — as a rule. There are some circles of moms — like any community — that has its peccadilloes, but to label all moms X, Y or Z would be unfair. My best friend is one (twice over) and I love her kids. And I still love her after 18 collective months of talking about baked ziti and back pain.

I’ve considered being a mom, but it’s not my jam, I’m afraid. Or maybe I am literally afraid. I don’t know, but I’ve got my hands full of bunny right now and if my eggs turn to fossilized Raisinettes in the meantime, so be it.

In the last few years, the internet and the world, really, have been deluged with the mom movement. Moms are a force to be reckoned with — on the internet, in marketing, on TV — they’re everywhere. There are hip talk shows based on them, hosted by them, and written for them. The internet has got a mommyblog in every nook and cranny. There are mom-related conferences from here to Botswana. A majority of our business over the last 9 years has been from moms. So, I can, without a doubt, say I am definitely not anti-mom.

But — and I don’t think I’m alone here — the whole “add a variation of mom to any word and make it the hot new lingo” trend must die. Please, 2012, please… make it stop.

(I actually feel this way about a lot of these portmanteaux, not just the mom ones, but they’re funnier and resulted in the following conversation.)

Me: I’m so over everyone being a ninja and a rock star.
Kathy: haha… and a mom
Me:  I think I’m just super sick of words, like “mom”, being twisted into new words. Like Safemama, that’s two words, it’s descriptive. I’m talking about things like…
Me: Momversation
Me: and Mommavation
Me: and Momiversary
Me: and Momisvere
Kathy: Momstipation
Me: LOL
Me: Momstruation. Momgasm. Momicon. Mompocalypse! MOMMAGEDDON.

I wish I had some tidy way to wrap up this post, but then our conversation went on to talk about how someone guessed “donkey punch” as an answer on Jeopardy last night — which pretty much trumps any amount of humor in this post.

Anyway, when I found this out, I, along with a lot of other people, moved their domains from GoDaddy to NameCheap or another registrar. (I picked NameCheap because they seem much more transparent as a business, their prices are comparable, their customer service was really awesome and they are openly anti-SOPA.)

Once I cleared out and transferred all our domains from GoDaddy for both my personal account and our Moxie account, I tried to close my accounts. You know, delete them. Like you should be able to since they were your accounts to open in the first place. But guess what? Apparently, you can’t.

I searched high and low on that site and found nothing. I did Google searches. And finally, I called their customer support and was informed that I cannot actually delete my account. Their recommendations are as follows:

• Remove all your products and domains from your account.
• Disconnect any payment methods.

That’s it. So your account just sits there, with your personal information in it, just in case you might ever want to return.  But what if you don’t want to return?  I just want to delete my accounts!

I asked the customer service person — quite nicely, actually — if there’s someone else higher up I could speak to about this. They insisted no, there wasn’t and bid me a nice day. Seriously!  She said, “I’m sorry, no. You can’t delete your accounts with GoDaddy and there’s no one higher than me on this subject. Have a nice day.”

Apparently, this woman is the Grand Poobah Empress of GoDaddy Account Deletions.

I hung up and went about my day, but now I’m still getting GoDaddy emails with no access or link to unsubscribe at the bottom. And the real pisser? They close every email “Thank you for being a GoDaddy customer.”

That just frosts me. I AM NOT A GODADDY CUSTOMER and I DONT WANT TO BE and STOP ACTING LIKE I AM. It borders in harassment.

With all the recent accessibility issues regarding GoDaddy, I’m concerned that accounts with our business name, personal information and usernames are just sitting there, empty, waiting to be exploited by hackers or GoDaddy themselves. This is unacceptable to me. It has my name on it, I want it deleted. It seems unethical and maybe even illegal to deny that, no? (I don’t know about the legality, but if it’s not, it’s certainly FISHY.)

I wanted to login and change my username and email address to something fake, but it wouldn’t let me. It said you have to verify the email address change — obviously I can’t do that if the email address I entered is fake.

So you’re just stuck. I suppose they probably expect us to just sit on it and forget, but I’m not forgetting. I’m going to raise a stink. I will call and demand to talk to supervisors until someone can pull their thumb out of their ass long enough to hit “delete”.

