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Facebook to Shut Down, Millions of People’s Heads Explode in Fear!

18 May

 

Because sometimes, Facebook can make things “complicated”

Ahhh, I got you bitches good! It doesn’t even feel RIGHT how nervous I probably made a significant group of people feel! Happy mid-year October…fools…day?

But now that I have your attention…

Facebook has it’s way of starting out as a social media tool and then slowly but surely…taking over your life. When I signed up for Facebook it was basic, posting was still fun and hardly scrutinized, and de-friending wasn’t an actual term yet ( which means it was still acceptable).

The larger Facebook and other social media sites continue to get, the more digital drama seems to be happening. What’s the protocol for Facebook? Let’s explore!

Friending and De-Friending (<–both are not actually WORDS, p.s.)

Think back to when you first signed up for your account and who you were friending. At first, it was for people to reconnect to others, right? Those we went to school with when we were kids, people we go to school with now, college friends and classmates.

From there, it spiraled into a debate of…do we friend co-workers? Do we block co-workers? What about teachers? Then it became…block certain information, take down damning pictures and posts and proceed at your own will.

THEN, parents and family members got involved! At that point, I thought…how could this get any more ridiculous? We’re OUT of people to friend. Who do we friend now?

Isn’t it obvious? Why, if you’re a creepy, desperate individual…you sift through your friends, friends, uncles, cousins, college roommates friends and WHAM! It’s like a free dating service!

Why on earth are you friending me with the intention of getting to know me? This may sound completely absurd, but it happens.  Today I’ve been poked three times, by people I do not know, have not known and would prefer to keep it as such.

I just got finished talking to a guy in his late 30′s who friended me and I thought…no big deal. We may have some mutual friends in the community, may be good to network, etc. At no point in time did I think I’d wind up involved with him in any way. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure what his preference was…married…kids….weird…who knows.

Regardless, it appeared like Facebook had started to turn into it’s own sick version of  Plenty of Scum.com ( What I call PlentyOfFish.com). My friend receives (not kidding) HUNDREDS of pokes from random strangers, a TON of messages and friend requests with messages that say, “Hai. You come kiss me I makes wery wery good sex for you. Oh- you haive boifrann?” Not kidding…I saw it!

So here I am, trapped in this bizarre situation. I’m flirting with a stranger, no different than a dating site…I’m being manipulated or wooed or whatever you want to call it and I’m letting it happen. Let’s just say…things go on for a little while…and I do mean a little while, and then I cut it off because it’s clear that while he may be an “adult” by age definition…he’s a manipulative, non-following through jackass who was clearly looking for a little tang tang and found it online…as (I believe) he’s (probably) done before.

Idiot I am, thought “Wow, the way we found each other was so bizarre, maybe something good CAN come from Facebook!”

Clearly…things did not turn out that way, and so I decided ( with the help of everyone in my life, who also can’t stand him) to de-friend him and move forward. On to the next one! Isn’t that the normal thing to do? I figure, he won’t even notice ( since he has to now find another silly woman to replace his Wednesday nights!)…right?

Four days later, I respond to a Facebook post in a group we’re both a part of. A few hours later, I get a phone call where he proclaims he’s a “good guy,” and he “told me upfront what he was capable of.” He then says, “Weirdly enough, I thought we’d set a time to talk (lies) and get things cleared up (mm hmmm) once I saw you online. After I don’t see you online for a few days, I think…maybe  should check and see if her profile says anything. IMAGINE MY SURPRISE when I have to RE-friend you!”

To be honest? I think being in the mutual group and seeing my post made him go…”Oh yeah! That girl I scammed. What’s that hoe up to?”

After we “talked,” nothing was resolved in my opinion. I wound up accepting the friend request, because I’m an idiot, and because I wasn’t sure what the protocol is there? He thinks things are resolved, I feel a lot of anger for what Facebook helped him get (me). And for what I allowed of course.

When is it ok to de-friend? Not accept a friend request? Or block?

As far as using Facebook as a dating site? Stop it. It’s more pathetic than JDate,MatchE-Harmony AND Plenty of Fish rolled into one sleazy ball of GROSS.

