Why I Hate Facebook: Reason 5647

Alright, I'll admit it, I'm an old fogie. I am not a fan of the social networking (and yes, I see the irony in the fact that I am writing this on Myspace). Seriously, though, I just don't get it. I am not interested in collecting online friends. I have no desire to put my whole life out there for the world to see. Why else would I wear a gorilla suit?

I started this business out of boredom, and my entry into this world of social awkwardness still makes me squirm. It was bad enough when someone from high school found me on Facebook and identified me as a friend. I wrote her a note to say hello, you know, like you would for anyone that you haven't spoken to in 15 years that suddenly pops back into your life. Did she respond? No. But, months later, she apparently caught wind of the fact that I went out on the town with other people that she also went to high school with (and doesn't actually talk to) and sent me a public comment chiding me for not calling and inviting her. WE AREN'T FRIENDS! Just because you found me online and added me to your collection of pictures does not mean that I now I have to reach out to you when I'm in your area (not to mention the fact that I don't even know her phone number....AND WE HAVEN'T SPOKEN IN 15 YEARS!)

Wow, I thought I was over that one. Guess not.

So what's the affront this time? Well, it could be all of the people that apparently went to high school with me that keep trying to add me as a friend. Unfortunately, I have no idea who they are. It isn't that I have a bad memory. I know who I hung out with in school. So why can't I remember them? Well, I did graduate in a class of 900. Oh yeah, and because I don't know these people! Just because we are from the same hometown does not mean that I have any obligation to add them to my online friend list. I really don't know who these people are!

Oh, and don't get me started on the girl from Minnesota who shares my same name. Apparently we should be friends simply because we have the same name. I say nay!

None of these reasons, however great they are, are Reason 5647. Nope. Not a one of 'em.

So what is it?

My friend's ex-husband just added me as a friend. Uhhh...last time I checked we weren't friends. Our friendship was based only on the fact that he was married to my friend. Once they split up (and stopped communicating with each other), my interest in friendship with him was gone. Sure I chose a side, but what else was I to do? She and I have been friends since the 7th grade. He didn't show up until the 11th grade. My side was chosen a long time ago.

And it all boils down to is the fact that I hate social networking. I hate friend collectors. And I fail to see why having thousands of "friends" makes you any less of a socially awkward shut-in.

Or perhaps I'm being a little too harsh.

The Goldfish Are Gone

That's right.  Once again, I proved that i can NOT be trusted with snack food.  Sure it seemed like a good idea on Sunday night to purchase the big box of goldfish crackers.  You know, I'd save some money, and I'd have a handy snack.

Well, apparently, the handy snack turned into my main meal for a week.  Yes, I did eat goldfish for dinner on Monday and all day long on Tuesday (and nothing else...shy for a couple pieces of fruit).  And yes, I DID feel some kind of terrible the next day.  But that didn't stop me from eating more on Wednesday and making it my dinner on Thursday.

And now they're gone.

And I feel disgusting.

Lesson learned...again.

Best. Cover Letter. Ever.

I was just thinking about this cover letter I wrote last fall in response to an ad posted by a new winery looking for someone to give tours. They stressed that knowledge of wine wasn't as important as having a great personality. I took that and ran with it....and they called me immediately.

Of course, they were too far away, and I didn't have enough availability. But still....the letter is a piece of art.

Enjoy!

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Dear Human Resources,

While browsing Craigslist, I ran across your ad for a Tasting Room Sales position in Alexander Valley. As a wine enthusiast, seasoned sales professional, and all-around people person, I couldn't pass this up, so I'd like to apply.

My resume is attached for your perusal, and, as you will see, I have extensive experience in the music business. I'm eager to learn about another business and have fun at the same time. I believe that working at a winery will give me just that. Since my resume outlines my "corporate" experience, I'd like to share with you some of the highlights of my customer service career. My first job was at an ice cream shop, which really prepared me for conducting wine tastings. Why? It's simple really. As you may know, people like to sample different ice creams before deciding upon the perfect cone combination, and, as the counter help, I worked hard to ensure that each customer made a well-informed decision. While in college, I also worked at Nordstrom and the Gap, thus giving me more customer service experience.

My favorite position, however, was being a campus tour guide. I enjoy few things more than giving tours and/or presentations, and you will be hard-pressed to find someone that can talk as much as I can. In fact, I've been known to give impromptu tours of San Francisco to tourists that ask me for directions or want to know a fun-fact about whatever building might be in front of us. It's just who I am.

Basically, I enjoy people, and, since theater is a hobby, I do well in front of groups. As I mentioned before, I think your open position sounds like fun, and I believe that I could be an asset to your tasting room.

Thanks for your time. I hope to hear from you.

Sincerely,

Cardelia Boardeaux
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Okay, so I didn't mention that I almost got fired from the ice cream gig because I was unable to make milkshakes at lightspeed, or that I was rarely allowed to work the front counter because I tended to drop ice cream on people, and, really, my main job there was to wash dishes and assemble salads. But that's neither here nor there.