GoDaddy, you may have changed your tune about SOPA, but that was only because you were scared of losing business, which you did — a lot of it. It has nothing to do with your business ethics, which are questionable, at best.

Some might see it as no big deal, but I care about what happens to my personal information. I admit, I sign up for a LOT of stuff on the internet, but if I don’t use it, I try to go back and delete the unused accounts. I don’t like all my cheese hanging in the wind, so to speak.  (Who thought of that expression?)  This is no exception.

Dramatic as it might seem, I feel as though I’m being held against my will and it pisses me off.

To avoid any pot n’ kettle action, there are really nice people on my own friends list that I rarely engage with either.  I do try to remember birthdays and comment or “like” occasionally, just to let them know I’m paying attention, but I have to wonder… why am I “friends” with them? Because they sat 3 seats behind me in AP English? That’s not fair to them either.

Once I was asked to add an old flame from high school to my friends list.  There was no introductory message (I prefer one), but I knew him on sight, so it was fine.  We dated for most of a year during my junior year of high school and well into that Summer, but eventually broke up. I don’t recall it being a bad break-up, just one of those high school things and over the years had thought of him fondly because above all else, I really liked him. I didn’t just date him, he was my friend.

So of course, I added him and sent him a note saying “hey” and “how are you?” and “what’s going on in your life’?” I commented on his beautiful children, asked about his career and wished him well.

Crickets. Nothing. No reply. No wall post. Not even a lousy “poke”.

What was the point of adding me then?  I’ve felt this way before, had it happen with several “friends” from my past, but this time, it just IRKED me. Why? Why bother? Why seek me out? Why add me to your list? To what end… networking?

I hate “networking”. I think it’s bullshit. I think it’s a term that’s used to leverage your Amway sales or whatever it is you’re slinging.  Most people don’t care about knowing you when they hand you their business card (or add you on Facebook with no introduction). They’re more interested in what you can do for them than what they can do for you. If you’re going to request that I add you, Old Classmate, then bombard me with your weight loss seminars, first: fuck you, second: *unfriend*.

Thanks to Facebook and social media, the line between “abstract business contact” and “friend” have blurred. Once I had someone on my personal friends list for over a year — who never, ever spoke to me — suddenly email me out of the blue via Facebook and ask me for a “good deal” on a website design “and as fast as possible”.  Do people think that because we’re “friends” on Facebook that we’re tight? Do they think that because they “know me”, that they can call on me for a favor?  I highly doubt that someone I met once over stale Chardonnay 4 years ago, but haven’t chatted with since, will  immediately think to recommend me when someone asks them “Hey, do you know any web designers?”  And in turn, when someone I haven’t talked to in 4 years says, “Hey, I need a website. Can you hook me up?” I’d politely and professionally reply, “Yes, certainly. Here are the schedule and rates I’d give to anyone else...”

I also wouldn’t recommend or refer a client or a friend to someone I got a business card for once upon a time without having built a relationship with that person or company first.  I’m not going to put my reputation and name on a recommendation to someone who might be a detriment to my client — that’s not good for my client, my friend or for me. So if you want to network, fine — but then network, don’t just send me app requests to be in your mafia or water your corn.

I have good friends, true friends that I would never take advantage of, why would I ask a favor of someone I never talk to just because they’re “friends” with me on Facebook? I have a friend who is a doctor, but you don’t see me posting on her Wall to ask about that weird pain under my ribs when I breathe in. I have a client who is a vet, but I don’t email her and ask for advice about my rabbit.  These people have careers for which they’re paid and expertise for which they’ve worked hard.  I respect them. I would never dream of exploiting that friendship or client relationship that I’ve taken time to cultivate, why do people think that because they handed me a business card once, I’m at their favor-dropping disposal when they’ve never spoken to me otherwise?

Not that the doctor or vet wouldn’t help me if I asked them to — they’re great people — but they would because we’ve taken the time to develop a relationship beyond Facebook.  For example, I have several developer friends, most of whom I only know because of the Internet, but we freely support each other, ask for help, seek advice, share ideas — but again, those relationships were built over time.

