Category Archives: texting

Listen, if the children are our future, we really need to live for today, because the future is BLEAK.

Today, let’s talk about bad decisions. Heh. That always always makes me think of that Bad Idea Jeans Saturday Night Live commercial. I bet I can’t find it on You Tube. Stupid fascist Saturday Night Live. Yep, I’m right. It’s only on Hulu. Anyway, here, watch, it’ll make you laugh. Unless you’re a soulless waste. Then it probably won’t. Also, check out all of that acid wash. Remember acid wash? Talk about bad decisions. We sure thought that was pretty, didn’t we? If you’re too young to remember acid wash, consider yourself lucky.

So I’ve come across some things online lately, and also in life, and I think we need to discuss them. And how bad decisions should be not made. How about not made? Great, good, stop that, thanks.

I don’t have kids. So, listen. I know. I’m not overly qualified to be giving them advice. HOWEVER! I was ONCE a kid. Who made SPECTACULARLY bad decisions. No, no. Not all bad decisions. But some? Yes. Yes, most definitely.

Today, we’re going to discuss five important things you need to stop doing, please. Things that might SEEM like really fun, cool ideas, but I assure you, you’re going to regret them. I am HAPPY to share my experience with you! Well, where I have experience. There are some of these I have no experience in but I KNOW THEY ARE BAD NEWS YO. So! Kiddos! And people that love kiddos! And people who read my blog no matter what I write about! Here, for you! A list of FIVE THINGS YOU SHOULD NOT DO WHEN YOU ARE YOUNG AND THINK YOU ARE INVINCIBLE. (Or even when you are old. Or, ever.)

Sexting/Posting Porn Online

This is SRS BSNS, you guys. There is a NATIONAL CAMPAIGN. (Which cracked me up a little.)

Let’s make up a little scenario, shall we? OK. You’re sixteen. You’re in a relationship with another sixteen year old. You’re all smushy-smushy in love. Aw, you guys. With the PDA and the smooching and the putting your hands in each other’s back pockets when you walk down the hall. (Wait, does that still happen? If that doesn’t happen, replace it with what you kiddos do nowadays, I don’t know.) You’re most likely having sex. That’s what the kids today seem to do. I’d like to tell you to wait to do that, too, but listen, that’s a losing battle. Kids in my day were having all the sex in high school, kids in my PARENTS’ day were doing it, and from what my totally scandalous-tale-telling grandmother tells me, when SHE was in school kids were doing it (and she calls them “SHAMELESS HUSSIES!” and their children “BASTARD CHILDREN!”) so there’s no way I’m going to stop the children from having sex in high school. Your hormones are running high, you’re surrounded by pretty people whose hormones are ALSO running high, and although I don’t think it’s a good IDEA, I can’t STOP you. (Use protection, tater tots. USE PROTECTION. You really don’t want an STD at age 35 that you contacted at age 16. You’re going to be SO MAD at 16-year-old-you.)

Whoo, anyway. So. You’re sixteen, you’re getting it on with your main squeeze. He’s all, “send me a picture of your boobs, Sally!” or “Talk dirty to me, Betty Sue!” and you have a moment of, “Hmm. Should I do that?”


There are many reasons. At the moment it’s happening? You trust that person implicitly. You think they’re forever and ever. How many old people do you know that are married to their high-school sweethearts? Very few. Because THAT SHIT DON’T LAST YO. So, once you’ve broken up, someone’s going to have hurt feelings. And if it’s him with the hurt feelings? You can bet he’s still got that nekkid picture of you. And now EVERYONE YOU KNOW HAS IT. Hope you like everyone seeing your tatas! Including maybe your parents, your siblings, your grandparents, and potential employers!

Your mom’s reaction to getting forwarded your sexts. Don’t you feel proud?

Also, I was pointed in the direction to a site with quite a bit of amateur porn on it recently. I’m kind of the most naive about things, so I alternated shocked-facing and laughing like a moron. YES, I know about PORN. Porn wasn’t what was shocking. That everyday normal people were recording themselves and then posting it online like it was a good idea was the surprising part. These people seemed to be of-age, so that was going for them. But WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING. Listen, the whole internet doesn’t need to see you plowing your girlfriend on a lawnchair with your socks on while your dog licks the camera.

Rule of thumb: the internet lasts forever. Phones count as the internet. Before you send/write anything online? Assume it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass someday. Are you ok with that? Or would you be mortified? If it’s the latter, DON’T DO IT. (Spoiler alert: it’s always the latter.)

Having Babies in High School on Purpose

I assume this isn’t just a movie-of-the-week thing and it’s really real. And research backs me up. Apparently, high-school girls think that it is cool and it is a status symbol to have a baby in high school, so they PURPOSELY get pregnant in high school, to the point of MAKING A PACT TO DO SO. This seems to be a way to create a little person who will unconditionally love them, and also they think it will make all the people look up to them like they are the coolest.

There was a Lifetime Movie and everything. It isn’t even a joke.

OK. Want another scenario? Cool. So, you get pregnant on purpose at age 16. Everyone pays attention to you! You and your glowy pregnant self and your cute pregnant belly! And you get showers, and presents, and you get to put together a crib, and WHOO! What an ADVENTURE! Then you have a BABY! And aw, little FINGERS and little TOES!

That baby cries a lot. And you’re expected to get up with it. Like, at 3am. No one else does it. This puts a little crimp in your lifestyle, but listen, people come over and see you, and the baby, and lavish all the attention on you, and you are SO POPULAR ZOMG.

Then it’s time for college. All your friends, they are going to college. Are you going to college? Nope. You are not. You have a baby, you see. They are full of plans and schemes and such. They don’t have a lot of time to come over and hang with you and your baby, who’s actually not as cute and baby-like anymore, and more little-human-like. Huh. You’re not getting a lot of attention. And the baby’s not giving you any attention, other than crying all the time. As babies do.

So you’re kind of trapped. Everyone’s moving on, and the little person you created to give you unconditional love isn’t even able to vocalize yet. Well, other than the screaming. The constant screaming.

“Oh, you’re all going off to a concert? Great, I’ll just…um…stay here, with the baby. That’s fine! Have fun! Ha! Ha ha! I WISH I WAS DEAD.”

Maybe, just maybe? It wasn’t a good idea to have a baby yet. Just a thought.