Some terms do NOT have an alternative meaning!

Commenting on Statuses  (PAY ATTENTION, older community!)

There’s something to be said for having people of all ages on Facebook. It can be wonderful, but disturbing when someone who doesn’t understand a comment…wants to comment on top of that for all 1,000 of your friends to see.

Take this example:

Last week, an  older gentleman (who is awesome) in my apartment building had his 21 year old son coming to visit and wanted to hook me up with him. Legitimately, my status erupted into a Cirque D’ Facebook and suddenly I had 25 comments on whether to “do it” or not.

Among them, a friend of mine says, “OH do it. Being with a younger guy is amazing, and they can teach you how to do things…like new fun drinking games! Then, they’ll still go out, party and fist pump with you!”

My mother’s friend and my stand-up comedy teacher (also older) reply:

“Fist pumping??????” and “Is fist pumping code for an obscene act!? If so, please describe it and please be graphic!”

BEST PART?

My MOM texts me…

“Hi honey. Looking at the thread on Facebook! How funny! But…isn’t fist pumping a gay thing!?”

 

If you’re lost in translation, stay away from the status. Seriously. While it made for an extreme amount of entertainment, it was also mildly embarrassing.

 

“So keep on flexin’ and your arms t-rexin’ and do the creep!”

In Regards to Being a Creep

Just stop it. You stop it already! I don’t want to have a phone conversation with you and hear, “Ah yeah bro. I saw that on your status last week. Too funny man!” or “How’s that weird rash coming along?”

No one likes a creeper. No one….seriously.

 

Tighten up, America. It’s time to get our Facebook guidelines in check! Go out and mingle with people, stop trying to be digital sexual predators and live your life one time!

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Are You Illegible To Read This?

17 May

 

 

 

If you would have told me that my first job out of Ad School would be working for the company I started at, my first response would have been laughter. Yet, there I was, hanging out in the glorious advertising department of said company. Prior to beginning there, it’s mandatory that everyone attends orientation. Although I worked at their headquarters, everyone who’s hired does the same orientation at one of their stores in Miami.

I’m the only one from headquarters.

The rest of the people are training to be dispersed to varying stores throughout Broward/Dade County. A blond lady around the age of 40 takes a seat to my left, looking fidgety and as if she’s been around the block once or a thousand times. To my right, are a girl who will be working at the call center and gentleman who speaks NO English. Legitimately not one word, and the girl from the call center is helping him write and understand his forms, translating the important things he needs to know.

“Wish this thing would get started already,” the blond lady says.

“I know, right? Like we don’t have better things to do?” I reply, trying to seem cool and tough.

She nods, indicating she agrees and makes a “PSSH” sound before throwing her head back in sarcastic laughter.

This is going to be a long day.

The lady who will be leading orientation is short and Hispanic, with long blond hair and dark highlights, tight pants, too much makeup and long fingernails. As she takes the floor, I figure this can go one of two ways: really good (informative and quick) or really bad (waste of time and aggravating). My money is on the latter…should’ve bet the farm.

“Hey everyone, I’m Shannon, and I’ll be leading orientation today. Can everyone take their top folder and move it to the bottom of the stack? Also, can someone tell me anything about the company?”

What followed was a barrage of idiotic questioning, supplemented by thoughtless idiotic answers. Some of the riveting questions were as simple as, “What does this company sell? Can anyone tell me?” or “What are the company colors?” Yikes.

A brief moment of relief…lunch break! Sweet!

The blond lady follows me down to the cafeteria before uttering, “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Sure,” I said.

The conversation went on to discuss her father’s profession as a strip club owner, and how she got tired of working there. She used to have a wealthy boyfriend but he left her and while she loves photography and would work in the field, there’s just not enough money. Also, she hoped they wouldn’t make her cover up her BACK length Jaguar tattoo (not the car, the animal).

When we get back, the woman in charge is ready to discuss the company benefits.

“After three months of work with this company, you become illegible for your benefits.”

Wha-…did she just? No, she couldn’t have said illegible, I’m hearing things!

