Okay.  So Mr. @Donchiefnerd is back from vacation, and I am inclined to honor his request to write more on Tumblr.  However, everything I have to say sounds pretty self-pitying and silly (read: even though I really like most of you, I’m terrified to open up for fear of being judged/betraying the Twitter persona I’ve erected [hur hur, erected].  But seriously, if you want a great example, check out @Miss_Cook’s work, which has been frankly phenomenal.  Until I’m comfortable putting myself that far out there, prepare for lists like this and possibly an upcoming grilled cheese primer and review of breads.

Here’s a list of language quirks that annoy the hell out of me.

1) At the end of the day / it is what it is: George Carlin (I think.  my corrupted child-memory converts all worthy language-based comedians into George Carlin) used to do a bit about his own language pet-peeves and these were part of it.  Anyway, I never understood the big deal until I befriended a person who uses these phrases in EACH AND EVERY CONVERSATION WE HAVE, AND OH MY GOD SHUT UP.  Or at least say something meaningful, or with a little passion behind it.  ”It is what it is?”  Can’t we say “It is what it isn’t” and play Deconstructionists for a bit?

2) Typing like you’re a goddamn LOLCat. I will never appreciate humor from macros of any sort (o hai tumblr, Bad Decision Wolf or whateverthefuck can haz kidney organ failure plz) and as such, if you are “full of win,” call your pet a “kitteh”, or say “ell oh ell” aloud (occasional passes for irony, but don’t push your luck) Ceiling Cat is watching me hit Unfollow and walk away at a moderate pace. Contact me when your testicles descend.

3) Breaking into a foreign language randomly in the middle of a sentence. First of all, I’d like to point out that I originally typed “in the middle of a sandwich,” which would have been incorrect.  Breaking out into a foreign language randomly in the middle of sandwich is perfectly normal; who hasn’t cried out, “Donde esta la biblioteca!  Mein oncle esta un amo amas amat amamus amatis amant” in the throes of a fine turkey-avocado club with the perfect mayo-to-mustard ratio.

But seriously, stick to one language per sentence.  Preferably, per conversation.  Particularly, if you have to keep translating yourself for your conversation partner’s benefit.  (NOTE: Using English words that are too long or difficult for your conversation partner to understand, so you feel smarter than them, is acceptable, because that’s something I do.) NEXT:

4) Answering a multi-variable question with “Yes.” i.e.

Me: Would you prefer Gouda or Gruyere on your grilled cheese?”

You: (smirking) Yes.

Me: (takes my buttered skillet elsewhere)

(note: this individual is clearly a dangerous sociopath and should be avoided at all costs.  Gouda AND Gruyere on a grilled cheese?  really?)

5) Babbling meaninglessly

OH SHIIIIIIIIII-

Tonight, I find myself wishing someone would instant-message me, just so I can pointedly ignore him.  This can’t be healthy.

But Tweeting vaguely and euphemistically about having sex with your new girlfriend when you know that you are followed by your ex who is still in love with you…that just isn’t done.  Or at least it shouldn’t be done.  I wish I could report him to the support team for Gross Breach of Human Etiquette.  but of course, if you could do that, Twitter would only have .4% of its current users.

So…my friend Brian tells me that I need to update my tumblr, but someone more famous than me did one of those self-pitying rant posts a few days ago, so now I feel like I would be stealing her idea.

But I also feel like people on Twitter would like me more if they got to know me, which you can’t really do in 140 characters.  I get the impression that people think I’m snobby or pretentious, which I probably am.  For my entire life, I’ve thought in a different way than the people around me, so I’ve never really fit in, and Twitter/Tumblr is no exception.  I’m not a mom, or married, or a professional working in an office, getting drunk of weekends (I would, but money, transportation, and living with my parents are issues) or having relationships.  So what kind of persona can a slumming semi-intellectual with middling emotional problems even pull off on something like Twitter?  ”Over-analytical, pretentious hipster chick”, as someone called me yesterday, is as close as it comes.

Anyway, the bottom line is, I spent the first sixteen years or so of my life not caring if people liked me.  Then, I went to college and met people who liked me.  Now that I’m alone, I want very much for people to like me.  What the fuck.

Why do I only write decently after 1am?  Finally, something to blame my low profile on.

Emmy wept bitterly, her dreams of Midwestern domestic bliss shattered by the promise of big-city lights and half-Asian pussy for the man upon whom she had placed so much of her happiness.  Blinking, she cocked her laser rifle.  Today, blood would rain on Omega-25.

Dude.  If you’re going to sleep with the girl who killed your father, and that girl is the daughter of your father’s mistress, for God’s sake wear a condom.

Otherwise, the guy who wrote Babel will make a boring, inconsequential and pointless movie out of it.

Technically, this is a spoiler, but since I slept through at least 15 minutes of the first act and still figured out the movie’s surprise twist ending before the halfway point, it doesn’t seem like giving much up.

P.S. This mean that no, I did not get to see Sorority Row today.  Instead I went to an advanced screening of this in Bethesda.  But I got to eat Potbelly’s sandwiches and talk pretentiously about films with my dad, so that was nice.

If you get engaged after meeting once and dating for a month over the internet…

YOU’RE A DUMBASS.

(or rather, to be politically correct, this is a dumbass decision.  You could be a rocket scientist, I don’t know you.)

I don’t care how famous you are on Twitter.

And this seems to be an unpopular opinion!  Have you all gone mad?

Look, I’ll all in favor of love.  Be in love if you want.  But handling it this way does not make sense to me.  Maybe I’m jaded in the whole of my 22 years, burned by a couple of long-distance relationships, one of which saddled me with all kinds of complexes—just wait for the day that one gets posted on Tumblr…

It makes me crazy (well, crazier) that many of my best friends will never be able to marry but any straight couple with a Skype connection and misplaced priorities can do whatever they please.

This has been today’s Mid-Identity-Crisis Editorial of the Day.

I’m going to see Sorority Row tomorrow.  I don’t even care. Everyone else in the theater and I can be worthless pieces of wasted human life together.