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So… That Happened

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I am fascinated by language. I think it’s a safe bet to say that most writers are. Language is a living, ever changing thing that reflects the constant evolution of our culture. Recently, a new phrase has entered our collective vocabulary with which I have become quite taken. I have heard friends and co-workers use it, made note of it popping up on television as part of a scripted dialogue, read it on Facebook (naturally) and overheard it being used on the street.

I get it. I think it’s funny and at times the perfect thing to say… almost like putting a period at the end of a sentence after something has… well… happened. I am confident that I could use it appropriately in a situation and maybe even garner a few laughs. But, given my affinity for words, I was still curious about its true, intended meaning. Therefore, I consulted with what else but the Urban Dictionary to see if it could shed any more light on this new addition to our current pop-culture vernacular.

The Urban Dictionary defines “Well, That Happened” as: A phrase used when something random and/or inexplicable has occurred. It serves as both an invitation to discuss the recent incident or a way to cut off a possible conversation about the incident.

Example:
You witness your naked neighbor being chased by a dog. Suddenly he is hit by a car, leaving him sprawled in the intersection while the dog licks him.

You: “Well that happened.”

Your Friend: “Yup.”

There are also some variations of this form of language that I wish to explore with some examples of my own such as: “This happened”  if you are standing in the immediate presence of something interesting, peculiar or random.

Example:
Out of sheer anger and frustration you take a hammer and smash your wireless mouse to bits, scattering shards of grey plastic and particles of circuitry all over the crime scene. See Of Mice and Hammers for more details on this specific example.

You: “So… This happened.”

Your Friend: “Yup.”

Or… “There’s this” as a way of showing someone something that you find cannot be explained any other way or you just don’t feel like saying any more about it.

Example:
Your friend discovers a photo taken of you during middle school and posts it on Facebook for the world to see. You’re standing with about 3 other friends sporting giant 90’s hair, oversized bomber (or denim) jackets worn atop horrid cable-knit sweaters, turtlenecks and acid-washed-mom-jeans… New Kids On The Block concert tickets in hand.

Photo caption: “And… There’s this.”

All Your Facebook Friends: “Uproarious laughter and comments galore”

There's This.

Domain Thing

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It wasn’t that long ago I didn’t even know what a domain name was. I avoided the whole technology thing for awhile… Or at least longer than many of my peers. I put off getting a cell phone for a LONG time until it became necessary. I told people it was because I quote: “Did not want to be that accessible.”

Amazing how time changes things. It’s almost impossible to remember life before email or the internet, isn’t it? Then a few years ago it was Facebook. Sometimes I literally sit and hurt my head trying to recall what life was like Pre-FB. What in the hell did I do with all of that extra time? I don’t think I read more books. I don’t think I exercised more. I certainly didn’t bake, crochet, cook or clean. Maybe I just watched more CSI and Survivor.

So now I find it extremely curious that 2 days ago I broke down and bought and registered my own domain name: womaninthrisis.com. That’s right. I’ve become one of “those people” that I swore I thought I’d never become. I own a website. I am a blogger. And it’s a little unsettling.

Back in the CSI and Survivor days, bloggers and people with their own websites were (to me) nerds who never saw the light of day. They were spindly with translucent skin and bloodshot eyes. They slept all day and stayed up all night in their dark little caves, stabbing away at the keyboard with great gusto illuminated by the other-worldly glow of the monitor. They wrote about conspiracy theories, dark matter, worm holes and absolute zero.

While I, with my expensive, fake tan, french manicure and well-toned muscles did “normal” things like sit on my ass all day at Starbucks drinking iced-caramel machiattos and people-watching… Or perfecting my downward-facing dog, warrior and sun salutation in the mornings and paying $50 a month to literally get the crap beat out of me by my kickboxing instructor every other night.

My, my, my how things have changed. See, the thing is… I love to write. I have ALWAYS loved to write. Except that now I have discovered there is this amazing community of people all over the world just like me who enjoy sitting down at the computer, basking in it’s other-worldly glow and pecking away at the keyboard sharing thoughts, ideas, observations and inspirations about day-to-day life… And anything and everything from conspiracy theories to the perfect french manicure. And I have found it to be fascinating and fun.