“If you are part-time, you are not illegible for benefits.”

Twice? Okay, this is not a mistake. Can it really be that someone this misguided is in a position to teach others?

I lean over to the blond lady and ask, “Did she just say…illegible instead of eligible?”

“Fuck yeah she did,” she said.

“That’s what I thought.”

In the process of the next two hours, this woman used that term several times, forcing me to wonder…am I not eligible for benefits, or am I sloppy and not understood well?

I’d love to sit here and tell you that was the one and only time something like that happened. There are two other favorite moments, however, that id’ love to share with you.

“P.J. Smoove” is the nickname for someone I used to work with. While insanely knowledgeable about the company, he had his own way of doing things…mainly, the wrong way.  To give you a sense of who he is, I’m going to tell you this story first.

About a year ago he went skydiving for the first time and decided he didn’t need anyone to jump with him. Moral of the story, he landed wrong, breaking both his legs. He’s incredibly stubborn and believes himself to be correct.

All day…every day.

“Allyson, can you please send me the un-complete list?”

Don’t correct himdon’t correct him….fight it!

“Um, sure P.J. I’d be happy to send the incomplete list over to you as soon as possible.”

I figured that was a decent save, right?

“Yes, the un-complete list would be great, thanks.”

The only time that has surpassed my experience with “P.J. Smoove,” has been with whom I affectionately referred to as “Oscar the Grouch” at the job I moved on to.

“Oscar the Grouch” was a special case. Everywhere you work has that one person who gets off on their power trip, feels like they’re never wrong, and they are essentially think they’re the end all be all. HE…was that dude.

I was still relatively new, but all this guy had done during my time there was attempt to make it as difficult as possible. Yet, unbeknownst to him, he was about to lose all credibility and make me fall in love with him simultaneously.

“Allyson, can you come here for a moment? When you’re writing for this product, you need to realize…this company…is SUPER in-no-vah-tive.”

I spell it phonetically so you see how he said it. Not innovative, like normal….in-no-vah-tive.

He then proceeded to repeat the word, several times and I thought well…I may not be illegible for benefits, but to think I’m not in-no-vah-tive enough? That just makes me feel un-complete!

Tales Of Set Up Failure: Lingerie Loungin’

16 May

Who Wants to Get a Little Sexy?

 

 

About a year or so ago, my (ex) boyfriend and I broke up and I had to move from my…well…his apartment.  From there, the changes kept on coming! I had to momentarily leave my dog behind, since he’s not allowed in my roommate’s house, and oh yeah! By roommate….I mean my mother.

It should be relatively easy to understand why it would have taken me a little bit of time to get over the breakup. At the very least, more than a week. My friends are wonderful but do not listen, and insisted that I trudge forward.

One night about a week after everything came to a halt,  (let’s call her) Gina decides that I should meet her friend and I immediately refuse. Not only am I far from ready, but I haven’t even SPOKEN to this “friend.” She tells me it’s too bad, he has seen my picture, has my number and is going to use it.

Great. I figure, fine…what’s the worst that can happen? Wrong question to ask, every time!

::ring ring::

A number I don’t know…what’s his name? Adam? Matt? Whatever, something generic.

“Hey you,” I hear on the other end of the line.

Can we take a moment and address this? You don’t know me, you’ve never met me nor spoken with me before…so…who exactly are you addressing ME as “you?” While it’s meant to be endearing I guess, it’s absurd and rubs me the wrong way. It’s not like we’ve met, or been friends for ten years, etc. Just keep it short guys…  “hey” or a nice throaty “hello” will do juuuuuust fine.

I’m already not amused, not wanting to have this conversation and am waiting to be wowed, or repulsed. Judging from the post I’m writing, I’m sure you can guess where this is headed…

Me: “erhm…hi?”

Mr. Whomever: “I’m (can’t remember), Gina’s friend. And you’re Allyson?”

You just dialed my number, didn’t you!?

Me: “Yep,“ I replied, short and to the point.

Mr. Whomever: “Gina said you’re into Adult Swim…that’s really hot. I bet you’re really kinky, huh?”