Listen, I don’t have anything against babies. I think I’d be very, very bad at being a mom. I’m an excellent aunt, but I think part of that is because I can give The Nephew back at the end of the day. I’m not patient and I’m don’t have enough free time and a kajillion other reasons, blah blah blah. I can’t even imagine that having one in high school ON PURPOSE is a good idea. I couldn’t even handle one now and I’m well on my way to middle age. I knew a girl in high school who was pregnant and hid it until she just about gave birth; I knew a bunch of us who sang the entire damn Hallelujah chorus in the high school bathrooms when we got our periods and didn’t get pregnant from making stupid choices like not using enough or correct birth control.

Don’t create a little person whose sole purpose in life is to love you and to make people love you. That’s a lot of pressure on that little baby’s shoulders. That little baby shouldn’t have that kind of pressure. Cut that right out.

If You Do Have That Ill-Advised Baby, Don’t Name it Something Ridiculous

You’re going to name me Chystyph’yr? WHY DO YOU HATE ME MOM?

I found this article yesterday and I almost spit-took.

This person let her toddler name her child. Her toddler named her child after its favorite thing, and therefore she ended up with a second child named Spongebob.


Well, at least one person’s happy. Or, thing. One thing’s happy.

I also work at that answering service, and we answer for a lot of pediatric offices. So I talk to a lot of moms who need medical advice for their children. And people name their children VERY STUPID THINGS.

I feel terrible telling you what those things are, because what if those kids do a search someday, and they find their name? Because it’s not their fault their parents were asshats.

Yes, sure, these kids could change their names when they become old enough. That doesn’t change the fact that they have to go through 18 years of teachers pronouncing their names wrong in front of classrooms, kids picking on them for it, explaining their parents’ choices, etcetera ad infinitum.

Do not name your child something that is a brand name. Do not name your child something with a lot of apostrophes in it. Do not name  your child something that rhymes with something gynecological or scatological. THINK OF YOUR CHILD’S WELL-BEING. Here’s a quick rule: would you want that name? Yes? Great, legally change your name to that. Don’t do it to your kid.

Also, putting a shit-ton of “y”s into a name to make it different so that it stands out from all the other same names – for example, there are a million Camerons, but there’s only one Cymyryn! STOP IT. It looks like a stripper name. Do you want your daughter (hell, or son) to strip? Do you really? Because if you do, keep naming them things like Mydysyn and Cymyryn and Shynnyn. THESE HAVE NO VOWELS.


Listen, were there drugs when I was a kid? Of course there were. Did I do them? Well, not when I was in high school. I was not cool enough, come on.

When I was a kid, the drugs of choice were really bad pot and alcohol. That’s it. I don’t know if we even knew anything else existed. When I got to college, sometimes people would find things like hash. Oh, and the pot was of better quality. I don’t know that I knew anyone who did much of anything else. We couldn’t afford it, basically. We were pretty practical.

As I got older, I became acquainted with people who thought it was a good idea to try other things. Cocaine. Acid. (Oh, the hour-long conversation with the guy who wanted to describe his recent acid trip to me. NO ONE CARES THAT THE POSTERS ON THE WALL WERE TALKING TO YOU, GOOBER.)

I’m not telling you I never, ever did any drugs. I AM telling you I no LONGER do any drugs, because I don’t like chemically inducing myself to be stupid. And I am ALSO telling you that I was always way too much of a chickenshit to do much of anything, because I watched too many afterschool specials and very special episodes of primetime television as a child. I’M SO EXCITED I’M SO SCARED.


So apparently kids are drinking hand sanitizer? Soaking tampons with vodka and inserting them? And doing…what…something?…to Robitussin so it becomes a drug? And calling it “robotripping” because AREN’T YOU CLEVER?

Really? Cough medicine and hand sanitizer? REALLY?

And now there’s this “bath salts” nonsense that makes you “experience a mix of physical and psychological symptoms…can cause excited delirium and severe hallucinations…can become violent and suicidal…super-human strength, and long-lasting euphoria or paranoia.”

I get it. Kids are creative. That’s good! That means they’re thinking. With their thinkers. Nice. HOWEVER. I don’t know that you need to be using your thinkers for coming up with new and creative ways to get high, especially when those highs are making you INSANE.

I get it. It’s like sex. Kids want to try this, and there’s no way we’re going to stop them. I GET IT. But seriously, kiddos. Much like the 35-year-old-you is going to be pissed at the 16-year-old-you for getting that disgusting STD, the 35-year-old-you is going to be pretty pissed at good-times-you for thinking killing the part of your brain that remembers math problems because you just had to drink the Purell, you know? STOP BEING IDIOTIC. I know your impulse control is in the negative numbers right now, but come on. No one can think that putting a tampon soaked in vodka up your hooha is a good idea. THAT IS NOT WHAT YOUR COOCH IS FOR. Come right on. Be nicer to your cooch. You’re going to want that someday for fun-times.

Texting While Driving

OK. Again, I’m not going to stop any of you from doing this. EVERYONE does this. Top-secret news? I’ve totally done this myself. Thing is, I only do it at stoplights. I’m too scared to do otherwise. I am easily distractable and just know I’ll die if I do it and attempt to operate a moving vehicle.

Kids aren’t very good drivers to begin with. Add them not even having their eyes on the road because they’re WRITING A LITTLE MESSAGE on a TEENY TINY KEYBOARD, and, well, listen, you’re going to kill someone I care about.


I promise whatever it is can wait. I promise. Listen, like I said. I don’t like being separated from my phone that long, either. I’m obsessed with it. But if I can do it, you can, too. Also, there’s this voice-to-text option now. Maybe that? Maybe you can use that. Because if you kill someone I care about because you’re texting while driving, I’m going to get totally stabby.

OK, kiddos, and others, what have we learned today?

Well, to boil it all down into one sentence:


Easy, right? I know. I totally give the best advice. If you have questions about whether or not you should do something? Ask. I’ll let you know. I’m happy to help. I actually kind of like teens, even though most people think they’re annoying. They mean well, even though they wear inappropriately-low tops and their jeans are too big.

Oh! AND, to continue our week of Bloggiversary celebrations!

Your sixth-most-popular blog post of the WHOLE ENTIRE YEAR!

