When Your Mac n Cheese Has Needs

Am I the only one who thinks social media has crossed the line into harassment? If a person persisted in trying to be your friend no matter how many times you refused and then began showing up everywhere you went insisting that you had to like them, poke them, or follow them, wouldn't you call the police?

It’s gotten to the point where I can’t do anything anywhere without being subjected to incessant requests to “like” or “follow” everything and everyone in the whole goddamn world. I find it obnoxious that I can’t go online, watch a show, or leave my house without an onslaught of whiny bitches trying to get me to participate in some imaginary popularity contest being held in a the land of make believe.

These requests might not be so terrible if the things I was being asked to like or follow weren't so retarded. Nevertheless, I’ve taken the same approach you would with any obsessed stalker; I’ve been clear and consistent in my rejection and ignored all advances and propositions by the obsessed. I’ve been decisive, blunt to the point of being cruel, and careful to never offer false hope. I've also tried to ignore it, hoping that by not giving social media the attention it craves, it would eventually take the hint or lose interest. On the contrary, this approach only seems to encourage its desire to recruit me.

While I have learned to mask my mounting revulsion for a society where everyone desperately needs validation from complete strangers, it's gone far beyond that. Now people have projected their neediness onto inanimate objects. Products. Things. Does no one else find it odd that every single thing you buy - rubber bands, lampshades, mold remover, cat litter, orange juice – now insists, demands, or pleads that you follow or friend them?

I’m beginning to feel like I need to set these products straight. Like a wildly delusional and insecure girlfriend, they think they’ll eventually wear me down and get me to commit to them and declare my allegiance publically. Ha! I wouldn’t even do that for a HUMAN, so I’ll be damned if I’m going to do it for an item on my grocery list. I think it’s time to have The Talk.

There’s a couple ways to approach this, but I recommend the second option. The first is a punk move that’s likely to send mixed signals and give false hope.

Option #1 - Punk Ass Bitch

Which one do you love enough to like?

Cheese has needs too!

No, I will not “like” you on Facebook, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Don’t get me wrong, you’re cool and all and I do like you, I just don’t Facebook like you. No, you didn't do anything wrong, MC, but my love of squeeze cheese and noodles only goes so far. When did you get so needy? Must I really make a public declaration to validate our relationship? Why ruin a good thing by putting labels on it?

Option #2 – Man Up

No, I will not follow you on Twitter, shampoo-I-bought-on-sale at Dollar General. I bought you because you were cheap and I was in the mood for a deep moisturizer. But next month, it could be a different story depending on how dry my ends are how low you’re willing to go. “Following” you on Twitter would suggest a continuity that’s not in the cards for us and I don’t want to lead you on. Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to use you all up and throw you out (well, recycle you if possible) because after you clean my dirty, dirty hair, I have no use for you, shampoo. Follow you on Twitter? Bitch, please. The only thing following you is conditioner.

If you feel yourself starting to get soft, you can call upon the master of putting trifling hoes in their place, rapper Too Short.  

          “You {insert product} get to ride, get used all the time,
          I ain’t made the situation I just made the rhyme
          Adapt to my surroundings, look around
          Nothin but pimps, tricks, and hookers found.”

Trippy vs. The Authorities

Other than having a laptop and an ax to grind, I decided to start a blog in hopes it would encourage me to write more. Over the last couple years, I've been writing short stories for a book (many of which I’m sure will find their way here) that I hope to someday publish. I thought that this forum – this blog – might compel me to keep generating new material and write down my ideas before they dissipate into a cloud of bong smoke.

Recently, I had an epiphany about my professional life. Making it as a writer is no longer optional for me; I really have no other choice. It’s become abundantly clear that I cannot function in the mainstream workplace. This is not an exaggeration; you need only look at my work history to see that I don’t do well with authority figures or rules. Below I’ve summarized some key events from my professional life that reflect a definitive pattern or rebellion. Each really deserves an entry of its own, but I for now I will just give you the highlights.

1)     High School Teacher (Connecticut) 2006-2009

    

 Refused to bow to administrative pressure to lower standards and was non-renewed aka fired. Fought the gym teacher-turned-principal’s verdict and threatened to expose his whole corrupt kingdom. He is forced to rescind his decision in front of four witnesses. At the end of the year, I tender my resignation and move to Florida. 

2)    High School/Middle School Teacher (Florida) 2009-2010

 Left on my own accord, but almost went down when I was tapped for a random drug screening after a drug-fueled four-day birthday extravaganza. I tender my resignation three months later and decide to leave teaching altogether.

