I'm not an internet hater. I love how accessible and easy the interweb makes life. I sometimes hate the drama it causes, but that a fifty page post for another day. But just like with anything wonderful, there has to be a catch. My catch?
Passwords.
How am I supposed to remember all my passwords?
Seriously.
Everything requires a password these days. And if you follow the password rules, you aren't supposed to use the same ones for everything, or even anything. If you have online banking, facebook, twitter, instagram, all your bills, netflix, credit cards, amazon, ebay, paypal, various memberships (like the jelly of the month club), every app or game on your phone and ipad, email, your other email, and your other email, you have your work cut out for you. It basically means you need a different password for about 50 different sites/accounts. AND some of those sites make you change them all the time!
I'm sure there's an app that can organize them all, but you probably need a password for that, too.
You can't use your pets' names, your birthday, anniversary, address or any other things that are readily available. Instead, you have to think of unique and obscure passwords for each account.
One of my best friends from high school whom I also roomed with for two years in college had the most unexpected email password ever. She was (and is) one of the most lovely people you will ever meet. Very kind, sweet, innocent (in a good way), and generally wonderful. I can't remember exactly why, but one day, for whatever reason, she told me her email password. It was "sexypanties." I was floored. Totally didn't see that coming and never would have expected it. It was the perfect password. (I really hope it's not still her password because now Andi can go hack her account.)
I probably should start taking plays from my friend's password playbook. My next set of passwords will probably be all about how much I love cilantro, sci-fi movies and reading.
Crap. Now I've told you my secrets.
Go ahead, h@( k @w@y.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Nosey Encounters
This post is a little more personal than I usually like to get, but I can't help it. There is something that's really bugging me and I need to vent about it - so naturally I've chosen a group of people I might know.
You see, I have a zit in my nose.
Seriously.
This. Is. Happening.
And you know what? It hurts like the dickens, hades and any other crazy word or cliche phrase you've ever heard. It's right at the tip of my nose. It's on the inside, but you can see the redness from the outside (read: I look like Rudolph). And it's the kind of pain that brings tears to your eyes automatically. We are talking all kinds of ugly here, people.
It hurts to flare my nostrils, which I apparently do much more than I previously realized. It hurts to sneeze. It even hurts to kiss my husband (Arab nose problems). And it really hurts to tend to my allergy induced snot stream every 5 minutes.
I'm having a great week.
On the more philosophical side of serious, I'm thinking of using my condition as an object lesson. Something along the lines of, "The problem is on the inside, but you can see it rearing it's ugly head on the outside."
You go ahead and let that sink in.
I'll be back when I'm done crying. Or when I master the art of concealer on my nose.
You see, I have a zit in my nose.
Seriously.
This. Is. Happening.
And you know what? It hurts like the dickens, hades and any other crazy word or cliche phrase you've ever heard. It's right at the tip of my nose. It's on the inside, but you can see the redness from the outside (read: I look like Rudolph). And it's the kind of pain that brings tears to your eyes automatically. We are talking all kinds of ugly here, people.
It hurts to flare my nostrils, which I apparently do much more than I previously realized. It hurts to sneeze. It even hurts to kiss my husband (Arab nose problems). And it really hurts to tend to my allergy induced snot stream every 5 minutes.
I'm having a great week.
On the more philosophical side of serious, I'm thinking of using my condition as an object lesson. Something along the lines of, "The problem is on the inside, but you can see it rearing it's ugly head on the outside."
You go ahead and let that sink in.
I'll be back when I'm done crying. Or when I master the art of concealer on my nose.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Statistical Encounters
It seems as though there is an abundance of data out there. People study and record data on just about everything these days. You can look up studies on people, frequency of freak accidents, likelihood of yada yada yada AND so on and so forth. Chances are, if you've wonder about it, someone has studied it and conveniently cataloged their maybe-accurate findings and posted them on the internet.
Here's what I want to know: which stall do people choose when they use a public restroom and why?
This is a serious question. I checked the interwebs, and I'm not the first to inquire about such things. But most people merely polled their friends and posted their findings. They quote people like Vicki who say, "I choose the stall farthest from the door because it's usually the cleanest."
Interesting thought, Vicki.
I have this theory that personality type plays a significant role in the stall selection process.
Do type-A people usually make similar choices? "Second stall from the left. Every time."
What about only children? "Whichever one I want."
Or type-A people who go to the bathroom 7 times a morning? Do they always go to the same stall? What if it's taken? What then? The horror!
I don't know Vicki, so I have no idea how she fits in this picture, but I might know you.
So, you, what do you do?
Here's what I want to know: which stall do people choose when they use a public restroom and why?
This is a serious question. I checked the interwebs, and I'm not the first to inquire about such things. But most people merely polled their friends and posted their findings. They quote people like Vicki who say, "I choose the stall farthest from the door because it's usually the cleanest."
Interesting thought, Vicki.
I have this theory that personality type plays a significant role in the stall selection process.
