Tag Archives: sarcasm

Take Me To Your Leader

As much as I like blogging and social media, it seems like people are taking this stuff a little too serious at times. To be honest, it’s getting a little creepy.

And while I don’t have personal experience with “traditional” cults, I did a little research and found the following characteristics that apparently define them.

Do any of them sound familiar?

“Cult”ivating Community

The group is focused on a leader to whom members seem to display excessively zealous, unquestioning commitment.  

“I will read ANYTHING that (insert blogger here) posts—even if they publish a theory that unicorns are the driving force behind global warming—and I will tweet it out multiple times a day despite the fact the “big” blogger has no clue who I am.”

The group is preoccupied with bringing in new members.

“Do you follow me on Facebook? On Twitter? Do you subscribe to my posts? Have you checked out this page yet? Grab my button!”

The group is preoccupied with making money.

Lately it seems as if blogs are just billboards for ads. “See my sponsors on the side? Your ad could be there! This post was brought to you today by (insert company that has nothing to do with the blog post.)”

Questioning, doubt and dissent are discouraged or even punished.

This is evident when a blogger’s followers take to defending the blogger in the comment sections of posts and are personally appalled when someone questions a point that was made—and then that reader is promptly banned from further comments.  If you’ve never noticed this, try reading healthy living blogs. Trust me.

The group has a polarized us-versus-them mentality, which causes conflict with the wider society.

People who don’t blog/tweet/Facebook “don’t understand,” which is something people who blog/tweet/Facebook don’t understand.

The group’s leader is not accountable to any authorities.

Anyone can blog, which mean anyone can say anything they want at any time without (relatively any) consequence.

The leadership induces guilt feelings in members in order to control them.

“I’m only two followers away from (insert random number)!  Help me get there by tonight, or else God will kill a kitten!”

Members are expected to devote inordinate amounts of time to the group.

“After you link up, be sure to read at least 35 of the other posts here, leave comments, come back here and tell us that you left a comment, tweet about which post you liked best and then post it to your Facebook page.”

But have no fear!

If you find yourself  taking things too seriously, remember that you have free will!

You don’t have to believe “them” when they say, “if you don’t post a picture, an update or an announcement of everything from your lunch to the cold you’ve been fighting, how will anyone know about your willpower or dedication? How will anyone congratulate, commiserate or validate your feelings or your feats?”

Remember that you will know, and that just because you didn’t post it online, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. After all, one should be posting the best parts of their life that happen authentically and not living life for the best thing to post.

I know the pull is strong, but you can be stronger.

You can break free!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go tweet out the link to this post. Oh, and by the way…

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Rage Against the Machine

If you’re reading this, you’re on a computer or at least have online access, which means there is a temporarily symbiotic relationship between you and said technological device.

This is not always the case for me, and I have brought it to my own attention that much like my house, my computer often mocks me.


The passive aggressive nature of this mockery causes me to be much more aggressive than passive, and I often find myself raging against the machine and muttering, now you do what they told ya as I vainly try and do anything other than hit control + alt + delete. 

For example, I will attempt do a simple Google search. After the computer arrogantly tries to read my mind—no, I’m searching for “avocado,” not “Avon,” but thanks for the baseless suggestion—I often click on a link and am told that the page cannot be found.

Well, perhaps you should try a wee bit harder, seeing as it’s your JOB to find the page.

If the page is not available, then don’t offer it as a suggestion. That’s like wafting the smell of pesto pizza under my nose only to tell me that it’s not available. Ever. At that point I’m more emotionally involved with the pizza than I am with most people, so the disappointment could result in a violent outburst unless a suitable replacement is given.

In other words, find the damn page or download a pesto pizza.  Two options. Your call.

But doing a search implies that the computer is willing to at least comply with my request on a basic level. There are many times when my computer won’t even put up a pretense of productivity.


Instead I am given messages such as: “Not responding,” “The program has unexpectedly quit/stopped working” or the patronizing “Something is technically wrong. Thanks for noticing.”

As if we had a choice? 

