Mostly Unimportant Ramblings
I'm starting to realize that Twitter, however much I love using it, is a website for extremely arrogant people. I know I had a certain amount of arrogance before I used Twitter, but I feel that it's like starting a vague conversation with the expectation that someone's going to go "What's that you're on about?" And you get to tell them everything at a later point in time (because 140 characters just isn't enough to go into the intricacies of the faux nap or why on earth you're so excited over McDonald's having American Girl toys...which admittedly are totally bitchin'.)
See, the difference between this, here at LiveJournal, and Twitter is that there are so fewer people on my friends list here than people who follow me on Twitter. Even the terminology is for egomaniacs! Holy shit! I have followers, people who pretty much must read what I say on Twitter because, really, who is going to not read a one to two sentence post. It's kinda lame not to. But here, if you don't want to read something immediately, you don't have to. You can put it on hold and not worry about having to go through three or four pages before you have time to read it. It's fantastic! I follow 104 people on Twitter. That's a lot less than some people but a lot more than others. I almost always have at least two pages to go through every time I return to Twitter.
Here's another reason I know it's arrogant. (Man, I'm starting to sound like Grant; problem is, I LOVE TWITTER.) I've updated Twitter 289 times since I got it in December. I've had this journal for about five and a half years and have written 612 journal entries. That's nearly half the amount of updates in less than 15% of the time. Undeniably, it takes much less time to update stuff on Twitter because you have so little space in which to do it, but...I really don't know.
Man, I had a couple really good entries earlier this week and kinda left them out to dry, completely forgetting about 'em. Although, I'm not quite sure how much people wanted to hear, at great lengths, about how much I hated that Grant got home early from work, so there was a possibility that I wasn't going to get to have Chinese food last night. It would have worked well on Twitter, though...a few bi-polar-ish posts. Yeah. Oh, well, I missed my shot.
The other one, however, was about a night in which I actually had something resembling a life and found myself driving home from Geneva at nearly two in the morning. Yeah, um, driving west (or east, really) out there on 90 in the wee hours of the morning, in the rain, is not a fun ordeal. But it was totally worth it because I needed a night away from home. I may need another one soon (so, hopefully, Alex calls me sometime in the near-ish future). I went out to dinner at the Red Robin in Willoughby with people from work to celebrate one of my co-worker's birthday. My favorite part of that event was actually before it even started. I got there a little early, as did a couple other people (Rachel, my former assistant manager, Alex, one of my co-workers whom I never really get to see anymore, and Justin, a guy that the birthday girl (and a few other Bruegger's employees ) apparently knows). So, when the birthday girl, Katie, wasn't there, we decided to hit the (tragically pathetic) bar. Rachel's 19, so she couldn't really drink with us, but the guys ordered there Miller Lites, and I was trying to decide, tossing between getting a girly drink or sucking it up and ordering a Guinness. Guess which I did. I made the guys feel like total wusses and got myself the Guinness, and it was more delicious than any Guinness I've ever had...ever, if only because I felt superior to the guys.
Dinner was great. We got the waiters to sing their embarrassing birthday song to Katie, and she, as pretty much any other twenty year old being sung to by people she doesn't know while everyone she does know claps along in a very public place, was dutifully embarrassed...and yet she was not quite embarrassed enough to not scream with joy when she opened up her Zac Efron Rolling Stone cover tote bag. I don't get it, really...but, and if you've done what I suggested and watched A Very Potter Musical (Act 2, in particular) you'd know why, I could barely keep from giggling madly to myself. So, in the middle of it all, a few people were talking about this party they were going to and asked me to go along. I checked back at home to see if anything was going on there, and nothing, as pretty much always, was. And it was out to Geneva...eventually. What I didn't know off the bat, nor did pretty much anyone else, was that I was going to be one of the main drivers. Yeah. In my little Focus (which I'm still completely in love with...and who needs to be cleaned out, vacuumed, and all that good shit). Anyway, the party was pretty fun, but I didn't really know anyone there except the people I work with (and at that point, Justin and the other girl I drove there, Emily). However, the best part is that Alex now has my phone number and we're gonna start hanging out and shit. So, yeah. He's kind of a strange lad but unbelievably entertaining. Now, before you get any ideas in your head, like, "Ooooh, Sarah, you like him. No, you *like* like him," I don't think I do. I'm kind of over that "Guy You Work With" thing. Didn't end well for me the first time. The second, which was just a crush, has yet to stop haunting me, and the third...was just a mix of crush and the fact that I just like working with guys more (which explains a lot about a lot of my lunches sophomore year at Miami).
Well, that's about it. It's almost six now, so I need to fake wake up from this faux nap and ask Mom what's for dinner and complain that I'm hungry *now*...so, then it becomes an issue of what snack I'm going to have before I can eat dinner. Sigh. Annie, you're right, it is the hard knock life.
