Do I Sound Like A Tool? Do You?

So Simple Dude got me thinking (bravo Simple Dude, that is a rare occurrence, my friend!) and questioning my online speak, my blogging etiquette and my general social networking retardation in general.

Wordnet Web would like to let you know:

S: (adj) retarded (relatively slow in mental or emotional or physical development) "Stephanie was so out of touch with internet speak, her social networking skills became exceptionally retarded".

So, moving forward, what the hell?

I feel so out of touch with what is correct online anymore. You all know I've griped about “text-speak” and the like.

Wow, I just said "and the like"... I think I am older than my 30 years.

Tell me wonderful people of the Interwebs, what kind of language is acceptable these days?

• Is lol / LOL / lol'ed appropriate any longer? Sometimes there are funny blogs/comments/Facebook updates that do actually make me chortle (If you haven't yet, you have to read 27b/6) aloud, but as I commented on Simple Dude's post, if you still internally snicker/giggle or outwardly smile at something, how else do you relay that without sounding like a tool? I find "hehe" "haha" "just kidding" or "I found that particular comment somewhat amusing" just don't suffice. Plus, they take too long to type (yes, even hehe, it still technically contains one extra letter).

Yes, my laptop is free-standing and the lower half of my body isn't attached to the top half. Thanks for asking.

Apparently all other bloggers are large-nosed, fingerless, dread-wearing chicks who blog while in yoga chair pose.

• Even *I* know that nobody uses ROFLOLing anymore. I think. (Except one time recently when BF said one of my posts was funny and I was whiny about why he never laughed. His reply? What, do you expect me to roffloll... *snickers*. Yes, he sounded it out. On purpose. I hope think am pretty sure.)

• Is it appropriate to use emoticons? You know,  ole smiley :-) , winky ;-) , big smiley :-D , surprised guy :-O , nearly forgotten sticking-out tongue-at-you dude :-P, cheesy-assed heart <3 (that I TOTALLY use in google chat because it turns right-side up and turns RED people, it turns motherffing RED!).

• Is it appropriate to link back to your own blog with your web address, or reference a related/somewhat-related/not even remotely related post in your comments?  I do this often, as it seems we are a sharing community that way.  I will invite people to say hello, or use html to shorten that shit down.  I've even tried to work it so that if someone clicks on my link it will open in a new window (so as not to divert traffic from the blogger's site I am commenting on) but usually "new window" targets are not allowed in commenting.  I don't mind. Though I think if you leave your url at the bottom of the comment (if not referencing a particular post) that it speaks on its own to check out the site. You don't really need to finish with anything more than the web address itself.  What do you think? Cool?  Not cool?

•  These bullet points are actually really long paragraphs. Just sayin'.

• I know it's my own personal discussion board/venting outlet/creative tool, so I can do whatever I damn well please with it, but if you generally fall into a particular genre (for most of the bloggers who follow me, I would say observational humour), is it appropriate to post deep thoughts, emotional posts, serious topics?  My ”It Gets Better” post was scary and honest and true and I put it out there for all to see. And despite the number of page hits and views, despite the content, it only received 5 comments (2 were from family). On something I think everyone has an opinion on or can relate to at some level. So - is there no place for that here? Thoughts?

Curious to know your honest thoughts, though I'd like to think I will be defiant and post whatever the hell I want to.

• What other uncool stuff have people pulled on their blogs, or in your comments? What other faux pas should be avoided? I want make sure I have a semblance of what is truly appropriate with all you more experienced folks out there, and other non-bloggers who know the social media circuit and these interwebs here.

• Is it okay to have a Twitter account and only update it occasionally when you get an email that someone is following you?  I see other people's regular funny comments, and figure I am doing it wrong.  I kinda sorta totally hate Twitter.

• Is lol cool on Facebook?  Is it annoying as hell to post new blog links as my status?  I figure it is the only way some people might remember to check it out (who aren't regular blog followers or readers).  I worry it comes off spammy, but kind of don't give a shit, either.  I made a Facebook page, but only 9 people seem interested.  Hint, hint.  Just kidding. 

• Oh yeah, I will continue to express myself, of course, and stick it to "The Man" while blogging (hahahaha) <---- see that right there should be an lol, shouldn't it?  No?  I'm so confused.

Who the fuck says cheerio? Seriously.

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Songs I Feel

I am sure you have all seen enough of my banana guns mug for now. I have a few ideas for other funny posts, but I am exhausted and I've been meaning to post some of these for a while now.

There are some lyrics that just strike a chord deep inside me for various reasons. Some are sad, some are lighthearted. Some take me back many years and bring either fond or sombre memories.

I wanted to post either full or partial lyrics to one of those songs today. I promise more funny will follow sometime soon.

The first song?