I’ve also noticed that it’s become rather possessive and sneaky, often separating me from my friends at times by casting judgment on their messages/comments and labeling them as “Spam” long before I have the opportunity to judge/ignore them for myself.

No one takes away my right to judge/ignore people for myself.

I’ve tried to be nice—gently petting it while whispering soft words of encouragement and then restarting it in hopes it operates a bit more cooperatively, knitting it a little sweater to try and prevent it from freezing up—but no luck. I am pretty much powerless against the spinning beach ball of death that appears whenever the hell it wants to.

Perhaps I’m just jealous and need to model my own behavior after my computer a little bit more.

Not only does it have the option to “sleep” and “hibernate,” but the whole “not responding” thing sounds like something I wouldn’t mind officially implementing into my day.

Then again, the computer still can’t download a pizza while all I have to do is turn on the oven and wait 15 minutes. Well, unless the oven’s in cahoots with my computer.

If that’s the case, I’m screwed.

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Technically, I Should Be a Celebrity

Unless it involves sports,  I generally have no interest in celebrity gossip.

While many of them are talented and deserve to be recognized and compensated for their natural gifts, a majority of them do absolutely nothing more than get paid for acting like idiots who got a lucky break.

But unless you live under a rock—or with the Unibomber, who should have directed his mailings to several of those tabloid celebrities—you can’t escape the coverage.

This got me thinking—how am I not a celebrity?


I don’t want the fame, but I do need the fortune.

The obvious answer is because I don’t have shockingly good looks, boobs or any skills that would warrant me fame and fortune —minor details, of course—but when you see some of the “celebrity” stories, they’re really not that different from me.

So while I avoid discussing politics like the plague—in fact, I would rather discuss the plague—I am launching my campaign to reach celebrity status so I can represent the “normal” people.

Here are my qualifications:

Sob Stories

Unless you’ve won something like an Oscar or a gold medal, chances are you’ve failed at something and kept on going. Well, a majority of celebrities have some “incredible” sob story that they swear “made them who they are today.”

“She grew up without high-speed Internet, her parents got divorced and she still managed to write song lyrics on the back of cocktail napkins before leaving the bar!”

“He wasn’t recruited by NBA scouts until his junior year, meaning he had to actually work while attending classes he was taking on a full-ride scholarship!”

Yes, Famous People, some of you have overcome incredible odds. But guess what? That’s kind of real life, and when you twist normalcy into some weird saga for sympathy, it leaves most people rolling their eyes so hard they pull a muscle .

So I pledge not to share my sob story when I become a celebrity (mostly because I’ve already done it on this blog for the past two years.)

Pooch Power

Many celebrities have small little dogs. 

I have a little dog.

In fact, he’s smarter than most of the celebrities out there, so if I can’t cut it as a famous person, maybe he still has a shot.

Exhausted Excuses

Celebrities need to quit complaining of exhaustion. I know they work a lot, but they get paid a lot. I also work a lot, but I do not get paid a lot. This means that when I’m exhausted and can barely lift my arms to get out of bed in the morning—every morning—I still have to go to work and not the hospital.

So when I become a celebrity for a yet-to-be-determined reason, I will already have this “exhaustion” thing down and buck the stereotype by taking a tropical vacation instead. This frees up medical personnel for real sick people and instead employs the services of young tanned gentlemen paid to run suntan lotion on my tired back.

I do this for you, my people.

Say “Cheese”

Like many celebrities, I already duck the media and paparazzi in an effort to maintain my privacy—or just not show off the fact that I forgot I had a Velcro roller in my hair or broccoli in my teeth.

However, when given the go-ahead to ham things up, I’m all about the spotlight. If elected, I promise to continue to ramble on and wildly gesticulate when given the cue to perform and throw things at people who try and get a shot of me when I’m unprepared.

Read Between the Lines

I wrote a book that sold a few copies.

Snooki and Paris Hilton are both best-selling “authors.”


No further questions, Your Honor.

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Every campaign needs a solid running mate, so I’m currently screening applicants. What “celebrity” qualifications do you bring to the table?

I Basically Invented Pinterest

I’m not one who thinks everything I don’t understand or like is stupid (with the exception of “Jersey Shore” and low-fat peanut butter. No reason for these things, people.)

