Category Archives: Humor

Social Media trolling or screaming obscenities from the safety of a fortress…

frenchtaunting

So, as many of the ramblings posted here have done before, this one takes inspiration from my experiences as well as conversations that crop up between friends. This particular one stems from a couple of different conversations, but the most recent went something like this:

Friend:  Yeah, I think people screwing with my plans is about the second or third most rage-inducing thing in life.
Me:  I sorta had gave up the rage factor on people messing with my plans about the time Saddam Hussein decided to vacation in Kuwait.
Friend:  Never give up your rage, without it, what ever would we do in traffic?
Me:  Same @#$% people do on social media, rage impotence from behind the shield of anonymity provided by computers and tinted windows?
Friend:  No, that’s for amateurs. The pros roll down their windows and make sure the intended target’s attention is well and truly garnered first.
Me:  Funny how so many get super brave and enormous social media balls fueling insults and threats and other bad manners. Yet, in person… they talk behind backs and generally smile and nod when confronted.
Friend:  It’s been a while since anyone threatened me on the social medias <sigh>.

From there we considered our mutual bent towards an unusual nature that is willing to embrace erudite vocabulary, intermittent swearing, and colorful metaphors without the benefit of shielding or anonymity. The friend’s observation is that most individuals are generally afraid of one or two things are likely outcomes in those situations: 1) actual conflict and 2) how it will make them look. For me, I tend to pick my battles. What I’ve discovered is that most of the battles in the virtual world aren’t worth my energy to have a truly emotional reaction. On the other hand, the traffic shyte… I still let rip with the best. It’s cathartic, and as long as my phone is on mute, I’ll remain employed and on good terms with my mother.

So, contrary to the behaviors of others, I’m least likely to stir the pot in the social media arena. I tend to avoid the hyperbolic and generally take a wide berth from flame wars and general trollery. Very unlike my behavior in person where my filters seem to be perennially blocked, and I’m likely to just let fly with whatever snark is lurking between my ears. The outcome is frequently unfortunate given any situation where observation will lead to less than complimentary commentary. The results are that my internal dialog choses to make itself externally present… fatigue often weighs into the balance towards a more likely chance of this occurrence. I haven’t decided if it is my general disapprobation of the cowardice inherent in that anonymity and safety of the keyboard diatribe and polite silence or if it is just a basic lack of self-preservation on my part. Given my father’s commentary on my usual modus operandi as “snatching defeat from the jaws of victory,” I’m going with the latter. Whatever the underlying cause, I would be the child at the side of the road pointing and saying “But he’s naked!” Honesty is not always the best policy. I’m learning, and it helps that frequently the overriding indolence will prevent my announcements as much as any prudence. It just simply isn’t worth my time or energy for the most part.

What IS it about humanity that they grow very large gonads when they feel they have the protection of invisibility or invulnerability? And why is it when these same types are confronted with their own flavor of incivility that they tend to run crying to whatever level of protector they can find pleading bullying and crying “FOUL”. Seriously, I’m astounded at the amount of nasty, hurtful, and semi-libelous (it is technically in print) bullpucky people fling at each other on the book of faces or twits. I cannot imagine most of said asshats having the actual (rather than virtual) cahones to say the same to someone’s face.

In the same way, I’ve actually observed people in traffic and on interstates having verbal and nonverbal seizures in response to our fellow travelers on the road. It’s times like these that make me rather wish for installed loudspeaker systems so that the targets of their ire can truly appreciate the creativity (or lack thereof). I would also like to install little electronic scoreboards so that we might give appropriate feedback. “Excellent use of extemporaneous verbiage. I give it a 8.7. Had to deduct points for lack of feasibility.”

What is completely dissimilar about the two different venues of diatribe is that most of our fellow journeymen (and women) on the road are unlikely to be aware or suffer any of the slings and arrows we spew forth in their general direction. Except in the most spiritual of ways, that verbal badinage of ill will hovers in a cloud around our own head and, for the parents in my readership, is occasionally reflected back from the mouths of babes who have overheard. The targets drive blissfully on in ignorance and probably dangerous levels of driving incompetence. On the other hand, the witting or unwitting target of hateful vocabulary flung upon the interwebs of social media and commentary are readily visible. Whether they know from whence the attack arises or not, that person is generally able to read, peruse, and commit to memory every ugly subject and predicate. Additionally, the verbal abuse flung from a car window is momentary, passing, and passes by as the car and the moment. That stuff on the webpage or text screen can be preserved for evah!