The Philosopher Kings - You're Allowed.wma

(Don't be thrown off by the sounds at the start)

The boys who split your lip and hurt your pride
They broke you more than you know
And all the secret things, that bump in the night
The woes (wolves) outside your door

You're allowed to feel afraid
You're allowed to feel alone
You're allowed to ask out loud

mmmm mm hm mmm hmm

The boys that pulled your hair and hurt your pride
They broke you more than you know
And that drowning dream that comes in the night
The woes (wolves) outside your door


You're allowed to feel afraid
You're allowed to feel alone
You're allowed to ask out loud

You're eyes burn with sleep and your ears stop hearing me
Like when his body relaxes over you
     There's nothing in the world  --  There's nothing that's for real
                        There's nothing that's for real
                        There's nothing that's for real
                        There's nothing that's for real
                        There's nothing that's for real

You're allowed to feel alone
You're allowed to ask out loud

You're allowed
You're allowed
You're allowed


Song:   You're Allowed
Artist:   The Philosopher Kings (Copyright and all rights reserved to them and owned by them, etc. blah blah)
Album: Famous, Rich and Beautiful

[EDIT: File has been uploaded the only way that would work... might require a download and there may be limitations. Will remove after a few days. No online love for Canadian artist's obscure songs.]


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Boys From The Woodwork

[EDIT: BWHAH HAH HAH....
http://hotornot.com/rate/profile/SeriouslyReally

Are You HOT or NOT? ]



Please tell me that I am not the only person this has happened to.

In my life time, my long, long life time of 30-odd years, there has been many a boy, nay, a man, that I have had a large, unrequited crush on. And no, I do not care how frequently and improperly I used commas in that last sentence. I love the comma.

Moving on.

It would seem that, over the years, these "men" seem to crawl out of the woodwork. The key ingredient in this frustrating recipe for disaster, is the fact that these "men" only crawl out when I am in a serious relationship with a real man. (As opposed to those imaginary men from ages 17-19 and 22-24).

It has happened without fail in every serious relationship I have been in, that these "manchildren" seem to appear out of nowhere, profess their previously concealed crush/fancying of me/undying love (I don't think "fancying" is a word, is it?) and leave me scratching my head as to why this was never made apparent when I, too, was hot to trot for said manchild.

In high school, my heart was always aflutter for two particular Brandons. The first was my first love. The other was smokin' hot and I think every girl in school though he was the shizz-nat. For privacy's sake, let's call the 8-pack wielding droolfest "Brandon McSlavish". That should maintain his anonymity. Or not.

Said Brandon and I somehow re-connected after college via the wondrous newest chat tool at the time (take your pick, Google chat, MSN Messenger, or... wait for it...go way back... the flower power that revolutionized the internet for me and increased the number of words I could type per minute, ICQ).

Ahhh, how those little flower petals would set my heart aflutter.

 He said he had always thought I was cute, had liked me, thought I didn't want to talk to him, joked that I was a snob (yes, because a younger girl with self esteem issues would clearly approach and ask out a drool-fest 8-pack... and, well, you get the picture).

And this scenario has played out time and time again in my life. The "ones I had no guts to ask out" "ones I crushed on hardcore but never tried to talk to" "ones I totally would have emailed or texted as rejection is easier to face that way, except that shit didn't exist at the time" "ones who got away" didn't really get away... they just then seemed to pop up at inopportune times enough to be a pain in my ass later on in my life. It was usually only AFTER I indicated I was not single (which would usually be within the first four sentences of contact) that their secret like/lust/love would be mentioned and I would be left scratching my head.

Was it legitimate? Were they just having me on?

This list included exes who made contact once again that I had pined over for some time after the break up.

But, of course, I was happy and complete in my existing relationship, but it was just enough of a "that ship has sailed, but seriously? Reeeally? Seriously? Now? WTF?" to be frustrating as hell.

When I was single? No emails. No chats. No professions of love from the depths of 1997. Just me, on Hot or Not, trying to find the love of my life (and I look back wondering why I dated so many douchebags... good lord).

But as.soon.as.I.was.off.the.market, these menchildren would make the presence known, fluff their plume of feathers, indicate the grass was greener on the other side, and then disappear into oblivion once more.

Now I have the benefit of some time and some wisdom on my side. At this stage in my life, I can thankfully say that I don't long for past love. BF is pretty damn amazing, and I am thankful every day that we made the connection we did and that we continue to love each other and laugh together.

It is interesting, though, that Facebook is an entirely new platform from which these dudes could jump up from the past from. My best guess would be that most of them are married with 8 kids (hey, I come from a small town, I barely made it out alive/without 6 kids/by the skin of my nose/the nose that my own cousin pierced/in a tattoo shop he defaulted on, owed lots of money and made a few important people mad/which left a scar...)

So, you know, ghetto fabulous, people. So fuck heck yeah me!

I hope that any connections on Facebook now are just to be friends, but I am weary of the "guy who wants to 'catch up'" for all the wrong reasons.

Maybe I am just being high on myself ('cause you guys all know I do that ALL the time).

Just for the record, I went to Hot or Not, and damned if I didn't stay and rate people for 20 minutes. I think I have mild ADD. Also? I uploaded my banana guns photo, and if that shit gets approved, you bet yer butt I am posting it up here. [EDIT: I have followed through, my friends. Hence the image at the top of this post])

No one ever gets a rating of less than a 7 from me - seems unneccesarily mean. I mean, who cares, overrate, make someone's day. Or, better yet, get a life and don't go trolling Hot or Not at 1am on a Saturday night for blog "research purposes".

Any one else have this experience? The boy thing, not the Hot or Not thing?

That is all.


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