Don’t think for me

I just can’t take it anymore. Too many things are trying to think for me. I’m looking at you, Facebook. And you, fancy cars. Pandora, you’re excused because I think you’re a little, well, special when it comes to thinking for people so you’re off the hook. (Hint: A piano-only instrumental version of Madonna’s Material Girl does not belong on my REM station, kthx.)

people i def dont know
But back to you, Facebook and fancy cars. You know that column on the side of your Facebook feed that suggests “People You May Know”? In fact I don’t know them, Facebook. I barely know the one mutual friend you’re saying we have so no, I don’t know this person and certainly don’t want to be one more of her 872 “friends” and I don’t want these weird people in their weird zombie costumes leering at me from my news feed.

And now I can buy (well, I can’t, since my money tree didn’t sprout) a car that can apply the brakes and stop the car before I even know there’s a small neighbor child behind my vehicle as I’m backing up. Will I be glad my neighbors have said vehicle if it’s my child behind them as they’re backing up? Yes. Do I think that taking this type of responsibility out of our hands allows our paying-attention muscles to atrophy? Also yes.

48 hours of lies
Don’t get me started on deodorant. Some of us sweat a lot. Have you ever seen me wear a white t-shirt? Not more than once you haven’t, I promise. And yet almost all the deodorants out there advertise “48 hours guaranteed!” on their ergonomic little caps. 48 hours…in my car and it won’t melt? 48 hours….after I forget to apply it I’ll still be wondering if the people next to me at church could tell that stink aura was me? 48 hours is twice the protection even the Secret Service can offer. Surely you don’t mean to imply that your product protects me from perspiring and odorizing for 48 hours. First, you’re wrong, I’ve never met a deodorant that could do that and second, I like to think a shower could be involved in that time span. And third, again, you’re wrong. Don’t get my hopes up. Stop lying to my pits.

 frozen falsehoods

Now, what’s this I see? An easy scoop package? Why, that must mean scoopage from this particular container, by dint of its design or the product therein, is easier than scoopage of competitors’ products from competitors’ cartons. FALSE. This brand, and this carton in particular, are a special kind of crappy. I’ll know this is an easy scoop package when I try scooping from it and exclaim with elation, “Egad! This is easy scooping!” Or not. Liars.

I really hate it when people and products try to think for me. I can do my own thinking and my own determining of what’s an easy scoop package and what’s the ice cream equivalent of Sochi. Besides, I feel a little cheated. If Facebook can tell me who I may like to be pretend friends with and my deodorant lasts longer than some wildlife, where is the queen size fitted sheet that folds itself, hmmm??

Disaster. Di.saster.


Since when is looking at beautiful things a waste of time?

See? Beauty. (Photo credit:, lifted off Pinterest)

Does anyone else behold the irony in a Facebook status that announces, for all of one’s 857 “friends” to read: “Wasting sooooooo much time on FB today!”? Thank you, and now you have wasted mine, too.

Facebook can easily be a waste of time, especially when the hours on it are spent looking at vacation pictures from people you didn’t like then and certainly wouldn’t talk to now. Studies show that a person can maintain only 150 real relationships at a time, and that when someone’s “friends” reach the four-digit mark, that person tends to suffer from a lack of meaningful relationships in real life. So say the experts.

In my opinion, Facebook had a purpose–to reconnect with old friends and far-away family–but it has lost some of that purpose since kids and grandparents of all ages can join. Now you have to worry about saying “hell” in a status because who knows which young cousin or prim granny will see that and call you out on it? Ugh. Just not something most people need. Thankfully, participation in Facebook is voluntary and free, so we’re all free to leave and pocket the time saved.

On our family walk last night, the husband pointed out that with the advent of the camera phone and the proliferation of social media outlets, people can post any picture at any time and the days of seeing, say, someone’s children at their best–captured in a wallet-sized photo until the next time family portraits or the following year’s 4th of July photo shoot–are gone. Now we are all subjected to Junior with chewed peas on his face, and little Rosie doing, well, nothing. And often in their diapers, nothing more.

Sick, people! Not cute! Not precious! Not adorable to anyone whose genes didn’t directly contribute to lil’ foodface!

