Panda love and social media

I'm a lover of social media.  It might have something to do with the fact that I've found a way to make a partial living off of my social media skills.  I look forward to making more of my living from my ability to like, share, comment, and retweet.  And whether you like it or not, social media isn't going away.  It may change and morph into something different, but the general concept isn't going away.

You're always going to know what is going on in someone else's life, for better or for worse.

You know what? That's just fine with me! 

You know why?  Because it means job growth! Yay!!!

But even I draw a line when it comes to TMI in the social media realm.  And last night I finally figured out what that line was.

Recently I've discovered I'm old.  I listen to news/talk radio on my way to work.  Sometimes I listen to it on my way home, too.  I get sucked into a story I hear is coming up so I just leave the station be so I can hear about the weather, traffic and details on the story that intrigues me.

Yesterday, while driving home, I heard a teaser that really threw me through a loop.  I almost changed the station because I was so miffed by the topic.  But it's like a bad car accident; you just can't divert your eyes.  Rubbernecking is human.  So I listened for the story.

The topic?  The panda at the national zoo in DC was getting artificially inseminated.  Ok, not too much of a gross-out, big deal there.  But wait!

YOU CAN WATCH/FOLLOW THE WHOLE AI PROCESS LIVE ON TWITTER!!!!! 

My god!  Are you serious?  Have we really gotten to the point in our society where we now need to watch Panda Porn on our various social media apps on our smart phones?  Really people?!?!?!!?!

Is this really the best use of social media?  I mean, I get it that we could use a few more pandas in the world.  And I know that the two at the zoo are having their own love spat right now and science and technology needs to lend a helping hand.  But do we need to watch the turkey baster do its thing?  Really? 

There is a fine line between sharing your life with the public and sharing what your bathroom toilet looks like while you try to take a rockin' picture of your "duck face" pose.  Honestly, there's no need to do that.  I don't care if you're texting people while you're on the pot.  I don't get bothered by the idea that you respond to facebook posts when you should be focusing on not missing the bowl.  But keep that information to yourself.  That's what makes it great.  I don't care that you're doing that, because I don't know that you're doing that!!!

But the fact of the matter still remains that we as Americans made it possible to watch an animal get artificially inseminated.  They don't even do that on National Geographic.  Come on folks!  GEEEEEEZUS!

Let's have a little social media decorum.  I'm pretty sure Mei Xiang would appreciate it!

Vanilla Tuna

I'm a part of various groups, whether in person or in the interwebs.  One of my virtual groups of friends is having a Secret Santa party in reality.  It should be a lot of fun because so many of us have met a couple people personally in the group, but not everyone has met everyone personally.  Yet, we're all friends. 

We know certain funny stories about each other, we have a good idea of what our kids like, who our celebrity crushes are, etc.  But if I had to pick one of them out of a line-up, there's about a 50/50 chance I wouldn't even come close! 

And because of this, it makes the Secret Santa aspect of the party that much more fun.  Because you could pick someone that you DON'T EVEN KNOW! So everything about them is pretty much foreign to you.  Talk about the ultimate secret!

I mean I know that A doesn't like the sight of breast feeding.  It totally grosses her out.  B loves to have sex with the windows open so the neighbors get jealous.  C pretty much wants to murder her husband once a week and is looking for volunteers to help bury the body.  And D, well, she's just a trip and is having lots of great sex with her husband. 

The fact of the matter is, I know that J makes great food, K just had a baby and L can put us all to shame with crazy kids stories.  I know who's puking or shitting at any moment in time.  I know who's just had sex, who's constipated, who's two minutes from strangling their kids, and who just put a hex on their neighbor.  (Why we all feel the need to share these intimate details of our lives, no clue.  Maybe it has to do with the fact that we don't all know each other personally.  Maybe after we meet we'll hear less about E's runs.)

What I don't know is whether E would rather have a gift card to Starbucks or a homemade scarf.  I'm not sure if P likes to shop at Walmart or a locally owned store. 

So to help with this, we've all begun to ask random questions about our preferences as a way to know more substantial things about each other.  Today's topic: what's our favorite smell?

My only response is: ANYTHING BUT VANILLA!!!!!  That smell is quite possibly the most popular smell in America and it grosses me out.  And here's why. 