And, you're right, at no point did I mention that my stints at both Nordstrom and the Gap were for a mere 3 weeks. No, I didn't say anything about how I spent my last day at Nordstrom folding socks in the backroom while the 18-year-old manager popped in to make sure I understood that I needed to match socks of the same color (which I did understand, but she liked to lord her authority over me because she was an evil, evil girl...who just so happened to be the receptionist at the insurance company I temped at one year later...and she was much nicer and seemed to think we were friends at Nordies). And, yes, when I was at the Gap, I was THE WORST EMPLOYEE EVER. No, I didn't arrive on time, and yes, I did yell at the manager in front of customers. And I may have been in at war with some short, fat girl named Cynthia who would knock over all the piles of clothes that I had JUST folded, and say, "You should fold those." But is any of that REALLY important?

I didn't think so.

Introducing...

Cardelia Boardeaux!

After searching my house, I finally located my picture of Cardelia Boardeaux. She is pictured with one of the game show contestants/writer/producers of her television program.

Isn't she lovely?

I almost forgot about that Esprit purse hanging on the closet door. Man, I loved that purse....and my Odie piggy bank.

How Could You NOT Need a Gorilla Suit?

Well, people, my gorilla suit is in high demand. I'm "renting" it out to someone who needs it for a gorilla go-go dancer to be part of a performance by a band called The Chimpanzees. When we discussed the rental, we had a very funny conversation, and it here is a snippet.

Gorilla Suit Borrower: Hey so where did you get your gorilla suit?
Me: Oh, it was part of my entry packet for the Great Gorilla Run. The whole reason I entered the race was because I got a gorilla suit to keep keep for all eternity.
GSB: Maybe I'll go on Craigslist see if someone is selling theirs.
Me: Really? You think? Why would anybody sell a gorilla suit? How could you not need one?
GSB: Well, Cardelia, some people aren't as forward-thinking as us.
Me: Some people are really weird.
GSB: So true.

Now I suppose you are wondering, why does one need a gorilla suit? And here are a few examples of how a gorilla suit comes in handy.

1. You always have a standby costume for all occasions.
2. You are always available should a local record store need to use a gorilla in one of their commercials.
3. It's cold outside, but you don't want to wear a coat. A gorilla suit on the other hand...
4. You ate too much pizza, so now your clothes don't fit. But the gorilla suit does.
5. Bad hair day, pimple on your nose....all these things can be hidden by a gorilla mask.
6. You never know when a Monkees cover band might need a gorilla go-go dancer.

Have I forgotten any?

I Ride MUNI for the Drama

And here I thought it was going to be just another boring MUNI ride…

Last Friday, I was on my way home, and I went down to catch the J-Church home. Lucky for me, I scored a seat in the waiting area, so I could give my feet a rest. You see, I chose to wear cute shoes that are easy on the eyes, but not so easy on the feet. After waiting about 20 minutes for a train, ye old J-Church finally decided to show up…just like Old Faithful, except for the part where it always shows up on time.

I boarded the train with the hordes of others that were waiting, and I was forced to stand and hold the bar above my head. As I stood there, I looked down at the guy sitting in front of me, and he was reading a travel book on Peru. A guy standing next to me, wearing his gym clothes, reached across me and tapped Mr. Peru on the shoulder.

"When do you leave for Peru?" Gym Guy asked.

"Oh, hey," Mr. Peru looked up. "I leave in four days. How are you?"

"Good." As Gym Guy responded, he backed away and shifted his body away from Mr. Peru.

Mr. Peru continued. "I've been really slammed lately. It's hard getting ready for this trip. I'm having deal with the fact that I'm totally ending my life in San Francisco."

"Oh."

"Hey, you went to India for a long time didn't you?" Gym Guy didn't answer. "Didn't you go to India? I'm wondering about your trip because I may be going there for work. How long were you there?"

Reluctantly, Gym Guy replied, "It was about 10 years ago. I'm sure things have changed."

"Nah, it's India. It hasn't changed that much. Where did you go?" Still nothing. "I'm hoping to extend my trip and travel."

"Oh."

And that's when Mr. Peru decided to stop trying since even though Gym Guy started the conversation, he clearly wasn't interested in actually participating. We pulled up to the next stop, and the girl next to Mr. Peru stood up from her seat, complimented my shoes (because they really are cute), and I took her seat. As I sat there, I kind of zoned out and didn't pay much attention to anything that was happening around me. Little did I know that drama was unfolding right before my eyes. We pulled into the third stop, when I noticed Gym Guy talking to Mr. Peru. He was angrily pointing and talking about how awful someone was. As I listened in, I realized that he was yelling at Mr. Peru.

Gym Guy stood over Mr. Peru, pointing at him accusingly. "You suck, you know that right? What you did was wrong. You're an asshole, and I hope you know that."

