My apologies for the rude title (which was worse than that, but changed at the request of my mother), but I had to get your attention. Because this is important. And, I’m about to tick a lot of people off, but it needs to be said. People have gotten out. of. hand.

A while back, I did a post about Facebook and status updates. This was before Twitter was all the rage (Twitter makes me want to punch someone in the face), and before Facebook became the Myrtle Beach of the internet. (No offense to MB, but come on, you know you’re tacky.) So, it’s time for me to revisit this subject and make enemies faster than a speeding bullet.

• I don’t care which Golden Girl you are, how well you know Jane Doe, how Georgia you are, or what sexual position you are.
• I don’t want to Facebook chat with you, I don’t want to be in your top girls, and I don’t want to be a fan of Breyers ice cream. (I mean, I am a fan, but I’m making a point here.)
• I don’t care for you to tell me every detail of your life. I call these “stupdates.” (translation: stupid updates) “Michael is driving. Michael is stopping at a rest area. Michael is almost home!” Michael needs to pay attention to the road, ok? I don’t care if you’re working hard (I’m pretty sure hard work doesn’t involve Facebook, but I’ll ask a coal miner or a construction worker the next time I see one), or who you are going to spend the weekend with, or how long it’s been since you’ve seen your hubby.

I want to get on Facebook and look at your pictures. Perhaps read a few of your wall posts. Maybe even see an acceptable (see “legitimate reasons for updating your status” in the old post) status update every now and again. I don’t want or need to see all that other stuff. Why? Because it’s annoying, that’s why. And it gets in my way of just being nosey/stalker-like. Which is the real reason any of us are on Facebook, anyway.

You can call me a hater, you can say you love reading peoples’ stupdates and tweets. But, I, for one, am sick of them. Holla if you hear me.

Dear Comcast Cable,
When I selected you as my cable provider, I felt good about it. HD DVR was a big selling point, as I love my reality television but can’t always stay up so late to watch it. When you sent that little guy to get me all hooked up, I was excited. Living sans television is not something I care to do, and even though you are charging me ridiculous amounts of money each month (I could write a letter about that, also, but I’m going to choose my battles here.), I will happily write you checks as long as I get to see my programs.

The first night with my new cable went as one would expect. Learning where each channel is and acting all “guy-like” by switching from HD to regular channels and marveling at the difference. Everything was going as planned until I looked for the channel I watch more than any other, Bravo.

It went a little something like this: Flip, flip, flip, hit guide, page up, page down, searching, searching….OH MY GOD, WHERE THE HELL IS BRAVO?????

Although your customer care rep was pretty great to talk to (I will not give her name, as she expressed some serious concern about the lack of Project Runway in her life), she did not tell me what I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear that there had been some kind of mix up, and of course the Bravo channel would appear soon. I wanted to hear that I had to pay extra for Bravo, which I was ready and willing to do, debit card in hand. I wanted her to hear anything other than, “We don’t offer the Bravo channel.“

Begyourpardon? The home of The Real Housewives, Project Runway, The Millionaire Matchmaker, The Rachel Zoe Project, America’s Next Top Model, etc, is not offered by Comcast Cable in my area? Well, and I’m going to try and ask this as politely as possible, but: WHY the ____ not?

Take away my History Channel, take away my A&E, take away some of those news networks, but GIVE ME my Bravo. I mean it, Comcast Cable decision maker. Give me the Bravo, or I’m calling Direct TV.
Love,
M

Yeah, I do. For example, my friend Corrie, who was recently featured in Washington Life Magazine as a philanthropic leader in DC.

In her younger days, Corrie was the president of ADPi at the College of Charleston. She’s one of those people you instantly want to like you because she’s always having fun, smart as a whip, and funny, too.

Check out the section of the article she was in, and see the picture below. Then feel bad about your job and what you do.

*She’s the blonde with the pearls and fab shoes.