Though, I do have just one question…

Do my eyes look bloodshot to you? Maybe it’s time to drag out the yoga mat… Or hit the gym. UGH. As the proud, sole owner and proprietor of  Woman In Thrisis, who has time for all of that now anyway? Soooo… make my caramel mach a double, please. And where’s the number for that tanning salon?

10 Signs You Might Be Spending Too Much Time on Facebook

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Are your family and friends using words like “intervention” or “excessive” or threatening to take your computer or smartphone away? Have you begun to neglect daily functions like bathing, eating and caring for your schoolwork, work/work, friends or family? If you answered yes to any of the previous questions… You MIGHT be spending too much time on Facebook…

1. You feel the need to update your status when you wake up, again after going to the bathroom, again after eating breakfast, on your phone while you drive to work, from your office or cube once you’ve arrived at work… etc. etc. etc.

2. You start each new sentence with the words: “I saw on Facebook that…”

3. Friends and family are FORCED to join FB just to know what’s going on with you.

4. Dinnertime conversation is pointless because your children-husband-wife-girlfriend-boyfriend-siblings and parents are now on FB and already know the minutia of the events of your entire day.

5. If away from your computer/phone for any length of time you feel compelled to run up to random people on the street and shout your status at them.

6. Dishes and laundry are piling up, your filthy kids are screaming to be fed, the dog has officially started using the living room rug for his personal toilet, you haven’t showered yet and it is almost time for dinner.

7. You have so many FB friends that you see someone on the street who looks kind of familiar… and you aren’t sure… but you think maaaaybe they are on your friend list???

8. Strangers approach you in Wal-Mart and ask how your colonoscopy went.

9. You feel led to post the pictures OF your colon as soon as you can scan them in.

10. IDK… U R 2 tired from FB-ing all nite 2 C 2 txt! LOL! OMG! Now LMAO! BTW… WTF? TTYL …

If U understood the above sentence, U R definitely spending 2 much time on FB!

Vices

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So I’m beginning to wonder how healthy my occasional formula for surviving-a-busy-day-while-still-being-able-to-enjoy-the-evening really is. Let’s see… I roll out of bed (usually exhausted), and drag my ass through the early morning routine of showering, eating, facebooking, blog-posting, news-watching, makeup, hair, heels, commute. And by the time I sit down in my office chair, I’m even more exhausted.

I reach for the faithful friend that is a big, fat, coffee mug and I head across the hall toward the office fuel pump… Or rather, the Keurig coffee maker in the break room. One cup starts to perk me up and makes me feel like perhaps I will NOT flop my forehead onto the keyboard and drool all over the space bar as initially feared.

Two cups make me feel like I can begin to pick up the pace. I can actually comprehend my email and voicemail messages. I can focus long enough on my tasks at hand and begin to feel like I am climbing on top of the To-Do list, rather than lying prostrate beneath the weight of it.

Three cups enable me to operate under the assumption that I can take on the world! I am returning emails, answering the phone and taking notes while performing Photoshop miracles. I can whip out an ad layout standing on my head with my hands tied behind my back. And I am greeting everyone who walks into my office with the loudest, cheeriest and most hyper “HELLO!” that they run scared in the opposite direction.

However, by the time I get home and it is finally time to unwind and relax… I wonder why I am so keyed up. Perhaps a nice glass of wine will calm me down and ease me into the evening so that I can eventually drift off to dreamland peacefully and soundly.

So… I reach for the faithful friend that is the corkscrew. I nearly shatter my sparkling-clean wine glasses as I reach for one since my hands are shaking like mad from all the caffeine I’ve ingested throughout the course of the day. One glass starts to enable me to take deeper breaths as warmth and calm gradually spread through my limbs. I think that perhaps I will NOT bite the head off of the first person that speaks to me as initially feared.

Two glasses allow me to feel like I can begin to cope with the reality that I will have to do this all over again tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. I can relax and focus long enough on an exchange with my boyfriend / mother / father / sister / niece / nephew / neighbor / friend so that they will believe I am happy, engaged and perfectly willing to handle whatever it is they say to or ask of me without “losing it” because I am “overwhelmed” or “stressed.”

