Monthly Archives: April 2010

“I’m sorry, I never really go on my Facebook.”

I started thinking about social media for my work and it led to my own personal post. You see — I just really want my private life out of my work. I think it has gotten out of hand. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Facebook. I mean between the job, the house, the kids, the husband, the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the attempt to exercise, the reading, the television,  the keeping in contact with old friends on the phone, the blog, I really love that something  has come into my world which will suck 2 hours away with a blink of the eye.  That being said, I won’t accept or friend anyone at my work.  Facebook is something I look at when I need a break from work, when I’m goofing off and nothing spectacular is happening news wise or on my email.  So do I really need my boss, my employees and whoever else seeing that I have enough time to chat and “thumbs up” a bunch of updates?

I’m not an artist, I don’t own my own business or private island so what I say might have some negative bearing on my “network”. But not with friends, I’m not selling my services, wears or anything besides my opinion and who wants to buy that?   Maybe it’s the environment I work in, or maybe it’s because I bitch a little too much about work in my posts, or maybe I’m the type who only friends people I actually want to spend time with. Or just maybe it’s because I’m a professional trying my hardest to manage others without saying, “You know what…I really don’t care how you do it or how anyone else does it, or how many times you do it and the other person doesn’t, just f#@&in’ do it. Now if you need me, I’ll be  in my office thinking up nasty things to post about you on Facebook, which I’m sure you’ll pop-up as soon as I walk away so I might as well say them to your face.”

Not that I have anything to hide per se. I’m pretty much always myself, you know where I stand and where I don’t. I never hesitate to give my thoughts, opinions, questions, or bar tab to my friends. But I do hold back at work.  I’m not a small person, I have pretty crazy hair, a loud voice, and quite a profanity problem. Needless to say, you know when I’m coming, when I arrive, and when I’m leaving. Due to this, I try to tone it down just a smidgen at work. Ya know, keep my private life private. But it’s hard and yes I do slip in a little shit here and there, a little talk like “Whoa, momma’s gonna hit the Jack hard tonight!” Hardy har har, I’m such a jokester.  I try to at least pretend I’m professional (ok, minus the slips).

People at work will  just have to get to know me minus the witty updates, political rants and the pictures my friends insist on putting up without my permission. Because isn’t the  reason why we’re on Facebook  to show everyone how successfully awesome, gorgeous and skinny we’ve become/are. I’m still working on it…that’s why I keep untagging my name from all of those pictures.  Plus, I really thought I looked good when I left my house, but that 12am picture where I’m getting down on the dance floor?  Not so much.

It’s hard enough to hide those pictures from your friends much less people with whom you’re hoping respect and value your opinion. How am I supposed to be someone’s boss when they see all the pictures from my last trip to Vegas? Come to think of it, 99.9% of my friends on Facebook don’t need to see them…

Yes, because my co-workers need to see this...

Get back to work otherwise you'll look like this or....

this...Enough said.


My Margaritas Were A Shade of Lime and My Skin, A Whiter Shade of Pale

Just so you won’t think I’m totally without heart and really want to abandon my children on the side of road, I’m posting a few pictures of vacation bliss. Fortunately my husband adhered to the rule, “No pictures of adults in bathing suits at anytime.” Because nothing makes you feel better than Spring Break at the beach. The walk of shame from your chair into the water is never longer than when your walking past ten 18 year-old girls  in bikini’s whose mothers obviously never knew the value of organic non-hormone filled milk.

Also seriously, how does one get that tan nowadays? I personally return whiter than when I left because nothing under 700 SPF gets on my white creamy skin. I’ll just remember these youngin’s when I’m rubbing cellulite cream into my non-leather like legs. Who really wants to look that good at 18 anyway?

Just you wait you little girls, when I’m 80 my skin won’t look a day over 73. Ha, that’s when it really counts.

Yea Baby, no walk of shame here.

I don't mind the bikinis...

I'll smile when I feel I've seen enough bikinis.

"May your heart always be joyful, And may your song always be sung, May you stay forever young..."

Cotton and Kids

My sister has a lovely bowl, atop one of the lovely pieces her husband built, and in this bowl is a few lovely pieces of cotton. The cotton is still attached to the vine (or stalk??  someone who is a cotton expert fill me in) and it’s just really cool looking. I asked her one day why she had cotton in a bowl and she told me a friend of her’s (who has no children) was going to visit Alabama and asked if there was anything she could bring back. So of course my sister answered, “Cotton”.

I tell you this story because my family and I recently passed some lovely cotton fields on our way to a family beach vacation. You see a family vacation can be some what of a crapshoot…You know what I mean, right? Will it be the blissful experience you paid for with not only money but also PTO time? Will it turn into one of those great National Lampoon movies? Will you make wonderful memories and really connect with your kids? Or will you return home wondering why you would ever choose to use what little time you have off from work and your hard-earned money vacationing with your children? If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you must be a wonderful parent with lovely children and you must consume a daily diet of Xanax and Valium.

Anyway, I digress — where were we? Yes we we’re driving by that lovely field of cotton, and the kids have started getting cranky/giddy/angry/hungry/tired/full of angst…you name it. Our 7 hour drive has become 12 due to traffic and many separate stops to go to the bathroom. (I don’t think they’re really trying when I ask them too.) The iPod batteries are dead and the wireless headphones for the DVD player are not working. We are now faced with the dilemma of whether we all must hear Barbie’s 12 Dancing Princesses or hip hop for the teenager. This is a must because wrestling in a minivan is neither comfortable nor safe and their voices have started to rise. (Before we sound too spoiled and technologically advanced, please  note 15 Alphabet games have been played, various naps taken and the youngest child has colored many, many pictures.)

While all hell breaks loose in the van, I look over at the lovely fields of cotton and I think to myself, “Only a person with no children would have the temper, time and patience to stop the car and get out to pick up a handful of cotton to satisfy a sarcastic request from a friend. Or a parent hopped up on Xanax and Valium”.