However, I’m so sick of hearing about Pinterest that the only thing I want to do with pins is poke them in my eyes so I don’t have to read about how much everyone loves Pinterest.


There are a couple reasons as to why this is, but the most important one is that I was the ORIGINAL creator of “pinning” things. Have I received any of the credit?

The answer to that would be, “no.”

First, a little background.

If you’re unfamiliar, Pinterest is the latest social media craze that “lets you organize and share all the beautiful things you find on the web. Best of all, you can browse pinboards created by other people to discover new things and get inspiration from people who share your interests.”

Apparently the mission is to connect everyone in the world through the “things” they find interesting, seeing as Facebook, Twitter, email and actual social interaction with other human beings was insufficient to fill that need.

Pinterest- Funny_

Everywhere you go on the Internet someone is talking about Pinterest, mostly in reference to how much time they’re spending/wasting on Pinterest. These same people talk about how busy they are, but yet spend hours “pinning” things they won’t have the time to create because they’re too busy “pinning” things.

But to be fair, I suppose that I understand the appeal.

You virtually rip pictures out and put them on your boards for “inspiration” without actually having to talk to anyone else in the process. In theory, the fact that you don’t have to interact with or “friend” people sounds perfect for me, except I’m not into lifestyle things, crafting, home decorating, inspiration or spending any more time on the computer looking for things I don’t need.

Considering a falling paper clip distracts my attention, the last thing I need is another diversion.

Primitive Pinterest

But as I mentioned, the real reason I’m over Pinterest is that I was the ORIGINAL “pinner” when I was younger and haven’t received a cut of the profits now that this craze has caught on.

Back in the day when computers were as large as an industrial refrigerator, I had a huge bulletin board in my room that I took pride in filling with things that reflected whoever I was on that day—a little bit athlete, a little bit artist, a lot more weirdo—or what I thought would look cool to my friends.

So I would scour magazines for pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio and Mariah Carey, inspirational quotes and just weird things I could pin next to personal photos that perfectly captured my awkwardness and ribbons and medals from horse shows and swim meets.

I understood these to be the most creative collages ever.

It was my own primitive Pinterest.

Now there are no glue or color-coordinated push pins required, no danger of paper cuts and no need to piece together random letters to create quotes that end up looking more like white trash ransom notes. Just a click of the mouse and your “pinning” power is revealed.


Just like I was ahead of my time when it came to wearing workout pants and no makeup in public—the kids call it “casual chic” now, right?—it appears this is the case once again. I was pinning sayings I wasn’t clever enough to think of and photos I wish I had taken decades before this “Pinterest” thing.

But do I get the credit?

No, because someone else went ahead and actually beat me to it (which I admit wasn’t hard to do seeing as I wasn’t actually trying.) But still…hrmph.

Pin me, “Bitter. Party of one.”

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If you can’t beat them, join them

Because I’m sure you are all wondering how I’m doing, let me put your minds at ease by saying my canker sore has gone away—for now. Thank you for your kind words, as they helped me through a very rough two days. I’ll assume your cash donation is in the mail.

Then again, I might not need your money.

You see, I’m thinking of becoming a “Mommy Blogger.”


Even though I don’t have children by choice, I sometimes get the feeling that people think I am a card-carrying mom and kid hater. This largely comes from other women’s reactions to my decision to keep my uterus empty, mind you, but I can tell you that I’m not. I just have no interest in reading about children and pregnancy and everything that goes along with it.

To each their own.

But I’m beginning to think that I’m missing out on something in the blog world—the opportunities afforded to those moms who blog, and moms in general.

According to eMarketer, there were 3.9 million moms who were blogging in 2010. Now I have to think there’s a big difference between moms who blog solely about their children and daily potty training attempts and those women who simply have “mom” as one of their roles, and as writers, aim to contribute more to a greater cultural dialogue.

But the term “mommy blog” is as prevalent as the nation’s current obsession with bacon and Target’s Missoni collection, and let me tell you, it looks like moms are getting some perks.

