We think you're a joke.

Before I go on, let me start by stating that I was indeed born pessimistic. In my head, I have always pictured my birth being lightning stricken. As if for some reason, God was giving out high fives for having succeeded in getting this stubborn, hairy little critter out of heaven. Along with my excellent command in negative thinking, I was also bestowed with the gift of effectively spreading it. And so without much ado, here I am once again, annoyed and determined to pass it on to anyone willing to read on. If you were having a crappy day, well then let's do "What up?" Barney Stinson style but if otherwise, then I suggest you go back to discretely stalking people on Facebook.  

Over time I have managed to master the art of tasteful bashing and what gets on my Twinkie, this time, is the impeccable openness and pretension that a third of the population are quick to publicize. It's bad enough to overhear tall tales coming from the aged on occasions and/or under the influence of alcohol (for Charlie Sheen, narcotics) but to see it oh so readily available for the masses to witness, is worthy of a Nobel Prize for Intolerability.

Putting it blatantly, no one really cares. With the exception of sincere (I cringe because even that, I doubt.) family and friends, majority of those checking you out are just curious and your ready display makes you an all too easy target for ridicule and the laughing stock of weekly drinking sessions. Yes, we know you are well traveled, well fed and well dressed. You made your point the first time and again and again and again. 

I write to inform and to make the concerned public aware of the extent of life (if you have one) sharing with the world. A photo kissing your average looking girl is fine but to be in extra large collage form. Please. We know what tongues look like. Speaking for a good number, we also respect the fact that you are probably cuckoo in love and what not, but we don't really need to read the exchange of messages that are borderline text sex. And the snide bitchy comments being broadcast when you find yourself faced with an adversary equally bored (Come on now, seriously?), a word of advice: if the red line under the word you managed to cough out is still there, you aren't smarter than a fifth grader.

I don't like being mean if I can help it, contrary to belief upon reading the above paragraphs, but do everyone a favor, yourself included and keep some things on the down low. Then again if you do enjoy the attention, let me do a slow clap while standing up. I admire your bravery and evident facial thickness. Continue on, for you provide Jerry Springer-esque entertainment to your 2000 something followers. 

As for me, I am thankful for the brilliant advent of the "Unsubscribe from..." button. Kudos, social media! Now, that makes me think... Why didn't I come up with that?

Here's to my first rant.

Dogs.

That was the first thing I wanted to type after setting up this excuse-for-a blog. After a good 30-45 minutes of making sure that it looked as minimal as it possibly could, I finally decided to start with post number one and all I could think of was the word 'Dogs'. As I try to make some sense of this canine fixation, I am stuck listening to the broken exhaust of my Toshiba clicking away and my 8 month old making funny noises... (pause) Okay, She's still breathing. 

Back to dogs, I was at a friend's house earlier today and we were watching his brother, a dog trainer of some sort, and I couldn't help but feel envious. Yup, that's me. While everyone else was busy whipping out their cameras, taking videos, oohing and ahhing, I was bummed out with the reality that at 24, I was doing nothing- literally and figuratively while this guy was pursuing something he liked and being really good at it was just a plus. I just knew as soon as he'd positively reinforced his dog bud, that I had to find my 'thing' and SOON.

I've never been good at anything, just mediocre and honestly, that bites. Out of a billion things I can discover in order to probably excel in or at least be within 80 percentile of, here I am, whining about how sucky my day was and how I ruined the dog watching experience for myself. Thinking of it, I may be probably good at something- bitching. (No pun intended for the dogs.) 

With in halfway of this post you were probably asking yourself what's this blog for anyway and to this I reply that this blog's main intention is to serve as written proof of my attempt in finding bliss, whether it's a 10 year long career in telemarketing (say what?) or simply enjoying an ice cold diet 7-up (Yes, I'm also trying to lose a few, I've got too many things going on for me, don't I?) all I'm looking for is an inkling, an idea, and hopefully, the peace of mind of no longer having to ask myself, "Why didn't I come up with that?".