To catch a predator.

9 Mar

You know the people that IM you the same second you log onto Facebook every single day, and you literally never respond but they just KEEP trying? Do these people truly not get the hint that you are more interested in watching the Catholic channel than chit-chatting with them about the weather? Do they really think that every single time they strike up a conversation, you have coincidentally “stepped out to lunch?” I am dumbfounded by people who are unaware of the most obvious things. It’s like they’re missing a part of their brains.

Again, I find myself ignoring dozens of invitations to stupid ass Facebook applications day in and day out. Retarded ones like, “WaT’s uR FuNnY nAm3?” and “What color do ur eyes reflect??” Who is the douche bag coming up with these things, and why hasn’t he or she been stoned to death in Time Square yet? Am I the only one outraged by this insanity? I’ve gotten into the habit of just blocking applications now so that I don’t spend five minutes every time I log onto Facebook ignoring Farkle applications. I block literally everything that comes my way. But it’s like the flu. There’s always a new strand I’m not protected from. Is there a vaccination?

March is right around the corner, and I think that’s grounds for a little spring cleaning. You know, go back through the Facebook friends and delete another one or two hundred people whom I’ve never met. This is when you find out who your realstalkers are, because they re-request you within hours. It’s like they choke on their lunch when noon rolls around and it’s time to check what my status update is. “SHIT!! WHY CAN’T I SEE HER STATI?????” They go into panic mode and pounce on the Request Friendship button faster than a Catholic priest on a 9 year-old boy. Frightening.

I was startled to hear a story on the radio last night about a new “service” that Holiday Inn hotels is offering. It is a complimentary bed warming service.

human bed warming service.

Holiday Inn Hotels and Resorts actually now has an option where you can have a staff member, or two, slip between the sheets of your bed for half an hour before you get to your room to crash for the night to warm up your nook before you get tucked in for the evening. Whose twisted idea was this? And what drug were they taking? And what drugs was the entire BOARD taking when they approved this idea? Listen, this is a nice fantasy, if the housekeepers that actually worked at hotels looked like this:

If the staff members they are using for this service look (or smell) anything like the staff members that MAKE the beds there, I would rather sleep outside in my car.

“Yes, concierge? I would like the fudge sundae sent to my room in twenty minutes, and also a side of head lice in my bed promptly upon my return. Add it to my tab.” Who is actually comfortable with this idea? This is truly disgusting. I do not want LaJuana from the west side in her hair net and giant Snuggie cuddled up in my Egyptian cotton sheets for half an hour before I get there. Aren’t there better ways to go about this service?

Have you seen Avatar in 3D yet?
“No, but I did get head lice at a Holiday Inn Express!” (for your viewing pleasure)

Right. Moving right along then.

Some physical acts of affection can be so uncomfortable if executed incorrectly. Take a hug, for example. Hugs should be considered an Olympic event. People should be taught how to hug in preschool. Maybe you go in for the half hug, and your partner goes in for the full-frontal. That never goes over well. Or you’re in for a short embrace, but your hugging partner is in it for the long-haul–you end up feeling like a bitch for trying to pull away prematurely, acting as if you burned yourself on their chest and needed to jump back, while their arms, locked around your entire torso, restrain you from a smooth exit. Then to cover it up they do the repetitive back-pat motion. You both laugh, horrified.

Handshakes? Same thing. Going in for a firm handshake, and not meshing your hands just right is a disaster. No one ever stops to acknowledge the mishap though, so you both just pretend nothing is wrong and stick it out anyway. High fives are another physical activity that if not met 100% dead on, is a complete failure. Let’s look at Tiger Woods’ high-five disaster with his caddy at the Masters. My, god. How can someone considered so athletic be incapable of executing a high-five? If you don’t hit a dead on, crisp high-five, there’s no redo. There is just no such thing as a mulligan when it comes to hugs, high fives, or hand shakes.

Here’s another shitty high five.

Well, time to go. That’s all for now, girls and boys.

And Cole.

Me (9:42 a.m.): Oh my god Geri, I fell back asleep and only just now woke up!!! I am so sorry! I will be there as SOON as I can!
Geri: That’s ok. You know it doesn’t start until noon, right?
Me: ……oh.


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