Knock that shit off

Good Morrow to you fine ladies and gentleman of the world. I haven't truly bitched about anything in a while, due to the fact that I feared I was starting to sound like an asshole too frequently, and because whenever I bitch about something, I generally offend at least 5 people I know. The fallout from these occurrences wears on my fragile constitution. But today I said to hell with whoever takes the nonsense I spew seriously. See, even Jesus agrees with me.

Alright so I often discuss my issues with social media and how I believe it's collectively lowering the IQ of the planet. Today Id like to focus in on a specific aspect of social media: Relationships. I don't care if you like boys or girls or girls that used to be boys. No one is exempt from the type of shit that consistently piles up in my newsfeed or twitterbox-- I made that up, I like it better than saying tweets.

What I'm referring to is the frequency of how many people--mainly women--find the need to gush about the love they share with their significant other on a regular basis in the very public setting of social media. And by gush I mean heavily over exaggerate the level of happiness and fun they share with their partners in their day to day lives. And by heavily over exaggerate I mean, gross misrepresentations of the truth. And by gross misrepresentations I mean you're fucking lying.

Now, just because I'm a jaded piece of crap, doesn't mean the rest of the world is. I understand that. I get it. It makes sense to me. But--and herein lies the key to the issue--no one, in any relationship that has ever happened in the history of the world, is 100% in puppy love with their significant other, 100% of the time. It's just not possible. We are humans, ergo, we fuck up and do annoying shit on a pretty reliable schedule. And let me clarify here, I'm not saying that by not being 100% in puppy love it means that you are in any way unhappy or that you want to end the relationship--in fact making it past the puppy love stage and still wanting to be with your partner is an accomplishment.  It just means that you are not constantly looking at each other with googley eyes while you sit on a beach under a sky full of stars and rainbows and butterflies while writing poetry about how your souls are entwined on a level beyond comprehension in every plane of existence. That's not reality. But its something we have been conditioned to believe is the necessary recipe for conjugal bliss because of things like this:

 For those of you thinking, "stop being a bitch Maria, people are happy, and its not their fault that you don't feel the same things for your partner that they do" I say to you firstly, go fuck yourself, and secondly, that's the thing though. I DO feel all the things they talk about and post and say. In fact, I may even be more of a loser when it comes to liking your sig other in that I tell my husband on a daily basis how handsome he is--hes real man-pretty in the facial area. I also love how his BO smells. And I let him pop zits on my face because it brings him joy. The difference is--aside from the last 3 sentences--I don't broadcast the really personal shit we do across the social media world. Why?

I do not want to know your personal relationship details. Its called personal because its supposed to stay between you and your life partner. **Side Note**Lets not overlook that initial stage of actual puppy love, where even I can admit to posting some truly inappropriate and annoying shit via social media. See below via 2005. Thanks Timeline! **Edit** For some reason, the text is insanely small now--it wasn't before I swear it. If its worth it to you, copy it to your desktop and then zoom in. If not, know that I sound like a douchehole.

Aside from that, if you have been in a relationship for over a year, and are a person who feels the urge to have daily social media updates about how wonderful your relationship is, how much in love you are, the kinds of things you do for each other, and if you feel the need to write in a way that you don't normally speak, using words like "unstoppable,  forever, amazing, unconditional, magical, mind blowing, wonderful, soul mate", you should know, I automatically red flag your relationship as "troubled". Because most people who feel the need to always wear the mask, and do the old song and dance routine, are covering up an ugly face , or are trying to distract you from the fact that they are homeless and sad and dancing for pennies in the gutter. Did that make sense? It did in my head. You get it, you're smart people.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, be real B's. You don't have to always give the impression that you are the happiest person on the planet because you woke up to the delightful smells of a fart trapped under the covers emanating from your lovers ass. Life is life, relationships are part of life, and they sometimes suck, and sometimes they are just as wonderfully amazingly unconditionally mind blowing as you say they are, but most of the time they are just normal. And that's ok.

Throw me a bone once in a while. If you are someone who likes to share your love life with the world, also let me know if your lover left a wet towel on your side of  the bed this morning or if he/she forgot to take out the trash before you left on vacation and you came home to a house full of cockroaches and vagrant opossums. Those are the kind of things that bring me joy. That's the kind of stuff I want to hear about. The dirty dirty. That's what makes life interesting. So go forth in your social media daily routines, but for the love of Ray Jay, remember to be real.

Thank you for your cooperation. I hope you have a enjoyable weekend

~Maria

Twitter-Pated...I hate this title, but it works, so go with it

Happy Monday! Hope you are enjoying the beginning of your week. I was about to go outside and pick up a winter's-worth of dog shit from my backyard, but decided to write instead, thus delaying the inevitable for another 2 hours.

