I’ve been using Facebook as my microblog or whatever the Twats over a Twitter call it. I fucking hate Twitter. I really do. I can’t possibly communicate the depth and sincerity of my most inane thoughts in 140 characters or less. I’ve tried, but it always comes out sounding totally perverse or weird or, I don’t know. Retarded?
So, I don’t do much Twatting.
I do Facebook from work though. If you’ve added me as a “friend” and I haven’t confirmed you, it’s because you didn’t have the twenty seconds it would take to introduce yourself. I find that rude, quite frankly, and so we can’t be “friends.” I’d like to know who my “friends” are before I let them into my personal Facebook. And if I did let you in, and you didn’t leave me a message, it’s because you caught me in a really “friendly” mood or I liked your name, or I thought you looked like not a murderer. So, I let you be my “friend” because sometimes I like to be totally random like that.
Maybe I should start a Crissy fan club on there, probably. I’m scared nobody will join it though. Like, what happens if I start one and only my mom and like two of my bffs join it? That would be sad. Isn’t it also kind of obnoxious to start your own fan club? I think so. Also, I don’t know how. If anyone wants to do one for me, you know. It wouldn’t suck.
(Ms. Darkstar just started one because she’s very special. Join it so I don’t feel like a giant durfwad with no friends, please)
Also, I’m going to take my Facebook thing off the header. I’ve been meaning to do that ever since Mister put it there like, years ago. It’s misleading, I guess. It makes me look like a Facebook slut, which I’m not.
Anyhoodle, you know what makes me cry like a little girl? I feel like I should tell you because you haven’t heard enough about my depression yet.
Almost any Disney movie makes me cry so hard I actually feel like shit for the rest of the day.
I know, right?
Why do they always have to make that shit so sad?
Like, the other day Girlfriend wanted to watch Dumbo. (I secretly hate my mother-in-law for buying that trash and bringing it into my house, but she meant well so I can’t hate her. She’s a frustrating woman.) I tried to talk her out of watching it because Dumbo just devastates me, but she insisted on it. I had some work to do on the laptop, so I let her put it on so she’d shut the hell up have something fun to do. I sat Homeslice down on a blanket with a bucket of toys to rummage through, and it gets to the part where they sing the “baby mine” song or whatever it’s called while Dumbo’s mommy is straining to cuddle her frightened and lonely baby through the bars of her cage, and god dammit. I can’t even blog about it without crying.
Seriously. I’m crying again.
There is something very wrong with me.
Ahem…we get to that part in the movie and I just start bawling. I picked Homeslice up off the floor and held her and cried and SOBBED.
It was really poor.
And Girlfriend looks at me and she’s like “mom! It’s DUMBO! It ends happily and everybody loves him! Jeeze! Get over it!”
And in second grade all the kids called me a “baby” because one time I peed my pants while listening to the Bambi record. It was when Bambi’s mommy was shot and I cried and then I peed my pants.
And in seventh grade, it was reading The Red Pony. My mother called the school and bitched out my English teacher.
Yes, she did.
You know what else makes me cry? When a romance goes terribly wrong and two people who are supposed to be together, can’t be together. Like what happened between me and Vinny from the delicatessen.
That sad story will be up on Toy With Me today. We broke up, you know. I haven’t told you about it yet. I’ll link you to the story as soon as I get one. It’s the Canadians and their time zones. I’m going to email them about changing that. Does anybody have Canada’s email address? Specifically, I need the email address of the guy in charge of what time it is.
Here it is: Vinny and the Roast Beef Curtains
- SEX ADVENTURES on Facebook and how I totally ruined my chances for one by being indecent
- Some days I wonder why I don’t just run away forever
- All about the Tee-Vee and how I know nothing about it except it makes me go night-nights
- And the lucky winner is…
- How come Doosh gets to be on Oprah and Crissy doesn’t?