The Anatomy of a Good Facebook Stalking

We’ve all been there.  Sitting at our computers minding our own business when the infamous FB notification pops up “Sam (aka Gross Guy at work you felt compelled to friend accept) likes your photo.”  And then you click on the link and there it is.  You at a family picnic seven years ago with your belly button piercing gleaming in the sunlight.  And then another “Like” then another and suddenly you’re news feed is full of YOU and HIM and the creepy association his liking has created.
WTF?  Did that just happen?  That’s photo number 756 out of 2,098 and now he’s tagged his dirty “like” thumb all over your page.  And the goose bumps rise up on your arms and you feel compelled to close the blinds and recheck the doors.   *GASP* Do you unfriend? 

qgghhhcdjkfctkgjehfgycrsfavd.v vxc ,cgxdgfscvffgfdhdjejejepwieievdfvfbdnnbddbdb

This is what happens when I let my four-year-old use my phone.  I couldn't possibly delete it.  It's just too precious.  Her version of the eff word I think…

Giving Myself the Finger

On a recent trip to my daughter’s dance studio I was reminded that Pain Induced Sudden Onset Tourette's Syndrome can strike anyone at anytime, especially when a finger smashed in a door is involved.  I can’t guarantee you that I’m very popular at the studio to begin with.  Amidst the very well-groomed and polished mothers with their designer handbags and perfect hair, I am so very out of place.  I generally roll in to pick up and/or drop off my girls (late) wearing my uniform of tall socks (one pair of which says “badass” with an upward pointing arrow) shorts, and a tank top.  My hair is generally shoved in one direction and I’m lucky if I’ve managed to apply lip gloss.  It’s not pretty.  I don’t judge them for judging me.  If I didn’t know me, I’d judge me too.  On such a frenzied trip this past Monday and in my haste to get the Gogurt off the seat that Cate had just spilled I accidentally slammed my car door directly on the ring finger of my left hand while simultaneously trying to move towards the back passenger door of my car. 

Drive-by Dating

Remember this heartwarming post?  http://effandotherwords.blogspot.com/2011/09/uhi-think-i-have-boyfriend.html

It regaled my newfound relationship and the corresponding abs that went with it.  I even felt compelled to email the dating service who failed me (albeit without my solicitation) in finding a dream man. 

Well…

Uh, I don’t have a boyfriend anymore. 

No one is probably shocked by the news, least of all the dating service, who I emailed a short time ago with the following email: