Social Media Explained Through Examples

When I told my mother that I joined Twitter, she seemed a bit confused as to why I needed yet ANOTHER social media outlet to spew my verbal diarrhea.  Honestly, I think that’s a fair question.   After thinking about it for some time (2 minutes to be exact- you don’t have a lot of time to ponder things when you have a 2 and 5 year old), I’ve decided to supply examples in order to provide an answer.

So Mom, this one’s for you.  Here are a few examples of Facebook statuses, Twitter "tweets", and blog entry titles discussing the same topic.

TOPIC: SUNDAY PICNIC

Facebook: Today is such a beautiful Sunday!  We’re going to take the precious angels to church, then on a picnic!  Hooray!*

Blog Title: Picnicking south of the Mason-Dixon Line: NOT A GOOD IDEA.

Twitter: Whoever invented picnicking obviously didn’t care about sitting in bird/animal s#!t or being eaten alive by mosquitoes.

TOPIC: POTTY TRAINING

Facebook: I can’t believe it!  Little MMo is SO CLOSE to being potty trained!  He went pee-pee in the potty all by himself!  He’s SO advanced.  Hooray!**

Blog Title: The princess and the pee: A royal’s guide to potty-training a mini-assassin.

Twitter:  I almost vomited walking into my boys’ bathroom today.  HOW DID PISS GET ON THE CEILING?

TOPIC: 5 YEAR OLD LITTLE LEAGUE TEAM

Facebook: Yay, I’m SO EXCITED to go watch little DMo’s baseball game!  Score a homerun for mom, D!  Hooray!***

Blog Title: So you want to coach a little league team: yeah, good luck with that.

Twitter: People who coach baseball for 5 year olds would also excel in cat herding.

TOPIC: SNOW

Facebook: I don't like snow. Hooray!

Blog Title: I hate snow.

Twitter: I f&*king hate snow.

I hope that clears everything up for you, Mom. 

TTFN,

AMo

*Please note that these are dramatizations of Facebook statuses.  Like, WAY dramatized.  "Hooray"?  Who SAYS that?!

** I would also never address anything fecal or urine-related on Facebook.  I save my pee talk for Twitter.

*** OK... SOMETIMES**** I say hooray. 

**** I say hooray all the time.  Please don't hate me. 

Dr. Phil’s Guide to Diagnosing a Serial Killer

My son MMo was the happiest baby that ever existed.  He would smile and coo, and loved to snuggle.  His laughter would light up a room.  

Just when I thought, wow, I am SO LUCKY that this precious baby angel is mine…. Something happened.

My precious baby angel turned 2.

Many of you have probably read or heard me joking about MMo’s schizophrenic temper.  For the most part, I really AM joking… but there’s still a part of me that wonders if maybe I’m raising the next Hannibal Lecter.  Being the overly-dramatic worrier that I am, I decided to Google “characteristics of a serial killer”.  You know… just to be SURE I shouldn’t be locking my bedroom door at night.  By the way, thanks again Al Gore for inventing the internet.  Without you, I would have been unable to access such a plethora of information on this topic.  Love you Al, thanks for being the second-best vice president EVER!

The internet pulled through for me once again.  The first link in the search display was from what I would describe as the most reliable source known to mankind, Dr. Phil.  I should have known that Dr. Phil would be the leading source in sociopathic behavior.  I mean, he was a recurring guest on the Oprah Winfrey show as a relationship and life strategy expert!  Oprah doesn’t let just ANYBODY on her show.  You have to be like, a couch-jumping Scientologist or her secret half-sister to sit in that guest chair.

Once I discovered this incredibly reliable and accurate site, I dove in.  Below are some of the most common traits found in serial killers.

1.  Over 90 percent of serial killers are male.  Welp Dr. Phil, I’m already in trouble.  Penis?  Check.

2.  They tend to be intelligent, with IQ's in the "bright normal" range. MMo is a very bright child.  He can already pick a lock and hotwire a car.   