Nothing Good Has Ever Come from Use of a Ouija Board, Dummy

I am perplexed about this one. It’s not overly…well, funny. Or even good. I have no idea why this is the sixth-most-popular post of the entire year. None. (Again, sorry about the formatting. Stupid Blogger import. I’m not allowed to fix them, apparently.) It’s about horror movies. And what’s scary/funny/stupid. It’s fine, it’s not garbage. It’s just a perplexing choice for one of the top posts of the YEAR, you know? Huh. I don’t know, who am I to fight with the VOICE OF THE PEOPLE?I can’t even tell you what we’ve learned from this one because I’m perplexed. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Remember! Comment on yesterday’s post in order to be entered to win a totally awesome gift box of…um…stuff! That will be awesome!

Happy Monday, people! Tomorrow at this time, I’ll be with Susie. WITH SUSIE. In my favorite city in all the land! I’m so excited I could just about die. Oh, and PEE ESS, thank you powers that be for keeping planes up when appropriate and landing them when appropriate so both Susie and Ken got to their places in one piece. I freak out a little when my people are traveling. I like when I get the “all clear I AM OK AMY” messages. I know. I’m a little nuts. YOU STILL LOVE ME THOUGH.

When I was just a baby, my mama told me, “Son, always be a good boy, don’t ever play with guns”

So this is kind of random-crap Thursday? BUT WITH A THEME. I know, right? Fancy. Super-DUPER fancy.

Today’s theme? Hunting and gunplay.

What? You’re thinking. I know what you’re thinking, because I’m Miss Cleo, you see. Hunting and gunplay? What an odd theme!

Yeah, I totally agree. Kind of an odd theme. But first there was one story that was hunting related, then a story that was gun related, then when another story came up that was gun related I was all THIS IS TOTALLY KISMETTY.

Also, listen, before we even get into this? I’m going to piss a bunch of you off and tell you something that you’re probably going to be all no no no about, but I’m totally pro the second amendment. I know, I AM A BAD LIBERAL. That’s not the only thing that makes me a bad liberal, but we’ll go into that another time. I like guns. I don’t like asshats who shoot people, don’t get me wrong. But I like guns, and I’m very good with them, and I approve of our right to own them. I know, I know, if we outlawed the second amendment, think of the gun violence we’d stop, people who don’t deserve to die are dying, people are being killed in domestic violence disputes that wouldn’t if guns were outlawed, I get it, I’m not completely idiotic and blind. But I grew up in the country, around people who own guns, know how to handle guns, and taught me how to respect and use guns in an adult manner. I’m all for the waiting period and a screening and such. I don’t have one of those “pry my gun out of my cold dead fingers” bumper stickers, or one of those “only outlaws will have guns” bumper stickers (but I did find the bumper sticker I TOTALLY WANT THE MOST ZOMG last night, which has nothing to do with guns, more on that in a minute), and I don’t see the need for anyone to own an automatic weapon because seriously, are you hunting with that? Are you protecting your home with that? No, you are not – but I am, unabashedly, pro the second amendment. So go ahead and hate on me, that’s fine. I’m a country girl at heart. I like to go barefoot, I’ve got a lot of redneck in me, and I grew up eating a lot of venison.

Oh, the bumper sticker I want? Well, there are two, there’s the one I’ve wanted since @grngeekgirl alerted me to its existence, which I would show you but friggin’ Zazzle’s all NO NO NO about sharing its images, so click, please, because it is the bomb, especially if you are a Stephen King fan.

And there’s this one I found last night and squeed like I haven’t squeed before:

These have nothing to do with guns or hunting. I just thought you’d be interested in seeing them. Or not, whatever, it’s my blog. Also, I’m totally anti-bumper sticker, because I think they make your car look like you’re cheap and sad. So probably I won’t get either. Or I will, and I’ll put them randomly in my house somewhere, I don’t know. Yeah, I know. I’m not really right. I KNOW THAT AND I DEAL WITH IT YOU SHOULD TOO.

Anyway! Hunting and gunplay roundup! Yee-haw!

New York: Now Safer for Bears

So as of January 1, a bunch of random new laws went into effect in New York State. I love shit like this, let me tell you. Things like this entertain the hell out of me. Because some of them are smart and common-sensey, and some of them are big but everyone’s so hung over they don’t realize they’re happening, and some of them are WEIRD.

Normal things: there were some tax-y things, like property tax caps and a middle class tax cut thingamabobber but I’m not going to talk about tax shit because I don’t 100% understand it, and also I have to deal with it, on average, 8 hours a day, and it’s kind of making me stabby. Also, texting while driving is now something you can get a ticket for, and not just something they can ALSO ticket you for if you’re already pulled over for killing a grandmother in a crosswalk because you were asshattily texting while driving. I like that law a lot. YOU SHOULD NOT BE TEXTING WHILE DRIVING. We’ve discussed this, but seriously, how are you people DOING this? It takes A LOT OF CONCENTRATION to text! And also, it SHOULD take A LOT OF CONCENTRATION to drive! Argh!

Slightly odd things: dentists must have defibrillators. Are people dying in dental offices? THIS IS WORRISOME. Also, fishermen can now operate THREE POLES AT ONCE. Three! At ONCE! Well, this is exciting. Because before, they could only operate TWO. I know, right? Think of all the fishing that will be done!

The best thing: “Bear gallbladder (S.3858) – Bears have been killed illegally simply for their gallbladders and bile for use in ancient medicines. New York was one of only five states that didn’t restrict bear gallbladder trade. Not anymore.”

You can no longer sell or trade bear gallbladder or bile in New York State. Well! This is VERY EXCITING FOR BEARS. I mean, think of it! Now New York will be a vacation getaway for bears! This law will have the added incentive of upping our bear tourist dollars, and you know how broke New York is. So now we’ll get all these vacationing bears, who, in the past, were totally scared of coming here because they were afraid of being legally murdered for the sale or trade of their internal organs.

Psst, just don't do this while driving, BEAR.

Whoo-hoo, New York! We love bears!

There are a LOT of things happening here. It’s like the game Mousetrap, only with guns.

This comes to us, much like the awesome Zazzle bumpersticker above, via @grngeekgirl. In case you were wondering, she is awesome. Yesterday, she also alerted me to the existence of Poetry Puma?

And that’s just about the best thing.

Also, in case you want to stalk her, she’s one of the brilliant minds behind Insatiable Booksluts. YOU’RE WELCOME.