Three glasses enable me to operate under the assumption that I can take on the world! And just as I attempt to take on the world… my forehead flops onto the keyboard of my laptop and I begin to drool all over the space bar.

Out of Touch

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Last night I was perfectly content sitting on my couch and NOT multitasking. I was doing one thing and one thing only. Watching Seinfeld re-runs. I was not on the phone or the laptop Facebooking, Twittering or blogging. I was just sitting there—like a tree stump dressed in grey sweatpants and a weathered In & Out Burger t-shirt—and it was glorious.

It was at this point that I saw a commercial for the newest ipad. The commercial showed a woman about my age, in the Apple store, looking at the shiny new gadget the salesman had just presented to her. She cautiously grasped the ipad like it was the Holy Grail and the moment it was in her hands, she was immediately transported to all of these exotic locales.

She traveled to remote sun-washed beaches, gourmet, five-star restaurants, rockin’ night clubs, casinos and both National and International landmarks. And all the while, she never looked up from that damn ipad. Apple’s selling point being that this device can go with you wherever, whenever and you can stay connected.

WTF?!?! Helloooo!!! You're in P-A-R-A-D-I-S-E. LOOK AROUND!!!

I’m sorry, am I the only one who has the desire to visit remote and exotic sun-washed beaches, gourmet, five-star restaurants, rockin’ night clubs, casinos and both National and International landmarks for the sole purposes of getting away from AND staying OUT of touch with the world? I mean, there’s a reason that the freakin’ screen savers and wallpapers on these things have pictures of Fiji and Mt. Kilimanjaro on them. Duh.

Though perhaps that is the final irony here… The place in which we’ve arrived on the evolutionary ladder of man vs. technology… If you’re toiling at your desk… you dream of Fiji or of standing in the shadow of Kilimanjaro. But if you’re actually IN Fiji or standing in the shadow of Kilimanjaro… you want to be at the office?!

I don’t know about you, but if I had the time and resources to travel to far-flung corners of the globe and visit the types of exclusive destinations that this chick was inhabiting in the ipad commercial… I would take that flat, wireless, super-sleek, state-of-the-art, hi-speed, touch-screen piece of crap capable of keeping me “connected” 24/7… and fling it as far as it would go.

TMI… Or, A Tribute to the Over-Sharer

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C’mon, admit it… you have one of those friends/co-workers/relatives that is constantly guilty of the infamous “Over-Share.” It’s too much information and you know it. We all have one or two or more… depending on whether or not you’re attracted to drama. Perhaps YOU are the Over-Sharer. Perhaps I am the Over-Sharer in some of my friends’ lives because I write so much…

Whoever it is, and whatever the case may be, there is one thing that has made life VERY interesting for the Over-Sharer, or the Friend-Of-The-Over-Sharer. It is this new-fangled convention we all can’t seem to live without called Facebook.

I would like to take a minute (or two) to share a few of the ways that I have observed people offering TMI on FB.

NOT KNOWING THE PROPER WHEN AND WHERE: Whether they mean to or not, they use the WALL for private invitations, downright rude or offensive opinions, love notes (at times, fairly detailed love notes… see next point) rather than the private chat or messaging features that FB has to offer.

GET A (CHAT) ROOM: Similar to the first one, this one is, however MUCH MORE SEVERE. This may be TMI on my part, but I think I may have already “witnessed”… how shall I put this delicately?… uhh… well… cyber-sex between a FB friend and someone else… I wanted so badly to interrupt their cyber-love-making with a “Get A (Chat) Room!!” comment but—since it would not have been anonymous—I didn’t have the nerve. Fortunately, someone else did… and it stopped… sort of.

SCIZOPHRENIC RELATIONSHIP-STATUS CHANGE: Let us now discuss the phenomenon that is CONSTANT (and maybe even a wee-bit compulsive) “Relationship Status” change. We all know people whose personal lives are a little, shall we say, colorful? Or perhaps you know someone whose love life is a downright train-wreck. It goes a little something like this: Cindy-Sue is in a relationship. The next day: Cindy-Sue is now single. The following morning: Cindy-Sue is in a Serious Relationship. 2 days later: Cindy-Sue is now engaged. 24 hours later: Cindy-Sue is now married. 1 week later: Cindy Sue is now single. 48 hours later: Cindy Sue is in an Open Relationship. The next morning: Cindy-Sue is now at the police station, filing a restraining order. I think you get the idea, and my apologies to anyone out there who may coincidentally be named Cindy-Sue.