Damnit. Now I have that song stuck in my head. "It's the hard knock life for us/It's the hard knock life for us/Instead of treated/We get tricked/Instead of kisses/We get kicked/It's the hard knock life!"
End Transmission.
See, the difference between this, here at LiveJournal, and Twitter is that there are so fewer people on my friends list here than people who follow me on Twitter. Even the terminology is for egomaniacs! Holy shit! I have followers, people who pretty much must read what I say on Twitter because, really, who is going to not read a one to two sentence post. It's kinda lame not to. But here, if you don't want to read something immediately, you don't have to. You can put it on hold and not worry about having to go through three or four pages before you have time to read it. It's fantastic! I follow 104 people on Twitter. That's a lot less than some people but a lot more than others. I almost always have at least two pages to go through every time I return to Twitter.
Here's another reason I know it's arrogant. (Man, I'm starting to sound like Grant; problem is, I LOVE TWITTER.) I've updated Twitter 289 times since I got it in December. I've had this journal for about five and a half years and have written 612 journal entries. That's nearly half the amount of updates in less than 15% of the time. Undeniably, it takes much less time to update stuff on Twitter because you have so little space in which to do it, but...I really don't know.
Man, I had a couple really good entries earlier this week and kinda left them out to dry, completely forgetting about 'em. Although, I'm not quite sure how much people wanted to hear, at great lengths, about how much I hated that Grant got home early from work, so there was a possibility that I wasn't going to get to have Chinese food last night. It would have worked well on Twitter, though...a few bi-polar-ish posts. Yeah. Oh, well, I missed my shot.
The other one, however, was about a night in which I actually had something resembling a life and found myself driving home from Geneva at nearly two in the morning. Yeah, um, driving west (or east, really) out there on 90 in the wee hours of the morning, in the rain, is not a fun ordeal. But it was totally worth it because I needed a night away from home. I may need another one soon (so, hopefully, Alex calls me sometime in the near-ish future). I went out to dinner at the Red Robin in Willoughby with people from work to celebrate one of my co-worker's birthday. My favorite part of that event was actually before it even started. I got there a little early, as did a couple other people (Rachel, my former assistant manager, Alex, one of my co-workers whom I never really get to see anymore, and Justin, a guy that the birthday girl (and a few other Bruegger's employees ) apparently knows). So, when the birthday girl, Katie, wasn't there, we decided to hit the (tragically pathetic) bar. Rachel's 19, so she couldn't really drink with us, but the guys ordered there Miller Lites, and I was trying to decide, tossing between getting a girly drink or sucking it up and ordering a Guinness. Guess which I did. I made the guys feel like total wusses and got myself the Guinness, and it was more delicious than any Guinness I've ever had...ever, if only because I felt superior to the guys.
Dinner was great. We got the waiters to sing their embarrassing birthday song to Katie, and she, as pretty much any other twenty year old being sung to by people she doesn't know while everyone she does know claps along in a very public place, was dutifully embarrassed...and yet she was not quite embarrassed enough to not scream with joy when she opened up her Zac Efron Rolling Stone cover tote bag. I don't get it, really...but, and if you've done what I suggested and watched A Very Potter Musical (Act 2, in particular) you'd know why, I could barely keep from giggling madly to myself. So, in the middle of it all, a few people were talking about this party they were going to and asked me to go along. I checked back at home to see if anything was going on there, and nothing, as pretty much always, was. And it was out to Geneva...eventually. What I didn't know off the bat, nor did pretty much anyone else, was that I was going to be one of the main drivers. Yeah. In my little Focus (which I'm still completely in love with...and who needs to be cleaned out, vacuumed, and all that good shit). Anyway, the party was pretty fun, but I didn't really know anyone there except the people I work with (and at that point, Justin and the other girl I drove there, Emily). However, the best part is that Alex now has my phone number and we're gonna start hanging out and shit. So, yeah. He's kind of a strange lad but unbelievably entertaining. Now, before you get any ideas in your head, like, "Ooooh, Sarah, you like him. No, you *like* like him," I don't think I do. I'm kind of over that "Guy You Work With" thing. Didn't end well for me the first time. The second, which was just a crush, has yet to stop haunting me, and the third...was just a mix of crush and the fact that I just like working with guys more (which explains a lot about a lot of my lunches sophomore year at Miami).
Well, that's about it. It's almost six now, so I need to fake wake up from this faux nap and ask Mom what's for dinner and complain that I'm hungry *now*...so, then it becomes an issue of what snack I'm going to have before I can eat dinner. Sigh. Annie, you're right, it is the hard knock life.
Damnit. Now I have that song stuck in my head. "It's the hard knock life for us/It's the hard knock life for us/Instead of treated/We get tricked/Instead of kisses/We get kicked/It's the hard knock life!"
End Transmission.