So I recently joined Twitter. And I did it because I was peer pressured into it by a couple of friends,

whom after a series of 4 email exchanges, convinced me that the benefits of being able to talk shit to each other through it outweighed all the reasons I hate it. So I set up an account. And there were some unintended and unforeseen consequences. I had forgotten that Twitter is unique in its ability to make you feel connected to all the famous people you are obsessed with. Unlike crapfest FB, which only allows for Liking of actors/actresses/bands/writers/comedians/politicians without any meaningful interaction on their part-- famous people have minions to manage most of their social media profiles,--Twitter is  unique in that it is in real time, and offers a chance to actually interact with famous people since all they have to do is come up with brief cool shit to say every 20 minutes via their iPhones. Its also a safe way for the Terminally Famous to interact with fans since everything happens in the internets, and thus they are not forced to sign your body part or napkin or take pictures with you and your fat Uncle Francis.

So I created my account and immediately started getting recommendations of people I should Follow. I began by Following people I actually know in real life. That got me to about 17. Then I remember oh hey wait, I can Follow famous people too. Suddenly I'm Following a handful of bands, a few news outlets, and pretty much anyone who has ever appeared on Comedy Central in the past 5 years, including the entire Workaholics Cast. **Side Note**: If you've never seen Workaholics, try an episode. If you don't think its funny, we probably wouldn't get along in real life, which is fine, I have enough people I have to keep track of anyways.

Prior to this post, only a select few people know of my obsession with the Workaholics Cast,

 specifically Adam and Ders. I have giant, middle school crushes, and would do terrible things to have a chance to Eiffel Tower them. I love Blake too, but think that if we ever made out, our respective curly hair would get horribly tangled and we would never escape. Plus any product of that consummation would literally just be a ball of hair with legs, and that's not fair to do to a child.


So I start Following these people. And something took a hold of me, something I haven't experienced since 6th grade. A feeling that has been dormant since JTT grew up and stopped being a super sexy 8th grader, and turned into a short, semi-feminine used car salesman.

For the next few hours, I get caught up in this nostalgia, the objects of my desire now grown ass men who act in a TV show based in a city I've never been to. BUT! The magic of Twitter will bring us together. I will somehow impress them, out of the tens of thousands of Followers, I will make myself stand out. They will know I exist. And then will love me. Because I am the shit. How could they not?

Time passes. I realize that Ive just spent too many moments of my life thinking about this. Reality set in and I am reminded of a letter I penned to Jonathan Taylor Thomas in 6th grade. At the time, I would have bet my left nut that this letter was not only going to get a response, but it was going to make JTT fall in love with me, no question. I really really wish my mom would have taken a  picture of it before it was sent if only to show to future boyfriends or to take with me on job interviews. I cant remember the exact phrasing, but it basically challenged JTT and his friends to a basketball game against me and my friends...... which in my middle school mind, was a brilliant scheme, because no other girls were going to be writing to him about sports. They would be writing to him telling him how cute he was and how they wanted to marry him and make out and stuff. But I was going to engage his interests, show him what an awesome baller I was, and that sporty girls could be cute and fun and awesome too. Proof--Icebox from Little Giants, 10 years later... possible nose job. Bam.

The recollection of that letter and the subsequent disappointment in not being called within a week to fly out to California to meet my new boyfriend brought me back to earth, thus ending my 120 minute Twitter-obsession. And now I'm back to simply sending my Boos links to funny shit I find on Reddit and posting pictures of my dog, and Ive stopped trying to think of ways to engage with Famous People because for one, I'm not fast enough. They send out a request for cool new songs, or show ideas or finish this sentence Tweets, and I wake up at 6am, think of an awesome response, and realize that that Tweet was from 19 hours and 45 Tweets prior. Famous People live a life of luxury and boredom. They have time to update their crap every 10 minutes. People who are about to spend 50 minutes picking up dog shit do not have that kind of time. And that's alright with me. My life is actually pretty great. I may write a book about it some day, and entitle it "My Life". I'll be sure to keep my 16 Twitter Followers updated on it's progress.

Have a good rest of your week Boo-Diddlies

~Maria

Cornitos

I realize Ive been gone for months. Its not because I don't like you, its more because I just stopped caring. But don't take that personally, I started working out in the wee hours of the morning, and an unintended consequence of this action was a complete loss of motivation to write. But, never fear! today I'm writing.

