oh. my. god.

Well...
Somebody BEAT ME TO IT.
Congratulations, Anonymous Genius.  "7"?????
"...just as well as the 'pricey' ones"????
"easy to use AND accurate"?????

Boy!  What a relief.  My old brand Was always easy to use, but not very accurate....

so...

what do ya do when ya got nothin ta right about? dat's right. ya write.

dat joke only works on paper.

anyway, i really don't have anything to say. except that i'm ashamed at how bad of a blogger i am. i've blogged about this before so, no need to harp. just one thing: i suck at blogging.

i wish i had better disciplinary skills. but, i don't. so, let's move on.

what's new?

i'm writing a lot. just not in my blog. obviously.

that's going well.

boy, i tell ya. i've had awkward conversations before. but, this tops em all. an awkward conversation with myself via blogging. weird how thoughts work. i'm thinking all of this right now as i type it. i type too quickly and make mistakes, and have to edit them, which disrupts the whole process, thus, in some way, defeating it altogether.

but, who's to say it's not bettering it?

we all are. to say.

okay, very funny. mutiny. i've looked it up in the dictionary. twice. it's latin.

how romantic.

oh, how nice of you to take something i said, something i wanted to share with you, just a little insight i have-and what do you do? make it into a racist joke.

it wasn't a joke.

oh, so you are racist.

no, if i was racist, i'd tell racist jokes. it wasn't a joke.

you're denying that it's a joke, but not that it's racist. so it was seriously racist. racist people tell racist jokes AND they say seriously racist things.

damned if you do damned if you don't sort of thing.

you argue just to argue. just. to argue.

no i don't.

that's it. i'm not talking anymore.

you're certainly not talking any less.

...

oh, you're serious. you think you can just stop talking. good. luck. if i had to bet, if i had to, i'd give you two minutes. yep, two. two minutes. haha, and you always say i talk too much, I TALK TOO MUCH, i talk too much? hahahahaha. that's funny. it is. that's really funny. You. saying anyone talks too much. and then you go on and on and on about how much i talk and how exactly too much is. all the while, you're talking until you're blue in the face. stop talking, stop talking, stop talking, stop talking, stop talking, stop talking, stop talking, talking stop stop stop stop talking

SHUT UP!

i bet that was the longest two minutes of your life.

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halloween

methinks halloween came so quickly this year.

it's already been a year since mr. and mrs. paul were in concept costumes (inspired by ralph coppolla,) doing the thriller dance for cruise ship audiences and losing a costume contest (that, rightfully, they should have won-thereby, creating an eternal debate about said costume contest.) damn twin eskimo strippers.

seems like only yesterday.

i made so many plans for halloween. and, kept none of them due to sheer exhaustion and lack of preparation, which is unlike me since halloween is pretty much my favorite day of the year.

i had fun with the family, which is always great. got home a bit late, though. exhausted.

pretty sure my brother, anthony (or antwan, for those of you who know him) attended a party tonight as a warlock. pretty ridiculous. perhaps he will be wise enough to remember to take photographs with his phone and share them with the world.
maybe he'll even take enough for a calendar.

All My Exes Live on Facebook

So, how weird of a time do we live in?

A technological gilded age.

An instantaneous era where the world is literally at your fingertips.

All this wonder and convenience we have become accustomed to: electronic mail, text messages, facebook. facebook, facebook, facebook.

I'm not gonna lie, I'm well addicted. It's an obsession sometimes. I can sit there for hours with no new messages or wall posts, having absolutely no business wasting time, mindlessly searching. What do I do? Look at profiles, other people's pictures, My pictures. Oh! That's when you know it's out of control-when you start to sift through your own photo albums as if they are new discoveries, as if you yourself did not take the pictures, upload them, tag and caption them.

But, that's just the beginning of the frustration with facebook. Friends. Who are your friends? My friends, some family, co-workers and boyfriends past. As if it wasn't awkward enough that our social networking has gone from face-to-face to face-to-facebook, you have to deal with the unending temptation to spy on ex-boyfriends' facebook profile pages.

I'm not ashamed. I do it. And, I Know people do it to me. Sometimes, when I feel really creepy, I'll make sure to leave a comment. For some reason, that makes me feel like I seem to have had a purpose going to the page to begin with, even though we all know I certainly did not.

It doesn't stop me from doing it. The only way I can stop doing it is to cut myself off. Completely! And, as silly as it may seem, that's really hard to do. I'd like to believe that I wouldn't want to de-friend or block an ex on fb because I'm the bigger person, and I am mature enough to handle a post-breakup friendship. That's partly true. But, I think the bigger issue is that if I did that (assuming I could figure out how to do that), I wouldn't be able to satisfy my hunger for internet espionage, both spying...and being spied on. It's so mysterious, I can't help it! I think as an early birthday gift to myself I might farm through my fb friends, and weed out a few of the tempting ones.

I've long said that I wished facebook had "Enemies" as well as "Friends". What a hilarious concept it would be to receive a "Facebook Enemy Request". But, then again, if you had access privileges to your enemies' pages, you would still be able to waste hours of your time poking and prodding.

Inconsistency

So. I have this blog. And, I basically abuse the privilege of having a blog because I never use it. But, I don't have the nerve to deactivate it. And all I do is think about the blog. Always. Thinking and thinking and thinking. About: The Blog.

So I logged into my blog. Blogged in, whatever. And, I started thinking:

Why should I have a blog? People usually have blogs so they can share with everyone their stories and realizations. I have a blog so I can torture myself about it.

Haven't written the blog in a while, Eileen.
ok. seriously, shut up. and, don't whisper "blog" to me like you are just devasted and diappointed.

Hey, Eileen, you ever gonna use that blog you started, or you just gonna let it sit there, rotting with all the other web trash clogging up cyberspace?
i don't really care about the environment. so, no.

Hi. I'm sorry to bother you, but is this your blog? I found it on my doorstep.
on your doorstep, really? well, that makes sense. seeing as though... that's where i left it... for dead.

I can't wait until I'm rich enough to pay someone to write my blog.

Ha. My friend, Elliot found a dog in the neighborhood today. He got the address from the collar, and returned it to the house. The family didn't even know it was missing.

They were probably too busy blogging.

* * *

I honestly forgot that I had a twitter account until today. So, I logged in, after having had a brief several month sabbatical, and came to realize why it is that I don't use twitter. It's not that I don't see the humor in posting auto-narrative updates about your every move on a tri-hourly basis. It's just that I hate comedy.

I do really hate comedy, even though it's what I do. I should be more specific. On the rare occasion that one can find Actual comedy, comedy that is being done well, one will undoubtedly be extremely engaged. But those instances have been made rare in comparison to the overflow of so many sophmoric, unintelligent and gratuitous attempts.

It's not just comedy. Theatre in general. Music. Books. Films.

Blogs, such as this one.