I miss the days when I didn’t know that my high school nemesis just got vajzzled  or whether the baby of that girl I met at that bar that one time had a poopy diaper at the zoo.  I hate getting blanket event invites to seminars and conferences and christenings from people I wouldn’t recognize in a line-up.  I just don’t care. You probably don’t care about my bunny pictures or happy hours at the gay bar, either, so likely you hide me from your stream, just like I hide you from mine.

It’s all very “let’s be friends, but not really” — and frankly, it’s pointless. I don’t need tons of people who don’t care following my life.  Go watch the Kardashians or something.

Leah recently wrote a great list of “22 Reasons I’m Not Following You on Twitter” and most of her list I agree with (especially #1 and #18), but since I recently unfollowed a slew of people in a huff, the need to expound on and/or add a few guidelines of my own.

1. I try not to follow more than 100 people because, really… to actually read the posts of more than 100 people and still process and truly care about what’s being said… well, I just don’t have that kind of time. That’s the brutal truth.  Maybe some can handle a few hundred smoothly, but those who follow several hundred, perhaps thousands of people can’t possibly read and process that amount of information while giving them reasonable consideration and still have a life.  That’s just my point of view — it’s quality over quantity for me.   I may have to push that to 150, though.
2. If you are my friend “in real life”, I will most likely follow you no questions asked. If you do not follow me back, I won’t pretend my feelings won’t be a little hurt (because I’m human), but since I believe in one’s right to do whatever they need to do for themselves, I’ll get over it. I can’t have my own rules without respecting my friends’, even if I may not like it.  And because of this, if you are my friend in real life, but participate in some of the latter-mentioned offenses, I will probably unfollow you.
3. If you are someone I’ve never met and/or someone I only know by your blog name, are a client and/or someone who is a fan of The Moxie Girls or our book, it really depends on two main factors whether or not I can follow you back:
   If you’re a client, I try to keep those sorts of exchanges on the @moxiegirls twitter account. Unless we’ve been working together for a very long time and/or you’ve read my blog, know I’m imperfect and still like me anyway.

   If you’re any of the others, it just depends on how close we are, if I recognize your name, and if I read/used to read your blog.  If all else fails, see #1.  But you can rest assured it’s probably not personal if I don’t follow you back. If it is personal, then you probably already know that and don’t follow me either.

4. If you tweet a lot and I mean A LOT, I’m out.  Not 5 times a day or 10 times a day, but 5-10 tweets in a row… five to ten times a day. My personal philosophy is if it takes more than 280 characters to say, write a blog entry. I realize sometimes you want to say something that is more than 140 characters, but not long enough for a blog post. I have that problem a lot, so if you must continue your thought into the next tweet, have at it. But if it takes 5 tweets to finish just one thought, take it to the blog.
5. Incessant celebrity brown-nosing is a booooooore.  There, I said it.  I don’t give a pig’s twisted dingle what Ashton has to say, but I understand that you do.  And I respect your right to respond on occasion, I do follow some celebrities myself.  But I don’t respect daily desperate pleas for them to throw you a bone.  Most celebrities won’t respond.  That’s why they’re celebrities. Enjoy what they have to say and stop starfucking. It’s embarrassing.
6. If Jesus is the reason for your tweetin’, chances are I won’t follow you back and/or may unfollow you if your tweets get a little too churchy in nature.  I respect your right to believe whatever you like, to tweet the same, and I don’t mind an inspirational post once in a while, I appreciate the sentiments — but once God and Jesus start getting bandied about regularly, I have to politely decline to participate.  I’d feel the same if you were talking about woodland fairies, right-wing politics or alien abductions.
7. If you don’t tweet ever or very rarely, I will most likely unfollow you (or not follow you from the get-go).  See #1.
8. Call me self-centered, but I’ll probably unfollow you if you don’t tweet about stuff that I’m interested in or if you tweet constantly about your drunken escapades (i.e., most tweets begins with “man, I was so wasted last night”, “how did I get here?” or “look at my boobs”). I don’t begrudge your right to get liquored up and flash the bartender for a free shot… every night.  But I did that in 1996 — now I’d rather watch Bravo.  Go on with your bad self, just don’t expect me to follow.  That goes double if I don’t personally know you and you don’t live in my city, since I don’t know who you’re with or where you are.
9. If all you’re interested in is ‘networking’, I’ll pass. It’s just not my thing.
10. And finally, my real biggie:  If you’re a live-tweeter and/or a spoiler whore, I will probably unfollow you.  And I’m totally serious. I feel bad when I do it, too because I genuinely like some of these people, but I’ve had too many movies, episodes and season finales ruined because some people can’t help but announce winners, share a plot point, or tell the ending.   And whomever decided live tweeting was a good idea was huffing rubber cement.  What about the people on the West Coast who haven’t even had the opportunity to see it air yet?  What about the people who use DVR ?  I’m not suggesting people wait several days to discuss the outcome of a television show, but could you perhaps wait until the next day?  And to those who say I should stay off Twitter if I don’t want to know, I say “unfollow”.  Why should I have to eschew Twitter starting at 4pm because you can’t keep your yap shut?