3)    Waitress/”Door Girl” at Strip Club (Florida) 2010-2011 

 

      Fired for reading/doing work. On a slow night, my manager sees me doing some kind of editing/writing work while I’m at the door. The GM comes by and  tells me that he’d “prefer” I not do that work at the door. I take “prefer” to mean optional, so I obligingly put my papers away until he leaves. After leaving the club, he reviewed the security footage and decided that my commitment to professional development was a far more egregious offense than the  rampant drug dealing and prostitution. He returns a few hours later and fires me on the spot for not “respecting his authority.”

4)    Remote Copywriter 2011 – Present

     Despite the fact that this is a telecommuting position and the company is located in California, I manage to get into trouble when a new management team takes over. My supervisor does not appreciate my questions about the policy changes and   subsequently bans me from posting on our virtual forum, claiming that my contributions “incite a crowd” and “lower morale.”

How does one get into trouble at a virtual job? Who gets fired from a strip club for reading? These are all logical questions that I wish I had the answers to. I’m an extremely diligent worker who goes above and beyond. I take my job, whatever it is, seriously and do my best. My shit is always tight; the quality of my work has never been the issue. I just have a teensy problem following rules sometimes, particularly if I don’t agree with them or don’t see any value or purpose in them. I have a tendency to ask why a lot, which can rub some people the wrong away, especially when they don’t have an answer or don’t want to give it.

I wish I could say that things are different now, but it’s only been two months and I’m already struggling to conform to the bullshit at my new job. I’ve never worked in an office, let alone a cubicle, so this is a most unpleasant change of pace. The beige walls, lack of sunlight, direct supervision, and terrible hours are already taking their toll. Unable to shake my work ethic, I do my best, but I find myself committing small acts of deviance. 

For example, last month I wanted to make my boyfriend a card, so I used my work computer to search for and print colored pictures.  We're not supposed to use our computers for anything that's not work-related, even during our lunch break. I can't even check my goddamn email, pay a few bills, nada. This policy really grinds my gears, so I promptly decided I would not abide by it. I didn't see the harm in perusing Google images during my lunch break and printing the pictures at the end of the day.  

Had the pictures consisted of sports team emblems or scenic landscapes, what I did wouldn't have been so bad. However, I did run a bit of a risk finding and printing the following images: 

And those are just a few of my favorites. 

I was able to avoid detection, but I figure my days in cubicle nation are numbered, so I need to get serious about publishing my writing. Since I have difficulty respecting anyone's authority, including local law enforcement, I need to be my own boss. Since I'm not exactly the domesticated type, I also need to make enough money so my man can quit his job and be a full-time househusband. 

It's 6:00, which means it's time to rejoin the rat race and head back to cubicle nation. Hopefully, my days there are numbered. 

What the Fuck is a Blog?

Welcome to the Adventures of Trippy Bongstockings! If you had told me five or six years ago that I would be writing a blog, I would have asked you one simple question . . .  what the fuck is a blog? 

Carnies vs. Bloggers

Fast forward a few years. By that point I had heard of blogs and I wasn't impressed. The more I heard about the wonders of technology and new media, the more suspicious I became.  I appreciated the Internet for its educational applications, but anything else elicited a powerful combination of feelings that ranged from distrust bordering on paranoia, self-righteousness bordering on zealotry, unfounded yet deep-seated resentment, and pure unadulterated rage.

I would promptly dismiss nearly every new electronic device and technological advance as:

1. a passing fad (examples include DVDs and MP3s )

2.  government conspiracy (The Man's craft way of invading our privacy under the guise of scientific/technological progression - you don't fool me, Whitey!)

3. a strategic corporate advertising campaign designed to drive consumerism and trap people into a lifetime of buying shit they don’t need

Needless to say, I wasn’t inspired to read a blog, let alone write one of my own. Even the word itself turned me off. Blog just sounds stupid. Blog doesn’t exactly ring with purpose and professionalism. You don’t tell people you’re staying home to blog in the same tone you would convey your intentions to work on your manifesto or finish your dissertation. The title for a person who blogs – a blogger – doesn’t help matters. Blogger evokes about as much prestige as “carny,” only with less professional accountability and zero mystique or charm.