Now, for those of us healthy enough to realize that people flinging nasty at each other behind the mask of technology really should not make lasting impact on our self-esteem or psyches, it is possible to ignore…unfollow… block… and move on. But the old thing about sticks and stones isn’t entirely true. Our bodies tend to heal a good deal more quickly than our egos when words scar and threats scare. Lives have been ruined over what seems to be silly online commentary. Freedom of speech (or typing) is not freedom from consequences.

Personally, I do not think that censorship is the answer. I think common sense (which is not so very common) is a better solution. If you wouldn’t say it where someone could actually face or possibly reach you, then don’t say it. If you don’t want it recorded for posterity and possibly flung back in your face like a monkey defending territory, don’t put it on the internet. Seems pretty simple to me; which means that it will be ignored the whole way ‘round, my best guess. So, back to the end of that conversation at the beginning… it pretty much dissolved into the much more important topic of a team name. What do y’all think? Should we be the Slaughter Monkeys or Rioting Llamas? Decisions… decisions…

Random hair incidents…

I woke up this morning and looked like a crested crane. That is truly the only way to describe it. It didn’t have the fauxhawk majesty of a cockatoo, and yet it appeared to fan out around my head like I had inadvertently attempted to plug flatware into the nearest available power outlet. Whoever came up with the trend of “bedhead” has obviously never encountered my own follicles or their delight in creating what I might call… um… a “fright wig” out of the stuff on the top of my head.

Oh, I hear what you all are saying. What does it matter first thing in the morning? It’s not like your coffee is going to judge you (you just don’t know, do you). However, when one is facing the chock-a-block calendar o’ fun and the early morning gym is the only option you have, having Phyllis Diller’s Homely Friendmaker hairdo is not helpful. See… I heard you again. What does it matter? You are going to the gym. Well, that is entirely accurate, and I’m not one of those perfectly-groomed-going-to-work-out sorts with their fashionably matched Lycra, makeup, and hair-ties. However, I don’t want to traumatize any of the other patrons or staff. I’m telling you, the hair is terrifying. My mirror screamed.

S’ok, you would think this is easily remedied. Stick your head under a faucet and wet the stuff down. Oh… no… for whatever reason, my hair defies all attempts to tame. Water, gel, mousse, pomades… my hair just laughs. I’ve seen industrial adhesive types of hairspray whimper and cower away from my hair. The only thing that will occasionally remedy the situation is a rather long shower and shampoo. This is not always the option first thing in the morning, nor is it something I want to do before the gym just so I can do it all over again after the sweating.

Regardless, I cannot imagine why anyone would actually choose to style their hair in this fashion. Yet, I see it all the time; products to make your hair look like you have “bedhead.” So, apparently there are actually people out there in the world that deliberately work to make their hair look like how it allegedly appears when they get out of bed. Baffling.

While we are on the hair subject, I’m going to probably push it a bit to far and discuss other hair. I will try not to get too graphic, but what is it about hair on the human body that wants to grow where it shouldn’t and not grow where it should. I listen to friends of both genders complain about thinning hair and degrees of receding hairlines that eventually decided to just retreat in a full-out rout looking more like a reverse Mohawk than any other description. While I have not had the experience of losing all my hair, I have had some of the thinning occur due to various issues… including age. I’ve never quite felt it was fair that as we get older, most of us thicken in body and thin in hair.

And yet… we still grow hair. For those of you out there who have reached that age of wandering hair, you know what I’m talking about. Ears, nostrils, eyebrows… They all start sprouting like someone hit them with Miracle Grow. Not that people should be ashamed of what seems to be a natural occurrence, but serious nostril spiders should definitely be tamed back a bit.

In my own case, it is the eyebrows. I can’t fathom why they decide to wander. I’ll have them all groomed and in place with the appropriate curve and balance and, for me, just a hint of snarky arch. Then… BOOM! There it is… that little hair that seems to have gotten lost entirely from the group and is now trying its best to be an eyelash. Seriously?!? Where are you going little one? Get the hell back up there where you belong! No? Fine. I’m sorry for your shortened life. 

