Thoughts on Facebook

Dear Facebook,

You are a god. It must feel good to be you. Scratch that. It must feel GREAT to be you. Because, seriously, think about it, how many millions (billions?) of people are in love with you!? Seriously, so many of us are jealous of all the love you receive.

You are the new religion, binding us all together. Because of you, I can keep in touch with the friends and family that are oh, so far away. We can share pictures and connect/reconnect in almost any fashion we desire. Instead of calling Megan, to make a goofy comment on some picture she's recently been tagged in, I can just leave her a message for the entire world to see! It is as though you share your godly powers with me. And also her, because, you know, you've allowed that tagged picture to be seen by me and everyone else as well. Hell, in a lot of cases, people who may not even know her can see her! You are so awesome!

I remember this one time, I was mad at an old friend, but because of you, I was able to know everything she was up to, and had the ability to form a plan of attack. The feeling was indescribable. Of course, this has also been a tool used on me too. I mean, what goes around comes around, right? I deserved it when people spied on me and did hateful things. And that's only because I forgot I could set up my privacy settings. Boy I felt silly that day, I can tell you!

It is also because of you that I've witnessed people discover who their true friends are. Yes, that must make you feel all warm inside, knowing you can provide truths to people who reside in the dark. I know that sometimes, a comment might go un-deleted and the "wrong person" might see it. That's okay. Because of you, they don't even have to be pals anymore. And who would want to be friends anyway if so-and-so is going to say hateful things? So, friend A can delete friend B, and that should do the trick.

You're just so convenient. You're always the first to share with the world the scandals behind closed doors. You're the first to know about everything -- about break ups, (hey, sometimes even before the breakup-ee!), about farming, about birthdays, anniversaries, about, well, EVERYTHING! Sometimes you're even ahead the news -- while making the news, I might add.

Facebook, I am in awe of you. In awe of your grace, your ability to tell the truth, your almighty gift of connection. You are one of the only faiths left in this world.

I must admit that I for one, am in love with you. You are that extra mile of connective tissue that hold me together with those I love dear...and others admittedly, not so much, but we met that one time at some function, and now we can be friends -- all because of YOU.

Dearest Facebook, keep up the great work!

Thoughts of the Day and Dads on Cooking

There are steps one must take when avoiding losing one's mind. In the past it's been alcohol . . . for me anyway. And lately, it's been alcohol with the occasional cigarette. (I stole them from your car because I didn't think YOU needed to be smoking them) And so, I'm only slightly tipsy as I write this passage . . . with only one cigarette in my system. This past week I've been running like a crazy person. The track at Catawba has become my so called "bff" -- so when I feel insanity knocking on the gates to my mind, I take off. Sometimes I run a mile; sometimes two. and I don't give a fuck that my knee swells up to the size of a baseball. I run anyway. It clears the mind. Makes me feel strong. Sometimes the football players are there preparing for the upcoming season. Sometimes they stare at me. Perhaps that's because deep down they're making fun of the white opalescent skin tone I carry . . . but their minds find me attractive, and I know it. And what once used to flatter me no longer does. In some ways this revelation stuns me. I used to be the type of girl who could be easily flattered by fat lesbians with bad haircuts -- I was that much of an ugly duckling growing up. If someone (anyone) paid attention to me I was on cloud nine. And, as time goes on, I learn lessons. Some more painful than others . . . and as my next door neighbor tells me I look hot in my swimsuit, I could care less. I am no longer thinking with my mind but with my heart. And it's because of you. Although I may be the world's greatest "fuck up", I've learned I've found more than myself because of you. Perhaps this late lesson will be the biggest "fuck up" of my life, and that makes life the ultimate riddle.

*****

On another note, my thought for the day concerns Dads. While visiting with the mother of my roommate last evening, she questioned my first memory with my father. And while pondering this, I couldn't help but retrace a memory much later.

After my parents divorced, Mom went on her marry way continuing life the way it had always been (as she is a strong woman). She cooked, she cleaned, she took care of my brother and I while simultaneously suffering from Chron's disease.

My dad, however, could not seem to function as well. Sure, he knew about domesticity, but his chores lie in bringing in the cows from pasture or mowing the lawn. Dad was not as skilled in the ways of household tasks . . . he grew up "knowing" that such jobs belonged to the women of the household. And he was correct having grown up in the era he had grown up in. After my parents' divorce, he was forced to learn how to rear us part of the time.

His mother began teaching him the basic food groups in order to keep us alive and healthy.

It will not surprise you to know that my father put this newfound knowledge to use. Awakening one morning, I headed downstairs for breakfast only to find the so called “basic food groups” staring back at me. It was a kids' dream come true. Laying on a paper plate at my place at the table were two strips of crispy bacon, sizzled to perfection. A glass of orange juice rested to the side. And lo and behold, a large bowl nestled gently into my paper plate lay an enormous mound of fluffy Snickers ice cream.

Dad explained. I had my meat group, my fruit group and my dairy. He of course, was correct.

It makes me wonder, however . . . Most Dads are grilling experts; some of the world's greatest chefs are men. I cannot say more. And then, there's my dad. Perhaps he was a man lost in the sixties. Perhaps he just never cared to learn the true and healthy ways of cooking for his children. Whatever the reason, I applaud you, Dad. Bacon and Snickers ice cream is a memory I will always have and I love you for it. Perhaps you should stick to banking . . .