3.  They tend to come from markedly unstable families. Now, how unstable is “markedly unstable”?  Like say, you know, HYPOTHETICALLY... that the mother thinks she is a princess and her best friend is T-Pain?  WHAT EXACTLY are you trying to say, Dr. Phil?!

4.  As children, they are raised by domineering mothers.  I’m not sure I like your tone, Dr. Phil.  I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS SORT OF QUESTIONING.

5.  Their families often have criminal and psychiatric histories.  OK… confession time. When I was 3, I stole chapstick from a grocery store.  I know, SO awful.  Oh, and up until age 10 I thought I was possessed by a man named Azrael the Horrid and only ate raw meat.  But that’s pretty normal… right?

6.  They hate their fathers and mothers.  Ummm…

 

I’m still undecided on whether or not I have anything to worry about, only time will tell.  Oh and by the way, are you proud to be a gold digger?  Are you afraid that your daughter is prostituting in Las Vegas?  Breastfeeding your 5 year old?  If so, Dr. Phil wants to talk to YOU!

TTFN,

AMo

100

As some of you may know, my family and I just got back from a weeklong 1600-mile road trip to see friends and family.  The visit was great, but the driving… well… have you ever seen National Lampoon’s Vacation?  Now imagine that with two very young kids.  But we didn’t kill Aunt Edna along the way- so, yay for us.  Oh and we didn’t end up at Wally World with John Candy, the nauseous security guard.  Really, the car ride was nothing like National Lampoon’s Vacation.... maybe we should start over because my trip has nothing to do with this post anyway.

Oh hi there, blog reader!  I was gone for a few days!  Before I left, I promised that I would make up write an autobiography for my 100^th follower.  Today, I make good on that promise.

Ahem… drum roll please… ladies and gentleman, may I present to you:

GLITTER, DECEIT AND GARDENING: THE NEXT MARTHA STORY

Many of you may know my 100^th follower Jennifer Hajer as “The Next Martha” from her blog or from Twitter.  You may also know that she’s really into crafts and loves to garden.  But this story isn’t about that.  

THIS story is about how The Next Martha came to be.

Jennifer was born to Clark and Ellen Hajer who hail from a small suburb of Chicago, Illinois.  “From the moment she was born, we knew she wasn’t normal”, said mother Ellen. “As a little girl, she would insist upon taking glitter everywhere she went.  If she got upset at someone, she’d simply throw the entire container at the person’s face while screaming ‘HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW’.  She was an angry little girl with a passion for arts & crafts supplies.”

As Jennifer grew up, her passion took a deadly turn toward obsession.  At 14, Jennifer was exposed to Martha Stewart for the first time.  According to Jennifer’s award-winning biographical essay “Tripping on My Eyeballs”, replacing Stewart became her only desire in life.  

 

Jennifer’s father, Clark: “Jennifer’s day consisted of school, Martha Stewart Living, and scrapbooking.  When she ran out of family-related things to scrapbook, she became desperate and started creating pages dedicated to the squirrels in the backyard.  It was out of control.”

In 2004, Hajer hit rock bottom.  Upon hearing the news that Martha Stewart had been convicted of insider trading and would be serving prison time, Hajer formulated a plan that included being arrested, becoming Stewart’s cellmate, and getting rid of the competition.  PERMANENTLY.  Unfortunately for Hajer, she decided to scrapbook about her plan.  She was arrested on attempted-murder charges and served 17 months in an Illinois correctional facility.  

During Hajer’s time in prison, she discovered other talents which she cultivated after her release in 2006.  She graduated summa cum laude from the Adele Perkins School of Welding and Archery, and parlayed her new status into a successful career. 

In her spare time, Hajer still enjoys crafting and gardening.  She’s even dedicated a Twitter account to it (not to worry, her parole officers are keeping a close eye on @hoeinthegarden to ensure the safety of all involved).    She has also developed a passion for writing; you can find her work here.  If you’re looking for scrapbook samples/ideas on her site, you won’t find any.  By law, she is not permitted to scrapbook until the year 2016.