“At some point, sooner or later, you’re going to be tempted to think of this situation as a personal failure. Please reject that idea now, and every time it comes! As you may know, we Presbyterians aren’t big on talking about the devil, but for the record, I’ll say that hopelessness is a feeling that comes straight from hell. It’s something we all face, and the feeling of failure, and the fear of not ever feeling success again, can really break us down.”
-An email from a friend, 12/08

So, it’s not a secret that I got married and subsequently divorced. I don’t hide it from anyone, not because I’m proud of it, but because it happened, and well – it’s my life – I can’t change it or anything.

Six months ago I thought the immense pain I felt would never end. The pain and sadness had been there long before the night I decided to leave, but in those days after, every emotion from the past year came back to me. I was angry and sad, and I felt incredibly empty. I felt like no one could understand what I was going through. I realize now, of course, that there are plenty of people who can relate…and who have been through a lot worse. I realize a lot of things now that I did not before.

Someone asked me the other day how I got through it. The answer? I did what I had to do – I just “kept moving.” I got up and went to work every day, like nothing was wrong at all. When I left, I allowed myself to cry the entire hour drive home if I wanted to. Some mornings I cried on the way to work, but the moment I pulled in the parking lot I pulled myself together. The same was true when I walked into my parents house at night.

Although the routine of my job was a huge help, the biggest aide in keeping me moving were my family and friends. My amazingly supportive family and friends. Without them, their love, their words of encouragement, their jokes, their almost psychotic checking up on me…I’d probably be in a gutter somewhere.

My mom made me keep appointments and other things I’d obligated myself to, my dad made me meet him for lunch on Sundays in our small town, my stepdad insisted that I could, in fact, help clean the house. My friends decided that I would celebrate New Years with them, and forced me to return their calls and gchats. They had girls outings, sent dozens of emails, and made me feel comfortable in any social situation. They hated on Valentine’s Day and told me I was smart/funny/pretty. They were just being nice, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

Sure, I kept moving along, but those people are what kept me going. I certainly didn’t do it on my own. And so, to the people that rushed in and scooped me up off the floor, I say thank you. You brought me back.

I’m going to Spain. And France. In less than a month.

When did I decide this? Oh, yesterday. But I slept on it (just to make sure) and yep, as of today at 10:30 – I’m going on a vacay.

This is not like me, this is exactly like my friend Erica (with whom I’ll be traveling/bustin’ all up in her trip with), but I am glad that she influenced me to just “be spontaneous and go.” I’m so excited that I can hardly stand it. Madrid, Barcelona and Paris! Hello, Europe? I’m back.

I ride past a clinic where abortions are performed every day on my way to and from work. It’s just a normal building, with nothing in particular that makes it stand out from the antique shops, hair salons, offices, bookstores and restaurants it’s located near. Except when the protesters are there. In fact, I never even realized what it was until I rode by one day and saw people lined up, with crosses and signs out front. They were chanting, and I was stopped at the light, so I rolled my window down to hear what they were saying. “Yes to life! No to murder!”

I see people of all ages there, making their voices heard. Some women bring their toddlers, and they run about and play while their parents chant or hand out pro-life brochures. What do I think of this? I think that this is America, and that we’re blessed to have the right to stand outside any building and protest or support what goes on there. Do I feel for the women who have to walk past this or any other clinic and have things shouted at them? Absolutely. I personally don’t believe they deserve this. I believe that until you’ve walked in that woman’s shoes, you should not judge her.

The recent murder of Dr. George Tiller should remind everyone that violence is not the way to prevent abortions from happening. Another doctor will eventually take Tiller’s place. Women will have abortions. They had abortions long before they were legal – some in horrifying ways and conditions. Even if every abortion doctor in the United States were gone, the pro-choice and pro-life groups would not stop arguing their sides, and abortion would continue to be a heated topic.

Neither side “wins” by another act of violence being committed. What Dr. Tiller did for a living was legal. You might’ve found it reprehensible or brave – but either way, it was legal. Tiller lost his life because of what he did for a living. And no one should die for that.

In discussing things from childhood on Gchat, I suddenly realized something about myself…

me: I was also a big Muppet fan.
me: I loved Miss Piggy. Go figure.
me: She was very bossy. Poor Kermit. And Miss Piggy had a temper. Come to think of it, maybe that is where I got my entire personality.