So a good friend of mine was recently selected to be a judge in a 7th grade ESL short story contest, and because she is the shiat, she sent me the entries she received and I was immeasurably jealous that she was participating in something so awesome. The stories I read were fantastic and featured such lines as "he was as handsome as a newborn chick" which made me almost pee myself with glee. *Side Note* If you aren't aware, ESL students are ones whose first language is not English, and because of this, the stories were both extremely intricate, and creative. *Other Side Note* 'Merican kids have forgotten the lost art of creativity. I like to think "Sweet Life on Deck" and Totino's pizza rolls are partially to blame for this.  As I read all of the entries, I realized that I really miss creative writing, and short stories and just being able to write nonsense without having to worry about fact checking and making sure what I'm saying isn't complete bullshit and all of that. So today's entry is going to be whatever happens to come to my mind.  I hope you enjoy it.

Cornitos

You may not know it by looking at me, but I have a very famous Uncle. He is a successful Cuban-born, American rapper, singer-song writer, and record producer, and his name happens to be Pitbull. He is my mother's brother, and he is someone I have looked up to since I was a tiny baby waddling around in diapers. Now, I know a lot of you may have differing opinions on whether or not my Uncle is actually talented, but let me just clear up any confusion for you by saying this: My Uncle Pitbull  is both a saint and a scholar. He is a giant among men, and is one of the nicest people you could ever meet. Here look at this picture of him, he sent it to me when he was on tour in Brazil with Ne-Yo.

If you still aren't convinced of my Uncle's wonderfulness, check this out:

Thats my pet miniature piglet, Cornitos. Pitbull sent him to me for my birthday last month, and I can honestly say he's the best present Ive ever received, hands down. This is Cornitos after I gave him a bath yesterday--hes loves baths. And that blue thing in the front of the photo is Cornitos' favorite sweater vest, even though it looks like a ball. Its a sweater vest, I can assure you. Don't question me, I took the picture.

Cornitos lives in an Addias shoebox that rests on top of my dresser, and so far this arrangement has worked out pretty well. He enjoys walking back and forth across the dresser parading around in that sweater vest I was telling you about. Hes so proud of that damn thing, I should probably get him another one soon. Or maybe a tiny track suit and a mini boom box. I think he'd like that.

I've never had a pet miniature piglet before so I wasn't really sure what to feed one. I don't know if this is normal for this species or what, but Cornitos is obsessed with Jujubes and malt liquor. He goes through like 1 40 oz a week, I don't know if I should be worried or impressed. But he classes it up by using his tuxedo coozy, and he refuses to drink without his monocle, so you see why I have a hard time scolding him, I mean he looks like hes enjoying himself so much, I don't really have the heart to tell him to knock it off and eat beans and corn and tortilla like normal pigs do.

I found out recently that Cornitos' life expectancy 12-20 years, and I'm pretty excited about that. Although I don't know if his binge drinking will have any impact on this estimate, I'm glad to say that I let my mini pig friend enjoy his life to the fullest. And he seems pretty happy in his shoebox. I mean, he doesn't seem distressed or scared or anything, and hes eating his jujubes, and having regular colorful bowel movements, so I think its safe to say he is happy.

Yesterday, we got a postcard in the mail from one of Cornitos' brothers, Richard. Apparently hes living in a coffee mug over on the West Cost, and is understandably upset about his current living situation.

 Cornitos asked me to write Richard back and invite him to live with us, seeing as we have another perfectly good shoebox available for rent on the dresser, but I'm not sure if Richard will accept or not. Apparently hes kind of a drama queen and Cornitos thinks hes happier in his coffee mug than he lets on, but because hes a middle child, he often feels the need to act out for attention. Cornitos receives postcards like this every few months. I'm fine with it either way, as long as Richard knows that he has to contribute to the household if he does in fact decide to live here.  Cornitos helps out around the house by vacuuming every other day. I just got him a new Dyson, and he was so excited, I wish I would have caught his reaction on tape.

Well I should probably go now, I hear Cornitos calling me in the bathroom. He probably fell into the toilet again. Hes having kind of a hard time figuring out how to flush without falling in. But don't worry, I make sure he puts on his life jacket every time he enters the bathroom. Its hanging on a little peg next to the baseboard, and he figured out how to fasten it himself, so he should be fine. Oh and one more thing, Cornitos just yelled that he wanted me to tell you to "stop being a pussy and call that Asian chick you met at Tires Plus last week because if you dont, hes going to call her and show her a good time, if you know what he means "... and now hes cracking up, and I think he just fell into the toilet again from laughing too hard. God hes such a perv, sorry about that. Hes probably been drinking.