I don’t know why, since it has nothing to do with monkeys, I love this so much, but here you go:
Enjoy that, World.
Tag Archives: the Interwebs
Twitter Is Too Much Pressure
OK, Internet. I get it. It’s not enough for me to talk to you in one way or another every single day, but now I have to be clever? It’s enough to send that creeping chill of terror through the old bowels, Internet. I’m having identity issues, over here.
I’ve bought a house, so I could fall into the home-improvement blog sphere. I’m also trying to freelance write, so I could fall into the desperate-writer blog sphere as well. I am also a student, so I could fall into the I’m-old-but-all-about-school-let-me-tell-you-about-it blog sphere.
What I’m not? A comedy writer. I’m hardly ever funny, and when people do the most laughing at me is usually when I’m deadly serious. I’m also not a blogger-for-profit, ever since the unfortunate AdSense debacle (which I’ve ALMOST given up on), so I’m really doing this for my own sanity and amusement.
So I will just keep on doing what I’m doing, being completely unfocused and un-nichey. Don’t judge me, Internet, or I won’t play WordTwist with you or let you win at Chess anymore.
I Owe You An Apology
Listen, Internet. I know it’s not your fault my ad thingy on my blog got disabled. I also know it’s not your fault that it hurt my feelings and that I’ve been sort of avoiding computers altogether lately (with the exception of my constant research). I haven’t even been filling out those “Living Social” Top Five thingys on Facebook anymore.
I’m sort of mad at Facebook, too. Ask me why some other time, but just rest assured that it’s not always a good thing. It can be the harbinger of bad news PLUS some nice uneeded paranoia and insecurity. Because just bad news isn’t enough.
Quit looking at me like that, Internet. I know that I’m less-than-great when it comes to the self-esteem plus common sense and rationality department. You’ve always SAID you loved me anyway. Now’s the time for you to throw your wide-area-networky essence over my shoudler, punch me on the arm and say, “Buck up, Kiddo. Your totally irrational and freakishly obsessive mind are part of what makes you special. But they don’t necessarily make those things in your head true.”
Thanks, Internet. I feel a lot better.