Anyway, so this happened a few days ago.

I know, we learned yesterday you don’t like to click. I’ll recap, because I love you like I love a good novel on a cold winter’s night.

In Utah, a man (who, per the photo in the article, looks like a skeevy version of this guy I used to work with, and no one knows where he moved to, so I GUESS it could be him, Chris? Is this what happened to you when you moved away and you told everyone you were going to travel to Europe for a year and backpack? Was “traveling to Europe for a year and backpacking” code for THIS?) saw a rat in his apartment.

So, you know, as you do, he pulled out a gun and shot at it.

I like that in the article it says “the police say they suspect alcohol was involved.” But I think that’s really rude, because why would you suspect that? SHOOTING AT RATS WHILE IN YOUR HOME IS THE ONLY WAY.

Anyway, so Ratkiller Randy was a shitty shot. He accidentally shot through the wall, hitting his first roommate.

STOP WORRYING, Roomie One is fine. I think. He almost died but is now in stable condition.

So, we’ve got Ratkiller Randy, Gutshot Gary, and then what does Ratkiller Randy hear? A female scream! Well! This is offputting, what could this be? So Ratkiller Randy then calls the cops.

When the cops arrived, what do they find?

  • Ratkiller Randy, probably all “THERE WAS A RAT WHAT THE HELL DID YOU EXPECT ME TO DO, GUYS”
  • Gutshot Gary, dying
  • A third roommate
  • A thirteen-year-old girl in the basement closet
  • A fourth roommate, sound asleep upstairs, who slept through it all

WAIT! You’re saying. Amy! What’s this? I think you glossed over something important in that list there.

Yes, I did. There were four roommates in that apartment. I know, that’s a lot. Once, I had four roommates, and by the end of that semester, we were all totally ready to kill one another. You put that many people in close proximity with one bathroom? FORGET ABOUT IT. It’s like murder city.

Ha! I kid. No, the cops found a thirteen-year-old, in the basement closet. She was the source of the scream. She had been sleeping with the third roommate (let’s call him Pedophile Paul) for four months, unbeknownst to the other three roommates.

And yes, the fourth roommate – Narcolepsy Nick – slept through ALL OF IT.

There are SO MANY THINGS going on here, I can’t even fathom. Guns! Too many roommates! Closets! Pedophiles! Narcolepsy! Drinking and, I can only assume, some sort of drug use, because seriously, you SLEPT through GUNS and COPS and RATS and PEDOPHILIA?

This is totally that game Mousetrap that I used to play when I was a kid that I loved where you’d build the mousetrap, and then when it was done, whoever won got to set the whole thing in motion and, if you’d put it together just right, it would trap the other player’s mouse. Often, though, it wouldn’t, because the pieces were old, and it would just collapse. But in this case, the mousetrap worked PERFECTLY! And it trapped a PEDOPHILE! And also kind of almost killed Gutshot Gary, but he was just collateral damage, really.

What the Frig

So ok, this just kind of goes without comment. Well, with minimal comment.

So a woman in Oklahoma’s husband died of cancer, leaving her alone to raise her three-month-old baby. She was eighteen. EIGHTEEN. When I was eighteen, I was starting my freshman year of college, being all emo-moping, writing bad poetry, drinking too much Mountain Dew, and not sleeping enough. Not raising a baby and mourning my husband. That is just the worst. I feel horrible for her. Not even sarcastically.

So the DAY of her husband’s funeral, some shady-ass mofo shows up at her house, claiming to be a neighbor wanting to say hello and attempting to gain entry. She denied him entry, because she thought, “this is one shady-ass mofo.”

On New Year’s Eve, Shady-Ass Mofo RETURNS, with a FRIEND this time, and a hunting knife, and begins BREAKING INTO HER HOUSE.

Does this faze our bad-ass protagonist? NO IT DOES NOT. She grabs a shotgun and a pistol, gives the baby a bottle, and calls 911. I AM TOTALLY HALFWAY TO IN LOVE WITH HOW EFFING COOL SHE IS UNDER PRESSURE YO.

She asked 911 if she was within her rights to shoot him if he got into her house. 911 told her that, although they could not TELL her it was ok to do that, she had to do what she had to do to protect her baby.

So our protagonist SHOT HIM TO DEATH ONCE HE GOT IN.

OK, so listen. This is an eighteen-year-old, who just lost her husband, and is now raising a three-month-old all by herself. A shady-ass bastard shows up, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t wielding that knife because he wanted to carve her holiday turkey, you know?

And she shot him.

Sorry, but GOOD.

I know, we don’t like violence. But if it was the death of an eighteen-year-old single mom in mourning and possibly also her child, and most likely it would not just be a death, but whatever else he was there to do to her? And the death of some asshat with a hunting knife, preying on someone in mourning? I’ll take the asshat douchecanoe dying every time, thanks.

Now that I’ve said this, we’ll probably end up finding out more info, like she knew the guy or was a crack addict or really kicked puppies in her free time or something, yeah, I get that, fine, whatever.

But right now? You go, Kick-ass Protagonist from Oklahoma. Also? I’d totally shoot someone if they were coming after The Nephew. Just saying. Without a second thought.

THERE! Your hunting and gunplay roundup for the day, with extra bloodthirstiness! Happy Thursday, minions and minionettes!

Gobble Gobble Goo and Gobble Gobble Gickel; I Wish Turkey Only Cost a Nickel

Now, most people, on Thanksgiving, make the obligatory Thanksgiving post. With the “thanks to my family and friends and God and my health!”

And that’s nice. It is! Very nice. I applaud that. And I thank all of those things. Well, I guess all of those things, I’m kind of up in the air about the God thing. No emotions there either way, honestly. But the rest? Sure. Family! Friends! Health! Awesome.

But today, on Thanksgiving, surrounded by all the thankfulness, because LISTEN, I am having a KICKASS day, thank you very much (I’m sure you all are, too, with your families and your turkeys and your stuffing and your jello salads – ok, maybe not so much those, UGH, travesty – and maybe even your football games or something, I don’t know, isn’t this a sports day or something?) I realized that yes, I do have to do a thankfulness post, only I have to be thankful for something that most people aren’t going to be thankful for today.

I would like to give thanks to my cellphone.

What? You’re thinking. THIS IS DISGUSTING. What an AMERICAN thing to give thanks to. WHAT ABOUT PEOPLE. Amy is HORRIBLE.