FRIENDS DON’T LET FRIENDS DRINK AND POST: This one really needs no embellishment. It is pretty self-explanatory. But can I provide a little helpful suggestion? If you or your friends are still under the influence of Jack, Johnny, Jim or Jose, you miiiiight not want to post those pictures until you’ve slept it off. The “OMG-this-is-soooooooo-freakin-hilarious” photo you took in the bathroom at the bar the night before, might not be quite as funny to you (or your friends… or your mom… or your boss) in the morning light.

So here’s to all of the “Over-Sharers” out there. Thanks to them and Facebook… life is never dull and always full of surprises. And even if I claim to occasionally become annoyed with TMI… well, it’s kind of like an accident by the side of the road… I may talk about how awful it is, but then again, I just can’t seem to look away.

Me and My Minus-One

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Everyone has their own philosophy when it comes to Facebook friending. Some are quite conservative with letting people into their virtual worlds, while others may “friend” every single person they met in the bar on any given night.

I believe I fall somewhere in the middle. I won’t friend everyone I meet or accept every friend request I get, but I am more liberal than many of my real life (RL) friends when it comes to “friending behavior.”

For example, if someone friends me and I don’t know them per say but we have a lot of friends in common, I usually accept. If I meet someone and we really seem to connect or they are someone I can see myself developing a RL friendship with, I will friend them.

From time to time, I get teased by my family or friends for having what they consider to be a large-ish number. I tell them it’s because I have lived and worked in several different states, and as a result, have met a lot of people from all over our 50 states with whom I wish to stay connected.

Now, I don’t think of my “number” of friends as a status symbol, personal affirmation of worth or a mark of my popularity in the world. So I don’t care WHAT the number is. But that doesn’t mean I don’t KNOW what it is. Exactly what it is. At any given time. Maybe there are some hidden, narcissistic implications in that, but I really don’t care. I’m not going to waste precious minutes with my therapist talking about “the number.”

Anyway… Over the years—since I know what the number is at any given time—I also know when I have been… (gasp)… dumped. Perhaps some of you have also experienced this. I can’t be the only one who kinda keeps track. Right? Please tell me I’m not alone. You look at your friend list from time to time and notice that the number is smaller than before. It isn’t everyday and it is usually only by one or two at a time. But still you can’t help but ask yourself: “I wonder who the one-time-friend-turned-traitorous-@$$hole is who dumped me?”

I have never tried to find out. I am aware that there is an app for this. An app for seeking out the bastard who ditched me, casting me carelessly to the curb alongside the information superhighway and right into the roadside weeds of the world wide web. But I have never wanted to waste the energy trying to find out. I mean, the higher your number, the harder it would be ferret out the little $hit anyway. Not worth the effort. Not that I haven’t wondered who it was.

In recent months, however, I have quite serendipitously learned the identity of 3 of the perpetrators. The first was in just looking for the guy. He was an old (RL) friend of whom I decided I wanted to ask a question. I typed in his name and he was gone. Just gone. I checked my friend list and he was gone. I checked mutual friends’ lists and he was gone from there too. And YES, I did a little digging into the matter. Long story short, he dumped Facebook. And YES I suddenly felt a little bit better about myself and this particular minus-one.

The second one I like to call Teflon Travis (not his real name) because I had a notification that he had commented on something that I had previously commented on and whenever I clicked on it… I got bounced right back to my own homepage. I “bounced” myself a half a dozen times before I figured out that I’d just been dumped. Another check of the friend list confirmed my suspicions.

The third one was, to me, the most shocking of all. I was reading an old “note” I had written (much like a blog entry) because that was where I used to keep my writing before starting this page. And this person, I’ll call her Disappearing Delores, used to LOVE my writing (at least she said she did). She was always one of the first to comment and made such funny contributions. She and I would go back and forth with several “comments” to one another at the end of many of my notes.

