It's Not Bragging--It's on Facebook!

I am sure there are probably a billion and one posts about this cruising around out there on the information highway, but I'm way too lazy tired eager to get this post written to try to find out.

Evidently, when someone is posting their status on Facebook all social taboos about shameless bragging go out the window. What's more, many people don't seem to care. I don't know who's worse: Bragley Braggerson* or those who validate Bragley's bragging by commenting on it.

I would love to comment on those updates too. You have NO IDEA how much, but I don't think my type of response is really what Bragberta McBraggart* is hoping for. Thus, despite my fingers' desire to fly across the keyboard, they remain still and silent. (Hey, maybe I should go post a status update about that poetic sentence I just wrote.)

My digits remain silent on FB, but that isn't stopping them from typing what they want to here.

So, I will offer up actual statuses of some of my FB "friends" and how I would have commented on them if I were as socially inept as they are.

Bragalotta Bragorovich* "Can't believe how red my face looks after a seven-mile run!"

Comment from Her Randomness "Can't believe how huge your ego seems after reading your last seven updates!"

Braggi O'Braggen* "Can't decide between cleaning my house or running a few miles!"

HR "Can't decide between watching t.v. and eating a hot fudge sundae, because I'm too d*mn lazy to get off the couch and make myself a hot fudge sundae."

DeBragra Bragorski* (Status, complete with screenshot of her kid's report card) "Wow, can you believe these grades? Straight A's, as usual!"

HR (comment, complete with screenshot of DeBragra's status update) "Wow, can you believe how obnoxious you are? Full of yourself, as usual!"

Finally, I have a status update that I have fantasized about posting as a collective response to the never-ending spate of posts about how many crunches, lunges, curls, leaps, twists, and sashays the updater has done that day, and those freaking 5ks...don't even get me started.

Her Randomness "Just did 521 jumping jacks, hurdled a tree stump, swam the English Channel, folded 16 origami swans, climbed Mt. Everest, won an international log-rolling contest, and still had time to eat a 2 lb box of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts!"

I'd post it, but do you think any of the bragfesters would get the message? My guess is no.

My thoughts on people's updates about the antics of their evil demon spawn precious little darlings, the vague "I want everyone to be concerned about me" updates, and people who barely acknowledge my existence in real life trying to befriend me on FB so they can look So Totally Popular Cuz they Have a Gazillion Cyber-Friends!!! can wait for another time.

Now I'm gonna go update my status to "The 2.47 people who read my blog are super-loving it!"


*Names changed to protect the arrogant.

For the Love of Porcupines, People! Learn How to Spell Before I Loose My Mind.

Believe me, you don't want that thing running amok in the streets.

A trend is emerging among those who choose to write in my native tongue (which is English, for those who are wondering). This trend is so pervasive, so devastating, so utterly horrifying that I can barely bring myself to blog about it. And I wouldn't, if I didn't feel that it is my duty to the literate world.

Of what terror do I type? Drug abuse? Poverty? Violence? Well, sure, all those things are bad, and something should be done about them. But no, I type of something which, if it continues, is going to cause me to totally loose it.

It's the slaughter of the English language.

If I didn't spend so much time on interwebs message boards, I would have no idea how frequently the language I love is getting the living crap beaten out of it. (This includes MBs where the majority of the posters are aspiring professional writers and their misuse/misspelling of words provokes a bang-head-on-desk desire like nothing else.)

One such offense bothers me more than others--I'll explain why momentarily--and what is especially appalling is those committing said offense are not first graders or teenagers, but adult humans (as opposed to adult porcupines--you don't even want to know about that MB).

For some reason, many, many, many people cannot grasp the difference between lOse and lOOse. On one MB I frequent, there are often posts about someone wanting to loose weight, or loosing their favorite spatula, or their machete.

All I want to post in response is: okay, Sweetcheeks, if "lose" is spelled l O O s e then how the frickety-frack do you spell "loose"? l O O O s e? Or do you think lose and loose are spelled exactly the same way, that they're freaking interchangeable? I mean this one should really be a no-brainer. Other egregious examples of kicking English in the junk will be addressed in later posts. Some of those are at least a teensy, tiny, itsy-bitsy, weeny bit more understandable.

But for this one, there's no excuse for a literate person for whom English is their first language. And I'm using the term "literate" looosely.

Happy Anniversary! Here's Some Delicious Fat! (Also, Harry Potter)

Mr. Random and I recently had our gazillionth wedding annversary (I am NOT as old as this makes me seem--we got married in pre-school). So, we got the Randomlings all hopped up on pizza and rootbeer, then once they were engrossed in watching a dvd, we made a break for it.

And we were off for our Big Night Out on the Town! (Before anyone freaks and tries to hunt down my true identity so they can report me to the proper authorities, remember that we've been married a GAZILLION years. That means our oldest Randomling would be at least a bazillion, so chill out).

