140 Characters or Less

That's right... tonight, we're talking Twitter.

For those of you that know me, you know that I am a huge Twitter fan. I like being able to keep up with friends near and far, I think it's great when people know to use Twitter instead of sharing every moment of their lives on Facebook (I call those people that FGATs.... As in, "I don't want to know that you just ate a sandwich for lunch, F-ing Get A Twitter already!"), and I am compelled to keep up with the daily lives of certain celebrities and quasi-celebrities (Kim Zolciak, I am talking about you!).

I got to thinking the other day... it's actually kind of telling what people choose to post in the mere 140 characters they have on Twitter to share their thoughts, fears, ideas, apprehensions, jokes, anxieties, sarcasms, rants, etc. Then I also got to thinking how much my life has changed since I got my Twitter account way back in 2009 (did we even have blogs then?), and I decided to post what I feel are my Twitter "Greatest Hits," the 140 or less character posts that most define me.

So here we go...

2009

Mustangs, Camaros, and Chargers should have an application process that includes rules about max age and min attractiveness

My obsession with True Blood and Big Love is super complicated by the fact that I'm too cheap to pay for HBO. Something's gotta give.

Is it a false sense of accomplishment that I'm totally proud I can read all the French on my shampoo bottle?

My T9 Word is finally starting to understand me... today when I tried to type "hottie" it autocorrected to "hogtie" instead of "hoagie."

Hello pot, meet kettle.

It's zero points if your boyfriend don't know.

Still waiting for that moment when all the annoying crap my parents do becomes endearing. Not there yet.

2010

"Miss Truvy, I promise that I will not let my personal tragedy interfere with my ability to do good hair."

All I do is clean. Literally all the time. I just invent things that need cleaning.

Best and worst part of music? When you suddenly realize you know exactly how the person who wrote the  song was feeling when they wrote it.

Let's play a little game called respect is a two-way street.

Scrubbing bathrooms and Braxton-Hicks Contractions... Starting the day off right? Next in my exciting life: Vacuuming!

Full moon tomorrow night. You know what that means. Fingers crossed, people.

2011

Twitter is my passive-aggressive outlet and I'm not sorry. Too many grown-ups are my Facebook friends so that doesn't fly anymore.

Process, not content. Process, not content.

My favorite part of the day is rocking you to sleep.

He is my light, my strength, my song.

No one else could ever mean half as much to me as you do now.

I am a to-do list addict.

I like to think I have a design vision, but really I just watch too much HGTV.

Don't need your approval, but some support would be nice.

2012


Someone text me and remind me to schedule Parker's pictures. My brain is more like a screen door than a sponge at this point.

It's only a bad day if I let it be.

Things I worry about: If you won't kill a spider, will you protect us from bad guys? Time to invest in Orkin and ADT.

As my mentor says, "Jesus be a fence around me."

Confession: Nicknames

I have a bad habit that I want to confess to. I give people nicknames. And I take my time choosing them, because they have to fit just right.

Here’s another thing:  When I choose them, they stick. Like, if I meet you once and give you a nickname because of something I notice about you, and then we later become friends, I will secretly (and by secretly I mean to myself and my husband… and a select few friends who understand my bad habit) always refer to you by your nickname, not by your real name.

And I want to take a minute and say to all of you: I’m sorry.

I’m sorry, Bubba, that you were the fifth Megan on my soccer team in 5^th grade and you needed a nickname for Coach’s yelling purposes that had nothing to do/sounded nothing like “Megan.”

I apologize, Jiggy, that you happened to start/be really excited about Irish dance the year I met you. I’m also sorry that I called you Jiggy in front of your fiancé last year when I randomly saw you at a fall festival after not having seen you since 7^th grade.

Forgive me, Mannequin (aka Manny/Quinn, depending on who was around and was in on the joke), for noticing one day in high school that the DAY after American Eagle put up a new mannequin at the mall, you were always wearing the exact outfit that the mannequin was, even though you were nowhere near the standard mannequin size of 2 and some of those low-rise jeans looked like they were being eaten by your tushie. Really I was probably jealous that my mom wouldn’t buy all of my clothes from the trendy stores, but that’s for another post. Another marathon post.  (Oh and another thing: I’m sorry I nicknamed your boyfriend Dancing Queen. But let’s be fair… you chose to date a boy who lettered in Dance Team.) (I shouldn’t say things like that since I lettered in Academics and Choir… *cough* GEEK.)

Mea culpa, Mail Order Bride, that you met/cybered (ok -- we were all in middle school once, we ALL know what that means) your now-husband ON FACEBOOK while he was Facebook-officially “In a Relationship” with someone else. I’m sorry, but that’s trashy.

Point of Order, Jack (name that movie, y’all): I’m not really sorry RE: Mail Order Bride.

And finally, I beseech you, Joseph, Kia, and FTP, to forgive those of us who came up with your nicknames because of the fact that our small colony of cubes makes it impossible for us to ignore your idiosyncrasies.

So there. I said it. Still love me?