Just know that if you are following me and I’m not following you back, it’s not really personal… unless you take all that stuff personally.  I do respond to people who @ reply to me, so if you want me to follow you, the best way would be to say something to me!  I have lots of people who follow, but never say anything.  Say hi, introduce yourself, comment on something I’ve said.  It may just be a case of my not realizing that you’re even following me.

But if you’re more the lurking type, I appreciate the follow anyway.  It’s flattering that folks want to know what I’m tweeting about, even if it’s just bunnies and inappropriate YouTube links.  But I hope, at least, this clears up any potentially hurt feelings I may have inflicted.  It doesn’t mean I don’t like you anymore or I think you suck.  And if I no one gives a pig’s twisty what I think either… then don’t get pissy when I unfollow you for live tweeting the season premiere of Grey’s tonight.

I don’t need to wear a sign around my neck and label myself as plus-size just so OTHER people are aware that I’m proud of my body. I just work my shit. And would continue to do so if I became a size 4. Ya dig?

I appreciate that. She’s just being who she is, working her swagger.  The original post, while intending to be complimentary, just missed the mark by assuming that every confident person who isn’t thin is totally cool with being the Grand Marshall of the Fat Pride Parade.

The author of the Fat Love Friday post responded immediately, according to Marie’s post comments, and offered to remove the offending post, explaining that fat doesn’t have to be seen as a negative word (“My view is that the word “fat” doesn’t always have to be used negatively. And I certainly didn’t use it that way in the post.”).  I’m in no way “villianizing” the author, she’s entitled to her point of view and I understand where she’s coming from — but I see why Marie doesn’t want it taken down. It’s because she’s making a point and removing the post would defeat that purpose.  To quote her again…

Try to change the meaning of the word all you want. Fat is fat. No woman, no girl, no matter what age is going to want to be called that.

And the Fat Love author responded with something that struck a nerve. I started to comment in Marie’s comments, but I was rambling and starting to veer off-topic, so I thought it best to give a little back-story, then vent my opinion here. The post author responded to Marie’s comment with this:

In regards to fat not being positive, I don’t think that’s necessarily true…There is an entire pro-fat movement dedicated to changing this.

I totally disagree with most “pro-fat movements” and “fat acceptance” declarations.  I understand trying to ‘reclaim’ the word, but frankly… why does anyone want it?

I don’t agree with fat-ism or discrimination against the overweight in any way.  No, indeed — that’s just rude, outright mean and something I’ve experienced myself.   But I feel the same about people reclaiming the word “fat” as I do about women reclaiming “bitch”. RECLAIMING IT DOESN’T MAKE IT UNTRUE.

Reclaiming “bitch” and putting a stamp of “empowered woman” on it doesn’t mean you’re not a bitch.  In fact, it probably increases the likelihood of it being true, in my experience.   And walking around declaring myself fat doesn’t make it any less true.  It doesn’t mean someone isn’t beautiful, but the terms “fat acceptance” and “pro-fat movements” give the impression that speaking out against discrimination of the overweight (which is generally the schtick of the pro-fat movement) is the same as saying “It’s OK to be 300 lbs.” Guess what?  It’s not OK with your liver. Or your heart. Or your kidneys. Or your back, knees or doctor.