Now, I’ve told you that I was not going to delve into the overly graphic. I won’t, but just a brief word about the -scaping thing. Whether it is man or woman, keep it neat. It is my personal opinion that hair down there is appropriate and more importantly a secondary sexual characteristic of an adult. In other words, I think it is a little creepy to shave it bare. To each their own, but I just don’t think we should groom to look like pre-pubescents.

That being said, though, take a moment to groom. If the jungle is taking over and presenting to the world outside your bathing costume, it’s time for a trim. As for our guys out there… (again, sorry for dipping into the graphic) if your partner needs a machete and a native guide to find the twig and berries, it might be time to prune the shrubbery.

Ok, whew! I’m glad we’ve dealt with that. Back to safer subjects. Let’s talk extremities and the pits. Yeah. So, I know it is very un-liberated of me, but I’m not an au naturel gal myself. Again, to each their own, but I just really do not think that the arm pits are places to grow luxuriant locks. It’s a hygiene thing for me. Again, call me old fashioned or societally submissive, but an attractive woman in a fashionable sleeveless ensemble raising an arm to reveal BUSH!!!!! is not attractive. If you feel that is discriminating, fine… it’s distracting as hell! It disturbs the line of the attire. There. Also, the gorilla look is a little bit overwhelming as well. Now, to firmly put me in double standard mode, I don’t like the whole bare body thing on dudes. The guys who wax everything and are baby smooth all over… not a turn-on. I think it goes back to a couple of paragraphs ago for me. I like guys who have passed puberty. So, I’m ok with those secondary sex characteristics, like chest hair, hairy legs and arms, and the facial fuzz… within certain limits. For instance, I don’t want to sleep with Chewbacca. I don’t need a pelted guy, and back hair is just a little bit off-putting. It’s cool, though. They make procedures for that, and I think it’s only fair that occasionally guys have to experience a little of the discomfort we girls have been putting up with for years in the name of beauty.

And speaking of the facial displays, beards have come into fashion. I’m not sure what precisely influenced this, except the entertainment industry managing to put male leads in various versions of manly facial fuzz. As a young woman, I really never liked the facial hair on men. I liked clean-shaven, smooth faces. However, as I’ve gotten older, my tastes have changed. Now, I see a clean-shaven face, and all I can think is “Is he 12?!?” Nothing wrong with the clean face, but I have become more accustomed to men with mustache and beard. That said, Grizzly Adams or any of the Duck Dynasty crowd need not apply either. There is such a thing as too much beard.

Well… that about covers all I felt the need to say about the follicle struggles and wayward coifs. May your hairs be ever in place and may no random incidents ruffle your day.

 

The Girl Scouts are coming… The Girl Scouts are coming…

wintergirlscoutsarecoming

It seems that every time I turn around, I see emails, messages, social media, and broadcasts of impending doom. I’m talking about Girl Scout Cookie season.

While this may seem like an overly dramatic description of the phenomenon, for someone who is trying their best to maintain a healthy lifestyle and make good, healthy food choices it is the proverbial quicksand… that slide into the dreadful abyss that finds me hiding in a dark corner surrounded by crumbs whispering “My precious…” to an empty box. It can be quite devastating. For all that I have will of steel most of the time, these tiny malicious purveyors of sugary sin cut through like kryptonite knife applied to Superman. It’s horrible, that I can be reduced to such weakness by the mere sight of a Trefoil.

Oh the humanity!

As a friend describes the struggle, “It’s when I find myself in emotionally fragile moments actively seeking out Girl Scouts…” Yes… it can be like that. More frequently, though, I find that I can’t escape the young green-clad forces. If I have fair warning, I tend to become a hermit, steering clear of grocery stores, hiding inside my house, and putting my head between my knees until it passes. Sometimes, you just can’t hide. Occasionally the little blighters will get a jumpstart before I’ve had fair warning.

I found that the Girl Scout official site has a little script running that allows you to put in your zip code to see when the cookie season starts in your vicinity. They even have an app for that, like a tiny little locator tool on your phone for finding those little food-crack distributors. The problem is that living in certain areas, when one troop ends their season, another begins. It is a constant barrage of the sugar, fat, and flavors.

