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Posts Tagged ‘Facebook’

Dear Idiots,

I’m not sure which walk of my life thus far has led me to the lot of you or what special moment we shared that made you add me as a friend on Facebook but I am truly grateful that you did.

In real life, you seem like your average drug-addled freak show but there’s so much more to you, isn’t there? Had we restricted our friendship to uncomfortable pleasantries in the street I might never have known your complete inability to use a capitalized letter correctly. An impressive, if not somewhat alarming, talent!

I often wonder how exactly you have managed to complete any amount of education writing sentences like this.

caNt BlaME u sIncE u cNT drink NEthIn eLse iN THe OveN ryT nW, bT YEaH JD or jEiGEr shUD b gUD enUf nww I reckOn

[More importantly, I wonder why your friend has to drink in an oven]

Now, I imagine you’ve already sold your parents for drugs and probably have no one to tell you these things so please, allow me!

1) A capital letter is not to be used for decoration. They have something called fonts for that. Yeah, I know- you’re shocked but there really is something out there both completely sensible and decorative that won’t make you look like a complete fool on the internet.

2) With so much communication happening via text (an often emotionless medium – depending on your writing skills) – e-mails, chat, SMS- people often write sentences in capital letters to denote yelling.

Example:

WHAT THE HELL? I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR 15 MINUTES!

Therefore, when your status is “ i’M iN tHE pOrTal. iT’s CoMIng fr You NXt!“ you come across as a severely bi-polar individual switching effortlessly between crazy screaming man and calm individual. You might want to consider that this can be frightening and cause people to hide, run or call the cops when you approach them.

3) As with every rule there is an exception – if you are writing a ransom note by cutting out letters from a magazine, it is quite alright and no one will fault your for it. The kidnapping, on the other hand, may be frowned upon.

In closing, let me remind you that there will be no lack of opportunities in your life to capitalize a letter.  It is hardly as though you could fall short. I will not go into all the possibilities right now but let me assure you, under normal circumstances, you will never have to nor should you ever feel the need to, place an upper-case letter in the middle of a word.

Sincerely,

“A Friend”

P.S: Can you tell me on what basis you eliminate vowels from some words? I really have no idea how to do this. Does this work? dt – for idiot?

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Love! Love is such a many splendored thing or so I’ve heard from the Moulin Rouge movie. You meet a girl – she’s smart, funny and everything you ever dreamed of. You think she may the one but a few months in you start to wonder if something is amiss.

You Google “signs she’s psycho” but are led to Office Oddities’ “5 Signs she thinks you’re a Psycho Killer not a friend”. This is not helpful at all.

So for those of you who reach here wondering how to know whether she’s going to kill you in your sleep- read on!

  • Her favourite movie is called Obsessed.
  • The walls of her house are red and the paint is always “wet”
  • Sometimes you wake up and there’s a full English breakfast waiting for you which is sweet except, she didn’t spend the night and doesn’t have a key ( as far as you know )
  • She leaves cute little notes and presents at your desk at work. She works at the other end of town and you work in a high security building.
  • For Christmas she takes you to visit her parents – at the mental institution.
  • You’ve seen a marked increase in the number of knives in the kitchen since you started dating her. The butter knives are okay but the machetes worry you.
  • All your ex-girlfriends have died in freak “accidents”.
  • You login in to Facebook and realize you somehow have only one friend- her!
  • She’s met your parents, seen your childhood home and met all your high school friends – without you.
  • When you look back at old photos of you, you notice she’s always in the background.

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In the old days, when blogging was still unknown to me and indulging in any internet-enabled social interactions seemed a tedious affair, I would spend much of my work day lurking around various blogs that I had stumbled upon. I would laugh, read, enjoy and then slink away in anonymity.

Now that I have my own blog and a resultant predilection for putting everything that pops into my head on the internet, I know first-hand the boundless joy from receiving an flattering comment – such as the one below.

“perfect work you have done, this site is de facto cool with superb info. I suggest you put this content to reddit, and then more and more population might entry your posts. Thank You”

Heartwarming! I’ve never been cool so being de facto cool was a distant dream!

Having learnt this, I now make it a point to leave a comment on anything I enjoyed reading– whether it was an idea, writing style, LOL-ability, even good grammar. This in turn, has brought me to the realization that, while I can churn out one average 200-300 word post daily, my ability to write a coherent compliment or summation of what I felt about a topic is far less than average.

I’ve put much thought and many sleepless nights into it and I think, perhaps, I have found the reason for my glaring inadequacy when it comes to comment writing.

A few months ago my dearest friend left the country. I was so distressed by the whole thing that I felt I must get on every possible mode of communication to keep the friendship afloat. As a result, with a heavy heart, I finally renounced my title as the “Last Person in their 20’s Not on Facebook.” Fortunately (if you’ve noticed the length of my sentences) I’m not fit for Twitter so I spared myself that. Now that I’m there, I often find myself astounded at other people’s ability to say anything about anything. It must be nice to be able to do that. I don’t know how to – from a lack of practice, I fear. Those that have been on for a few years are far at the fore in this respect.

If I have commented on one of your posts or replied to a comment you left on one of mine, you know what I am talking about.  But before you jump to judge, or wonder if I’ve paid someone else to write my blog, you should know that I often spend more time on a single comment than I have on many posts. So don’t blame me; blame Facebook for being unappealing and kind of silly.

