My mom just joined Facebook. I can't decide if this makes me feel young or old. My initial reaction was "oh crap, I'm going to have to censor myself, and she's going to be able to keep tabs on me!" Then I remembered that I'm 30 freaking years old. Plus, just to let you in on a little secret, my mom swears too. Not very often, but every once in a while she'll let an expletive fly. Usually for something really insignificant, like burning the bag of popcorn in the microwave or something. She gets a speeding ticket and usually all it will elicit is a "shucks" or "darn."
Having not talked to mom yet about Facebook, I'm not sure what her intentions are. Is she using it to keep in touch with her kids? Is it a way to reconnect with old college buddies she hasn't seen in years? Is she using it to gather intel on an enemy or former acquaintance with whom she had a falling out? All of these questions will be answered.
Truth be told, this post is kind of a test for you, Mom. Are you Facebook savvy enough to find this note? Can you comment on it, or am I going to get a phone call (more likely a text message, her preferred means of communication since being Blackberried) asking me how to tag someone in a photo, or what it means to "like" something someone said? Are you going to ask me why you would poke someone?
Actually feel free to ask me that. I have no clue why you'd ever poke anyone. I've never been poked, nor done any poking. Has anyone? Is this something that 15 year old guys do to girls they like? Is it something you do to the person next to you when you're both on your mobile devices? I don't know. I don't care. It seems stupid to me. Anyways.....
Welcome to Facebook, Mom. I hope you find it as entertaining and informative as I do. Here's a few tips though:
Applications are largely a waste of time. Quizzes such as "which Friends character are you?" aren't really that insightful, nor are they accurate. Plus none of writers of these quizzes know how to spell, which makes me think they are some sort of scam.
Feel free to comment on anything on my page, but don't "like" everything. If you like the fact that I post something about Jonah saying his first complete sentence, it will be cheapened if you like that I post that I'm bored at work. I'm just sayin...
If you want to post old family photos, that's fine, but show a little restraint. Facebook is not the first girl I brought to the house back in high school - you don't need to break out the pic of me wearing a cowboy hat and nothing else on the rocking horse. Pictures of Grant like that are fine, however.
Perhaps the most important rule of social networking....don't post cryptic status updates. Don't say things like "Louise hopes everything turns out ok...." or "waiting for the answer to a big question." Fishing for comments is my biggest pet peeve on the social networking circuit, as well as just about everyone else.
You can still call. Don't let this be the only way you communicate.
No, Jonah doesn't have a facebook page.
That's about it. Happy facebooking, Mom!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Vegas Hangover
Last weekend was my first "real" trip to Vegas. I went once before, but it was a really bad day. In fact the day was so bad, I remember the exact date. Everyone does actually. It was September 11, 2001.
I had a really great time in Vegas. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary, just the typical gambling, hanging by the pool, staying up way too late and getting up way too early. I ended up making enough money at blackjack and Wheel of Fortune nickel slot machines (which I'd highly recommend to anyone) to pay for all the food, drink, tips and taxi rides that I did while I was there. I'm pretty sure that I tested the limits of my body between the lack of sleep, secondhand smoke inhalation and unhealthy eating. I fully believe that if I'd stayed one day longer, I'd have started to break down and either got sick, or had a heart attack or seizure or something. So I was pretty happy to make it home in one piece on Sunday.
What I wasn't expecting was how much Vegas sticks with you once you're home. The tiny little jolts of adrenaline you get when you hit blackjack or get a "double spin" bonus on a slot machine are hard to replicate in a cubicle. I don't get the same feeling when my boss sends me an email asking me to do a "database clean-up project." It felt weird to go to bed before midnight (and even weirder to get up at 5:15.)
