Conversely, one of the worst feelings is knowing that, no matter how much effort you put in, you’re really only moderately OK at your job.

Most days, I feel like I’m a great waitress trying her hand at having a big-girl job.

The thing is…freekin EVERYONE has seen it but me!! I’ve had people take pictures of it and send it to me…not the same (thoughtful though – thanks!)…it is my albatross. It is the grape just out of reach. I don’t want to just Google it and go where it is either..that’s cheating. I want to just SEE it. IN ALL ITS GLORY!!

I just have a lot of questions about it. Here they are:
1. what’s it like inside – is it just a big kitchen thing where they make hot dogs…like a cart? Or is it set up for kids birthday parties? Or is it like pimped out with shag carpeting and couches and shit??
2. is there a weiner key chain to drive it?
3. Is driving the weiner mobile an Oscar Mayer honor or are you pissed about it? Is it like “shit…I have to drive the stupid dog wagon” or is there a big presentation in the Weiner Headquarters and everyone gathers together with nervous excitement and they say “OK…the next driver is….JIM!!!” and there is applause and ticker-tape and disappointment from everyone non-Jim???

THESE ARE THINGS I NEED TO KNOW, PEOPLE!!!

Many have attempted to explain it…and there really is no way to sum it up easily. You either get it or you don’t…My best friend, some of you know her as @fourformom, summed it up the best. She said “it’s like jumping a train…you just have to run alongside until you can figure out the right time to jump on.” Nothing sums up Twitter more accurately.

You just have to sign up and go…and when you think you have the hang of it, you just jump in. Most people can’t seem to figure it out because they only go to my page so they just see the nonsense I post…which doesn’t make sense…there are random messages to other people and you can’t see what they are saying…but that is the beauty of Twitter…you just wander the pages until you find someone you find interesting and you follow them. You don’t request to be their friend, you don’t have to know them, you just think ‘wow, that’s one funny fucker’ and click “follow”. If you eventually think “ug, not as cool as I thought” – you just click “unfollow” and you’re done. No harm, no foul. Eventually you get ballsy enough to @reply them (that sends a message directly to them) – and sometimes they answer and sometimes they don’t…and in this forum, it’s ok…because it isn’t an e-mail. No one is ignoring you…they are seeing what you say and nodding their head and moving on…everyone is on the run, no one is stationary, we only have 140 characters…we say what we have to say and the train goes on…You can find people with similar interests, sense of humor, lifestyles or even just locations. You can open an account with a crazy name and say things you never thought you’d say and no one cares…because no one knows you and if they don’t like it…they will just unfollow you. Where Facebook is you at your best, putting on your Sunday Outfit to impress everyone you ever knew from your formulative (that’s a word right? I have spelled it incorrectly though…hmmm) years, Twitter is you on Saturday morning, unshowered, drinking leftover wine out of the bottle because you just damn feel like it. Facebook is the lovely things you say and Twitter is the stuff you REALLY think.

I wish I could follow all of my followers back, but it is overwhelming enough to keep up with those that I currently follow….and you learn that you don’t take it personally when someone doesn’t follow you…you can’t keep up. That isn’t what Twitter is about…it’s about jumping in and following other people’s funny. You learn that hobos and pancakes and bacon and unicorns are all things awesome. That there is some hilarity to be found in Hitler. That you can be very funny in only 140 characters…but mostly, you learn a whole new community. I didn’t think I’d ever be so worried about a strangers pre-mature baby or another stranger’s husband’s cancer diagnosis…and yet…I am. I am personally invested in these people’s lives…it is a whole new circle of “friends.” Imaginary, insane, drunk, slutty, no-pant wearing friends…but friends nonetheless…and even those that don’t follow me back…I feel linked to them and their lives.

You should probably join. If not just to see how douchey Ashton Kutcher seems and how John Mayer should PROBABLY date me.

www.twitter.com – go get yourself an account www.textism.com/favrd – here’s where all the funny people end up

The problem is, I don’t really have that much to yammer on about.  I should have picked a theme for the blog…cuz then I could talk about “MOVIES!” or ‘TV!” or “MUSIC!”…but noooooo, I was all “I’ll just write about whatever”….and since I have no significant other, no adorable qwirky children and would like to maintain gainful employment…well…I’m fresh outta topics.  I could go on and on about my dog, but I REALLY don’t want to be that girl.