While running PutDowntheDonut.com (and I won’t give you the song and dance about how it’s coming back — it is — when I have a minute), I was bombarded with “fat power” and “fat acceptance” and “pro-fat” protesters saying that because my site was about being real about losing weight, being candid and honest, we were anti-fat.  Uh, yeah, it’s a weight loss site — so that’s kind of the whole idea. We got a lot of “I’m 275 lbs. and I look HOT! Who the hell do you think you are?” or “I’m a size 26 and I work my ass, girl! Who the hell do you think you are?” or “I’m 310 lbs and my doctor said I was perfectly healthy at my last physical! Who the hell do you think you are?”

I think I’m someone who doesn’t really care how hot you are or how fat you are. It’s none of my business. I like a curvier woman — this is not news. I think women with more meat on their bones are sexy and I wish I was born in another era when a size 12 or 14 was considered the epitome of beauty. But I’m not and that’s the breaks, kid.  I don’t care what size you are or how confident you are — but don’t try to convince me it’s healthy to be fat.

The Donut wasn’t anti-fat people, just anti-FAT. There’s a difference.  And we weren’t anti-your fat. That’s on you… but if I want to be anti-my fat, well, that’s my own damn business.  I don’t have to accept my own fat if I don’t want to.  Improving on myself is ultimately a testament to how much I love myself, isn’t it?  I don’t care what doctor is blowing sunshine up your ass, being “fat” isn’t healthy, no matter how empowered you feel about the label.

And while I realized that Marie’s post wasn’t talking about health, but about fashion, my perception of fat acceptance is the same:  if I say I’m fat and wear the title with pride, it makes it ok that I’m deluding myself.  I’d rather not label myself something just to make others feel more comfortable about their own issues.

I know I’m overweight. I know I need to lose some weight to be healthier. But am I fabulous? You’re damn right I am. And I don’t have to subscribe to fat-acceptance or any other label to embrace that about myself, nor does anyone else.

I may have opened a can of worms, I may have just prattled incoherently, but… I needed to get that off my chest.

I hear them talking and one of the women says REALLY snidely, “Oh my GOD, someone keeps their water bottles on their front porch? How TACKY!”, then they all start filing down the stairs. When they see me, they all say excuse me cordially and one woman was extra sweet — Texas style. Meaning, covered in bullshit, bless her heart.

I smiled back and said jovially, “Oh, it’s no problem. I’m just the woman with the tacky water bottles on her porch.”

They looked uncomfortable and kept walking. But at the bottom of the stairs, I heard one of the women exclaim, “I am SO embarrassed.”

Good, lady. If you’re going to talk shit, keep your voice down or be prepared to be called on it. They’re 5 gallon bottles of delivered spring water, where do you suggest I keep them? Those capris you’re sporting are tacky, but you don’t hear me complaining.

I feel a little bad for firing back and embarrassing her in front of her friends — I could have let it go. But… I didn’t.

No high road for me today I guess. Given the expression on their faces, the low road is more scenic.

For those who don’t know, I’m moving out of my apartment in a week and a half.  I am really going to miss Casa Cocktail and all the good things about it, but lately the crap has started to outweigh the good things.  To start, Slick (a.k.a. Guitar Hero) picked up the electric guitar and bass as a hobby, which he played  every day at 4pm for 2-3 hours.  Is it not bad enough that his girlfriend made sex sounds like a caffeinated baboon, he had to fancy himself The Edge at least 5 days a week?  But… a blessing!  He moved out in April and took Ape Escape with him.

But then, GFI moved out.  I don’t know who the hell she thinks she is just moving out and having a life and stuff. I mean, god, lady. Don’t you know everything revolves around my happiness?  Obviously I’m kidding, but I miss her as a neighbor.  She never made a peep, we were BNF: Best Neighbors Forever.  I could text if she needed help when I heard she might’ve dropped something, she could text me to ask if I had margarita mix, we could sit on the patio and gossip about the neighborhood and I never, ever had to hear her pee.

When GFI moved out, we really pushed to get a woman to move in upstairs because we thought it would be better. It’s mostly women on this side of the building and, historically, single professional women tend to be quieter and more considerate than say… a guitar-playing baboon fucker.