To end this entry, I’d just like to thank The Next Martha and the rest of my new followers for taking 3 minutes out of your week to read my little old blog.  You’re all special and unique to me, like precious snowflakes.  THANKS FOR BEING AWESOME.

 

TTFN, 

AMo

P.S. EVERY WORD of this autobiography is true.

P.P.S. Well, not EVERY word.

P.P.P.S. OK, the only thing accurate about this autobiography is that The Next Martha IS in fact, awesome. 

PMuff: The True Hollywood story

I’m not exactly sure how this happened, but I’ve almost reached 100 followers.  Because I am so completely dumbfounded/flattered that anybody is reading this, I’ve decided that I’m going to dedicate an entire post to lucky number 100.  The post may or may not contain actual stories/facts about this person… it really depends on how awesome he/she is.  

After I decided to write a post about someone else, I realized that most of the people reading this blog know very little about ME. So ladies and gentlemen, the story you’ve all been dying to hear…

PMuff: The True Hollywood Story

I was born.

I had a fairly regular childhood despite growing up in Flint, Michigan (the murder capital of the world).

My teen years were… interesting.  I’m pretty sure my parents were continuously riding the fence between keeping me and selling me to the highest bidder. 

I went through some phases.

 

I went to college.

 

After college, I moved to the East Coast to follow my dreams...

 

 ...and by "follow my dreams", I sort of meant "follow a boy".   So yeah... that didn't work out.  

When I moved back to Michigan, I met Prince Muffintop. We got married.

We had a baby.

Prince Muffintop took a job in Ohio, so we moved.

Then we had another baby.

Then Prince Muffintop took a job in Georgia, so we moved there.  Have I ever told you how much I hate moving?

Then I started a blog, and now you're reading it. And for that, I just wanted to say:

There is absolutely no reason for the Boone's Farm bottle right there, I just thought it added a little something.

I'm looking forward to completely making up telling the story of my 100th follower.  So be warned... if you decide to follow me, you've got that to worry about.

TTFN,

AMo

A Princess’ Guide to the Government Shutdown

I’ll be honest.  I HATE reading the news.  When I became a parent, something snapped- I could no longer tolerate reading articles regarding the depressing state of the world.  BUT... because my job requires that I stay on top of current events, I try to do a daily drive-by through a few news-related websites. This isn't something I enjoy doing, so every now and then I'll skip a few days.  Besides, if I wanted a good cry, I'd rather watch the Notebook thank you very much.

My client called this morning.  I’ll admit, I wasn’t really listening.  There are only so many times I can hear about said client’s daughter’s dance recital/son’s spelling bee trophy/new golf clubs before I want to rip my ears off.  Today’s conversation: client tells me about his super fantastic weekend at the zoo with his… whoops… zoned out for a minute....something something about his mother-in-law’s cracked tooth… ooh, Real Housewives of OC is on! Blah blah… the Government is shutting down.  

Wait… WHAT?  The GOVERNMENT IS SHUTTING DOWN?!  

So of course I headed straight to Google to figure out just what the hell happened.  Turns out my boy Barack Obama and his congressional posse do not agree on how to spend this fiscal year’s budget, and if they don’t figure it out like, RIGHT NOW, there will be consequences.  After reading several articles written for people way smarter than I am, I had only 1 question:

What the eff does this mean?

Good question, self.  Here’s the answer broken down Princess-style.

1.        All National parks, museums, and monuments will shut down.  Did you plan a vacation to our great nation’s capital to see all of the magnificent landmarks within the next couple of weeks?  Sucks to be you!

2.       Need a passport? TOO BAD.  

3.       Toxic waste clean-up?  Well WHO NEEDS THAT ANYWAY.

4.       US Postal Service?  You’re cool.  So are you, air traffic control and coast guard.

5.       Expecting a tax refund check?  Don’t hold your breath.

6.       How about the pay for Government workers INCLUDING OUR TROOPS?  Not looking good.  Not cool, Obama/Congress.  Not cool.