So, instead, I’m going to finish this posting about NOTHING and then let you know that when I get inspired I’ll write and then other than that, you guys are on your own.  It’s not like you fuckers are paying me for this or anything!!

So, in vague terms – a non-boyfriend is a boy with whom you enjoy spending time with, who you may or may not be intimate with (thank you very much, Judge-y Judgerson!), but with whom you have a tacit understanding that things will not ever progress to a serious level.  For any number of reasons-you aren’t at a place where you want a serious relationship, you have significantly different future plans, he isn’t really the type of person you’d actually ever consider dating yet he’s a lot of fun to hang out with…any of these are plausible reasons to make someone maintain non-boyfriend status vs. boyfriend status.

I have had 4 non-boyfriends…(ummm, again these may or may NOT have all been intimate, I’m not giving away the farm here…well…maybe I did, but I’m not TELLING YOU PERVS ABOUT IT – STOP ASKING ME)…all great guys, fun to hang out with, great to have around, but not boyfriend material – I should say – not MY boyfriend material.  I’m sure they are perfect for someone that is NOT me.   The last one just went awry somewhere along the way…I’m not quite sure where as the prior 3 I had NO attachment issues with but there I was at a Maroon 5 concert listening to a delightful cover of Chris Issac’s Wicked Games and I looked over and Whomp – smacked upside the head with “huh…I think I like this one”.  So – I ended it. Via text.  like any classy chick would.  And have handled the entire situation totally fine since without any reprecussions or regret *cough cough*.  Which is good – because he was an AWFUL fit for me.  I mean…he was funny and cute and smart and a good time – but the bad stuff FAR outweighed the good stuff.  I can’t even remember what that good list was…I’ve forgotten it already…hang on, let me re-read…oh yeah, funny or something.  Whatever – what I was saying was – when all of your friends are saying “FUCKING RED FLAG” they know what they are talking about.  And they are right.  Which is totally for the best.  And I mean – I don’t miss the going out all the time or anything.  Hey…I have e-harmony, so that’s awesome.

Anyway, this story pretty much sums up the mental shortcomings of my dog, Supe (like ‘cup of soup’ but different…again, a whole blog entry in itself). 

Every day I come home from work…actually every TIME I come in the door…even if I’ve just gone to get the mail…Supe is very excited to see me.  This is par for the course with any dog.  Supe however, has separation anxiety – some of the worse anyone can imagine.  Even the vet is shocked by my dogs desperate level of angst.  If my dog were a person, he’d be constantly wringing his hands and have a kleenex stuffed up his sleeve and be walking around in circles saying “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness” — but I digress — The story is about what my insane dog does whenever I come in the door. 

So, normal dog activity ensues, the jumping, the licking, the “holy shit, mom, i’m so glad you’re home, i was so freeking worried about you, i thought you’d never come back, i thought for sure that mailbox would SUCK YOU INTO IT” – but then the anxiety routine sets in…this is the fun part.  The dog proceeds to run around the house until he finds his toy.  Generally it’s “legs” (another blog post) – but currently Supe is in  trouble and “legs” has been taken away, so it’s “yellow bone.” So there is running and “yellow bone” retrieval, then ceremonial I HAVE FOUND MY TOY running (2 laps), then he runs out the door, then in the door, then out the door, then in, then one final out….then he can pee – but of course, he can’t pee with his toy in his mouth, so he drops his toy and then takes two steps forward and PISSES ON HIS TOY…BECAUSE HE IS MENTALLY DEFUNCT. 

Then he tries to run in the house because he hasn’t licked me in 2.7 minutes and I have to say “get ‘yellow bone’ you idiot” (I say this affectionately, I’m not mean) and he runs out and comes to an abrupt halt:  EW.  I JUST PEED NEAR HERE.  So he circles the spot like something circling prey…then approaches said toy from behind then goes to grab it and as soon as his nose gets close he yanks his face back as if he is personally offended by the stench of rotten urine.  Then he looks up at me as if to say “What the fuck happened here?”  Whereupon I say “YOU PISSED ON IT…LIKE YOU DO EVERY DAY! ”  He then goes to smell it again – again looks at me with a cocked-to-the-side look “this is curious, it smells like…MY PEE???”  Then he bashes his paw at it to move it away from his puddle of liquid excrement and then is able to pick it up and bring it into the house where I can wash it for him.  EVERY DAY WE DO THIS. 