Since I’ve been told I have a tendency to be a judgmental dick about such things, I was curious to know how others viewed bloggers. I had a hunch that I wasn’t the only one who questioned the literary merits of blogging, so I did a keyword search and quickly found that I wasn’t the only blogger hater out there. In fact, I found plenty of company from the fine folks at www.urbandictionary.com, the people’s dictionary. Curious to see if my theory about carnies being superior to bloggers held up in the (cyber) courtroom of public opinion, I found some choice definitions for the word “carny.”

Carny

1. A carnival worker, often running the mechanical rides, who likes to hit on teenage or younger females. They are generally not clean people and will buy alcohol in exchange for companionship

  That carny is sooo skanky

2.  One with extremely and frighteningly small hands who smells of cabbage. Usually found hanging about the circus.

I was standing in line for peanuts, and this carny jacked my wallet! I knew it was one of those circus freaks because I distinctly smelled rotting cabbage!

Look at you, you carny bastard.

3. One who smells like A-1 sauce and piss 

                              OR

One who fills the back of a pick up truck (with A-1 sauce and piss) and swims in it

I went to the carnival where I saw a carny eating rocks and   drinking piss.

While these definitions don't paint the most flattering picture, being a carny seems positively noble when compared with blogger. 

Blogger

1. Term used to describe anyone with enough time or narcissism to document every tedious bit of minutia filling their uneventful lives.

2. A person with a laptop, an ax to grind, and their virginity

3. A rancid ass cheese who fantasizes that someone will read his/her pathetic shit. Who gives a fuck what they think about anything? They're geeks who jack off with visions of their geometry teacher dancing in their pointy little heads.

     I went to crap a gnarly turd, but a blogger came out instead.

4. An Internet diary writer. Or more accurately, a whining, insecure, sympathy-craving, self-indulgent, self-important, over privileged 'feeling meh' scum of the Internet/universe.

'Welcome back to my blog, fellow blogger!!! Today I'm feeling like the world is terrible and I just can't seem to find my place in it. Also, I think everyone hates me. I'm feeling a bit meh tbh. And to top it all, I think I'm coming down with a snuffly-cold!'

5. A person who blogs as an outlet for narcissism and bad taste.

There was a time when America had intellectuals, but now all we've got are bloggers.

6. Bloggers are greasy-haired geeks who stink of sour ass cheese and pus breath due to their lack of tooth brushings and flossing which has led them down the road to gum disease.

Hey, look at that blogger, stinking of bad breath and sour ass cheese... what a useless geek!

Hey blogger! Merry Christmas! Here's some soap to wash your sour, cheesy ass with and a toothbrush to brush your green, pus-covered teeth with... If you use these, maybe you can get a date.

The definitions continued in this manner for several pages, vindicating my suspicions about bloggers. On a good day, blogger only adds to the indignity of the word blog and rounds out the picture of an incredibly self-indulgent waste of time. Dumb, yes, but hardly dangerous. However, blogger also evokes a darker, more deviant image in my mind . . . I think “blogger” and I see an individual who’s not allowed within 30 feet of a school zone, not because he molested anyone, mind you, but because of his penchant for chronic public masturbation, perhaps while donning some kind of kid-friendly costume. I see a blogger as someone who dresses up like Frosty the Snowman around the holidays and pleasures himself from afar.

Blogging and Flogging (the Dolphin)

Going with the whole stream of consciousness theme of the entry, I searched the recesses of my mind to try and ascertain where I came up with this. The best explanation I can offer is that “blog” rhymes with “flog” and “flogging” is a term sometimes used for masturbation. Where the disturbing holiday ensemble comes into play is a bit more difficult to put my finger on, but the expression “flogging the dolphin” makes me think of Flipper, the adorable and wildly exploited TV porpoise of yore. While I never feared Flipper, I recently learned that I should have. A few months ago I saw a special called “The Cutest Animals That Will Kill You.” It turns out that dolphins are sick rapists! No joke! Many people have been raped during those goddamn Swim with the Dolphins excursions. Don’t let that grin fool you! The only reason they’re smiling is because they’re about to BONE YOU!!! 

Flipper the Rapist

(Where I made the leap from Flipper and his pod having their way with you to a guy dressed as a giant snowman whacking off to kids ice skating around a frozen lake is anyone’s guess; however, I imagine that I probably arrived through a combination of an actual recollection of something I heard or read and/or my deep abhorrence for the holidays).

Needless to say, I never saw myself as a blogger. So why now? 

Why the hell not? After all, I have a laptop, an ax to grind, and just enough narcissism to believe that I have anything worthwhile to say. 

Welcome to my blog!