Do type-A people usually make similar choices? "Second stall from the left. Every time."
What about only children? "Whichever one I want."
Or type-A people who go to the bathroom 7 times a morning? Do they always go to the same stall? What if it's taken? What then? The horror!
I don't know Vicki, so I have no idea how she fits in this picture, but I might know you.
So, you, what do you do?
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Fly Encounters
Person,
The church was a polling place yesterday. This means nothing to me (since I don't vote here), except that it meant the church doors near my office were wide open all day. Why does that matter?
There are currently five flies in my office.
Did you hear me?
FIVE FLIES.
I can't handle it*.
*"It" may be defined as:
The swooping.
The diving.
The buzzing.
The puke they supposedly distribute with each landing.
The contaminated snacks.
The taunting glares they give me with their million eyes.
The way they swiftly wiggle their front legs.
I am not in the habit of asking "why" questions, but this is forcing me to make an exception.
Why, God? Why did you make these insects? What do they do for the earth? Why did you send them to my office?
If God were to answer via email, I think it may have a heading like this:
To: erin
From: God@aol.com
Subject: Re: That patience you prayed about
ugh.
p.s. clearly God would use aol as his email provider. He's had email since the dial-up days. The only other option would be the Yahoo variant "Yahweh," as illustrated in Bruce Almighty.
p.p.s. If your office is infested with flies, you may think about putting strips of sticky-side-up masking tape all over your desk and computer to trap the pests. This is a crafty thought, but it will not work and the flies will laugh at you as they dance on your snares.
The church was a polling place yesterday. This means nothing to me (since I don't vote here), except that it meant the church doors near my office were wide open all day. Why does that matter?
There are currently five flies in my office.
Did you hear me?
FIVE FLIES.
I can't handle it*.
*"It" may be defined as:
The swooping.
The diving.
The buzzing.
The puke they supposedly distribute with each landing.
The contaminated snacks.
The taunting glares they give me with their million eyes.
The way they swiftly wiggle their front legs.
I am not in the habit of asking "why" questions, but this is forcing me to make an exception.
Why, God? Why did you make these insects? What do they do for the earth? Why did you send them to my office?
If God were to answer via email, I think it may have a heading like this:
To: erin
From: God@aol.com
Subject: Re: That patience you prayed about
ugh.
p.s. clearly God would use aol as his email provider. He's had email since the dial-up days. The only other option would be the Yahoo variant "Yahweh," as illustrated in Bruce Almighty.
p.p.s. If your office is infested with flies, you may think about putting strips of sticky-side-up masking tape all over your desk and computer to trap the pests. This is a crafty thought, but it will not work and the flies will laugh at you as they dance on your snares.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Voicemail Encounters
I have decided on a new cell phone policy:
If you call me, and I don't answer or miss your call, it would be really helpful if you would wait about 2 minutes before placing another call.
Two main reasons this should be the law:
1. Most of the time when I don't answer - and it's a reasonable hour - it's because I didn't get to my phone in time. I'm going to try and call you right back. If I get your voicemail, a possibly endless game of phone tag will begin.
2. If you try to call me more than once in five minutes, I will think there is an emergency (or maybe our favorite song is on the radio). If I think there is an emergency, I will be trying to call you. If we call each other at the same time multiple times in a row, panic will ensue. If panic ensues, my imagination will start going down the list of possible terrible things you could be calling about. If my brain goes down that road, there's no telling where it will end. When we finally do connect via magical-portable-calling devices, and you tell me you just wanted to remind me there is a new episode of Modern Family on tonight, I will be furious with you. Why? Well because you made me panic and think you were in distress. Also, because I already know about the new Mod Fam episode. How do I know? Because I love the show. Also, because Eric Stonestreet and I are friends and we tailgate together. Duh. See:
Your adherence to this new policy/law is greatly appreciated.
Please and thank you.
If you call me, and I don't answer or miss your call, it would be really helpful if you would wait about 2 minutes before placing another call.
Two main reasons this should be the law:
1. Most of the time when I don't answer - and it's a reasonable hour - it's because I didn't get to my phone in time. I'm going to try and call you right back. If I get your voicemail, a possibly endless game of phone tag will begin.
2. If you try to call me more than once in five minutes, I will think there is an emergency (or maybe our favorite song is on the radio). If I think there is an emergency, I will be trying to call you. If we call each other at the same time multiple times in a row, panic will ensue. If panic ensues, my imagination will start going down the list of possible terrible things you could be calling about. If my brain goes down that road, there's no telling where it will end. When we finally do connect via magical-portable-calling devices, and you tell me you just wanted to remind me there is a new episode of Modern Family on tonight, I will be furious with you. Why? Well because you made me panic and think you were in distress. Also, because I already know about the new Mod Fam episode. How do I know? Because I love the show. Also, because Eric Stonestreet and I are friends and we tailgate together. Duh. See:
Your adherence to this new policy/law is greatly appreciated.