Enter Pinterest.

Pinterest’s home page says “Pinterest is an online pinboard. Organize and share things you love.” And that’s what people do.

Gorgeous scenery, adorable cupcakes, beautiful hair and flower arrangements, wedding ideas, baby ideas, room ideas, organizational tricks, crafts, funny quotes, lovely quotes, inspirational quotes, cute animals, great fashion ideas, the list goes on. On Pinterest, people seek out or add or draw attention to those things that they love, that they choose to put their names and their stamps of approval on.

On the rare occasion when someone makes a negative comment on someone else’s pin, it sticks out like a sore thumb. Pinterest isn’t about getting your point across. It’s about getting a smile on your face. And on other people’s faces.

See? Unique and lovely. (Photo credit:, lifted off Pinterest)

Pinterest doesn’t have everyday photos of people’s kids smearing food in their hair and on the dog. First year seminary students aren’t arguing minute points about baptism and using all their new vocab words. Thank. Goodness. Some things on Pinterest aren’t as lovely as the others (there are a LOT of bacon pics…I don’t get it) but the ratio of wonderful things to look at or try or imagine in your own (someday) home is easily 10:1.

Pinterest: A 40,000 page magazine with none of the crappy ads.

So when people, generally women, post on Facebook that they are wasting time on Pinterest, I get a little sad. Beauty and imagination aren’t a waste of time, but you might want to think about kicking the Facebook habit.

Ha! Now who would have found this on Facebook? (Photo credit:, lifted off Pinterest)

My dog sleeps with his eyes open and 7 other things that make me say ‘hmm’

Today I have taken advantage of my flexible schedule to reflect on a few things around here that make me say ‘hmm’ for one reason or another. Feel free to reflect along with me, or add your own contributions.

  1. My dog sleeps with his eyes open. Not always, and sometimes the husband and I wave our hands in his face like children and giggle about it, but when it’s just the two of us and the dog goes into REM sleepwhile staring blankly at the room, twitching, and barking softly, I get creeped out. And sometimes set a Bible next to him just in case.
    He’s sound asleep. Freaking SOUND ASLEEP and watching me! And snoring like an old man. No old man in particular though (hi, Dad!).
  2. The Washington Redskins are 1. from Washington, DC and 2. “named for” American Indians, not 1. from Washington state and 2. named for potatoes. Anyone could make this mistake.
    Photo courtesy of the Washington State Potato Commission. (See??)
  3. As a brand, Dawn has not the sudsing power of Palmolive. This is very curious to me and I resent it a bit, having finished a bottle of Palmolive and replaced it with 20 oz. of Dawn. All dish soaps are not created equal. Fun fact: I went to college with twins named Dawn and Joy. We called them the dish soap twins. They were Canadian. Maybe their parents didn’t realize.
    Lies. All lies.
  4. Tomatoes. They pop like zits and they taste like dirt, yet people love them and enter them in contests.
    Egad! They’re multiplying! Tomatoes are only palatable in recipes. See for details, and thanks to the other middle for the ‘mato photo.
  5. The grocery store sells some really great books (i.e., new biographies, The Help, Harry Potter) alongside some really crappy books (i.e., anything with a man’s thigh featured prominently on the cover). The juxtaposition intrigues me and commands a certain respect.
    The blog is rated PG-13 so I can make points like this.
  6. The importance of having a library card. “Have you gotten a library card yet?” seems to be one of the first questions people ask when you move to a new area. In fact I have gotten an Arlington library card but only to shut down potential follow-up questions about why not. I don’t like reading library books and it has everything to do with encountering one too many pages stuck together with boogers.
    Virtually the only way to guarantee a non-contagious reading experience.
  7. The scar from surgery on Martha (in my head I call it her front door…unless…that’s Martha talking AHHHHHH) itches constantly and when I scratch it, not only do I feel like I look like (follow that?) I have fleas, but the tiny hairs that were growing there fall out, adding insult to injury. Also adding insult to injury is the fact that I don’t have any sensation on the left side of my head except for the itching. #thingstheydidntmention
    Little Miss Itchy.
  8. Facebook friend requests from people I don’t know.
    The only acceptable form of made-up friend.