Ode To The Internet

Internet, I missed you so much last week and I hope to never spend another day without you. I missed my usual sites, missed knowing what my friends were up to every hour, missed that it was the radio who told me JD Salinger died, missed silly cat pictures, missed writing, and missed the ability to instant message. You are wonderful.

But please don't be under the impression that I acknowledge your wonderfulness simply because I was deprived of you for a week. No no, I always knew you were wonderful. I knew what I had before I lost it, I didn't need a week without to know how amazing you are. It wasn't my intention to leave for a week, and I hope we'll never have to part again. Plus, it was just bad luck that my Blackberry wasn't working properly the same week I was disconnected from you, but I learned from the experience and I promise to ensure my phone is in good working condition if I ever have to part from you for more than a few hours.

And so, Internet, I've begun catching up on the things I've missed and will be back to writing about silly, stupid or consequential things that annoy me in no time. I'm so glad to have you back.

Sick

If only... And I get to work on Caturday.

Here's the scene:

I'm at the self checkout at Ralph's with 4 items: Kleenex, cranberry juice, a knockoff Nyquil and a knockoff Dayquil (buy one get one free, bitches!). I'm dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and a beanie, no make-up to hide my dark circles, and I'm aware that my whole being is emanating sickness.

Action:

Scan the Kleenex. Scan the knockoff Nyquil.

Self Checkout: "Please show your ID to the attendant."

Me: What?

Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm not surprised. Some years ago a person not only had to be 18 years old in order to buy certain OTC medications, but also could only buy 4 at a time in certain locations. Apparently, Ralph's is doing its part in keeping pseudoephedrine out of kids hands.

Damn teenagers always looking for a way to get high. Ruined it for the sickies like me who balk at having to prove we're over 18 (I can almost rent a car, dammit!) and the legitimately sick 17 year old kids who run to the grocery store around the corner for some OTC help in getting back to school.

I wonder if restrictions like these really help. And since I took my knockoff Nyquil just before starting this post it's become incredibly difficult for me to continue. So off I am to dreamland.

Fleshmob!

And terrorism. Yeah, that's right, terrorism!

This is one of the coolest videos I've seen in ages. It's a "fleshmob" in a German airport. Like a flashmob, it involves lots of people converging on one location. Unlike a flashmob, these people have an agenda. (At least, one that's not "silliness.")

OK, we all know terrorism sucks and we should protect ourselves as best we can from terrorists among us. But full body scanners? Really, government? I don't see these things lasting long: they're too expensive to be worth the inevitable cost of lawsuits, and they won't even be in every airport, or even in every security line in the airports that buy them.

So these ballsy Germans are voicing their concerns. We should not be giving up every freedom we have because for each freedom we give up in the name of "safety" the terrorists get a point. And they're winning.

Our government can tap our personal phones, confiscate our laptops and Blackberries without cause, make us throw away lotion, and now has permission to give full body scans and under-clothes pat downs. When will it stop? When will Americans realize that by giving up the very freedoms terrorists are killing us for, the very freedoms our military is dying to protect, that we're giving up?

We should take a cue from the German fleshmob. We should refuse to submit like dogs to these so called protections. Seriously, we can't get up during the last hour of a flight because some idiot tried (and failed) to blow up a plane he was on right before it landed. (Never mind that the attacks on 9/11 occurred during the first hour of a transcontinental flight.) Have we forgotten that the only reason that recent attempt got as far as it did was because our intelligence agencies didn't communicate that day? They were gonna detain the guy when the plane landed! Too late, guys!

I would rather live with the freedoms my country promised me and die that live without them.

Sarcasm

A company created a sarcastic punctuation mark. Because it's not totally obvious when we type sarcastically.

(Sarcasm alert.)

But really, someone out there is capitalizing on this. Bravo to them, honestly, because I wish I'd thought to create a lame swirly dot and charge people two bucks for it. Certainly would make only working 2 days this week much easier...

It looks like this:

The kicker? You pay $1.99 for something no one else understands! Yes, I know it's sometimes difficult to have a conversation with someone (like me) when you're not sure they're being sarcastic. But punctuation? That's what ellipses are for... And italics. And reading comprehension. At the most we should appoint an already existing symbol, something we don't have to pay some bullshit ninja company $2 to use, for sarcasm. Or, if we have to mark sarcasm, write it in a smaller font. Like, duh.

Although, it would be great to start seeing this symbol pop up and watch people recognize the sarcasm but not understand the symbol, and just assume whoever is typing is an idiot when they're really just trying to more accurately convey sarcasm. Isn't it ironic?

Boys

This is relevant to my interests.

One of the most daunting questions I asked myself since I was 17 was, "What about me?" Spending my adulthood in one of two long term relationships meant a large part of me conformed to fit that relationship. This wasn't necessarily bad. I'll explain...

Boyfriend #1 was convinced of several things: we were soul mates, I'd eventually realize we were soul mates, he'd be a successful lawyer, I'd have kids, everyone else would be jealous. In time I realized I didn't agree with him about any of that, and so I ended it. I also ended it because, hell, I was 18 and had a feeling a diamond ring was coming my way and I had only had one boyfriend! What about all the other boys out there? Am I really going to marry the first cute boy to ask me on a date to get ice cream?

No, I'm not.

A glorious 2 months later I start a fling with the second cute boy to ask me on a date. Five years after that I'm wondering those same questions: What about all the other boys out there? Am I really going to marry the second cute boy to ask me on a date and make me brown sugar candy?

No, I'm not. But I am seeing a pattern. Boys, if you want to date me provide me with some sort of dessert.

I borrowed a few good qualities from The Ex: it's OK to splurge on nice things every once in a while, be generous with those you care about, and an eclectic sense of humor is pretty darn hilarious. We learned from each other and became better people because of each other; but if it was all well and good I wouldn't be single, now would I?

I did not agree that success is measured in money, but rather in how you feel about the work you do and the life you live. Over the years I slowly realized that being happy with my work matters more to me than a salary. As long as my basic needs are met and I'm not in constant fear of having my cat repossessed I'd rather do good work. (I felt this way in shuttles, Trader Joes, and even in the photo lab at Longs [RIP].) Consistent with the majority of Americans, The Ex felt earning a high salary was more important. Maybe he figured the things I care about would end up more hobby than career, that I would grow out of wanting to be a conservation activist, that I would eventually decide to settle down with a house and kids and write in my free time in order to sustain my soul. I don't think anyone really believes that I don't want kids. I don't think anyone really believes I want to build an elephant sanctuary, or that I want the unconventional life. But that's OK, because as long as it's what I want I'll have it.

So you see, it's not necessarily bad that I conformed to fit my relationships. I've come away from them borrowing the good. Each new relationship should be better than the last one until I find one I don't want to leave. Because of my relationships I've learned what's important to me, what I want in a man, and what keeps a relationship strong. I have a lot to offer, and I'm noticing the cute single boys (some of whom are even interested in me!) more frequently. Too bad they don't all live in San Diego or I'd be happier than Chloe was when she rediscovered a cat nip toy yesterday.

I'd be this happy!