Please and thank you.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Moanday Encounters
Things I have learned/realized today:
1. Someone left a letter out when they were spelling "Monday." Clearly it should be called "moan-day" instead. Anyone who cares to argue with me on this should wait until tomorrow.
2. I have on my navy blue watch today. I've had it for two years and worn it about 3 times a week. I just now realized the only numbers that are missing are 2, 6 and 10. If any teenage drivers have this watch the "10 and 2" rule will be super confusing for them.
3. There are too many drugs that start with a Z sound.
4. There is a big difference between telling someone you took a Zyrtec or Zantac and accidentally telling them you took Xanex.
5. People are either freakishly good or absolutely terrible at hiding their true emotions with facial expressions.
6. If you are talking to someone who is bad at controlling facial expressions, and you get your prescription drugs confused AND you tell them you took two Xanex and it didn't help you at all, you will feel judged. Very, very judged.
Happy Moanday, reader.
Ugh.
1. Someone left a letter out when they were spelling "Monday." Clearly it should be called "moan-day" instead. Anyone who cares to argue with me on this should wait until tomorrow.
2. I have on my navy blue watch today. I've had it for two years and worn it about 3 times a week. I just now realized the only numbers that are missing are 2, 6 and 10. If any teenage drivers have this watch the "10 and 2" rule will be super confusing for them.
3. There are too many drugs that start with a Z sound.
4. There is a big difference between telling someone you took a Zyrtec or Zantac and accidentally telling them you took Xanex.
5. People are either freakishly good or absolutely terrible at hiding their true emotions with facial expressions.
6. If you are talking to someone who is bad at controlling facial expressions, and you get your prescription drugs confused AND you tell them you took two Xanex and it didn't help you at all, you will feel judged. Very, very judged.
Happy Moanday, reader.
Ugh.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Hateful Encounters
Wow. Haven't posted since April? I need to send myself to blogging summer school next year.
So sorry to go MIA on you, reader (mostly Peyton). I shall try and do better (said every person who ever stunk at blogging).
I posted quite a while ago about my disdain for the use of the word favorite. If you're using it correctly, you only get one. We butcher it all the time. Let me see if I can find it... ah ha, here it is.
Well today, let's discuss the haters.
The Plain White T's gave us all a mother-like lecture with their lyrics, "hate is a strong word, but I really really really don't like you." Much like your favorites, it's probably also best not to hate everything. I mean, people today hate so much stuff! People, places, food, movies, colors, cars, politics, anything their brother says... Don't get me wrong, if the color orange inspires deep emotional disdain and you can't stand to look at it, that's hate. You go ahead and hate orange. But probably most of us just really prefer a different color - no hate, just preference.
I have this wonderful dear friend who once literally saved my life, and she has this great game: The Hate Game. Basically you just say you hate things no one would ever hate. It's fabulous and hilarious. And it makes me think about how stupid I sound when I complain about small things. Here are some examples of hate game possibilities:
- You know what I hate? Chairs. Chairs are dumb. They are everywhere. And they have legs. So annoying.
- I really hate buttons. Buttons are lame. You have to like, press them all the time. Ugh.
- I hate cups. Cups are the worst. They always spill things and you have to hold them. Cups are gross.
- Do you know what I hate? Pillows. They take up so much room. Everyone has 50 of them in their house. I hate pillows.
Get it? When in the right mood, this game can turn your day around.
So, what do you hate?
So sorry to go MIA on you, reader (mostly Peyton). I shall try and do better (said every person who ever stunk at blogging).
I posted quite a while ago about my disdain for the use of the word favorite. If you're using it correctly, you only get one. We butcher it all the time. Let me see if I can find it... ah ha, here it is.
Well today, let's discuss the haters.
The Plain White T's gave us all a mother-like lecture with their lyrics, "hate is a strong word, but I really really really don't like you." Much like your favorites, it's probably also best not to hate everything. I mean, people today hate so much stuff! People, places, food, movies, colors, cars, politics, anything their brother says... Don't get me wrong, if the color orange inspires deep emotional disdain and you can't stand to look at it, that's hate. You go ahead and hate orange. But probably most of us just really prefer a different color - no hate, just preference.
I have this wonderful dear friend who once literally saved my life, and she has this great game: The Hate Game. Basically you just say you hate things no one would ever hate. It's fabulous and hilarious. And it makes me think about how stupid I sound when I complain about small things. Here are some examples of hate game possibilities:
- You know what I hate? Chairs. Chairs are dumb. They are everywhere. And they have legs. So annoying.
- I really hate buttons. Buttons are lame. You have to like, press them all the time. Ugh.
- I hate cups. Cups are the worst. They always spill things and you have to hold them. Cups are gross.
- Do you know what I hate? Pillows. They take up so much room. Everyone has 50 of them in their house. I hate pillows.
Get it? When in the right mood, this game can turn your day around.
So, what do you hate?
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