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There was a time, a few months ago, when I had not yet succumbed to Facebook; the good old days when I was only privy to the unimportant news of two or three people I had to endure on an all-to-regular basis. Although, the number of “friends” I have racked up is only a two-digit number, in my mind,  I am faced with much more worthless information than any human should receive.

Recently this “news” has begun to include daily updates from people participating in the 30 day song challenge.

I’m not exactly sure what’s challenging about it or if there’s even a prize. The purpose of it is beyond me. Someone tried to explain. I don’t think I was listening.

Like my friends, if you too are unfamiliar with the word CHALLENGE, let me break it down for you.

Not a Challenge: Fitting your dog into a purse.

Actually a Challenge: Fitting your dog into a purse without looking like you have serious mental health issues.

 

Not a Challenge: Watching Notebook and crying.

Actually a Challenge: Watching Notebook.

 

Not a Challenge: Drinking two cups of coffee and three cups of tea in one morning (Me- This morning!).

Actually a Challenge: Being able to see straight after.

 

Not a Challenge: Listening to Lady Gaga’s music.

Actually a Challenge: Listening to Lady Gaga talk.

 

Not a Challenge: Planning to do 200 sit-ups a day.

Actually a Challenge: Doing more than one.

 

Not a Challenge: Calling in Sick to work.

Actually a Challenge: Calling in Fat / Catholic / Uninspired

 

Not a Challenge: Thinking of a song that makes you happy

Actually a Challenge: Remaining happy while reading a song that makes someone else happy without slipping into a murderous rage.

At the very least, I wish they’d change the name:

 

30 Days of Facebook torture for your friends ?

30 Day song thing ?

I don’t know. I’m just throwing stuff out there – along with my facebook account.

Maybe.

Someday.

Soon.

Maybe.

 

 

NOTE:  PLEASE EXCUSE THE TITLE – MY ENGLISH OF YORE IS TERRIBLE BUT I TRY MY BEST.

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If it was up to me, I’d be a star. My mommy has confirmed that I have all the makings. So understandably, I have often been baffled at my lack of worldwide acclaim and adoring fans.

Why haven’t I been invited to hand out the lifetime achievement awards at the Oscars? Why haven’t I been invited to the Oscars? Why doesn’t Oscar de La Renta send me free stuff to wear at all the parties I attend. ( Have I said Oscar too much ? ) Why have I not been Freshly Pressed ? Why am I not followed around by the paparazzi when I step out to get coffee?

NOTE: Honestly, I’m not so surprised at the last one. I’m not sure we have a paparazzi. Mostly, because even our major other celebrities look like hell.

Then one day it finally struck me, I WAS famous – but secretly. It was the only logical explanation. My fame and fantastic-ness ( is that a word ? ) has to be kept under-wraps. Oh yes, I am the double-oh-seven of the celebrated. Outstanding, just not in an obvious kind of way.

So how did I uncover the truth ? Elementary, my poor confused readers.

All the signs were right there:

• People do not ask me to autograph otherwise unseen parts of their bodies.

• I do not have a drinking problem.

• I’ve never been on MTM Crib’s or the Fabulous Life.

• I often see people staring at me on the street or on the train. ( I had mistakenly attributed this to me being covered in food quite often and having long chats with myself.)

• When I go out without make-up, pictures of me do not appear on the cover of all the tabloids.

• No one has ever given me swag / a swag / a swag bag.

• I do not actually know the correct usage of the word swag.

Now that you’re convinced, you must want to know why this has been kept quiet for so long? The answer to this is quite simple as well. It’s a plot by the company I work from to keep from having to pay me more. So if anyone asks, you’ve never heard of me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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What do you do when you’re stuck in traffic for an hour completely alone except for the rickshaw driver?

Turn on your i Pod. Listen to Fergie. Wish you were Fergilicious

Read the back of the shampoo bottle you just bought.

Think about whether you really do have dull, brittle hair?

Watch the bald man who has stepped out of his car to yell at everyone and direct traffic.

Attempt to inspect the veins bulging in his head. He is standing quite close.

Wonder if his head will explode?

Wonder what you would do if his head did explode?

Decide you really like the top you’re wearing– which is white. You wouldn’t want it to be covered in blood and brain. Pray his head doesn’t explode.

Look at your reflection in the window of the car next to you. Think you’re looking quite nice today.

Make faces at your reflection.

Pout.

Stick your tongue out of your mouth.

Try to touch your nose with it.

Realize the driver is looking back at you.

Hide.

Attempt to go on Facebook from your phone. Nearly burst into tears at the fact that your internet isn’t working.

Think about how much you hate Facebook. It wouldn’t have been fun anyway.

Decide this should go on your blog.

Think about what you would call the post. Traffic – trouble – something.

Think about whether you abuse your power to alliterate. Decide you don’t.

Traffic – Trouble – Trout?

Does trout taste nice?

Do they just give it to you fried or can they make gravy out of it?

Baked trout?

Make a note to Google trout.

Feel hungry.

Fear you might never get out of this traffic. Rummage through your bag for things to eat in case you have to live in the rickshaw.

Decide that your peach and almond nail cream will do.

Will you help the driver or will it come down to survival of the fittest? Every man for himself?

You’re bigger than that. He can have the shampoo you bought. The protein in it is identical to that in hair so it should be edible.

Notice that the other seven people who’ve left their cars to direct traffic have succeeded. You’re home free.

Realize you could’ve just walked.

Oh well!

 

 

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