And lo, we got a woman — a nurse, no less!  GFI met her and she seemed nice enough.  If only she’d known at the time that this woman — nay, this late-20′s girl — has feet made of cement and a double-wide disposition.  She walks so heavily, I half expect to hear “FEE FI FO FUM!”.

She also vacuums at 10pm or later indiscriminately.   Once at midnight in the bedroom on a weeknight!  She finds it impossible to enter or exit her apartment without sounding like a stampede of yaks and… this is the one that really gets me: she is incapable of going to the loo without stomping over to the bathroom, doing her business, then dropping the lid of the toilet and flushing every. single. time.  Now, this is something most people do, right? You go, you do, you flush, but for some reason, she even flushes loudly.  I never really noticed when GFI flushed, but I can actually hear this girl pee. And then she slams the lid and flushes… even in the middle of the night.

My name for her is Godzilla.  Also sometimes The Beast, Moose and “Oh my god, I hate you so much right now, wtf!”.  I tried to make nice in the beginning. I welcomed her with wine and smiles, both the property manager and I alerted her to the fact that this is a very old, very quiet building of single professionals and sound travels, so things like heavy walking and loud TVs/radios should be kept to a minimum. I also let her know I work at home and I gave her my phone number so she could text me if she needed anything or if I got to loud (and of course, it was just a ruse to get her phone number for the same purpose).

She doesn’t care. She told me we had to “learn to live together”.  I’m not your roommate, woman.  I pay my own rent and never had issues with upstairs noise until you got here. Check yourself.

And she lives a ‘younger’ lifestyle than I do, clearly.  Which is her prerogative, but one day, she turned up her radio SO loud it sounded like Fergie was playing live in my kitchen.  And all her little friends were clomping around on the terrace in their kitten heels, so I popped my head outside and there she was, hanging over the railing with a can of Miller Lite (sorry, I’m a beer snob), knocking some back before she and her friends hit “the club”.  Meanwhile, I was looking forward to a hot bath and the Ghost Whisperer, you know?  Different strokes.  I don’t begrudge her the fun, I just asked if she could turn it down a little because it echoes through the tile in the kitchen.  She turned it off and then sent me angry texts about how she feels like she’s “walking on pins and needles” and “I might as well turn it off — I can’t hear it outside”  Uh, it’s not my problem there’s a freeway, an ocean, some train tracks, a trolley and an airport outside that whisk away the sound.  Get a radio for the terrace, Mensa.

I even bought her a little giftie (of slippers — hint hint!) with a note that said I hoped we didn’t start out on the wrong foot and that she’s truly welcome in the building and I hope she enjoys it here.  If she could just try to walk a little lighter, I said, I would appreciate it.   It worked for like, a week. Now she’s back to Riverdancing around the house.

Bottom line?  She’s just a clod.  No grace.  NONE. I don’t expect her to go to Barbizon, for chrissake, but didn’t anyone teach her how to walk like a lady?  She’s a tall girl, but I’m 5’10 and not exactly the slimmest of slims and I’m capable of walking without shaking the damn tschotschkes, why can’t she?  Put a book on your head!  She came home last night at almost 3am, banging and crashing about, peeing and slamming and flushing and finally, I reached over and banged on the wall.  LOUD. I’m done being nice about it.

I gave my notice to move a couple weeks ago. It makes me sad to give up this beautiful view.  And I really do love this apartment, but it pains me to live here sometimes, too.  It’s a vintage building and the apartments have good energy… or used to.  But the landlord doesn’t care about the building as much as I do and I’m tired of caring about the building more than he does.  In fact, I dream of winning the lottery and restoring the building to it’s original glory, then rennovating it to make it eco-friendly.  But that won’t happen and I’m sick of my sink smelling like rotten eggs and the plumbing backing up. I’m tired of the foundation crumbling and the lack of A/C.   There’s not quite enough space now that I’ve got Lulu and while they are going to do some improvements to the building (all new triple-paned windows and a fresh air circulation system — like central air without the conditioning part), I don’t want to wait around for that.  Besides, since the landlord is such a cheapskate (and he’s not paying for these improvements, the Port of San Diego is), he’ll most likely raise the rent once it’s done.  The view is beautiful, but if I’m going to pay more rent, I want a washer/dryer more.