There are a ton of other things that may or may not be affected, but quite frankly my brain can’t process any more.  Let’s face it- I’m just more of a TMZ kind of girl. I like my breaking news stories to have more of a  "Lindsay Lohan arrested for sacrificing/eating a Sumatron Tiger" feel than this type of thing.  Bottom line is this.  Hurry up and settle your shit, Obama and Congress.  How about you just scrap both of your proposals and spend the budget on research to populate the country- nay, the WORLD- with Pegasuses (Pegasi?  Pegasaurases? Whatever the plural is for ‘Pegasus’).  All of our problems would be solved if we co-existed with these majestic beasts.  Am I right!!?

That is all for now.  It’s time to go watch Tamra from the Real Housewives of OC engage in awkward bathtub relations with her 16 year-old boyfriend.

TTFN,

AMo

NOTE: I obviously have no real interest in politics, therefore I have no interest in debating politics.  So please do not leave me any creepy serious “Obama and/or congress is the devil” comments or you will be instantly disqualified from receiving a Pegasus.

I am Mexican, hear me roar.

Let me start by warning you that I am in a mood today.  Therefore, this post will most likely not be funny at all.  If you just said to yourself, “But her posts are never funny”, then I suggest you go back to eating your lima beans and looking at your Land’s End catalog because YOU SIR/MADAM obviously have no sense of humor.  

See?  I’m in a mood.  If you want funny, go over to the right side of your screen and click the links to any of the fabulous blogs in my blogroll.  Peace out.

Today I registered my child for kindergarten.  DMo and I excitedly walked into the school welcome center with our 9.5 billion pieces of identification.  To register for school in GA, you need every piece of paper short of a notarized letter from God stating that you are, in fact, alive.  We were missing some documents, so we went on a 2-hour wild goose chase to find more proof that we were actually GA residents (because my driver’s license and mortgage bill wasn’t enough).  BUT, ladies and gentlemen, this is not why I’m in a mood.

Besides having to provide your life history, you must fill out a form containing basic information about your child.  This should have been the easy part, but the first question stumped me.

Q1.  Is your child Hispanic/Latino?

I am white.  My parents are white.  Their parents were white.  This question was never an issue for me to answer.  This question for my husband, however, was not as easy- his father is white, his mother is not.  My husband looks stereotypically white, just as my children do.  That blue-eyed child featured in the post below (you know, the one that’s trying to kill me)?  His grandmother is Hispanic.  Genetics are crazy.

Going back to Q1.  I called a woman over to ask her two questions so I could fill out the rest of the form. 

Here’s where I get stabby, y’all.

My first question: What qualifies you to be Hispanic?

The woman came over to our table quickly and greeted us with a smile.  People from the South have been EXTREMELY pleasant to deal with.  She introduced herself and asked how she could help me.  I told her I was having a little trouble filling out the race question.  My son is partially Hispanic, should I check the box?  Her response sent chills down my spine.  The woman made a face that resembled the look that you would make if I told you I only brushed my teeth once a week (TOTALLY not true, by the way- it’s more like 3 or 4 times a week. No really, I’m kidding… that’s disgusting. Please forget we ever had this conversation).

“Oh sweetie, don’t make him Mexican.  He’s not Mexican, just mark ‘no’.”

No?   Because he’s only a quarter Hispanic?   But I knew that wasn’t what she meant.  I’ve seen that look before.  I could feel the Incredible Hulk starting to tug on my stomach signaling he wanted out.   So I asked her why.  I kept asking.  She backpedaled a bit, she hemmed and hawed, yet I continued to ask.  I could tell she was getting flustered, so I let it go.

My second question: WHY do you need this information?  

My issue with this had more to do with HER, not with why the school system needs to know my son’s racial make-up.  I’m sure there are logical reasons why the Government needs to know just how many Pacific Islanders there are in a particular region, but I wanted HER answer.  

“Well, we just need it for profiling reasons.  Like, we don’t want all the Mexicans in the same class.”