Way back in the day when I first joined the military, I used to really like the smell of vanilla.  The lotions were a nice touch and as a bonus made my skin smooth.  But when I got to my first training location after boot camp, I got my first taste of what the "real Navy" was like.  And after the smell of boot camp funk wore off (there really is a distinctive smell you acquire while in basic training.  It's not really your fault, it just happens and you can't do anything about it.  Same thing happens on deployment.  You basically need to scrap everything afterward and start with fresh clothing after you're completely done.) it was back to wanting to smell pretty... pretty vanilla.

Well, the problem is, in the military you get a cross-cut of the American public.  (The good, the bad, and the fugly.) I just so happened to end up in school with a young woman who didn't really fully understand the concept of personal hygiene.  She didn't understand that you need to take a shower every day, especially after PT.  That you must wash your clothes regularly and that includes towels, sheets, and blankets.  Washing your hands after using the bathroom was even a stretch for her. 

And because of these habits, she ended up being pretty smelly.  I felt bad for her because she got put in a room by herself since no one could stand to live with her because of the stench.  She actually got held up before transferring to her first official assignment until they could teach her the basics of cleanliness.  And when I mean teach her the basics, I mean she was escorted to the shower every day and was watched to make sure she used soap and at least got a PTA (pits, tits, and ass) shower.  She was shown how to pour soap into and how to operate the washer. 

All of this training obviously sank in a bit, because she realized she was smelly.  So what did she do to mask the smell of tuna emanating from her being?  She reached for the most trusted scent in America and doused herself in it daily. 

At this point, the tuna smell was too far settled into everything she owned (they actually had to repaint the walls in her room when she left, and replaced the furniture because it had seeped into the pores).  So the vanilla did absolutely nothing at all for her other than give it a sweet musk additive.

So when I say I want NOTHING to do with the smell of vanilla it's because I think of a big, stinky albacore wafting up from the candle, lotion or body mist.  And I just puke a little in mouth because of it. 

World of Wild Crafters

You know World of Warcraft? (Yeah, I don’t either. I've heard about it, but I really have no idea what it is...) Well, if you don't know about WoW, I'm almost sure you probably don't know about the WoWC!

WoWC is the World of Wild Crafters.  I know, you're thinking, how crazy could crafters be?  Other than the occasional hot glue gun accident or needle incident, there can't be too much to it, right?  WRONG!!!  The crafting world is filled with enough characters to write a spinoff of Harry Potter or Melrose Place (the original one). 

You've got your scrappbookers (they're a bunch of cutters), your cake and candy makers (they're usually my favorite because I never turn down food), floral arrangement ladies (I'm pretty sure they're all born in the spring and named April), wood workers (their slogan is "We do it against the grain"), painters and photographers (that's like a Hatfield and McCoy feud.  And the framers are stuck in the middle). 

There's the jewelry makers (who are easily distracted by all their shiny things) and the needle point girls (don't piss them off  unless you want a needle to the eye).  And don't forget the quilters out there.  (They are usually found in gangs they like to call guilds and they're like the Masons of Crafting.  Once you've made a rambling rose quilt with appliqué you reach the 33rd Degree and get a special ring.)

And then you have the knitters and crotcheter.  They're a tough crowd.  And you're usually one or the other.  No bi-craftials allowed!  (I don't consider myself bi-craftial.  Instead, I consider myself an ambassador between the two sides since I do both.) I know, I know.  You're thinking "Betty, I think you've finally cracked."  But honestly, this is serious business! 

You see, being a military spouse means you move around a lot just like your servicemember.  It's usually really hard to keep bouncing from job to job.  Not to mention the cost of day care is pretty much absurd.  So many wives find ways to keep themselves busy, and market their hobby as a means of extra income.  Shit, I'd do the same damn thing if I could.  I totally want to make money off of what I love to do, and was going to do anyway! (Isn't there a saying about if you're doing what you love then it's not really called work?)

Well, in the WoWC on a military base, you end up having many people that do very similar things.  It's inevitable.  It's not like there's one knitter or only one baker in the world.  I mean, we do live in America.  In case you didn't get the news flash, we support capitalism here (unless you're busy occupying Wall Street).

Turns out, when there's a little competition, some just can't handle it.  It's gotten so serious lately, people are starting to de-friend others!  I mean wow!  This is EXTREME!!!!  Whoever said crafters are a bunch of boring old ladies has no idea what they're talking about.  This shit is the makings of the next hit reality show!