Two things wrong with this statement.

Epic Fail #1: Adult Swim is Cartoon Networks late night channel, featuring nothing sexual unless you’re into that anime cartoon weirdo bullshit.

Epic Fail #2: WHAT would possess you to ask someone you just started talking to 30 seconds ago if they’re kinky or not?

Me: “I love Adult Swim, but I don’t think you understand that it’s Car-“(the last piece of toons escapes under my breath as he cuts me off…)

Mr. Whomever: “What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?”

::sigh::

Me: “Well…I don’t know, I guess drive from Tallahassee down here at 3am alone. I just woke up one morning and decided I wanted to come home, so I did.”

Mr. Whomever: “That’s it?” he replied.

Me: “Yep, that’s about it.”

He is waiting for me to pony up information, to confide in him, show him I’m interested…I’m not interested.

Mr. Whomever: “My girlfriend and I one time got a couples massage, and we were so turned on when we left we had to pull over and have sex in the bushes off the highway. I guess that’s my most spontaneous act…”

I didn’t even ask.

Mr. Whomever: “OOH! OOH! Actually, we stopped one time at a swingers club. We didn’t participate…but we did watch. Are you into that at all?”

Me: “Not at all, sorry. What are your top three movies? If you had to choose?”

I was searching for an inkling of normalcy.

Mr. Whomever: “My Cousin Vinny, 300 and Goodfellas. Do you like hairy men?”

Me: “Interesting choices…I’m not into gorillas, if that’s what you’re asking.”

At this point, I was ready to have some fun. I had tried to get off the phone twice and short of hanging up on the dude, I figured…great…free…material. It’s now been silent for about a minute before I start to say…

Me: “Ok, well I have to be going now…I’ve got to be at work at 6:30, so early wakeup call!” I figured, an exit line no one can refuse! Hint, hint, hint, HINT!

Mr. Whomever: “So you’re all dressed for bed?”

Me: “Yep.”

In actuality I was still in my work clothes from the day, but thought…let’s do this.

Mr. Whomever: “What are you wearing? I bet you like to sleep in those little nighties”

Me: “Oh for sure! The smaller the better.”

Mr. Whomever: “Anything underneath?”

Me: “Of course not,” I reply, snickering to myself in my brother’s bedroom, anxious to see how far I can push this kid.

A short-breathed sound sort of emerges from his side of the phone like a gasp.

Mr. Whomever: “That’s…so hot. Anything you want to ask me? Anything..? Anything at all, don’t worry.”

I know where he’s going.

 Me: “No, not really. Maybe another time..”

Mr. Whomever: “Are you SURE? Nothing? I’m totally open and willing to answer ANYTHING.” Dripping with suggestive tones, what a shock.

Me: “Well, as shy as you’re being, I’m assuming you want me to ask you what you’re working with. Right? That’s what you want?”

Mr. Whomever: “Go ahead, ask me.”

::sigh::

Me: “Alright…what are you working with…that you’re so proud of”

Mr. Whomever: “HARD?” he blurts out. “About 5…5.5”

Silence.

Mr. Whomever: “Is that bad? Good? Why didn’t you respond?”

Clearly I can’t say, because I’m rolling on the floor in laughter at how absurd you are and that you’re being a thousand percent serious right now?!

So I reply…

::giggle giggle giggle::

When I can collect myself, I politely tell him I really have to be going, and after all of this…he has the audacity to say…

Mr. Whomever: ”So I guess you don’t want to come cuddle?”

Y-I-K-E-S.

ARE YOU SERIOUS???

First, you don’t know me! What if I’m a crazy, soul stealing woman? Secondly, what if I’m diseased? Desperate? Clingy? You don’t know me dude…take some time. Third and finally, if you can listen to all that and take yourself seriously, all the while believing that I’m interested….big yikes buddy…big yikes. Sad state of affairs to see who’s out there, and if you didn’t miss someone a lot prior to that, you do afterwards, tell you that. Thank you to all my friends for wanting me to “get out there,” but uh…do me a solid? NO MORE fix ups!

