Twitterledee and Twitterledumb

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*Conversation with friend (Jenny) after long day on Twitter, Facebook, blog, and revisions*

Jenny: How was your day?

Me: You can’t control everything . . . the hair on our head is to remind us of that.

Jenny: . . .

Me: Clancy went to Paris for a cosmetic photo shoot. Now I have to blog, tweet, post on Facebook, and work on revisions without help.

Jenny: Huh?

Me: Here’s proof.

*photomica_com

Jenny: You sent your pretend character to Paris and now you’re complaining that your muse is gone?

Me: I know. I can’t believe she left without me. I started tweeting about my blog. Zippo. No retweets. Then I tweeted, I hate those unrealistic movies where wives say, “Yes, honey,” and don’t roll their eyes. Bingo. I started getting retweets. People like twitterledumb.

Jenny: I see.

Me: Here are some of my top retweeted tweets:

Just walked by another car with a stick figure family on back window. It saddens me to see whole families suffering with anorexia.

I always say, “Systematized logistical projection” when I don’t know the answer to a complicated question.

Just bought a self-help book on relationships and had the author sign it. That way, I’m a collector and not a loser.

Pope Francis wanted to follow me on twitter, but I blocked him. I don’t want God knowing my business.

Reasons I’m happy to have cop in family #3: You know DUI checkpoints. #2: Get out of tickets. AND . . . #1: They photo shop your mug shot.

Hey, buff guy at gym – Don’t be a kill-joy when you’re jumping rope & I start singing, “Cinderella dressed in yellow, went upstairs to kiss . . .

I always ask little kids what they want to be when they grow up because I’m looking for ideas. Where do I apply to be a Ninja/Princess?

My parents taught me to look w/ my eyes & not touch. It stopped me from breaking things, but I now blame them for my sexual problems.

My sister joined AA . . . because it’s the only place left where she could smoke indoors.

Do atheists eat angel hair pasta?
*My thought while listening to church sermon.*

Spoiler Alert!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There are no trains at Home Depot.

My sister enjoys seven to eight cocktails every day on her deck. She calls it bird watching.

I read that 76 year-olds are the new 46. I bet people on Social Security are praying the politicians don’t get wind of this.

Husband stopped putting the toilet seat down. Now I don’t shut the door when I get out of his car.

My father owns a funeral home. I like running out of the embalming room screaming, “I see dead people.”

You made me feel special. You found out where I lived, knocked on my door & handed me roses. Now suddenly you’re a florist doing his job?

Jenny: I heard there are tons of stalker jokes on Twitter.

Me: There’s nothing funny about stalking. It takes effort and some bushes have thorns.

Jenny: You’re thinking of things to tweet now, huh?

Me: If you’re happy and you know it, shake your meds.

Jenny: Stop it already. I thought people tweeted about life experiences.

Me: You need to mix it up. Here’s a real conversation I had with my sister that I tweeted.

Sis: Husband’s penis is getting smaller and smaller as he grows older. What’s with that?
Me: . . .
Sis: I wouldn’t harvest a vegetable from my garden that was that small.

Me: Here’s a true story:

*Mom watching 4 yr. old shoot tampons across room*
Mom: “What are you doing?
4 yr. old: “Can’t I play with these? They look like dy-na-mite.”

Me: It’s about acknowledgement. Facebook friends plead for you to like their postings. Some even email me that I don’t need to read the article . . . just click the like button. Giving a like when you don’t mean it is a kind of like, and a kind of like is a mere like, and a mere like is close to a dislike, and a dislike hedges toward disgust and before you know it, I begin loathing their postings.

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Me: I get over forty requests a day to like a posting.

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Me: Blogging is all about getting followers. Tweeting is retweets and favorites. It’s exhausting! And to top it off, Pinterest is where bad cooks celebrate canned soup “recipes” and crazy bitches plan weddings they’ll never have.

Jenny: When did we become so needy?

Me: Birth.

Jenny: Just think what a better world we’d live in if people put this much effort toward the well-being of family and loved ones.

Me: But if we were constantly around family, we’d start thinking and behaving like them. Hey, you just gave me an idea for a cartoon caption.

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Jenny: There’s something wrong with you.

Me: Shhhhhh . . . I don’t want my followers to hear you.

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About Mitzi McColley Sorensen

Mitzi McColley Sorensen grew up surrounded by the Black Hills in Hot Springs, South Dakota. Her father was a second generation funeral director. Death was as much a part of her everyday life as breathing. She attributes her quirky sense of humor, viewing life as a gift, and placing family first to her upbringing. After attending Northern State College in South Dakota, she headed west with her husband to live with her beloved grandmother who was suffering with Alzheimer’s. They stayed in California where they raised three daughters and a son. For the past twenty-eight years, Petaluma, California has been her home where rolling vineyards replaced the majestic views of Mt. Rushmore. Working her way up the ranks in a pharmacy, Mitzi learned that the customer was always right, the benefits of most drugs outweighed the possible side effects, and that her male clients mellowed with age. Mitzi befriended an individual that experienced synesthesia in her everyday life. Although the main character in THE TASTE OF ORANGE is fictional, her symptoms mirror that of her friend’s. Retired after twenty plus years, Mitzi enjoys writing novels, traveling, reading, welding, and golfing with her husband, Mark, even though she yells fore more often than scoring a par four. She keeps in shape by catching lizards and snakes with her nine grandsons and three granddaughters.

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