I’ve had so many kind friends try to help me. They say, “Buy them and stick them in the freezer…” Ok, and then what, send the freezer to a foreign country, because honestly I still know where my freezer is and it is not safe from my vampire-like blood-lust for the cookies (perhaps the ingredients in these morsels are not so wholesome as we thought, but more about that later). Sure, those boxes will keep fresh in the cool environment… they will also be easily retrieved in the middle of the night while I devour a whole box of Tagalongs. “Oh,” they say with great sagely nodding, “but you can just limit yourself to a couple of cookies and put the rest away. Portion them out.” Bwahahahahahaha!!! They say it with a straight face, too. I’ve had this same discussion with myself for quite a number of decades now, and I will tell you that if I eat a Thin Mint (any of you ever try to eat just ONE Thin Mint?!?)… I will eat a whole sleeve, if not the entire box. I mean, really. They cannot mean for you not to do so. The cellophane wrapped around those little crisp minty-chocolate wonders meant to keep out air and moisture and maintain freshness… has all the resealability (I totally made that word up) of a Kleenex. It practically dissolves when I look at it, and to my knowledge, I have not yet developed laser eyes. It’s not like you can put them back.

When I was finally diagnosed with intolerance for wheat, I thought that I might be safe. Seriously, the glutard in me was going to be my savior from the cookies. But nooooooo. They came up with gluten free offering (Toffee-tastic, who comes up with these names?!?) that won’t hurt my delicate digestive system… while utterly destroying my willpower and mangling my dietary choices.

So, I’ve never had a particularly demanding sweet tooth. I never begged for candy or cookies or sweets of any kind as a child. BUT… Girl Scout cookies are different. I cannot resist the pull. If they are out of site, they are out of mind, but as soon as I hear the siren call of “My daughter is selling Girl Scout cookies…” I can’t help myself. I am a ravening beast. I must have the cookies. I turn into a…a… dare I say it… a Cookie Monster. It’s crazy. So, I started thinking to myself. Self, says I… what is it about the Girl Scout cookies. Is there some secret ingredient, addictive chemical that makes me putty in the green-clad hands?

thinmintingredientlist

So… that prompted a considering discussion. Perhaps, as Wednesday Addams says they are made with real, authentic Girl Scouts. Packed with vitamins and protein? Would that be organic, or would that entirely depend upon the diet of the contributing scout? How can we make sure that we are getting the best quality? Could there be a merit award system (their badges) that might lead to failure to meet their sales quota and so those failing to meet must contribute in other ways? Would that make the quality of the cookie better or worse? In my head, suddenly was imagined the most horrid and twisted version that has ever been considered by the Bros. Grimm. I could hear the discussion among my most deviant chums. “Can I get the nutritional information on these Do-si-dos? I do not think the Girl Scout contributing was fed organic produce.” All in all, I suppose I should be somewhat distressed by my ghoulish turn of mind. I could imagine tracking and hunting of Girl Scouts could take on a whole new meaning.

All that being said… the truth is, those small green bedecked creatures with their collections of colorful badges displayed on the sashes across their chests still cause me to avoid eye contact and scurry past the tables laden with boxes for fear that I will ultimately lose control and find myself weary, sated, glutinous heap, and incarcerated from eating 24 boxes of Samoas and blocking the entrance to the Kroger… surrounded by the judgmental stares of the vicious little sales women, their troop leaders, and disgusted passersby.

Last night, as I had one of the aforementioned emotionally fragile, nay… unstable moments that led to a horrible (and thankfully rare) instance of vaguebooking on my part, I considered to myself that there may be cookies out there, and used the application on their website only to find that the season has started and there are no table events planned. Salvation, because I’m pretty sure I would have devoured multiple boxes and depleted my bank account to try the new additions to the lineup that I’ve never tried (and would be disastrous for my digestive system): Cranberry Citrus Crisps, Lemonades, Savannah Smiles, Thanks-a-lot, and Trios… I’ll be honest. They can keep the Rah-Rah Raisins. Ew. Since none of the species were in evidence, I was saved from sugar-gluten-chocolaty shame and self-loathing (more so than I was already feeling). It’s a cookie season miracle! God bless us every one! Sorry, that slipped out.

Well… that about does it. I’ve poured out my heart concerning the trials and tribulations of the strange craving caused by those devious boxes of confection. Gird your loins and prepare to do battle with your hunger pangs… you will start to see them soon. You have been warned.

Girl Scout Cookies and where to find them – http://www.girlscouts.org/en/cookies/all-about-cookies/Meet-the-Cookies.html

This crazy fact about Girl Scout cookies is shocking fans everywhere – http://news.yahoo.com/crazy-fact-girl-scout-cookies-185332762.html