I decided to move to an area of town that doesn’t have a view, but is centrally located — about 10 minutes from everything.  It’s not the most beautiful area of town ever, but the property itself is like an oasis and it’s a big complex with proper maintenance staff and amenities like a pool, fitness center and the like. I’ve got a washer/dryer in my apartment.  It’s bigger than this place and it’s got a new kitchen and a big soaking tub.  It’s very much like my apartment in Dallas, which was comforting somehow.

Like I said, I will miss this place… quite a bit. It’s been one of my favorite places I’ve ever lived and I have great memories from here. But it’s not the same building it once was… the good juju I felt when I moved in is replaced by cursing and wall-banging and other rude neighbors.

It’s time to move on.

Similarly, Twitter.  At first (and sometimes still) I didn’t ‘get it’.  As an old school blogger, I found the idea of microblogging kind of weird.  I didn’t want to know what everyone was doing right that minute.  But then I gave it a chance and actually quite enjoy it… because I use it the way I want to use it and not how Mr. Know-It-All Blogger says I should.  Sure, it’s almost killed my desire to blog in a sense because I can spit out whatever I’m thinking right when I’m thinking it rather than try to craft a blog post around one clever thought and, like anything else, Twitter and it’s users do things that bug me, but I take it with a grain of salt. Nothing is perfect and I have to assume that somewhere someone finds my tweet-style excrutiating.  Different strokes.

I’ve run into a rash of articles lately that all have a running theme of unholy hatred for Twitter (and/or Facebook).  I don’t mind tips and tricks kinds of articles or the occasional cheeky humor-based commentary (especially #2), but these official-looking “articles” (*cough*blogentries*cough*) that do nothing but complain about how people “aren’t being true to the conversation” or that they “don’t want to know what you had for lunch” really grate.

Guess what? Sometimes I don’t want to know that you went to the laundromat or that you think chickpeas are gross or “OMG Baltar is totally the 5th cylon!”   If that’s the case, I just won’t follow you or I’ll ignore the tweet.  I’m not going to write a highfalutin article chock full of piss n’ apathy, telling you how you should be doing it.  You know the ones with titles like:   “You must do how I do it or you suck.” or “Don’t use Twitter this way because I’m totally an elitist prick and I will think less of you.”   Or… you know, whatever they’re called… they just irk me.  Can I do anything about it other than gripe to you fine people?  No. But I certainly feel better about it.

And, I suppose this is what those folks are doing, too, but I’m not applying any level of expertise to my rant. I’m not pretending to be some kind of guru on social networking and how it ‘should be done’.  I’m just so sick of hearing about how Twitter is “lame” or Facebook is “stupid”. I think it insults the people who enjoy it and belittles the efforts of those who are trying to embrace technology in a way that’s comfortable for them.

We all have things we like or we don’t like about blogging, social networks, web applications, etc. They’re called opinions and they’re totally valid.   But unless you’re paying for it, either don’t use it or sack up and quit talking down to us like we care what you think.

I’m so sick of all the previews.  Commercials show the whole damn show, practically. The preview they show before the show starts (for FIVE MINUTES) reveals everything we’re about to see. The preview before each commercial break shows us 30 seconds of what we’re about to see when they’re done recapping for another 30 seconds after the commercial.  Then they maybe show me 3 seconds of real show they already showed me in the preview and then preview what’s about to happen next. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Now it’s happening in the ‘info’ on cable, too. I was sorting out my shows and was checking to see if something was a repeat. I hit ‘info’ on a particular episode and it told me the entire episode in detail, down to the ‘shocking surprise’. Thanks, now I don’t have to watch the show.  Assholes.

I don’t even bother going to the movies anymore. Why pay $10 for something I can see for free in the commercial?  Then the moment a movie actually hits theaters, the morning that it opens, before anyone has a chance to even see it, they show even more of it in the previews.  You just saved me $10 and my firstborn child for a box of Red Vines.  Thanks, Hollywood!