HOLY S%1T.  What?!  And with that, the Hulk made his appearance.  I’ll spare you the rest of the conversation; mostly because I don’t remember a lot of it (it happens when I “Hulk out”).  I vaguely recall uttering the words “burrito overload” and “baby low-rider pimpmobiles”.  Somehow, we completed the registry and quickly left.  As we were driving down the road, I noticed my child’s concerned little face in my rear-view mirror.  I asked him what was wrong- he put his head down and asked one question.

“Mom, am I in trouble for being Mexican?”  

As I mentioned earlier, my husband LOOKS stereotypically white.  Because of this, there have been many times when a person unfamiliar with his ethnic background felt comfortable enough to make Hispanic racist slurs, jokes, etc. directly to him. I won’t get into this because it’s not my story to tell.  But could you IMAGINE that?  How that would make you feel?  He always takes the high road and walks away.  THAT is the difference between us.  I’m not always the high-road type of gal. 

It dawned on me as I looked at my concerned child that this was the first time out of what I’m sure will many times that someone made him feel bad about who he is.  And that is unacceptable.

To end this extremely long and unfunny entry, let me just put this out there. 

Do you tell racist jokes?  THEY AREN’T FUNNY.  

Do you make racist comments?  THEY MAKE YOU SOUND INCREDIBLY IGNORANT.

Please know that I love and appreciate ALL types of humor, from corny to totally inappropriate.  But let me tell you this.   I’ve never heard a racist joke that was funny.  Not once.  And I’d like to think I know funny (shut up SIR/MADAM. Finished with your Land’s End?  Try Quilter’s World.  Bastard).

My kids are Hispanic. Therefore, so am I.  You’d never know it by looking at us.  So if you insist on making comments that would offend an entire race, you’d better be damned sure you know who you’re talking to before you say it.  

And yes, I checked the box.

TTFN,

The Incredible Hulk

This is ME!

I love my boys.  Like the “if you hurt them, I will rip your head off, sauté it, smother it with onions, and eat it” type of love.  This type of love comes a free set of blinder goggles.  Blinder goggles are awesome; they make EVERYTHING your child does approximately 500 times better than it actually is.  Not that I need them, because my kids are fantastic at anything they do.  So when Jillsmo at Yeah, Good Times tagged me in a meme that required posting drawings- nay, WORKS OF ART- created by my children, of course I jumped all over it.  It would be wrong not to share a talent such as theirs with all of you.

So here are the rules.

• Ask your child to draw a picture of you.
• Post the picture on your blog.
• Call it the ‘This is Me Meme’.
• Pop over to here and add to the link.
• Then tag some others

I asked both of my boys to draw a picture of me, but my 2 year old declined.  Why?  Well, he’s 2, which means 9 out of 10 times I ask him to do anything he will do his best Chris Brown impression while screaming “NO” until he’s blue in the face (artists are SO temperamental).

My 5 year old, on the other hand, went right to work.  He asked if I’d sit in the chair next to him so he could get everything just right.  I sat in that chair for what seemed like an eternity.  But hey- you can’t rush art, right?!  I bet Mona Lisa didn’t whine when Leonardo da Vinci painted her portrait.

Mona: Seriously Leo, I have to take a piss.  Do you have any alcohol?

LDV:  Keep it up and I’ll paint on a double chin.

FINALLY, DMo’s masterpiece was complete- I couldn’t wait to see it.  I’m sure the suspense is killing you, too.

Genius, right!?  I mean, it looks just like me!  Well… except for the hair.  My real hair looks more like a flowing molten lava of gold rather than the freaky girl from The Ring.

And my neck isn’t QUITE that long.

Then there’s the whole “no arms” thing.  But you can’t expect people to remember ALL of your limbs when creating your likeness.  HELLO, ever heard of a little something called the VENUS DE MILO?

I know that the rules state that I need to tag others, but I don't want to put the pressure of trying to top this masterpiece on anyone.  That would just be cruel.

I just asked my 2 year old if he was SURE he didn’t want to participate.  He politely declined* so I’ll just post a picture of him instead of his art.

Even when he’s baby roid-raging, he’s still cute.

TTFN,

AMo

*My 2 year old wants to kill me, I just know it.  He’s staring at me as I type this.  Please send help.