About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
A date should come with more legs
I know this picture is gross, but it makes me think about modern society and how cheap it feels lately. There's no context. No meat. It's all tweets, texts and twats and wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. Text me! Friend me! Give me your status update!
Communication's been whittled down to a stuffed stump on a metal pole—and the worst part is that my own greedy-for-Junior-news mother has become part of the machine. She's on Facebook.
She's holding the bucket, folks, and she wants the goods.
I blame Miley Cyrus.
And I'm taking the weekend off from this damn computer. Maybe Monday, too.