And apparently the wives are involving the husbands as well.  When I told Stoofy about this, he scoffed. 

S: "You women find the most ridiculous things to bitch about.  You wanna know what those guys are saying? 'Dude, did your wife bitch at you when you got home? Yeah.  Me too.  Over crocheting? Yeah! FUCKING IDIOTS!'" 

When I explained this is serious business and there's now competition, he replied:

S: "Everybody's got somebody else!  McDonald's has Burger King.  PF Changs has Panda Express.  Everyone has competition.  Get over it!" (This is where I realized we’re both fat kids because we’re using food chains as an analogy.)

Me? Well everyone's got a blog in this world.  I just have to figure out what my gimmick is to keep hooking readers.  (Hahaha!  I said hooking! I'm now a pimp! You’re all my bitches!) Maybe if I can't hack it as a blogger I'll keep working on the script for my new pilot show Crochet Drama: Secrets of the WoWC.  Maybe Snooki would be available for the lead role?

Can I Have Your Attention Please?!

Since I began writing this blog I have been shamelessly trying to get people to read it.  I'm actually a little impressed by my desperation to have people read it.  You'd think I'd be embarrassed by my craziness, but no.  I'm not.  Not even a little bit. 

You see, I lost all my dignity during child birth.  I don't have a shred left.  So to think I'd have a little when it comes to virtually spilling out my life on the internet for literally the whole world to see, I don't mind one bit!  (Unless you're one of my grandparents.  Then it's not really shame, but honestly Grandma, you're not old enough to read this shit.  Thank God you still don't get the concept of IMing yet, let alone a blog!)

Finding ways to get people to read my blog is actually less awful than child birth.  Ya, ya... child birth is such a wonderfully, beautiful thing.  You're bringing another human being into the world.  And yes, it is a miracle and yes I LOVE MY DAUGHTER.  However, giving birth at a teaching, military hospital is no joy.  Every doctor in that building comes in to stick his head up your gown to check your coo-ka.  And after that, every nurse in the hospital is in your room because they heard it's comedy hour.  (Stoofy and I did tell jokes and I really did half laugh Elly out... just ask Abby!)  It's like a parade of the vagina.  My vagina.  How the hell are you supposed to have dignity after that fiasco?

Whereas blogging is less intrusive...physically.  Not all of you know me personally.  And the more and more of you that tell your friends about me the more and more distant I become to you.  So why shouldn't I go all out in my quest for virtual popularity?  This is like my virtual quest for Homecoming Queen DOMINATION!

I had a friend create a special image just for me as my logo.  (And a big shoutout to Team Solo for the awesome image!)

I have become a fan of various websites, blogs and facebook pages, all in hopes they will return the favor. 

I have had a contest to get more followers and the person to refer the most friends won a batch of cookies.  (By the way, I went from 26 followers to nearly 90 between followers and fb fans!).

I have made business cards and left them at Starbucks.

I have advertised on Craigslist.  (Which by the way was fruitful because I gained another reader and got a fun email from him!) 

I have added fun key words to my blog like BOOBS.  And thank God I did! Otherwise the 14 year old boy who just googled "Boobs rock the world" wouldn't have stumbled across Betty!  (No shit, someone actually googled "Boobs rock the world" and got my blog.  I really hope I rocked his world with my words! And I really hope he was a he and was 14 and not some creepy 45 year old perve.) 

I have entered contests with freefringes.com.  Freefringes is all about helping get the love to the little guy like me in the blogging world.  And I've just entered another contest!  So when I post the link, I really hope you all vote for me.  Because I will be shamelessly begging for your love and attention and more importantly, your votes! 

Because honestly, all I want is a little attention please!

Locked Out Update

So, let's go back in time to the last week of my life.  I've been frantically moving out of my base housing and in with Abby.  Yup, Stoofy now has sister wives!  YAY!  (Except no hanky panky for him with Abby!)

So anyway, we moved into Abby's.  YAY!  And we got all settled.  Sunday night was our last night at the old house and I went back late into the evening to finish all the final inspection cleaning. 

Earlier in the day Abby and I had discussed how we needed a Harry Potter/ Mrs. Weasly clock.  If you're not an HP fan, it's a clock that doesn't tell time, but rather where all the members of the family are.  We need one because everyone has a funky schedule and we don't want to lock anyone out in the evenings. 