Please stick with me on this.

In April, I saw a commercial advertising a cellphone plan with unlimited internet and texting for a price I could afford. I’d been mulling over getting a cellphone, because my cellphone at the time was kind of like this:

And you know, it’s not so easy to get online on something like this. Unless maybe you bludgeon someone with a laptop with it, and steal their laptop.

So I had a little money in the bank, and I looked at the available phones, and I saw the first phone above. And OH, was it pretty. And small. And Google-ready. And I fell in love with it on the website. And apparently, so did the rest of the world, because it was sold out almost immediately. So I waited. Impatiently. And then! Restocked. So I – technophobe me – bought a cellphone that could GO ONLINE.

So for the first month or so, I played a lot of games on it. That was nice. I mean, kind of unsatisfying? But nice enough. And I looked up a lot of things on Google. And I texted people, because I could do that now. And I checked Facebook a lot. But then I thought, you know, you HAVE a fancy cellphone. You know what you could do with this? Join Twitter. That might be fun!

So first I researched Twitter. The overwhelming consensus was “Twitter sucks.” But when everyone tells me not to do something, I usually do it, because I’m pretty stubborn, and other people suck. So I joined Twitter, and for the first couple weeks, meh, you know? Like, it was nice to see what celebrities were up to, I suppose. But no one really talks to you or anything. Except Amanda. I’m totally thankful for Amanda being as awesome and hysterical and funny and sweet and sarcastic as she is.

Then Joe Hill – hey, I’m thankful for Joe Hill, are you reading Joe Hill? DO IT – tweeted about a new book club. The Geek Girls Book Club. Now, I’m a geek! And a girl! And I totally dig books! And that sounded like fun. I’d always wanted to be part of a book club, but didn’t know how to go about that in the real world. So I joined this book club, hoping I’d be geeky enough.

Guess what this book club was? Kind of the best thing that ever happened.

I know. You weren’t expecting this to get sappy. You thought, HEY, this started SO SARCASTICALLY, what’s with the sap. Sorry. Bait & switch. It’s Thanksgiving.

The #GGBC (Twitter hashtag, in case you’re all “what’s with the pound sign?”) is a group of the most amazing people you’ll ever meet. We discuss books, sure. But we also discuss everything else, ever. And hey, are you sad? They’ll talk to you down. And hey, are you celebrating something? They’ll cheer with you. @nikkisticks put this group together, and do you ever want to meet a superhero? She’s one. A real-LIFE one. No joke.

So, about a month into being part of this amazing group of people, I thought, hey. You know what might be fun? I read all of these amazing blogs. (I’m not going to link you to all of the blogs that inspired me to be this ridiculous daily, but they, along with new shiny finds, are on the right over there, if you’re reading this on my homepage. And, people who inspired me to be this ridiculous daily? Thanks. Alternately, I’m sorry.) So what if I started a blog? I mean, if it sucks, I could always stop. Good night, sleep well, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning, you know?

Lucy’s Football happened. And hey. GUESS WHAT. People LIKED it. I know! I didn’t think anyone would read it! It started with my #GGBCers. Who told people. And then people started following me on Twitter. And more people started telling more people. And now LIT-ra-lly (sorry, I totally can’t say literally without Chris’s Parks and Rec voice in my head) hundreds of people read me ramble every day. It is CRAY-CRAY.

So apparently, my domination of the interwebs was not complete, because then three of my favorite #GGBCers said, “Hey, Amy, want to start a collaborative blog?” and what do you say when someone throws a purring kitteh of awesomeness in your lap? “No thanks, I’m good?” NO. You say, “HELLS YES WHEN AND WHERE BITCHES.” The Loser’s Table was born.

Then I got the opportunity to work with MORE sparkly awesome kittehs of awesomeness on Insatiable Booksluts. I mean, this has become more BRAGGING than THANKFULNESS. I don’t think that’s what the pilgrims meant. I’m pretty sure there should be more maize, too.

And how many awesome people do I have in my life that I didn’t last year at this time? I can’t name you all. Primarily because some of you probably don’t want anything to do with this brag-ass post that is masquerading as thankfulness. But seriously, I love you guys.

So let’s recap, shall we?

Thankful for:

  1. My cellphone, which led to all of this awesomeness
  2. Twitter, which introduced me to some of the most amazing people in the world
  3. The #GGBC, because you befriended me, made me realize, for the first time in my life, it’s ok to be a geek, made me laugh, and confidenced me up
  4. The people who read my blog every day, even though I’m not 100% sure why you do, and you seem to think I know what I’m doing, which scares the shit out of me, but please don’t stop
  5. The people who think I write well enough to want me to work with them on THEIR blogs, which, seriously, are you sure? OK, wow
  6. My internet friends, who my father insists aren’t real, but I’m pretty sure they are, or else it’s a REALLY well-orchestrated plot, and kudos
  7. My real-life friends, who actually hang out with me face-to-face, even though I’m kind of socially inept
  8. My long-distance real-life friends, who are the most supportive people and who have stuck around me for years, and again, I’m not sure why? But I love you guys so much it gives me an ice cream headache
  9. My BFF W., who I love more than pretty much anyone in the world ever ever ever and who sends me honey badger pictures to shore up my confidence, lets me text him when I am freaking out about, well, pretty much anything, and never, ever, EVER, even when it’s warranted, makes me feel like a weirdo
  10. My family, genetic and extended, who passed down all this awesome strangeness and remain supportive, hysterical, and kick-ass
  11. And the simple fact that, a year ago today, I was not in the place I am today; and today, this place I am in? Is fantastic, and I love it.

See? You THOUGHT you were going to get some love song to LG, didn’t you. Well. I love my phone. So much so, that when I thought my office was on fire last week, it’s the only thing I saved and I almost froze my ass off standing outside without a coat on. But I love the things it brought into my life more. And those things are people.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Thank you for reading, and continuing to read. I love you all to death, even though I won’t admit it probably any day but today. SHOW NO WEAKNESS. Except on a holiday built around fowl and carb consumption.

(Also, Happy Thanksgiving, Adam Sandler. Even though I hate your new movie trailers with the fire of a million suns, I stole lyrics from your “Thanksgiving Song” for my post title. I wish I could quit you, baby.)