I tallied up the amount of series I have listed in my ‘scheduled series’ profile and it’s something like fifty. Fifty shows.  Granted, not all at once, most shows are cyclical and seasonal and only are about 8-12 episodes. Its not like I watch fifty shows at once. But seriously… fifty shows?  As Oprah would say, what am I hungry for?   Why does anyone have that much scheduled television?  Because there’s no show in my show!  I’m entertainmentally deficient! Showtime and HBO series (and sometimes Bravo) provide actual nutrients, but everything else is just empty calories.  Television is the 64 oz. Big Gulp of media.

And on top of that, now that so many people have DVR, shows automatically run 2-3 minutes beyond their scheduled end-point so that you purposefully lose the end of the show. I think they do it to discourage recording the show since television is losing advertising dollars due to the almighty fast-forward button.  Fortunately, AT&T U-verse has a “record until 5 minutes past” feature, which is handy, but I still think it’s shifty.

Gee, perhaps all this griping will get me to whittle the series list down to a manageable 35 or so.  Probably not.  But it does make me realize I really do have time to go to the gym… *sigh*

Color-blind?  Ok, I’ll have to suck it up there – my dad was colorblind (or so I suspect of Mr. Olive Pants-Brown Shoes-Purple Shirt) – but only about 5% of men and less than 1 percent of women are likely to be color-blind so when I hear a reference to something as yellow when it’s orange or vice versa, it’s like nails on a chalkboard to me.  Hopefully, this doesn’t incite the wrath of the color-impaired.

I realize it’s the persnickety designer in me, the part that actually cares about the nuances of ecru vs. tan vs. cream vs. eggshell.  And I realize sometimes people can’t help it and color may be considered somewhat subjective, but I certainly am not going to go outside and declare the sky aubergine simply because that’s how I perceive it (that’s ‘eggplant’ or a deep purple/black with what some might call a slightly red undertone, in case you were wondering).  And no, I don’t think the sky is eggplant.

Teal is another one. Teal and turquoise.  Teal is more green. Turquoise is more blue. And aqua… well, that’s a tough one. Aqua is like turquoise and teal had a very light-colored lovechild.  Don’t tell cerulean.

Pink and coral?   Coral is not orange. Coral is not pink. It’s a combo of the two, hence… coral.  C’mon now.  Ok,  I’ll concede the pink/coral thing could be subjective, I suppose. Some people might see more pink. Some might see more orange.  But basics like yellow and orange? Orange is orange. Yellow is yellow. If it’s more orange than yellow, but it’s still yellow, it’s “orange-ish yellow” or vice versa… yellow-orange.  We have hyphens for a reason. Crayola loves a hyphen. Embrace the hyphen!

Or purple and brown is another. For some reason, I often get references to the color of our business site as being purple.  I see it more in the brown or gray family, leaning toward taupe. “Puce” if you want to get really uptight about it.  But I suspect even seasoned artistes don’t walk around saying ‘puce’ unless they wish to incur a snobbery-induced asskicking.

Why do these minor color infractions bother me so? It’s not the end of the world. It’s just colors. Maybe because color makes up such a prominent part of my life and who I am.  My curtains aren’t blue, they’re pale aqua. My carpet isn’t yellow, it’s Corn Chip. (No, really… that’s the color: Corn Chip. It’s on the label.) My couch is sage, my bedspread is deep rust.  But my living room rug?  That’s orange. If I wanted to get all snooty, I could say it’s “tangerine” or something, but no… it’s straight-up orange at a glance.  There’s nothing inherently wrong with colors being blue or red or green or yellow. The basics have gotten us this far, but descriptions and variations are what make color so exciting for me.

So brown that’s purple or orange that’s yellow?  It’s almost disrespectful to the amazing subtleties of color in everything around us.  It’s color heresy in my book. If you can’t help it, you can’t help it… I feel for you, in fact.

But if you can see all the wonderous colors, why not take a moment to describe them to yourself, to a child, to someone with their eyes closed… or whomever.  Write it down in your journal, whatever blows your dress up.  I find when I stop to admire the little details, I appreciate so much more the tiny differences that make many colors unique in their own right.