This week alone I have cried at television shows FIVE times. Now either I am becoming my mother or my bar stress is manifesting itself in some very interesting ways. After the first mini cryfest, I thought maybe if I facebooked a little and chatted online a bit, I would find the stress release I was needing. After cryfest two through five happened, I realized that being reconnected wasn't reducing my stress and that network programmers should be more carefully about what shows they air when I am studying for the bar. On to recapping the mini cryfests!
(Also, I would like to say that I am not usually a crier. Unless I am drunk and I dropped a piece of pizza. Then I am a big crier. This is clear bar stress. Please don't think I am emotionally unstable.)
1 and 2. "Gilmore Girls" Look. Family Channel could you PLEASE not air the final episodes of "Gilmore Girls" when I am taking the bar. For some reason, Logan, who I always that was super douche started to grow on me and I got really choked up when Rory turned down his proposal and he said it had to be all or nothing. Why's it got to be all or nothing Logan?! Why couldn't you try the long distance thing?! For me!
Number 2 was a pure happiness cry. On the final episode when Luke tells Lorelai that he just wants her to be happy and they kiss, the seven years I put into watching the show are finally all worthwhile. There was this one episode once where Lorelai wore a shirt that I OWNED. So it's kind of like we are the same person and that Luke told me he just wants me to be happy. Sigh.
3. "Here Come the Newlyweds." Okay, I really like this show. And as a general rule, I hate married people. They bore me and yes, maybe I am jealous of them but whatever, I still don't like them. But, I love the couples on this show. I find myself laughing aloud numerous times during the show (I am horrified I just admitted that. Good thing only four people read this, right?) Anyway, my favorite couple got kicked off. And perhaps the truly embarrassing part about this is that I found out from brother e who got kicked off then watched the elimination online. I teared up and ALREADY knew what was going to happen.
4. "Sex and the City." I hate this show. And I watch it every night. Sick, I know but why I hate the show and yet still watch it is a post for another time. Point is, Miranda's mom died. And yes, I have seen this episode countless times and never once had this reaction. But right before it I had talked to my mom and she was all like have I told you how proud of you I am. And I was all like oh mom that's sweet (thinking the entire time, WHY is she telling me this now, I really need to study so I can watch "I Survived a Japanese Gameshow" later. Yes, insensitive but I really like that show.) Anyway, my insensitivity got the best of me and I cried when Miranda's mom died because my mom is proud of me. (Please can this bar be over so I can return to suppressing my feelings again.)
5. "Roseanne." Dan. Heart Attack. At Darlene's Wedding. If you don't tear up a little at this episode, your heart is made of stone. And Jaime cried too, so I feel validated.
So maybe my bar stress is manifesting itself in strange ways, but at least I am not Alicia who is spending hours worrying about what happened to the woman who used to have her phone number, finally deciding that her best course of action was to attempt to file a missing person's report with Comcast. (Comcast: Have I resolved your issue? Alicia: No, I still have a missing person.) And yes, I am going to owe Alicia one REALLY big apology if this woman turns up dead.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Twits, Tweets and Night Vision Goggles
Before I get to my much talked about Twitter shame, I just wanted to say that I thought the Michael Jackson memorial service today was nicely done, weird at times but touching. The only problem I had was when Stevie Wonder came on to sing and I freaked because I thought he was dead. Realizing only moments later I was confusing him with Ray Charles. Go ahead, judge away. I am a terrible person.
So I was messing around on Google the other day and happened to realize that Twitter accounts show up on Google searches. Rather than Google search everyone I was friends with so I would know who to no longer be friends with, I decided to briefly join Twitter to see what all the fuss was about. I refused to use my real name on the off chance someone would be searching for me in the four minutes I was a member and would try to follow me and my made-up account.
To my utter amazement, Twitter asked me if I would like to import my gmail contacts to see which of my "friends" had Twitter accounts. Yes I would like to import my contacts, Twitter. Thank you for asking. What I found was well, astonishing, surprising, and mildly hurtful. Friends I never thought would tweet were following people and being followed by people. As I clicked on each former friend, I grew more and more confused as to the appeal of Twitter.
Unlike facebook which has a nice, happy, standard blue background, twits are able to pick their own background ala myspace. This of course leads to many vomit inducing screens illustrating just why many of my gmail contacts should be on "What Not to Wear." So although it is myspace-esque, allowing twits the freedom to chose their own backgrounds (a freedom that I strongly oppose), it does not allow for picture posting perhaps in an effort to tone down the pedophile appeal of the once popular myspace. (Maybe still popular myspace? How should I know? Do I look like a 14 year old girl?)