So in this note that I was reviewing, I noticed that the old comments were ALL mine and there were NONE from her. Another quick check of the friend list (I was getting good at this) and yes… she was gone too. And my comments looked so sad and silly like I was having a conversation with an imaginary friend. I would start many of them: “Haha. How true! And you know, Delores… Blah. Blah. Blah.” I didn’t cry or anything. But yes, I wondered where she’d gone. She’s still on Facebook… I guess she just didn’t want to be my friend anymore. Bitch.

I wonder what I did to piss her off? I know that’s why I dump people… because they piss me off. And that’s pretty much the only reason. I wonder if the people I have dumped ever wondered why it is that I dumped them? I guess we’ll never know. All we dumpees can do is pick ourselves up out of the weeds, dust ourselves off and move on. Just us and our now-smaller number of “friends.”

I know what you’re thinking… Maybe it’s not such a bad idea for me to spend a few precious minutes with my therapist talking about “the number” after all.

Life by the Numbers

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It begins and ends with a number. A dreadful sound shatters the stillness of my slumber and I open my eyes to see 3 green and glowing numbers looming ominously over my rapidly-dissolving dreams. 6:00 a.m.

In the midst of a heat wave, I turn on the news to channel 3 see how hot it is actually going to get today so I’ll know exactly how much or how little to wear. 95. With a heat index of 110.

Stumbling down the stairs to my non-air-conditioned main floor, I glance at the thermostat. It says 84. I say a curse word.

With great fear and trepidation I climb onto the scale before climbing into the shower to estimate the damages from my nephew’s 11th birthday celebration the night before. XXX lbs., XX.X BMI … these numbers are for my eyes only. But I do utter another curse word.

Sitting down with a 200-calorie breakfast comprised of 8 oz. of OJ and 8 oz. of cereal with 4 oz. of milk, I obsessively check the stats on my blog page. At 7:20 a.m., there have been 23 views, 2 comments and 9 referrals. 0 new subscriptions. On Facebook, I have 1 notification, 2 messages, 1 invitation to play FarmVille and 1 friend request. I accept the friend request. I have 664 friends. Nope… make that 663. Someone just dumped me. Somewhere in the distance I hear a muffled scream as my profile goes swoosh into the virtual trash can belonging to the loser who unfriended me.

Out the door with 20 minutes to spare, I have the misfortune of getting behind 2 of the slowest-moving utility vehicles you’ve ever seen. They are doing 35 in a 55. At this rate, I will be 10 minutes late. Eventually I pass them doing 85 (I imagine my speeding ticket will cost well over $100) and wind up behind 1 even-slower moving 18-wheeler carrying 3 steel coils on a 2-lane highway. I follow him for 4 miles at 45 MPH. Make that 15-minutes late.

The word count so far is 335. In case you’re curious. Though now that I’ve used more words to tell you that… it is higher.

Miraculously only 10 minutes late to work, I have 5 unread messages and 7 projects to complete before 5 p.m. As a graphic designer, my work day is infinitely full of numbers… dates, times, account numbers, quantities and measurements. Therefore, I will spare you the details of the bulk of my day.

At 12:00 noon I call Verizon Wireless to give them $112.68. There is $XXX.XX remaining in my bank account. I utter yet another curse word.

By 5:00 p.m., there are exactly 6 hours left in the day before bedtime. Another obsessive check of blog stats and Facebook: 71 views, 8 comments and 11 referrals. 1 new subscription. Facebook offers 3 notifications, 1 message, 0 friend requests. Dinner at 7, a 2-hour phone call starting at 8 and 1 hour of reading, watching TV, writing or painting my nails before the clock strikes 11. I must get at least 7 hours of sleep a night or I’ll be a hot, cranky mess the next day. Just ask my loved-ones.

Turn off the TV, check the thermostat… 86. Curse word. Lights out. 11:03 p.m.

I wrote this account (get it… account?) as an exercise when it occurred to me how much of my daily joy and pain is tied directly to NUMBERS. Why must we quantify our value based on hard numbers… from how much we weigh to how much we earn? From how many virtual “friends” we have to how many people visited or commented on our blog today? For 1 day I’d like to ignore these “values” … and derive my worth from that which cannot be counted. Who’s with me?