Thoughts on “MeowMeowBeenz” and unintended self-representations

Unfortunately, I only get to see most of my co-workers once per week. Once. One day. Usually Wednesdays. I wish I saw my colleagues a lot more often so I could build stronger relationships with them, really get to know them and let them really get to know me. Luckily, we now live in the era of MeowMeowBeenz… er, I’m sorry, the era of Facebook. We are “friends” there, we “like” each others photos and status updates, and “laugh” (or LOL) at each others jokes. It’s a nice way to attempt to bridge that gap of 60 miles between me and the home office. But are they getting to know me, the real me? Today I was reminded, in a rather shockingly embarrassing way, just how our social media activity defines us to those we rarely see in person.

I'm sorry, but that's funny!

I’m sorry, but that’s funny!

This afternoon a colleague and friend I respect greatly essentially called me a party girl. I was puzzled. Me? Boring old teen-mothering, dog-walking, grocery-shopping, coffee-guzzling, recycle bin-tamping, workaholic me? Huh?

Then it became clear that my own personal social media policy was backfiring and I was creating a persona that was very one-dimensional. I try really hard to only share things on FB that are whimsical, funny, insightful, or are marking times I’m having fun — perhaps to record for myself that, yes, I do get to have fun sometimes (I often need to remind myself of this). Sometimes the fun(ny) is just a scene that was captured. There are also a few people I may have running jokes with or who I mock mercilessly (like my husband). Often I mock myself. I sometimes “check in” to places when I’m with friends because there is that one question that always gets asked: “Did anyone check us in yet?” as if not checking in means we weren’t really there at all (I’m not sure why I do that one). When I post something commonplace or banal, I do it because I’ve seen some sort of humor in it myself; I usually go back and delete those later. Come to think of it, I go back and delete a LOT of what I post, especially when there was TOO much fun being had (you know, what happens in Vegas…). Continue reading

La Grande Bellezza (The Great Beauty)


I don’t get to see many films, especially films in the movie theater. No time. No stomach for the prices. No patience for bad art. So
I’m not sure what possessed me two weeks ago when I informed my husband that we were going to see a film about which we knew nothing at our local cheapo second-run theater. It was an Italian art house-y film and all I knew was the title … sort of (“the title is similar to Life is Beautiful, except I don’t think it’s a WWII movie”). I also knew that I did NOT want to give another Friday night to what I was afraid was becoming a pattern — sitting at my computer and working on contact notes until I dozed off with my finger pads on the keyboard, only to be interrupted by the jarring bolt of noise created by the timer on the clothes dryer. No thank you! I was going to this $3 art house movie with or without him, and if the movie turned out to be a stinker at least I could nap without being interrupted by the dryer buzzer.

Nap I did not. Continue reading

Walking into a stranger’s house…

blues singersWe did something really crazy tonight, something that I have the feeling a lot of people our age don’t do any more. We walked into the basement of a complete stranger for a Mardi Gras-themed Blues jam house party, armed with two bottles of wine and a giant platter of olives and homemade hummus. How? Why? What? Huh?

So here’s the background story:

We are one of those crazy couples that tailgates in the north parking lot of Husky Stadium before every UW football game. In fact, I often go just for the tailgating and begrudgingly drag my drunk rear into the stadium for the games, though our seats have much improved with the stadium remodel and we no longer have to hike┬áMount Kilimanjaro to reach our seats. Our seats were so high, we would get wind blowing on us from the crack where the wall almost meets the roof; our seats were so high, our row was “vv” — or what I called “sloppy nosebleed W.” Now our seats are comfy and there’s a bar in our section. Whoops, I digress… Continue reading

Long open road ahead…

What is the hardest part of blogging? Probably getting started and overcoming laconnerthe fear, right? Fear that maybe one has nothing important to say. Fear that no one will read it. Or everyone will read it. I cannot promise that this blog will have any important content at all, to anyone other than me. But we’ll see.