Epidemic Continues To Spread! Is There Hope For A Cure On The Horizon?

16 May

Are there really ANY words that could do this image of D.A.D.S justice?

 

Congratulations!

If you’re reading this, you’ve come to the realization that you are suffering from one of two very serious afflictions; Dumb Girl Syndrome (D.G.S) or Dumb Ass Dude Syndrome (D.A.D.S). Right now you’re confused and scared, wondering where you’ve contracted this from, who’s to blame and regretting not using protection the last few times. Relax. Sadly, like so many other serious diseases, D.G.S. and D.A.D.S ar typically a genetic defect or something learned from a very early age. Most likely if it’s learned it’s due to an overbearing mother, strict upbringing, or daddy issues. So many Americans in particular between the ages of 13 to douche bag suffer daily, and unfortunately… there seems to be no immediate cure.

“But how can I KNOW for SURE if I suffer from these offensive diseases?”

Great of you to ask! Today, we examine the symptoms of D.G.S and D.A.D.S and pose the serious question: Is there hope for a cure?

 

“Like, O.M.G, D.G.S?”

D.G.S, or Dumb Girl Syndrome, is continuing to run rampant. It appears to stem from need for attention, affection, or extreme denial. Girls who suffer from D.G.S are typically very easy to spot, as they tend to run in packs. During the winter season, they typically migrate north and west, clamoring to NY to catch a glimpse of the girls from The Hilly City (whoever they are) or to LA to become the next contestant on The Real World (I’m going to be famous!). These girls are skittish, so if you approach them, be sure to do so calmly and without food in hand as they’re most likely hungry (eating= a major no no! But, you CAN have a cheese cube if you’re about to pass out). A half-caff, light mocha frap has been known to calm the beast, but NO WHIPPED CREAM…God help you if there’s whipped cream…

Other symptoms tend to include possessing one or more magazines in their gigantic mansion of a purse that often accompanies a small dog closely resembling a stuffed animal rather than an actual animal! These girls tend to drag their dogs everywhere, treating their pet as an accessory. Let me ask you a serious question…do you really think fluffy wants to be shoved into a Louie knock-off and toted around while you walk the city, read in Borders and gossip about how Scott likes to call you at 2 AM but cannot commit? If I was a toy dog, I’d demand to be left home so I could flounce about the house believing I was living in a giant “Fluffy” based world.

Many girls afflicted with D.G.S suffer from two other major symptoms, including an oomp-ish orange hue and skunk-hair (defined by a platinum blond top layer of hair with a bright color or dark brown layer underneath). If you see this, do not blame these misguided girls as they are simply victims of trend and excessive media consumption. Someone needs to drop some knowledge on these girls that what the Gossip Girls or Katy Perry do are not gospel. Just because you see it, does not mean you must imitate.

For example: spandex leggings. Whoever reintroduced this fashion statement should be exiled! News flash: spandex…not for everyone. In addition, the reintroduction of hammer pants, or as some call them “genie” pants? N-O-T cute, and in this case not for anyone unless of course you’re actually M.C. Hammer…or live in a bottle.

All girls suffering from D.G.S suffer denial and misguided notions, particularly when it comes to men. They cannot conceive why they’re not married or in a relationship, why their ex’s have not returned to shout from the roof-tops “I’m so sorry, I made a huge mistake!” This is very closely related to the book turned movie, “He’s Just Not That Into You.” If you’re sitting there thinking, “that is so not true, I know he’s just intimidated by my beauty or my success…or my…love for my dog,” etc. then may I suggest you pick up a copy of either.

Is there hope for a cure? Let’s be serious. As long as the Paris Hilton’s and the like are some sort of diluted version of role models or public figures, my guess is no. While I’d like to say I’m optimistic for the future and finding a cure for this disease, I see little to no chance of that happening in my lifetime or those to come. Sorry. How do we avoid and/or comfort those suffering with this terminal illness? With laughter. Look around…one out of three women you know is suffering from this. If you can’t figure out who it is, as the old saying goes… it’s you.

 

So, you’re becoming a D.A.D!