The first part of our BNOT was dinner at Famous Dave's BBQ. (My definition of Big Night Out on the Town and yours might be different, ok)! I loves me some FD's brisket. Well, usually anyway--more on that in a minute.

Anyhoo, we ordered the 'Que for Two' then settled in to stare lovingly into each other's eyes as we contemplated our many years of marital bliss. Or maybe we talked about what teams had made the play-offs, or why the toilet in our front bathroom keeps backing up.

Eventually our waiter broke into our secret little dome of love and set down a giant platter full of tastiness. I noticed immediately that something was awry. Normally, the brisket is naked, perched enticingly on a piece of Texas toast so you can dress it up in any old kind of sauce you like before devouring it. (I didn't mean for that last sentence to sound so suggestive, but hey, Mr. Random and I had just come out of our love-dome). This time, it was already slathered in sauce not of my choosing. Was it a cover up, you ask? Yes, it was, I answer.

We had apparently gotten the tail end of the brisket (no weird pun intended) so the pieces we got were half meat/half fat and therefore HALF AS TASTY AS USUAL.

Seriously, Dave. If I wanted beef lard on toast I would have ordered that.

Coward that I am, I did NOT bring this up to the waiter or management. It's not that I'm afraid to speak up when something doesn't meet my expectations, it's that I'm afraid they're going to bring me out another plate of brisket covered in special saliva sauce. That is a chance I am not willing to take.

So, when the waiter came by to ask the routine "How is everything", I said, "Fine" when I really wanted to say, "It looks like Angus could have used a few more laps around the back 40".

The non-lard portion of the brisket was good, though. And I have to say whoever thought of putting jalepenos and corn in mac and cheese is a freakin' genius.

Moving on to the next bit of our evening fantastique, we headed over to a theater where I finally got to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Un.

Overall, I thought the movie was well-done. They still left out things from the book that bugged me, but it was a million times better than it would have been had they tried to cram all 759 pages onto 2 1/2 hours of film.

The main problem with the movie as I see it was not enough Tom Felton, er, Draco Malfoy. They could have worked him into more scenes. It would have been totally plausible if he'd gone travelling around with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I mean, they're all BFFs, right?

And of course, too little Voldy. I loves me a man with red eyes and slits for a nose. Yum.

I won't tell you what happened after we went back home *wink* *wink*. I won't tell you how I got more comfortable in my pair of red flannel snowman pjs and mismatched slipper socks, brushed my teeth, crawled into bed and...promptly fell asleep. (In my defense, it takes a lot of effort separating edible beef from nasty, rubbery crap and I have a tiny Randomling on board).

Now I know you're asking yourself, "How many kids do these people have?"

All I can say in response is, Mr Random and I haven't been married for a gazillion years for nothing ;)

Resolved to be Random (and Realistic)

If you want to thank (or smack down) the person responsible for me finally posting a little something, something here, then you need to look for whoever came up with the notion of making New Year's resolutions. (Good luck, I hear smacking bone-dust is pretty rough).

Yes, we're 12 days into the year, but I think everyone needs a 10 to 15 day grace period before the whole being resolute thing kicks in. I mean, can I really be expected to compose a list of goals when coming off a sugar cookie high?

So, I thought long and hard of what I could resolve to do beyond writing random musings for the perusal of the 3.6 people who are likely to read this. And guess what? I resolved that this year I am going to make realistic resolutions and give up any pretense of wanting to accomplish something worthwhile, aimed at making me a better person.

Seriously peeps, reaching those types of goals requires effort and sacrifice. Who has the time and energy for that? My real resolution is to resolve to be resolute about things that will make me feel like I've accomplished something mediocre and become a tiny bit less of a horrible person.

Baby steps, Baby!

Now, instead of this list:

1. Stop calling every third driver on the road something that ends in a**.

2. Remind myself that chocolate milk is not a food group, nor does a glass or two of said beverage constitute a healthy, balanced meal. (Even when accompanied by a Pop-Tart).

3. Refuse to gossip or to listen to defamatory remarks of any nature.

4. Look for the good in others.

5. Write 5 to 10 pages per day.


I have this list:

1. Save cursing for drivers who: cut me off, don't know the purpose of a turn signal or that such a thing even exists, can't manage to stay in their own freaking lane, or do some other idiotic thing that completely ticks me off. (It is possible that this could be less than every third driver).

2. Remind myself that I don't give a flying monkey about what constitutes a healthy, balanced meal. (And me love Pop-Tarts).

3. Just gossip about--and take fiendish glee in the misfortunes of--people I really hate. (Which leaves me free to talk bad about virtually everyone. Yippee!)

4. Notice only one thing that bugs the living crap out of me about each person I encounter.

5. Drag myself away from the enticing embrace of the interwebs long enough to write 5 to 10 pages per day.

On that note...I'm out!