Actually, it almost feels the same as when I first played Grand Theft Auto III. The game was so unlike any game I'd played before. I would play for a few hours, and then go outside and have visions of just clubbing some stranger on the sidewalk for $20, or turning my car sideways on Monroe Avenue in front of a city bus, then pulling the driver out and slamming the bus into Clodfelters. Vegas had the same effect on me. It was strange to me that people in Corvallis didn't have margaritas so big they needed a shoulder strap to carry them. Nobody was wearing a tube top. The guys at work weren't slamming into the walls on the way out of the bathroom. I don't think I've seen a neon light yet, and I haven't had someone who doesn't speak English try to hand me a card with a naked girl and a phone number on it in three days. Why aren't these things happening? Vegas has slipped its seductive finger under my collar and is gently pulling me towards it.
Of course, I have to say no. I have to say no for the same reason I've never had a sip of alcohol and don't use painkillers. I'm scared of what'd happen if I start. I have an addictive personality. Once I say yes to dang near anything, I can't stop. I watch one episode of Friday Night Lights, I'm going to watch 8. I eat one potato chip, I'm eating the whole bag. I drink one Pepsi....well you all know what happens next. I always need someone to make me stop. Good thing I have to be accoutable to my wife and son. Were I single, I have no doubt I'd have lost a ton of money last weekend. I might've missed my flight trying to "chase the unicorn" as Grant so eloquently put it.
So stop tugging on my collar Vegas. Go find some other sucker to whisper sweet nothings to. I'm done with you. There's plenty of other people you can tempt. Maybe one day our paths will cross again, but it'll be on my terms. In other words, don't call me Vegas. I'll call you.
I had a really great time in Vegas. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary, just the typical gambling, hanging by the pool, staying up way too late and getting up way too early. I ended up making enough money at blackjack and Wheel of Fortune nickel slot machines (which I'd highly recommend to anyone) to pay for all the food, drink, tips and taxi rides that I did while I was there. I'm pretty sure that I tested the limits of my body between the lack of sleep, secondhand smoke inhalation and unhealthy eating. I fully believe that if I'd stayed one day longer, I'd have started to break down and either got sick, or had a heart attack or seizure or something. So I was pretty happy to make it home in one piece on Sunday.
What I wasn't expecting was how much Vegas sticks with you once you're home. The tiny little jolts of adrenaline you get when you hit blackjack or get a "double spin" bonus on a slot machine are hard to replicate in a cubicle. I don't get the same feeling when my boss sends me an email asking me to do a "database clean-up project." It felt weird to go to bed before midnight (and even weirder to get up at 5:15.)
Actually, it almost feels the same as when I first played Grand Theft Auto III. The game was so unlike any game I'd played before. I would play for a few hours, and then go outside and have visions of just clubbing some stranger on the sidewalk for $20, or turning my car sideways on Monroe Avenue in front of a city bus, then pulling the driver out and slamming the bus into Clodfelters. Vegas had the same effect on me. It was strange to me that people in Corvallis didn't have margaritas so big they needed a shoulder strap to carry them. Nobody was wearing a tube top. The guys at work weren't slamming into the walls on the way out of the bathroom. I don't think I've seen a neon light yet, and I haven't had someone who doesn't speak English try to hand me a card with a naked girl and a phone number on it in three days. Why aren't these things happening? Vegas has slipped its seductive finger under my collar and is gently pulling me towards it.
Of course, I have to say no. I have to say no for the same reason I've never had a sip of alcohol and don't use painkillers. I'm scared of what'd happen if I start. I have an addictive personality. Once I say yes to dang near anything, I can't stop. I watch one episode of Friday Night Lights, I'm going to watch 8. I eat one potato chip, I'm eating the whole bag. I drink one Pepsi....well you all know what happens next. I always need someone to make me stop. Good thing I have to be accoutable to my wife and son. Were I single, I have no doubt I'd have lost a ton of money last weekend. I might've missed my flight trying to "chase the unicorn" as Grant so eloquently put it.
So stop tugging on my collar Vegas. Go find some other sucker to whisper sweet nothings to. I'm done with you. There's plenty of other people you can tempt. Maybe one day our paths will cross again, but it'll be on my terms. In other words, don't call me Vegas. I'll call you.
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