This subject is one of my favorites, and one I love to talk about with passion! I love men (albeit typically the wrong ones, but none the less)…real MEN. Not man-boys, or the ever-present “man-baby.” Also on my list of “dislikes” are the symptoms included within this awful and sadly…flourishing disease. Men, brace yourself…these are the symptoms that if you have 1 or more, could mean that YOU…are becoming a D.A.D.

I would generally just write, “large sunglasses,” as a distinctive characteristic of this disease that both boggles my mind and infuriates me. If your sunglasses are larger than mine, that’s an issue. It’s not a fashion statement, it’s idiocy and frankly sir…you look ridiculous! Oh, don’t believe me? Going to purchase some new shades? Ahhhh yes, I see you’ve chosen the ultra douche bag large WHITE sunglasses, or the sunglasses that shouldn’t even be classified as glasses because they have lines through the center of it. NICE choice. NEWS FLASH MEN: Kanye West…is an idiot. Anything he does, you should go ahead and do the complete opposite. He’s not black Jesus, he’s not the best thing to happen to fashion,  he’s a man…with bad taste. Large sunglasses are the largest indicator of D.A.D.S…get it together men.

On the topic of de-manification, let’s discuss the following: guyliner, skinny jeans, Ed Hardy, shiny metallic gear of any kind and bejeweled ANYTHING. I’ve got to tell you…if I see one more embossed Eagle, Snake or false idea of manly-hood decorated in beads I used to play with from my Pretty, Pretty, Princess game when I was five, I’m going to LOSE it. If your jeans are skinnier and tighter than mine, if you’re wearing silver metallic gear, using my eye liner or foundation, OR if you’re wearing more jewelry (cubic zirconia, of course) and hair gel then I am… we have an issue (potentially multiple). When did gender lines become so blurred that it’s acceptable for people to say, “what a cute couple, now which one of you is which? Oh, nice black nail polish dude, it really matches your snake that’s on fire on your sleeveless vest and matching leather murse (man purse)!”

YIKES.

Similarly, the phrase “No Homo” comes to mind. Not only is the phrase incredibly offensive, but really? You need to make it clear to those around you that although you just said you love your guy friend, you’re not gay? And…you think…saying that phrase makes it better? Actually, it leads me to believe that while I wasn’t previously thinking you had any sexual interest in your friend…now? I kind of do!

How about this real life example I saw on a friend of mine’s wall on Facebook from another guy friend from high school:

“Hey dude. I was thinking about soccer the other day and I thought of you, so I thought I’d drop by your wall and leave some love. It made me so happy to see you with a girl in your picture and it seems like you’re happy, which makes me happy…no homo…take care.”

WHAT? Anybody catch what just happened?

I was thinking about you. I wanted to leave you love. I’m happy you’re happy. I’m not gay though. Alrighty then! Guys, you sound ridiculous. It’s okay to wear things that make people question your eh… “openness,” but heaven forbid they think you care and have girly emotions. PSSSH…how “homo.”

Another unfortunate side effect of D.A.D.S stems from factors starting at childhood. Men, just because your mother has told you since you were able to breathe that you are the hottest, most talented, smartest, gift to women in the WORLD does NOT give you a free range to be an ass. It also doesn’t mean you’ve won the lottery and are able to run around with a free “act like a douche for life” card. False. Take a look at why you haven’t had a successful relationship in years, or why you’ve been single and no one wants to get near your bejeweled fire snake for more than a second or two. And of course, that hot piece of ass feeding you compliments is…your mom.

D.A.D.S often enjoy provoking you to talk about their “situation down below,” or want to talk about how they’ve had a girlfriend for five years but still like to get freaky with other women.

Is there a hope for a cure? It’s not likely. As long as trends are in power, brains lack in power, and parents try to program their “little pieces of perfection” from the get go…de-manification will continue to lead to a more prevalent outbreak of D.A.D.S until it takes over all of the remaining (alleged) “real men.”

 

If you know anyone who fits in D.G.S or D.A.D.S or can foresee a cure in the near future, we at the “Foundation for a Yikes-Free Future,” would love to hear from you!