So, I’ve come to the realization, after having my blog since 2005 and Facebook since 2008, that the benefit of the blog environment is that you own your content and the domain in which it resides; there’s somewhat of a “this is MY backyard…” mentality, and people are less likely to start a foul-mouthed debate with you regarding your opinions, whereas Facebook is somewhat tantamount to staring into the refrigerator for hours on end, not knowing what you want, then ranting about it’s contents as if it’s somehow the household appliance’s fault. Then, ultimately deciding to engage in an argument with your housemate over the lonely jar of mayonnaise. Meanwhile the mayo is thinking to itself, “Begging your pardon? *I* didn’t put this dollop of mustard in here, I fail to see how I’m involved in this debate…”. Alas, the internet has become an unruly daycare center filled with faceless, gramatically-incorrect diatribes. I blame social media. And texting.
Wackos everywhere, plague and madness…
And while in this Pensive Facebook Pondering Period, I shamefully engaged in this narcissistic activity whereby an application evaluates your online activity and sums you up in a report not entirely unworthy of a PowerPoint presentation with pie charts and diagrams and maybe even a pivot table thrown in here and there for added flair. And then of course posts it on Facebook for all to see.
Apparently I post 136 statuses a month. The average user posts 12. I have typed 144,004 words. The Hobbit has 95,022.
I could have written a bloody book? Ye gods. Now Zuckerberg owns it? *hangs head*.
So now that Facebook has this feature whereby you can archive every status, photo, link, etc cetera you have ever posted, I am in the process of reclaiming my thoughts, queries, memes, rants (mostly rants but it is what it is…) But, since there are over five thousand of them, it seems to be taking a bit of time. And me, being the impatient twit that I am, have begun the arduous task of sifting through them piecemeal, which is proving to be somewhat of an insurmountable task.
So, what you are about to experience (and my apologies in advance) is an amalgamation of random Facebook posts over the years that *should* have turned into blog entries, or at least provided amusing anecdotal introductions thereof, but failed. Because Facebook, that pus-spewing, blood-gutted leech of creativity, has made me incomprehensibly lazy. Tragically, I post small snippets of witticism THERE, on a FREE service (on which I am subjected to endless advertising, no less), yet my blog, in which I pour my hard-earned dollars into on a monthly basis, goes completely neglected.
So I am making a concentrated effort here to import, as you will, the long-lost wasted blog-children of Facebook.
These tend to span from 2008 – present, about the time my blog started to suck. (And can I just add, as a segue, this dude at the next table needs to *seriously* cut back on the Old Spice. What IS that??)
So these are just a few, since I began to get seasick from scrolling through endless Facebook posts. Hopefully I’ll get my archived file soon…
My new favoritest thing in the whole world: playing “Red Light, Green Light” when my coworker walks out of the office. Cuz, he like, totally does it. Awesomesauce.
I am finding your sentence bewildering. Almost like looking at a Salvador Dali picture. I like it.
I’d like to modify my Foursquare app so instead of reporting, “Niff has just checked into ___”, it states instead, “Niff is Occupying Elliott Bay Book Co”, or, “Niff is Occupying Bellevue Transit Center.”
For example, Niff is Occupying her desk. Concurrently, Niff is Occupied.
With every passing hour our solar system comes forty-three thousand miles closer to globular cluster 13 in the constellation Hercules, and still there are some misfits who continue to insist that there is no such thing as progress.
Happy Birthday, Mom! Thanks for contributing half of the genetic material to create me & stuff…
“The possibility of physical and mental collapse is now very real. No sympathy for the Devil, keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride.”
My boss just threatened to stab me in the throat with his pen if I said the number “eleven” again. Think maybe I won’t do that anymore.
So…death metal lip-syncing satanic burlesque. Down to the freakish zombie face paint and the guzzling down the goblet of blood. I’m afraid to go to sleep…
I’m having one of those mornings where I feel the need to audibly narrate everything I’m doing, sing-song style, and follow it up with, “like a boss”.
Jesus christ, I need coffee.
♪ ♫ …like a boss… ♫ ♪
I can’t help but observe the bizarre situational irony that is downing my variety of nutritional supplements with Diet Coke.
Three things I heard tonight that I wish I could un-hear:
– “We’re the blonde-tourage! You know, cuz we’re both blonde!” (Trust me…they weren’t really.)
– “Can we get six MGD’s in champagne glasses?”
If you have trouble with simple counting, use the following mnemonic device: one comes before two comes before 60 comes after 12 comes before six trillion comes after 504. This will make your earlier counting difficulties seem like no big deal.
[Niff] is fortified with 9 essential vitamins and minerals and is now available at 0.4% APR financing. Act now and get two free DVD’s with purchase. All a nutritious part of a complete breakfast. Rated M for Mature.
The most interesting passenger on the 249 by far: the dude in the camouflage jacket who, daily, reads an obviously outdated Scholastic “Encyclopedia of the Presidents”.
Niff hereby dubs this Third-Person Wednesday. Niff thinks this won’t be too confusing since there aren’t altogether too many Niff’s running about. The *other* Jennifer’s, and Michael’s, and Chris’, however, might experience and/or cause confusion with this, however. Feel free to promote or denounce at will.
I think the key to happiness is finding one thing every day to be thankful for.
My token of gratitude this fine Wednesday?
That I’m not water-soluble.
Ok. Confession time.
Les Misérables was epic and beautiful and grand and all that. But I shed not a single tear. And he reason is this:
It is virtually impossible to become emotionally attached to a scene of someone clinging to life, taking their last, gasping breaths, because I’m like, “Ok, so…lemme get this straight…you’re dying… hemorrhaging internally, even, and and you still have the wherewithal to bust into a showtune about the ‘rain making the flowers grow, laa dee daa dee daa?’ Suspension of disbelief = SHATTERED!” Ok. That is all.
(I actually have an entire blog entry about this planned; much to what I’m sure will be the chagrin of certain people…)
So, We’ll see if Facebook folows through with their promise to send me my stuff. I may have to go to their offices and bang on their doors or something. Bloger rage. I haz it.
Voulez-voulez-vous “What’s going on, Niff?”