If you write about your children, you are automatically inducted into a club of sorts, as motherhood binds women together via a common experience and therefore represents “womanhood” to a lot of people. So they can talk about anything that happens in a typical day—nursing, discipline, juggling duties, etc.— and have an instant audience and steady material, not to mention advertisers looking to place all their ads.

Don’t get me wrong in that I think it’s great that there’s a support system out there (and sponsors and such.)

But lost in the shuffle is the fact that other women (and men) — without children — do their own juggling act by working to support themselves and dealing with stressful issues of their own—finances, security, dying relatives, health issues, family drama — and they don’t get a special parking space or a Sarah Jessica Parker movie incredulously saying, “I Don’t Know How She Does It!” 

That last one’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Anyway, with just about everyone spitting spawn out left and right and getting some perks with the deal, I feel a bit left out. But I have no interest in anything maternal, and even if it provided me daily fodder to write about, I don’t care enough about popularity to even interact with a child on a daily basis.

So I thought about using the “Mommy Blogger” template to create a “Gnome Blogger” format that might just sweep the country.

Uncle June could totally pimp out “Just For Men” or Keebler cookies.

I could talk about his daily adventures and whether or not I should use organic cleaners to wipe off his face, how I feel he’s exponentially smarter than every other gnome on the planet and update you on his bowel movements.

Since I already take him on airplanes and trips, maybe he would like to go to the store or the gym with me some days? Perhaps some play dates?

But again, I feel like he’s a bit too needy for daily interaction. Plus, I want to share more of my identity as a writer outside of my role as a gnome mother, so I guess that we’re back to square one.

I’m stuck aiming to contribute to a greater cultural dialogue about important things that need to be discussed—you know, things like punctuation marks, senior citizen Bingo games and banana clips.

But for the record, Uncle June is exponentially smarter than every other gnome on the planet.

Oral Fixation

I was going to write about something else—I’m sure it was extremely interesting and insightful, too—but I can’t think about anything other than the “drama” that I’m incurring as we speak.

*Note use of quotes to indicate sarcasm, as I know this isn’t a significant issue and that yes, I’m being dramatic. Let’s move on. 

Even though I’m trying to distract myself,  I can’t focus on anything but the damn canker sore that has returned to the inside of my bottom lip. While I’m sure it’s of a completely normal size as far as canker sores go, but it feels as if it’s roughly the circumference of the sun.

The stupid thing showed up about a month ago, went away, came back, went away and is back again. It’s like Ryan Seacrest, only larger in size. 

It’s placement is such that in those rare moments when my mouth is shut, it rubs against my top lip. Any time my mouth is open, it rubs against my teeth. It hurts. It’s distracting. It’s minor in the grand scheme of things, but it’s annoying the hell out of me.

Anyway, I have issues any time my body decides to go off and do it’s own thing without my consent, as that proves I have no control and am helpless to the powers that be. Whether it’s a cold, something more serious or a simple sneeze (or canker sore,) I get frustrated and annoyed at the fact I was not consulted about those turn of events.

In response, I do what most normal people do and spend inordinate amounts of time on the Internet trying to cure things that have plagued humans for hundreds of years.


According to WebMD and a couple other sources, my symptoms indicate that it’s either:

a) your basic canker sore or

b) Hoof and Mouth disease, an allergic reaction to unicorn dander or erectile dysfunction

*By the way, WebMD could up it’s accuracy percentage to 100 if it simply diagnosed everyone as a hypochondriac. Again, let’s move on.


For sake of an argument, I went with “canker sore” and found out the causes can range from certain brushing habits and foods—including citrus fruits, spicy foods and dairy—to nutritional deficiencies and gastrointestinal tract issues. But the most simple cause of canker sores?

Stress, which is ironic, considering this damn thing is causing me large amounts of stress.


I learned that “although there is no cure for canker sores and that they go away on their own after a few days, they do often reoccur.” However, you might be able to reduce their frequency by:

a) avoiding foods that irritate your mouth. Really? I was thinking I might make a meal out of atomic fire balls and rub lemon juice over my lips for shits and giggles tonight. Thanks for that. Plus, another source indicated that yogurt is helpful, contradicting the dairy claim above and proving no one knows what they’re talking about.

b) flossing daily. Yes, because sticking my hands in my mouth sounds like a great way to not irritate the large sore on the INSIDE OF MY MOUTH.

c) avoid stress. Good luck with that.