Rockin’ Robin went Tweet, Tweet, Tweet? Birds Have Internet Connectivity? Distressing.

OK, I have to be quick today. I AM A VERY BUSY LADY. That’s a total lie. I mean, the lady part. NO, of COURSE I have lady parts. You really confuse easily. This is worrisome, right? You might want to get this looked into.

The hilarious LGalaviz has moved over to WordPress. This is cause for rejoicing, people! Because she was on Blogger which sucks like an Electrolux! Does anyone say that anymore? I doubt it. Because who even knows what an Electrolux even is? Listen, I don’t hear rejoicing. WHY AREN’T YOU REJOICING. OK, first you doubted that I had a uterus and now you refuse to rejoice. Are you just a  bunch of robot people all clinking and clanking around or what the hell is wrong with you?

If you aren’t reading her blog, you are missing out on the awesome, and I will give you a moment to collect yourselves, read, and come back. No, seriously, come back. I know. She’s like leaps and bounds funnier than I am, and also she has consistent graphics and, more importantly, she sticks to a point, which is awesome. She does not ramble like I do. And she’s following blogging RULES now, you guys. RULES. This is impressive because the minute anyone says rules I want to stick a freshly-sharpened pencil in their eye and kick them with a steel-toed Doc Marten? I know. I kind of overreact when rules are mentioned. Sorry.

Anyway, I did have a point, which I am eventually getting around to. It is this: recently, she blogged about how to be funny on Twitter. And that is awesome, and well-needed advice. And because today is Sunday and I am a very busy lady (I AM A LADY DO I HAVE TO SHOW YOU MY TITS WHAT THE HELL) (what do you mean a lady would never offer to show her tits to strangers, that’s really judgey of you, you don’t know what all ladies everywhere would do ever, what are you, omniscient?) with much busy-ness happening, I’m kind of going to steal from her, but also out of LOVE. And RESPECT. Listen, I read those “how to blog” things, too. And they ALWAYS SAY read other people’s blog for inspiration. Well! I WAS INSPIRED.

Now! I love Twitter. I always thought Twitter was just the stupidest? Until I signed up, and made friends, and realized it is just about the best thing since best things? And now when people say “TWITTER? Ugh, who CARES” and make that face like they’re biting into a lemon I want to punch them in the pancreas, because they either a., never tried it, or b., have tried it, no one followed them, and they gave up, or c., they were doing it wrong.

Also, Twitter is an awesome resource for things other than chatting, like finding out breaking news (no, I’m completely serious, I’ve found out the last three major news stories on Twitter because Twitter knows them before anyone else), weather-related things, and having intelligent discussions with strangers about things like books or movies that no one you know has seen or read because you are a gigantic geek and everyone stays away from you but NOT ON TWITTER NO NO NO.

But listen, you don’t need to know how to be funny on Twitter, because you can just click up there, right? And like I said, her blog is better than mine. With rules and photoshopped imaginary tee shirts and such. So I thought, I KNOW WHAT NICHE NEEDS TO BE FILLED. That’s what she said.

How not to be an asshat on Twitter

  1. Stop spamming the shit out of me once I follow you and you looked like a normal human being until I clicked follow and then all I see in my timeline is a million #FFs and it’s Saturday for the love of Pete. Why so crazy? Listen, YOU SEEMED NICE. So I followed you. Because I have nothing against following people that seem normal and not like bots! I don’t have a protected account because Twitter is my anti-Facebook. I protect the hell out of my Facebook. Twitter is where I’m a nudist. So yeah, sure, I followed you. Then you started merrily spamming the hell out of my feed all “have a great day” and “#ff” and “#FS” and “#supersunday” and THAT IS ANNOYING. I have REAL TWEETS COMING IN. Bye. Blocked. Jesus. Oh, speaking of Jesus? We had auditions this week, and there was a line in the play which was, “They’re your friends. Jesus.” Where the character was upset with her husband about his friends and the party she was dragged to. Only a few of the auditioners said it like, “They’re your friends, Jesus.” Like they were TALKING to Jesus. Like they were having an ARGUMENT with Jesus. Like Jesus, pre-last-supper, had trashed the place and was having an argument about who should tell the apostles they had to clean up. “I don’t want to tell them. You tell them, Mary Magdalene.” “No. That’s not my job. They’re YOUR FRIENDS, Jesus.” Sometimes I have such a hard time keeping a straight face during auditions, I can’t even tell you. And I’m in charge of the damn things! I have a little chair! In FRONT of everyone! Where I OVERSEE! So if I’m cracking up, it is TOTALLY OBVIOUS!
  2. Don’t RT everything that comes your way because it’s like the boy who cried wolf, people are going to stop paying attention to you. I mean, once, twice, three, four, hell, five or six or seven times a day? I don’t care. That’s fine. Or if you’re really jazzed about something! Retweet it! But constant retweets? Like I told a friend this week, this makes you like the magpie of retweets and you’re all hoarding shiny things. STOP IT. Come up with some original content. Tweetcaster, which I use on my phone, has the option of zipping retweets if someone is getting really obnoxious with them. I’M TOTALLY GOING TO START WIELDING THAT YO.
  3. Be aware that if you have a conversation with someone, it’s visible to everyone you both mutually follow, and also anyone who clicks on your profile, so if you’re calling them names, everyone can see that, which I suppose is fine if you don’t mind everyone knowing your personal business, but if you thought it was private you’re doing Twitter wrong. Then the erasing of tweets and the “I was drunk” or whatever starts and that is just embarrassing. I mean, if you accidentally tweeted something like “aoiouipsdf” it might be a mistake, like you sat on the keyboard or your cat jumped on it or something, but it takes work and care to craft an actual response, and no one believes it was in error. Be careful, my little brussels sprouts.
  4. Don’t chime in on something when you have eleventy billion followers and then not know the facts and then look like you’re BFFs with a child molester enabler, ASHTON KUTCHER. I don’t want to get in on the Penn State thing – it is none of your business how I feel about it and it is none of my business to get involved – but hey! Kutcher! HOW DID IT ESCAPE YOU THAT IT WAS HAPPENING. Seriously? That’s like walking outside without pants on. Oh. Wait. It’s Kutcher. I think he probably does that regularly. No, actually, I take that back? I think the dumbness is a total act for Kutcher. The guy’s savvy and pretty intelligent. So was it a lie, and he thought that his massive Twitter following wouldn’t get all up-in-arms that he was pro that coach who got fired, no matter what he may or may not have covered up by omission or whatever? Or was he really so far out of the loop he really hadn’t heard the story? I don’t care. Just saying. BE CAREFUL IF YOU HAVE ELEVENTY BILLION FOLLOWERS.
  5. Don’t tweet constantly about really, really stupid things. Like “I am listening to a song” and then “I am listening to a song” and then “I am listening to a song.” Because “I am bored out of my effing mind right now.” I’m not saying everything you tweet has to be scintillating. Because it doesn’t. I mean, it’s Twitter. We tweet about minutiae all the time. But repetitive boringness is SO BORING. Stop. Just stop.
  6. Don’t try to sell things all the time. I mean, I don’t mind if you have an Etsy shop and once in a while you link to it, or if you have a friend who’s raising money for a marathon for blind war orphans, or whatever, but if you are constantly having, oh, I don’t know, Tupperware parties, or something, probably I don’t want to know about that. Also, do people still sell Tupperware? Once when I was a kid I went to a Tupperware party with my mom and I won a colander and what the hell was I going to do with a colander? But my mom wanted the colander so she traded me for a 64-pack of Crayolas and a coloring book. I WON. Although now that I’m in my mid-thirties I totally want that colander back. I wonder if she’d consider reversing the trade.
  7. Spellcheck. Grammarcheck. I mean, we all typo once in a while, but seriously, every single time? It is embarrassing. I feel like maybe your kid is really the one on Twitter.
  8. Don’t constantly tweet famous people as if they are your friends. Once and a while to tell them congrats on something, or to answer one of their questions? Sure. “Hey @rainnwilson you were super hot on The Office this week I like your glasses LOL at you” probably just means you’re soft in your head and also a starfucker.
  9. Similarly, STOP CONSTANTLY TWEETING CELEBRITIES FOR A RETWEET. I don’t get this AT ALL. Does your life worth hinge on a celebrity retweet? This makes me super-sad. What do you do, print and frame it? STOP IT. I’m not saying that the couple of times that famous people have talked to me I didn’t almost fall out of my office chair. I won’t name drop but recently a very famous person not only talked to me, he STARTED FOLLOWING ME. And this made me so happy I seriously almost died and then did die and then reanimated just to die again. BUT I PUT ON MY BIG GIRL PANTS AND SHUT UP ABOUT IT. Did I squee about it quietly to exactly three people, none of which who care much about Twitter and were all “that’s so nice?” Yes. That is all. Also, I didn’t immediately say “HEY CAN I GET A RT” to him. Or RT what he said to me. Because, GROWNUP. Also, LADY. YES, FINE, not a lady. WOMAN, then. Whatever. I still have a uterus. A KICKASS UTERUS.
  10. Trolling people is not funny. If I say something and you do a Twitter search and then you find what I said and tweet at me that you’re going to kill me because I don’t have the same political beliefs as you, you’re probably on the edge of insanity. Just saying. And also super-sad.

