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I Should Have Been a Cat

It would be nice if everyone could just stop being so super awesome and successful at everything for just a gosh golly minute so I can gather myself and catch up.

Don’t you feel like you’re constantly being bombarded with news of other peoples’ awesomeness? I do. And it’s usually people my age being awesome.

Do you know who topped the Forbes list as the number one highest paid musician in the world?

Taylor Swift.

That’s right: the Swifty. A girl about my age who picked up a guitar and started writing mediocre love songs is a billionaire and topped the Forbes List over a band like U2. Or how about the Olsen twins? Two chicks also about my age who are billionaires, icons, and own their own fashion line. Or how about Lindsay Lohan? Also my age, except unlike Swifty or the twins, she now makes money for being so awful at things.

And for taking off her clothes and getting wasted and whatnot, but you catch my drift here.

In fact, some of you may recall my campaign to host SNL over The Lohan, wherein I compiled a list of reasons I would be a better host than her. And you know what? I was right. I would have been a better host. But it doesn’t matter. Because in spite of the awful reaction she got from people all over America when she hosted, her episode had the 2nd highest ratings of the SNL season. She’s so successful at being unsuccessful that she’s successful.

How can I possibly compete with that?

I shouldn’t care, but I kind of do. After all, how can I see list after list of people who are in their 20’s shooting into stardom because they made a Ryan Goseling tumblr or a site featuring cats who spell things improperly, or a page that documents what students say on hiking trails without somehow feeling like I’m missing some great calling to create something stupid and phenomenal that whips me into an Internet sensation?

This cat sleeps for almost the entire day and is still currently more famous than me.

I blame the Twitter Machine. It’s feeding me information so quickly about people who are young and fabulous and full of society-altering ideas and thoughts and it makes folks like me feel like they’re at the back of the herd. I’m the limping, cross-eyed zebra of the magical Interwebz, where young, blossoming starlets and dashing entrepreneurs are tweeting the view from the front of the pack.

I should probably just disconnect. How can I possibly feel like I’m accomplishing anything when Twitter is throwing top 10 lists of awesome possums at me and Facebook is constantly updating with engagements, marriages, house/car/pet/job acquisitions, and (Lord help us) creepy sonogram photos? When the world is constantly shouting at you the things that others are doing that are perfect and lovely, it can be hard to remember that we’re not all going after the same things and it’s okay to not be an OlsenLohanSwifty.

We just have to remember that we’re all on different paths. Mine is to have a blog where I talk about how I don’t like to do laundry so sometimes I just buy packs of underwear instead. Or how people leaving long voicemails makes me want to scoop my eyes out with a melon baller. Or how life is too short to get nervous about pooping in public restrooms. And while that’s not as profitable as a celebrity fragrance line or a TMZ headline or penning young chick country songs, it serves a noble purpose that only I can serve.

Because somewhere out there, someone has lots of packs of new underwear, a hamper full of dirty clothes, and reads my blog to feel better about it.

Keep on keepin’ on, person somewhere out there. You’re doing just fine. ♣

Tags: blogging, celebrities, facebook, Humor, Internet, life, musings, postaweek, postaweek2012, Saturday Night Live, social media, Taylor Swift, twitter

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The Domestic Twitter War

5 Oct

In a startling act of technological prowess, David has joined Twitter.

I’m not really sure why. He didn’t even tell me about it. He just, you know, tweeted one day to no one but himself and then casually texted me later to ask me if I saw it.

Of course I didn’t see it; I didn’t know he was on Twitter.

Nonetheless, I was excited to see him join another network I’m on (even getting him to maintain his musician page on Facebook is quite a daunting task) and was hoping it would be something he could get into. But once I arrived, I saw his profile picture was an egg (the default for a Twitter newb) and that he had tweeted once…and only once…for two weeks.

Today he excitedly asked me if I saw his Tweet again. Of course, he didn’t really call it a tweet. He called it a twitter. And as much as I’d love to mock that somehow, I adore David and am choosing to take the stance that it’s all a bunch of made up mumbo jumbo anyway so who cares if he uses the term we’ve all agreed to use?

I still snickered at him.

Today’s tweet was something about how he was going to reverse his memory loss by devouring our almost-dead rosemary bush.

Some of you may remember that quite a few Lollipop Tuesdays ago, I attempted to fashion an herb garden in my dining room window. I ended up sending Dave for the trappings I needed and in the excitement of the herbal additions in the house, he bought an enormous rosemary bush.

It was completely useless for the purposes of my Tuesday experiment, but hey: the man loves his rosemary.

Anyway they’re all dead now. The whole lot of them. By week one my mint dried up and died so completely that it simply fell to the carpet in defeat. By week 1.5, the parsley had turned completely brown and tired of life. Week two brought no firm hope for the cilantro, which reached and reached for sunlight and happiness but simply couldn’t seem to get enough. The basil clings for life still, in spite of his dead friends hanging by sad, dark threads beside him.

The rosemary bush, 5 times the size of the other herbs and not even a victim of my experiment, was dead by the second day. Cause: overzealous felines.

So today David was sitting around, apparently worrying over his failing memory, looked up ways to fix it, and resolved to devour the plant. Or what the cats had left behind of it anyway. And using the new form of social media at his fingertips, tweeted this desire.

To me: his only follower.

I find this oddly charming. He has created an account, isn’t following anyone, and hasn’t told anyone he’s on so no one is following him. For now it’s like he’s shouting out to me from a corner of the Internet that anyone can hear but only I know to listen to. I informed him of this today and he is highly amused by the idea of tweeting only to me.

I suspect he’ll start to use it for fun household games, like telling me the trash needs to be taken out or asking me what’s for dinner each night. Of course, he could do the same thing via text but it’s slightly more harassing and hilarious when it’s high profile.

I have a variety of retaliations in store for such an occurrence. I’m not above creating another Twitter account just for nagging. This could be the beginning of a beautiful and entertaining war.

I’ll be taking Twitter name suggestions all day. ♣