EVERY. FUCKING. DAY.  stupid dog.

Couldn’t not though – please look at the guy who just tried to pick me up at Plenty Of Fish. 

I mean…seriously…you’ve got to be fucking kidding me with this…

well this is a first for me so give me a second well i like to go kayaking and ride my harly and i also like to bild hot rods ( cars that go fast) at this time i am a firemedic in a naboring county so i do have a fouther i do have a few goals in life i do want to go back to school for phisical tharipy one day but for now it just time to have a littal fun well i think that ok to say lol any way i hope to meat some one that is fun and a team typ person”

So, I’m out at a concert with my mom and we’re sitting next to a lovely couple – probably in their early 20′s.  The gentleman of the couple goes to purchase them beer.  This takes him about 40 minutes. No lie. This is a long time.  He finally returns to the seat with a beer for himself and his lady (sidebar: future boyfriend – I’d like you to call me “sweet thing” kthx).  Lady enjoys said beverage and when she finishes it, she turns and hands it to her man.  Who looks at her with a face of “ummm..what do you want me to do with this as we are in a large stadium in the middle of an enjoyable concert and I am no where near a garbage can” and she proceeds to huff and roll her eyes.  Boyfriend shrugs and says “what?” but she just gets angry and rips the bottle away and says “I was FINISHED.”  Now…my thoughts at this point were plenty.  One was -shit-I was bitchy like that when I was young, wasn’t I. Two was – that was still no excuse for the shithead that my boyfriend was.  Three was – did she really expect him to hold the bottle for the duration of the concert?  Did she think he should get up and go to a trash can?  That he had some kind of super-masculine ability to place it on the ground that she couldn’t muster?? 

The kicker was that when she grabbed it back – she ended up DRINKING MORE OF IT.  Awesome.  Then he finished his beer and he said “want me to grab that, baby” and she looked at him with a disgusted face and said “NO, not NOW.”  ???  God, I’m so thankful I’m not a lesbian – how do you guys/girls put UP with us???

Anyone who knows me, knows that these types of shoes are a personal affront to my every shoe-fiber.  They are nothing like the shoe I love.  See some options here: (Oh – I’m a 7.5)  I love a stiletto.  I love a 4 INCH stiletto.  I love a patent, peep-toe, 4 INCH stiletto…but…the thing is…I love those stupid ugly-ass shoes.  I keep them by the door for when I walk the dog or clean the garage or wash the car (the pavement’s hot! You can’t do it barefoot!).  I wish they were more visually pleasing.  I wish my pretty shoes felt like my Holeys.  I wish I could have a pair in every color and actually get away with wearing them in public without getting stopped by the Fashion Police. 

When I wear those shoes it’s like my toes go scampering up my body right up to my face and just kiss me right on the lips.

GOOD GOD.  The problem is they don’t have an option for “don’t fix me up with a douchebag”.  It started with the picture of the guy laid on his bed with his best craigslist face on.  Ummm…no.  Then there was the “Who is your hero” – “my sister cuz win I wuz in school a girl broke up with me and I wuz upset and she really made me feel better”.  Wow. Just…wow.  When I clicked the “No” box (as there wasn’t a ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME option), it gave a list of reasons to select why…so eharmony could better narrow my search.  Oddly enough “because he should be fucking literate” wasn’t one of the options.

Then there  was the guy who listed one of his favorite activities as “tanning”.   I don’t think I need to comment any further on that.

You get one page of information – with about 5 questions – that they get to answer…my last match – using e-harmony’s 29 qualifiers mentioned Corvette’s in 3 of his 5 questions…and his picture was him leaning against…well…you know….the question is…WHAT THE FUCK BOX DID I CHECK?!?

PS – one  potential – of the 5 things he can’t live without – one of them “Captain Crunch”.  Well played, funny guy, Well played.  You’re the only one I’ve saved so far.