HAHAHA!  Funny because that same night, that's what happened to me! 

I had texted Stoofy at 9:30 saying I was wrapping up and would be home soon from the old house.  I got home to Abby's after 10 and everyone had gone to bed.  No biggie, except not only was the door knob and deadbolt locked, so was the top secret lock... the one that locks you out!

I took a moment to chuckle, thought long and hard about knocking or ringing the bell, but decided not to.  I didn't want to wind up the dogs and get them barking.  Because then that would wake the baby.  And I was too tired to deal with a crying child.

Instead, I just started texting Stoofy. 

10:40PM
 I'm locked out.  Wake up please!!!
Wake up please!!!
Wake up.
Please get this text message.
I'm locked out.
Come open the door.
I don't want to wake the baby.
By throwing rocks at the window.
Sometimes you sleep through everything.
I hope you wake up soon.
I don't want to wake up everyone by ringing the bell.
I'm locked out. 
Please wake up!!!
I'm LOCKED OUT!!!!!!!!
I wish you slept with your ringer on!!!!

Did I mention that my iPhone is awesome and can do everything... except make a call right now?! It's jacked up and hasn't been able to make a call in about 5 days.  So even though I tried calling Stoofy, it's only static.  And that's all he can hear.  And that's the voicemail I left him.

It's also the reason why I don't call Abby.  That, and the next day is her first day at her very first, brand new, grown-up job post military!  YAY! How exciting!  I wouldn't dream of waking her from her beauty rest before such a big day! 

Instead, I walk around the house, looking for sticks and small stones and start throwing them at our bedroom window.  Hoping to wake my husband.  No dice.

10:55 PM
To Abby:
I'm really sorry to wake you when you're about to start your new job tomorrow... However, I'm locked out.  Please come rescue me if you get this message.

More rocks at the window.  And a little loud talking through the open window.  Nothing...

11:05 PM
FB Update: FML, this day is ending just as sucky as it started. I'm locked out and everyone's phones are on silent. And I'm not about to ring the bell and wake Elly and make my life even more miserable. I guess I'll continue to throw rocks at the window and hope I don't break anything!

11:09 PM
To Stoofy:
Wake up!!!!!
I don't want to wake the baby.
I'm really cold and tired.  I'd like to sleep in a bed.

By this time I decide it would be a smart idea to try the patio door.  However, to do that, I have to wedge myself under the gate to get to the patio.  It's too high for me to climb over, so under is my only option.

I'm an above average round woman.  Squeezing through this hole wasn't hard, but it wasn't exactly easy either.  Check the sliding door.  NADA.

So I crawl back under, dig through the trash and grab some long pieces of crown molding that Abby threw out.  I then try to reach the window with them to knock on it.  I'm too short.  So I pull out the patio chair.  It's one of those tiny bistro set chairs that looks like it could barely hold me if I was sitting out there with my cup of coffee.  I climb up on it without a second thought and start banging away at the siding.  NOTHING!!!! 

Are you fucking kidding me? 

The neighbors are awake and can hear me.  I'm thinking I really hope they don't call the cops on me.  That would really fucking suck trying to explain this one.  Plus, I am working hard at keeping the title of my life "the child who hasn't gone to jail."  I'd hate for this to be the reason I go.  If I go to jail, I want it to be because I either ran over some liberal asshole, or because I stalked General Odierno a little too much.  (He's my military crush... I'm a dork.)

I take some pictures because it’s pretty fucking funny I’m still stuck outside. 

11:17PM

To Abby:

So... About that last text.  I'm still out here.  I've crawled under the patio door trying to get in that way.  It's Ft. Knox here.  I also started throwing rocks at the window trying to wake Stoofy.  No luck.  Here's hoping you'll see this.  If not, I hope you have a HUGE chuckle on your first day at the new job.

Still, no one is waking up.  I spend the next 20 minutes writing a blog, facebooking my perils and just having a good laugh. 

11:33PM
Blog update: Locked Out

11:35 PM
FB Comment update: I'm waiting for the baby to wake up because she's hungry. And seeing as I'm the only one in the house with a food supply strapped to my chest, someone should eventually notice.... Or tonight could be the night she sleeps through the night. In that case... FML.