There. Now you know how to be FUNNY on Twitter, and you know how to not be an ASSHAT on Twitter. These are IMPORTANT SKILLS. I’m pretty sure you owe LGalaviz and I some sort of favor and/or reward. Like possibly money, but we’d probably also take goods. Or gift cards.

And, since you have these skills, and if you follow either of us on Twitter, if we see you acting not-funny or douchecanoey, we’re going to probably throw hammers at you. It’s within our rights as very famous WordPress bloggers. What? It totally is. There’s a contract and everything. NO YOU CAN’T SEE OUR CONTRACTS. That’s like a very private legal document. RUDE.

Baby, You Can Drive My Car. But if You Start Texting, I’m Tossing You Out of It.

New York State recently had a new law go into effect. This law – the Distracted Driving Law – went into effect on July 12 and is an extension of the cell phone law that went into effect in late 2001, which prohibits drivers from using a cell phone while driving without using a hands-free device. The Distracted Driving Law takes it one step further. You are now not permitted to text, email, play games, or get on the internet while driving.

The fine isn’t much – a $150 ticket for either talking or texting.You also get 3 points off your license.

Here’s the thing.


Alright, yes, I get it. I’ve spoken on my cell while driving. I got my first cell way back in days of yore – 2001, I think – yeah, I know, did we even have CARS back then, weren’t we still in HORSE AND BUGGIES, ha ha – and I remember thinking I was one cool kitten, driving around chatting with people. Really, it was just kind of douchey. I didn’t need to be talking to those people. It wasn’t something that couldn’t have waited. It just seemed like a very, very adult thing to do. Talk on the phone? While driving? Yes! I am a very important businesswoman! I could very well have Grey Poupon in my satchel! I also lived in another state, and there were no cell phone laws there then. (Just checked. There still aren’t. Except school bus drivers aren’t supposed to be talking and driving. So that’s good. Progress! You go, Grand Canyon State!)

I then went years and years without a real cell phone. Well, I had a cell phone – I think I’ve mentioned this – that didn’t have internet access, and the “5” button didn’t work unless you went all ragemonster on it and bashed it with all of your might into submission. Did I talk on it in my car? Well, I went almost seven years and made approximately 20 calls on the thing, all-told. I talked on it once in the car while I was parked, does that count? It was a phone I had because in this day and age, you need a cell phone. There aren’t pay phones on every corner, and sometimes you’re driving somewhere and your car breaks down and you’re alone. It had no bells or whistles. I didn’t think about it much. It didn’t text. It didn’t have games. It had one ringtone. It didn’t have internet access.

I recently upgraded to a Droid. I seriously am quite sure that an angelic choir sang when I opened the box. The phone makes calls. But the phone texts. It has internet access. Apps! APPS! WHY DIDN’T YOU PEOPLE TELL ME ABOUT THE GLORY OF APPS? I was always one of those morally superior “why are people always GLUED to their PHONES” people but I haven’t looked up from the damn thing since April. I’m getting a hunchback from always peering down at it. It is a love affair, what I have with this phone. A very, very serious thing.