Which leads me to wonder, is Twitter really just myspace but less popular among perverts? After much debate, I realized the answer was a resounding no. Twits post their every move on their nauseating homepages making it a stalker's paradise. So although Twitter may cut down on the success of "To Catch a Predator," it does finds its niche with the lazy stalker and the perv who likes a challenge. A demographic, I must admit, that has been wholeheartedly ignored in the past.
All in all my four minutes spent as a twit were not the worst four minutes of my life, but are four minutes that sadly, I will never get back. Although many loyal twits swear by the glorious powers of Twitter, I for one am an old fashion gal and prefer to do things the hard way. Who needs tweeted updates when you can sit in a car parked across the street, cup of coffee, a donut and a pair of high powered night vision goggles waiting for his car to pull in his driveway? Sigh. Those were the days.
So I was messing around on Google the other day and happened to realize that Twitter accounts show up on Google searches. Rather than Google search everyone I was friends with so I would know who to no longer be friends with, I decided to briefly join Twitter to see what all the fuss was about. I refused to use my real name on the off chance someone would be searching for me in the four minutes I was a member and would try to follow me and my made-up account.
To my utter amazement, Twitter asked me if I would like to import my gmail contacts to see which of my "friends" had Twitter accounts. Yes I would like to import my contacts, Twitter. Thank you for asking. What I found was well, astonishing, surprising, and mildly hurtful. Friends I never thought would tweet were following people and being followed by people. As I clicked on each former friend, I grew more and more confused as to the appeal of Twitter.
Unlike facebook which has a nice, happy, standard blue background, twits are able to pick their own background ala myspace. This of course leads to many vomit inducing screens illustrating just why many of my gmail contacts should be on "What Not to Wear." So although it is myspace-esque, allowing twits the freedom to chose their own backgrounds (a freedom that I strongly oppose), it does not allow for picture posting perhaps in an effort to tone down the pedophile appeal of the once popular myspace. (Maybe still popular myspace? How should I know? Do I look like a 14 year old girl?)
Which leads me to wonder, is Twitter really just myspace but less popular among perverts? After much debate, I realized the answer was a resounding no. Twits post their every move on their nauseating homepages making it a stalker's paradise. So although Twitter may cut down on the success of "To Catch a Predator," it does finds its niche with the lazy stalker and the perv who likes a challenge. A demographic, I must admit, that has been wholeheartedly ignored in the past.
All in all my four minutes spent as a twit were not the worst four minutes of my life, but are four minutes that sadly, I will never get back. Although many loyal twits swear by the glorious powers of Twitter, I for one am an old fashion gal and prefer to do things the hard way. Who needs tweeted updates when you can sit in a car parked across the street, cup of coffee, a donut and a pair of high powered night vision goggles waiting for his car to pull in his driveway? Sigh. Those were the days.
Status Updates 2
fb
Jane hates everyone who thinks the extensive coverage of Michael's funeral ceremony is excessive. You are all wrong. And probably ugly.
gchat
Turns out I hate secured trans as much as I thought I would.
Is it bad to be planning my post-bar Rick's party instead of studying for the bar?
Sometimes I worry I am cheating on Pete Sampras because of how much I love Roger Federer's hair.
Jane hates everyone who thinks the extensive coverage of Michael's funeral ceremony is excessive. You are all wrong. And probably ugly.
gchat
Turns out I hate secured trans as much as I thought I would.
Is it bad to be planning my post-bar Rick's party instead of studying for the bar?
Sometimes I worry I am cheating on Pete Sampras because of how much I love Roger Federer's hair.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Out of my Tuesday Twilight Thinkin': Early Edition
The sight of my beloved Shaq holding a Cleveland Cavs jersey makes me violently ill . . . I find myself oddly and embarrassingly excited that "The Wizards of Waverly Place" is on right now . . . I saw an article the other day about the statistically safest places to sit in an airplane and I got really excited because as a child I was really obsessed with how to get out of a car if it is ever submerged in a lake. This article could make how to survive a plane crash the new how to get out of a car submerged in a lake but then I saw an article about Michael Jackson's will and forgot all about the airplane article. Guess car submerged in a lake retains its top spot for another day . . .
NBA free agency is my Christmas in July . . . who is the girl on the Biore commercial who is too old for acne but to young for wrinkles? I am so concerned about for her and her perfect skin. I dearly hope she can find a face wash . . . I want to have a love affair with Roger Federer's hair . . . the only think keeping me from a successful career as a reality tv star is HD tv . . . .
Do judges wear pants? Because if I were a judge there wouldn't be anyone who could talk me into wearing pants to work . . . and there goes my judicial career . . . if I were one cooking utensil I would really love to be the melon baller. So adorable, completely useless in daily life but great for parties . . . I have only received one trophy in my entire life. I received it for being able to read. I proudly display this trophy on my mantle (and by mantle I mean top of the television) . . .
NBA free agency is my Christmas in July . . . who is the girl on the Biore commercial who is too old for acne but to young for wrinkles? I am so concerned about for her and her perfect skin. I dearly hope she can find a face wash . . . I want to have a love affair with Roger Federer's hair . . . the only think keeping me from a successful career as a reality tv star is HD tv . . . .
Do judges wear pants? Because if I were a judge there wouldn't be anyone who could talk me into wearing pants to work . . . and there goes my judicial career . . . if I were one cooking utensil I would really love to be the melon baller. So adorable, completely useless in daily life but great for parties . . . I have only received one trophy in my entire life. I received it for being able to read. I proudly display this trophy on my mantle (and by mantle I mean top of the television) . . .
And the Winner is . . . .
I managed to break all of my vows in splendid fashion this weekend. Whoever had July 4th in their "when will Jane crack" office pool takes home the big money. Let's recap.
1. It is very hard to keep me off facebook after I get home from the bar. Problem is I am usually not tired enough to fall asleep and I like to have something to do while I watch "Roseanne" or "Sportscenter." So I generally facebook. And AIM but that's a whole other story for recap highlight number 2. Now I did turn off my facebook chat so if I hadn't admitted this indiscretion, it would be like it never happened. Well, except for my friending/defriending post- bar action. I may avoid drunk texting (most of the time) and I may avoid drunk phone calls and I may avoid drunk facebook wall postings (unless your name is jj or Zaki) but I cannot avoid the allure of the post-bar friend/defriending action.
2. My other big crutch is night time AIM. Now I know its pathetic to still use AOL Instant Messenger but I always take to bff Z on it and have since our first year of law school. And since we both have mild (well - mild in my case, extreme in his) insomnia, we do almost all of our chatting when everyone else in the world is asleep. Not signing on to AIM to chat with him feels weird and lonely. So I cracked and signed on. Considering I only occasionally chat with about three to four people on my AIM list, I do not feel badly about this. Plus you cannot expect me to get through the bar without some late night bff chats. So not going to happen.
3. Tonight is Monday and "The Bachelorette" and no sane human being can ask me to get through two hours of the show without gchatting with brother e. Now most people would tell me "just don't watch it." Well come on now. That's just nuts. I've invested a lot of time and energy into hating Jillian and I've managed to get down to the final four, I can't just stop now. Also, ABC has been promising us a great premature ejaculation meltdown. And yes. I just typed that. Brother e and I have been looking forward to this all season. We both agree it is the only reason we have been watching and now ABC is not living up to its billing. No great meltdown. Nothing. This better happen in the next two weeks otherwise all of my faith in "The Bachelor" franchise is gone.
So yeah. I cracked. I gchatted. I AIMed. And I facebooked. So. Tomorrow is another day. And tomorrow I will blog about my four minutes I spent on Twitter. Excitement fills the air.
1. It is very hard to keep me off facebook after I get home from the bar. Problem is I am usually not tired enough to fall asleep and I like to have something to do while I watch "Roseanne" or "Sportscenter." So I generally facebook. And AIM but that's a whole other story for recap highlight number 2. Now I did turn off my facebook chat so if I hadn't admitted this indiscretion, it would be like it never happened. Well, except for my friending/defriending post- bar action. I may avoid drunk texting (most of the time) and I may avoid drunk phone calls and I may avoid drunk facebook wall postings (unless your name is jj or Zaki) but I cannot avoid the allure of the post-bar friend/defriending action.
2. My other big crutch is night time AIM. Now I know its pathetic to still use AOL Instant Messenger but I always take to bff Z on it and have since our first year of law school. And since we both have mild (well - mild in my case, extreme in his) insomnia, we do almost all of our chatting when everyone else in the world is asleep. Not signing on to AIM to chat with him feels weird and lonely. So I cracked and signed on. Considering I only occasionally chat with about three to four people on my AIM list, I do not feel badly about this. Plus you cannot expect me to get through the bar without some late night bff chats. So not going to happen.
3. Tonight is Monday and "The Bachelorette" and no sane human being can ask me to get through two hours of the show without gchatting with brother e. Now most people would tell me "just don't watch it." Well come on now. That's just nuts. I've invested a lot of time and energy into hating Jillian and I've managed to get down to the final four, I can't just stop now. Also, ABC has been promising us a great premature ejaculation meltdown. And yes. I just typed that. Brother e and I have been looking forward to this all season. We both agree it is the only reason we have been watching and now ABC is not living up to its billing. No great meltdown. Nothing. This better happen in the next two weeks otherwise all of my faith in "The Bachelor" franchise is gone.
So yeah. I cracked. I gchatted. I AIMed. And I facebooked. So. Tomorrow is another day. And tomorrow I will blog about my four minutes I spent on Twitter. Excitement fills the air.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Lesson Learned: Always go off the record
Over the years I have pledged to give up chocolate, caffeine, procrastination and my otherwise lazy life style. None of these have ever been (nor will ever be) effective. The problem is I never have anyone to share in my misery and hold me accountable. In order to give myself even a slight chance of success in the Great Disconnected Challenge of 2009, I knew I had to sucker someone else into doing it with me. So I mentioned the idea to my friend jj, a huge facebook junkie thinking that she would never bite on the idea and I could let all this foolishness die. Much to my surprise, she LIKED the idea. Was EXCITED about it. Before I knew it, I was desperately trying to back out.
Unfortunately, I made the proposal over gchat and as I tried to back out she used our chat archive against me. Let this be a lesson: ALWAYS go off the record. gchat archives are the one thing keeping me from having a glorious political career. Well, gchat archives and facebook photos. That of course leads to the chicken and the egg question of the 21st century: do people only take photos of me when I have a red solo cup in my hand or do I always have a red solo cup in my hand? If only I could answer such questions.
Anyway, point is jj, instead of being horrified by the idea, loves it and is now "forcing" me into holding up my end of the bargain. On the surface, this looks like a good idea for both of us. I am studying for the bar and she is writing a novel. We don't need to be on facebook or gchat. In fact, being off would be good for our productivity. Right?
As the clock ticks closer to midnight, my regret grows. I am gchatting, AIMing, and facebooking like a crazy person. I want to think about what I will miss the most but I can't think straight. I find myself frantically looking through status updates, quiz results and photo albums of people I don't give two shits about but will some how miss so much over the next thirty one days. As I panic, jj keeps facebook chatting me about how "excited" she is. She is excited and I want to throw up. But then again she makes homemade tortillas, eats food she grows herself and knows how to sew; whereas I eat Frosted Mini Wheats I bought at a liquor store as I watch replays of the World's Strongest Man competition pantless.
At midnight, I signed off, knowing in my heart of hearts, that I would be signing on well before August 1st. I know they (and by they I mean Dr. Drew) say that the first day is always the hardest but even my Dr. Drew's doctor hotness cannot reassure me today. You might be able to take the girl out of facebook, but you'll never be able to take the facebook out of the girl.
Day One
Unfortunately, I made the proposal over gchat and as I tried to back out she used our chat archive against me. Let this be a lesson: ALWAYS go off the record. gchat archives are the one thing keeping me from having a glorious political career. Well, gchat archives and facebook photos. That of course leads to the chicken and the egg question of the 21st century: do people only take photos of me when I have a red solo cup in my hand or do I always have a red solo cup in my hand? If only I could answer such questions.
Anyway, point is jj, instead of being horrified by the idea, loves it and is now "forcing" me into holding up my end of the bargain. On the surface, this looks like a good idea for both of us. I am studying for the bar and she is writing a novel. We don't need to be on facebook or gchat. In fact, being off would be good for our productivity. Right?
As the clock ticks closer to midnight, my regret grows. I am gchatting, AIMing, and facebooking like a crazy person. I want to think about what I will miss the most but I can't think straight. I find myself frantically looking through status updates, quiz results and photo albums of people I don't give two shits about but will some how miss so much over the next thirty one days. As I panic, jj keeps facebook chatting me about how "excited" she is. She is excited and I want to throw up. But then again she makes homemade tortillas, eats food she grows herself and knows how to sew; whereas I eat Frosted Mini Wheats I bought at a liquor store as I watch replays of the World's Strongest Man competition pantless.
At midnight, I signed off, knowing in my heart of hearts, that I would be signing on well before August 1st. I know they (and by they I mean Dr. Drew) say that the first day is always the hardest but even my Dr. Drew's doctor hotness cannot reassure me today. You might be able to take the girl out of facebook, but you'll never be able to take the facebook out of the girl.
Day One
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Status Update
fb
Jane hates when her morning routine is disturbed by a Tory episode of "Saved by the Bell."
gchat
I may have shed a tear on my way to barbri lecture today when Michael's "Heaven Can Wait" played on my ipod. "Tell the angels no, I don't wanna leave my baby alone"
If wikipedia.com were a man, I would marry him. Even though it would never work and we would end up getting a divorce.
Jane hates when her morning routine is disturbed by a Tory episode of "Saved by the Bell."
gchat
I may have shed a tear on my way to barbri lecture today when Michael's "Heaven Can Wait" played on my ipod. "Tell the angels no, I don't wanna leave my baby alone"
If wikipedia.com were a man, I would marry him. Even though it would never work and we would end up getting a divorce.
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