11:40PM
To Stoofy:
I'm going to the jeep for a bit.  I really hope you wake up.
I'm parked next to the truck. I hate my life today.  This sucks more than you can know.  I'm laughing pretty hard though.
It's pretty funny overall.
For the LOVE OF GOD WAKE UP!!!!!!!!
And check your phone!
Ok, I tried rocks again.  Nothing.  I'm back in the jeep.  Next to the truck.  I'm going to hate life tomorrow.

If you're wondering why it is that I didn't just ring the damn bell or knock on the door.... I had already committed to this line of reasoning.  I had already decided that waking the baby up wasn't worth getting inside faster.  It was more worth making sure she slept through the night if she could than me sleeping in bed.
I am terrible at reasoning when I'm sleep deprived. 

12:11AM
To Stoofy:
I guess you'll eventually realize I'm not there when you wake up in a couple hours for work.  Let's hope she sleeps in today.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to want to kill myself at some point today.  I need sleep.
Please look at your phone!!!

Now I've got the heated seats running and I'm napping a bit in my car.  Still holding out hope that the two people I live with that both say that they're light sleepers and wake up in the middle of the night for everything, finally wake up to the sound of their phones vibrating from my text messages.  But not so much.

At 12:37AM  Stoofy finally wakes up and sees I'm not there and tries to call me.  But alas, he only hears static.  Seriously world?  What the fuck did I do to deserve this?  I text him back:

I'm coming to the door now.  Let me in please.  The front door. 

He let's me in.  Baby's crying.  My dog is going a little nuts.  He says to me, what took you so long at the old house?  Seriously?  I've been fucking locked out for 2 hours.  I've been texting you and calling you all night.

S: I only have 3 texts from you.
B: Uh, try again! You have like 50.
S: Oh, yeah.  Sorry.  Why didn't you just ring the door bell or knock.
B: Because I didn't want to wake the baby.
S: Too late, she's crying right now.

12:49AM
Abby to me: Hello?
B: Well, I'm in the house.  Elly woke up Stoofy and he figured it out!  I'm good and I just got in.  Have a great day at work!!!
A: We SO need a system!  I'm sorry!!!
B: I'm crying I'm laughing so hard!
A: BF just called me.  He saw it on your facebook!  He tried to save the day!
B:  That's so nice of him!
A: Hilarious blog though... at least some good came out of this.  No one can say you aren't a dedicated blogger now!

Talk about a great laugh moment! And I've learned my lesson: Just ring the damn bell because the baby is going to wake up anyway.  It's better to get it done and over with faster!!!!

http://lovelinks.freefringes.com/2011/10/18/lovelinks-27-open/?utm_source=feedburner

Running: Still Hating Life

So, after a couple weeks of running, I still pretty much hate it.  I mean, I truly hate its stinking guts.  It's awful. 

Listening to Abby telling me about how her boyfriend went on a run before his race just makes me want to pull a Tonya Harding on his Nancy Kerrigan knee.  I mean seriously.  Who the HELL RUNS BEFORE A RACE?!?!?!

Jerk. 

Makes all the rest of us look bad.  Me in particular. 

Because no matter how hard I try right now, I am not exactly getting any faster.  I will say I am going further, but we're not talking by leaps and bounds.

And then this morning on a friend's status update (which by the way, I hate the fancy Facebook update) I come across this little gem:

                                                  (And I still hate everything about it!)

And my first thought is: Jackass! I am bitter because I am a turtle and a mile is a long, long, LONG distance.  Two miles is twice as long, three sucks thrice as much and well whatever the 5K is, 3 point whatever miles, sucks even more.  And no matter what I do, a mile's measurement is never going to get shorter.  Unless somehow I can take over the world and be THE world leader, it's just not going to happen.

The only thing that is going to happen is I'm going to just have to suck it up and run more and find some kind of motivation.

Lucky for me, I came across this touching story. 

Really kid? Now you're just making me look bad.  Because not only am I crying over how touching it is that this kid had so much compassion for another athlete, he also had the ability to carry him a half mile, then continue on his damn race. 

I feel like a slug.  I better not see a double amputee on skates again today (I say again, because a couple weeks ago I met one at a hockey game for wounded warriors), or I might want to off myself, which is the same feeling I get when I run.

Basically, I'm still waiting for that so called 'runner's high' everyone's (my running friends that is) talking about.