Here’s the thing, though. I don’t talk on it much. Main reason being, I hate talking on the phone to anyone but a select few, and when I want to settle in and talk to those people, I want to be comfortable, in my bed, with a phone that doesn’t heat up like hot lava and threaten to lose its charge before I’m done waxing poetic on the merits of Tide vs. Gain laundry detergent. (I’m being facetious. I’ve only had that conversation a few times. The answer is, they are both amazing and make your laundry smell like it’s been hung on the line; buy whichever is cheaper that day. And use coupons. Who cares if people look at you like a crazy bag lady. You have extra money in your pocket; their pockets have nothing but lint. WHO’S LAUGHING NOW SNEERY MCJERKFACE.)

I do text, though. And Tweet. And everything else you can do on it. If I have it, I’m going to use it to its full advantage. At first, I was just using it for the games, but I haven’t played a game on it since I discovered Twitter. Twitter entertains me a lot more thoroughly than Angry Birds. (OK, Angry Birds fans, I know, you’re probably ready to lynch me. Here’s the thing. Angry Birds crashed twice on me, when I was pretty far into it. The thought of re-doing all of those annoying little fiddly levels AGAIN, a third time, is crazy-making for me. I’ll talk to my Twitter friends instead.)

A few years ago, people started murmuring that we needed a New York State no-texting-while-driving law. I remember when I first heard that, I laughed so hard I choked a little. “Yeah, because people are always texting while they’re driving,” I said, between spates of laughter. Everyone looked at me (as they do, often, it’s like the default setting) like I had two heads. Apparently, EVERYONE texts while driving. I did an informal poll; all of my friends said they’d done it. One showed me how; she put the phone on the center horn part of her steering wheel and texted with her thumbs while steering with the remaining 8 fingers on the wheel itself.

This is not a good idea. Who thinks this is a good idea? Or are you all well aware this isn’t a good idea, but just think, shit, who cares, I have to tell my BFF I’m almost there, mix my margarita extra salty tonight? Or tell my kids to put the TV dinners in the microwave? Why can’t whatever you’re saying wait?

I get talking while driving. And I don’t condone it, but I think it’s doable. Yes, it’s better to have a Bluetooth. And it’s illegal to do it without one, at least in New York State. But listen, half of the time, we only use one hand to drive, anyway, so having one hand on the wheel and the other on your cell – not that big of a stretch. Also, you’re not all that distracted, talking and driving. If you’ve ever had a passenger, you know. It’s doable. Is the optimal driving experience both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, no talking, no distractions? Yes, sure. But the optimal life experience is a ton of money, a geeky-smart-hot boyfriend, and a house on the ocean, and I don’t have that, either, so there you go.

The problem in New York State seems to be once we have a law on the books, we don’t enforce it. I sat at a fairly large intersection early last week – the Latham SPUI – as the first one at the light, and decided to do a very serious scientific experiment (which will most likely be written up in many prestigious journals. I know. I just can’t help how fancy I am.) I counted 21 cars going past me before it was my time to go. Out of those 21, 9 drivers were on cell phones (without a headset; I couldn’t tell how many were using a headset. I don’t have that kind of laser-perfect vision.) Two were looking at themselves in the mirror on the sunvisor. (While driving through a kind of confusing new intersection. You’re gorgeous! Eyes on the road, now, please!) One was turned around talking to, or looking at, someone or something in the backseat. (I kind of feared for my life with that one.) One was eating a gigantic sloppy sandwich. One was picking his nose. So out of the 21 drivers, 14 were doing illegal, stupid, distracted, or uncouth and unsanitary things while driving. I’m no math wizard, but that’s 66% of the drivers. And now I want to stay home forever and for always, or buy a bubble like Jake Gyllenhaal in Bubble Boy. (Shut up, it’s so awful it’s kind of awesome. No, ok, fine, it’s just awful.)

But those 9 people should have gotten tickets, right? I mean, under the law that’s been on the books for ten years? Why do you have a law if you don’t enforce it? What’s the point? Is it one of those laws that they only enforce when you’ve done something else heinous wrong, then they tack it on to the other things? If so, no one’s going to stop texting while driving.

Also, you’re gaming? While driving? Seriously? This is something people do? This is more unfathomable to me than texting. Phone screens are small! You need to pay close attention to those suckers! So you’re doing that, the l-shaped Tetris brick is dropping, and BAM YOU JUST KILLED FIDO YOUR KIDS ARE WEEPING HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY WITH YOUR NEW HIGH SCORE, HERO.  You can’t wait? You can’t wait until you get wherever you’re going to play your triple-word-score on “Words with Friends” or roll a Yahtzee or drop one of the black bomb birds or whatever? I think your priorities might be a little backwards.

I have checked my phone for new texts while in it. I’m not going to say I haven’t. I’ve even read them – while at red lights. Not while the car is moving. I have not responded to them. Nothing is so pressing it can’t wait. And yes, while we’re at it, I’m that asshole who insists you wear your seatbelt while you’re in my car. Put up a stink about it, and you can walk your ass home. I’m driving, and the last thing I want is an accident where you get thrown into ME because you didn’t have yours on. Yes, it’s all about me. I could care less about you. Seatbelts are the law, and you’re a dick if you don’t wear it. Put the goddamn thing on and shut your mouth.

Here’s my point (yes, yes, I have one, shut it, mouthy.) You are driving a car. A car is approximately 3,000 pounds. (OK, I’ll get back to the point in a minute. Really? Google says that’s true. Isn’t an elephant 2,000 pounds? My little grey car weighs more than an elephant? I don’t think that’s possible. Really? I’d kind of rather have an elephant. They seem enjoyable. Also at least one of them can fly, so maybe I’d be lucky and get one of those. Score! Free plane AND a cool pet!) You should honestly be doing one thing while behind the wheel of that vehicle: driving it. You shouldn’t be talking, texting, gaming, searching the ‘net, putting on makeup, eating, playing with CDs, what have you. It’s kind of a gigantic responsibility. You don’t only have your own safety to look out for; you are also responsible for the safety of all of those other lunatics, at least (according to SCIENCE) 66% of which are very distracted.

It’s a car. It’s not a diner, beauty parlor, juke box, internet cafe, or phone booth. It’s a 3,000 pound metal death box on wheels hurtling down the highway, you know? I don’t know if we so much need a law for that. You know what law I’d like enacted and enforced? Common Sense. Found breaking it: I get to pummel you with a soggy pool noodle until I tire of the exercise and go check Twitter to see what my friends are up to. I’d vote for any politician who brought that to the floor.

%d bloggers like this: