Friday, February 24, 2012

I'm twatting now

I've been avoiding it for a little over two years now, basically since I started my blog. Sure, I noticed everyone else was doing it but it didn't feel right to me, not yet anyway. 

But, sure enough, the time came, and like a teen girl wanting to shed her virginal status, I said yes. Still somewhat unsure, but convinced it was the next logical step in building my social media empire, I dove in. I'm now on Twitter.

I signed up, opened my account, and immediately started following people, as I was prompted to do by the friendly Twitter website. As with all social media, once you're in, a whole new world opens up. Of course, it didn't end there. I had to install a Twitter "follow" button on my blog, and get the mobile phone app as well.

I must admit, it's still a bit overwhelming considering I'm now on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest, and have a few e-mail accounts to manage as well. Sometimes I feel like my head's going to explode. Too... much... information. 

Soon after joining Twitter, I discovered Twitter spam. A few hours after opening my account, I was notified I had two followers. Holy shit! Already! I am awesome! I soon discovered that my new followers had websites such as "oralsexpics.com", "xxx-vids.com", and "cumsalotinyourface.net". Somewhat deflated, I promptly blocked them. 

Of course. I mean, how can any legit followers find you instantly after joining? A lot of it is still a mystery to me but I get the basic concept. Regale your followers with witty 140-characters or less observations.

The irony is that, the more information I open myself up to, the more I feel paralyzed by the sheer volume of what's going on out there. It's like being everywhere, all at once. I wonder if that's what the inside of a mind reader's head feels like. That is some crazy shit.

I also have feelings akin to being back in the schoolyard, hoping to get picked for a game of dodgeball. Pick me! Pick me! Please, please, pretty please! Only the words have changed to: follow me! Follow me!  Please, please, pretty please! (DO IT.) Sorry, what? Subliminal messaging? No, I don't believe in that.

Anyhoo, so far I'm an awful tweeter. I've tweeted three times in the last seven days. I know, it's abhorrent. I'm still wrapping my head around the concept of sharing all the time. 

Generally speaking, I don't like people, and I'll only socialize in very small doses. On the other hand, I'm a writer, and I desperately want people to love me. (LOVE ME.) Oops, I did it again. 

Contradictory statements? Yes. I'm an artist. What do you expect?

** This whole post is a subliminal message... I just blew your mind, didn't I.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Yep, still a whoring consumer slut

Just when I think I'm evolving, something happens to remind me that I'm still a whoring consumer slut. Last Saturday, my boyfriend innocently asked me to join him on a little shopping trip to an outdoor store since he was looking for a new polar fleece vest. I, of course, thought this might be fun and agreed to join him. However, a red light went off deep in the recesses of my subconscious. Danger, Will Robinson!

You see, it's very rare that I can walk into a store and not find something I want to buy, even when I blatantly cannot afford it. But I thought to myself: "What's the harm? I'm sure it'll be fine." despite my instincts telling me otherwise. 

So, we headed out to our neighbourhood big box, mega outdoor store. Got through the entrance displays without too much trouble. Looking at hats, good. Boyfriend found one he likes. Excellent. You know, I do need another head bandeau thingy to cover my ears because the one I have is kind of ill-fitting. This one is nice, and it's only $5.99! I can afford that. Done.

So there we were, my boyfriend with his hat, and I with my bandeau, looking for a polar fleece vest. Much to our dismay, they apparently don't make them anymore. So, we started to make our way towards the exit to pay for our minor purchases. 

Along the way, we came across some Canada Goose men's winter coats. This caught my attention. I stopped. Major tactical error. "Ooohhh", I said. "Look at the nice colours they have now. These feel really nice. I wonder if they have some in the women's section?"

To contextualize, Canada Goose jackets are the Rolls Royce of winter gear. They're exorbitantly expensive (probably because they're made in Canada) and yet, it seems like everyone has one. I dismissed them because I figured they were "trendy" and I didn't want to look like everyone else. I thought it was some kind of fashion statement, and frankly, why would people pay so much just to look cool?

But let's face it, as much as I tell myself trends have no hold over me, I'm a bit of a fashion slut. Something made me stop in my tracks to look at those jackets. So, we headed over to the women's section and sure enough, they had some in the same funky colours. 

Tactical error #2: I decided to try one on. BIG mistake. As I took one off the hanger and put it on, all the pieces fell into place. I understood. "Oh holy mother of GOD." It was like being wrapped in a pillow. I was convinced it was akin to what it would feel like if I were to return to the womb. 
 
 Mommy?

I wanted one, bad. Except for one, tiny hitch. They can cost anywhere between $600 and $800. Luckily, my boyfriend was there to talk some sense into me. "Don't do it. It's too expensive for an impulse buy. Step away from the coat."

So I did. I removed the warm, fluffy pillow of a jacket and put on my Helly Hansen ski jacket, which now felt totally ghetto and lightweight, and walked away. It was for the best. The jacket I tried on was nice, to say the least, but it wasn't quite the style I would want if I were to buy one, and it would have been a minor financial catastrophe for me had I purchased it that day.

The seed, however, has been planted. I started looking online at different styles, picking out the one I want, plotting and scheming, for I will have one. Oh yes, I will have my Canada Goose winter jacket. All in good time, my pretties, all in good time.

Savvy retail marketing = 1 
Me = 0

** Canada Goose did not pay me to write this. However, if they would like to send me free stuff, I will write a favourable review. I can be bought. 'Cause I'm a whoring consumer slut.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

It's not the supermodel's fault your team lost, hosebag

Apparently, my doppelganger, Gisele Bündchen, got into some hot water lately for remarks made about the New England Patriots' loss in the Superbowl this past Sunday. She really is my doppelganger. Don't believe me?

 Me, very recently, on vacation in St. Bart's.

Gisele Bündchen, at some event.

I know, we could be twins. It's crazy. Anyhoo, she was caught on video swearing at some peeps who were harassing her because her hubby's team lost. I don't blame her. Why bother the quarterback's wife? Like she had anything to do with it. It's not her fault the receivers dropped the f*cking ball when it counted the most. Now, she's being raked over the coals for having stated an obvious truth.

Sometimes, fans can be incredibly dumb. Like when Vancouver was ransacked after the Boston Bruins won the Stanley Cup last spring. Is setting a car on fire going to reverse your team's loss? Nope. But your sorry ass'll end up in jail, and you'll be even more upset. 

It was embarrassing to say the least. How un-Canadian of us. We're usually so nice and docile (except in Montreal - win or lose, that town goes ape shit over their beloved Canadiens). But I love Montreal for that - they're a passionate lot. Maybe it's the dominance of the French culture which seems much more expressive and enthusiastic, and less repressed. 

Although, Vancouver could be considered Canada's Amsterdam, so the chill factor should have been way high. High. Huh-huh. Get it?

Or maybe I just think that because I was walking around Vancouver, back in the day, high as a kite, in the throes of a giggle fit on Kitsilano Beach. I think my friend and I accidentally wandered onto a movie set that day too, into a crowd of extras. You'd think they'd have better security around those things. I'm probably in a movie and haven't even been properly compensated. This is why I need an agent. And also because I look like Gisele Bündchen.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

i'm not capitalizing anymore

I recently made what I feel is a momentous decision. I've decided to stop capitalizing when texting, even when a text has more than one sentence. Oh yeah, I won't capitalize anymore, even after a period. Why? Sheer laziness. It's hard touching that extra button to capitalize and I have to think about when to capitalize. No, I'm done with that.

I tried it yesterday for the first time and it felt sooooo good. However, I couldn't escape the dirty feeling it gave me, like a guilty pleasure. Maybe it's because I'm a writer, and knowingly flouting grammatical correctness is like smoking when you're pregnant. You know you shouldn't, but damn, that cigarette goes down smooth. 

I've also started abbreviating my language. "Whatever" has turned into "whatevs"; "laughing out loud" has become "lolled"; be right back is now "brb"; "oh my God", you guessed it, "omg". And these are old ones that are already dated. There are a plethora of new abbreviations popping up at breakneck speed. I can't even keep up.

I think there's general agreement that this modern phenomena of language hacking is due to the way we now communicate, instantaneously via electronic devices. 

The idea of calling someone, like, on a phone, now seems foreign. Why would I want to speak to someone when I can text them? Sure, texting usually takes longer than dialing a phone number. Wait, what am I talking about? No one "dials" anymore. We press one button in our contacts list and wham! we're calling someone.

But then you've got the whole having to talk to a real person thing, and frankly, typing a text is less complicated. And let's face it, some people aren't phone people. They're the nicest peeps around when you're with them, but on the phone, they sound rude and preoccupied. You know the ones. I bet texting has saved their social lives.

I never thought I would be a texter, and I certainly never thought I would give up capitalizing to make texting easier. Then again, I didn't think I would ever use the Internet. Go figure. Now I'm an iPhone whore, downloading Miley Cyrus from iTunes, playing Angry Birds and texting without capitals. I've become a modern cliché.

Any more mainstream and I'll be hawking wares for Abercrombie and Fitch, uploading video diaries on YouTube and tweeting about my latest bowel movement.

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