Final Diagnosis

So to summarize, I am one cranky whiny woman at this point and time, and it’s either because of a reoccurring canker sore (among other things) or erectile dysfunction and an otherwise latent allergic reaction to unicorn shit.

To heal, I think I will require a week to become a hermit in my house—to diminish the stress of being around people, of course—and a prescription for medicinal herbs that might not heal me, but will make me care a bit less about my dramatic “condition.”

But don’t worry! I have no doubt that I’ll make a full recovery, so in lieu of flowers and cards of concern, please just send cash.

After all, anything that makes talking and eating difficult for me is immediately elevated to a status of utmost importance, and I read on the Internet that cash can help—right after I wrote it—so it must be true.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make sure my house is clear of unicorn shit and citrus fruit and that I don’t have an erection that lasts longer than four hours.

I think we’re safe on all accounts.

How I Got Thin

Diets annoy me.

More specifically, people that talk about diets all the time annoy me. But in case you didn’t know it, I’m thin—not necessarily by choice, mind you—so I often get weird requests for “how I do it.”

I’ve found no one wants to hear that it takes a commitment to your health to actually be healthy. You know, eat more veggies, take a walk, blah blah blah. I suppose it’s hard for them to know what to think,  as there are a million conflicting “reports” out there on the next best shortcut to health.

Diet Soda Cartoon

But still—common sense people.

Personally, I’m a vegetarian that eats dairy, eggs and occasionally fish when I have to. I don’t eat soy or drink coffee because it sends me into intestinal hell—it’s not pretty. Even though I do have a love for animals and compassion is a part of my decision, I mostly eat what makes me feel good—physically and mentally.

But then I started reading more—blogs, magazines, more blogs—and started to feel guilty about my lifestyle.

Yes, I love animals, but what about everything else? I love flowers and trees, so isn’t it just as harmful and cruel for me to pick them out of the ground and eat them as well? If I’m a vegetarian, shouldn’t I be more compassionate towards vegetation?

So, I became an oxygentarian.

What is an oxygentarian ? I make air the main focus of my consumption.

There’s no real reason. I mean, with the exception of the soy and caffeine, I don’t have an intolerance to any foods. But I started to question how necessary and humane the consumption of anything else really was. The reading I was doing—blogs, magazines, more blogs—was leading me to believe that I had to be “free” of everything to be a person of admirable character.

After all, the way I choose to eat and take care of myself defines the kind of person that I am and has a direct influence on how you should view yourself! At least that’s what I’ve read, anyway.

I know this is controversial and there are those that will judge me. Like sarcasm, I’m sure not everyone will pick up on the benefits. But it’s the only way I can be sure that nothing is harmed to satisfy my innate human cravings for nourishment and pleasure from food (just replace “food” with air! No decision has to be made!)

Along with gluten/sugar/fat/wheat/dairy/carb/sodium-free, being an oxygentarian is also guilt-free. Well, for the most part. 

There are still a few drawbacks. 

After all, with all the pollution, I can’t be assured that the air I’m breathing is organic and pure. There are oxygen bars in certain locations, but like Whole Foods and Trader Joes, there are none in my area, severely limiting my resources.


Plus, even though I’m saving a lot of money by not buying food, buying organic oxygen all the time would get expensive. 

I also worry a little bit about becoming an overbreather or a binge breather, and that some people won’t be able to hang around with me anymore because they’re jealous of my willpower and dedication to the planet—not to mention my own health.

But I just want everyone to know that I don’t judge. If you still enjoy actually eating food, I completely understand. I know there are people that see food as a pleasure and as something to be celebrated and necessary for survival, but for me, there were just too many “unknowns” associated with all of my decisions. This is just what I feel is best for my body right now.

At least that’s what I gathered from my reading—blogs, magazines, more blogs—and I trust that what’s best for others is probably best for me.

You know, common sense people.