Mr. Peru just sat there, looking somewhat surprised (though not entirely). "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"No. You can't just weasel out of this. I hope you got all of your stuff out of that apartment when you came back from Madrid. You deserve whatever comes to you."

"I'm not going to talk about this here." Mr. Peru was still fairly calm, trying to not make a scene on the packed train.

"You don't have to talk. I'm talking. I want you to know that you're a jackass."

"I'm not going to apologize for anything I did…"

Gym Guy cut him off. "You don't have to. I needed to make my peace with you, and I saw you on the train. That's the only reason I said anything to you. I just want you to know that you're a real shitbag."

And then there was silence. Now, had everything gone as Gym Guy planned (or at least, as I believe he planned), the train would have reached the next stop just as he finished his tirade against Mr. Peru. Unfortunately for him, the train made an unexpected stop in the tunnel for what felt like an eternity, but was probably just five minutes. Still, five minutes is a long time to sit there in awkward silence after you've just handed someone's ass back to them on a pupu platter.

No one spoke. No one. Mr. Peru stared at his hands in silence. As I sat next to him, I desperately wanted to ask him what he'd done while he was in Madrid. But then I remembered that time I pitched a big screaming/crying/jumping-up-and-down fit in the airport and felt the need to apologize to the gate agent an hour later for my behavior when a nosy passenger started harassing me, trying to force me into telling her what I did that required an apology…and I didn't want to be that person. So, I just wondered quietly to myself.

The train finally started moving and we eventually made it to the next stop. Gym Guy was off the train in seconds, and Mr. Peru jumped up, trying to grab him, saying, "We need to talk." There was a part of me that wanted to trail them, but I wanted to get home more than I wanted to witness any more drama.

Once they were off the train, things went back to normal on the train. Well, sort of normal. At one point, the girl standing next to me handed me her cell phone and asked me to listen to her voice mail and tell her the number that was left on it. Thanks to my superior listening skills, I managed to decipher the digits. Then, as I finished that task, I overhead some crazy guy talking to someone else near the exit. I didn't want to look in their direction fearing that I might fall instantly and madly in love with him. What was Romeo saying? "There sure are a bunch of beautiful white women on this train. Look at that white woman. She's beautiful. See all these beautiful white women. I like white women. I like beautiful white women. She's beautiful. Look at that beautiful white woman."

After hearing this for entirely too long, the crazy guy got off the train. I then felt it was safe to look over and saw (as I suspected) that he was a crazy, dirty, homeless man. Then I looked over to see to whom he was talking. She was a regular-looking Asian woman. Boy was I wrong about there being any possible friendship between those two. Okay, so I suppose a normal-looking Asian woman COULD be friends with a crazy homeless man who clearly likes white woman over other ethnicities, but it really doesn't seem likely.

And then, after all of that…the train made it to my stop. I scrambled off the train, went home, changed shoes, and headed to a faux baby shower. What a ride!

And what did I learn? Well, I learned my favorite new word that may be on par with, if not better than, "asshat", and that's….."shitbag".

Maybe I DO Belong on the Short Bus

Okay, so I'm pretty open about all of the bad choices I make in regards to food--especially suspicious food that I find in random places, and you'd think that given all of the experience I have acquired through trial and error, that I wouldn't consider eating something that seemed odd or unusual...but you'd be wrong.

Yesterday I took a quick trip to the grocery store because I decided that I needed to start making my own lunch instead of relying on a diet of bread, cheese, and cake. It's doing nothing for my figure, nor is my lack of exercise, but we'll get to that later. I jumped back on the healthy train and it's full steam ahead!

Or is it?

Okay, on with the show... I went to the grocery store to purchase some sandwich fixings to add to the fruit I purchased the day before. I gathered up the bread, turkey, and lettuce. Then I wandered over to the tomatoes. To be honest, I'm not sure if we can eat tomatoes, but I've always thrown caution to the wind in regard to food poisoning. And, well, I teased some random guy at the store the day before for buying 10 pounds of tomatoes. If he was willing to celebrate the end of an epidemic, I was too.

I sorted through the tomatoes and selected a couple, when something caught my eye. There was a plastic carton with a few "food" items in it. It wasn't even half-full, nor was it marked to indicate what was inside. My first instinct was to assume it was candy. My second instinct was to want to eat it. And my third instinct was to believe that it was a free sample. I quickly looked around the produce section (which was packed), trying to determine whether or not I could partake in this curious free sample that was randomly placed in the middle of the tomatoes, was unmarked, and of mysterious origin.

As I reached for the lid, I suddenly remembered that dreadful day at the QFC in Seattle when I ate something that I determined to be a free sample in the middle of the cheese section, and it turned out to be something rancid. Reluctantly, I put my hand down and quickly walked away so as to avoid any temptation. In all honesty, if the place wasn't so crowded I probably would loitered by the bananas until I saw a clearing, then would have tried a bite, and if history holds, I definitely would have regretted it.

What's wrong with me? And what was it anyway? Maybe I'll drop by today to see if it's still there.