I am the Wallower (to the tune of…I am the Warrior)

I am a wallower, y’all.

A study was done recently that said that 1 in 3 people who spend time on Facebook leave the site feeling bad. As in lonely, envious, etc.

Confession: I can totally be one of those peeps.

So, I love the whole social media bit. Can I just tell you that it’s how I learned that Steve Jobs died, how I heard about Hurricane Sandy, how I found out who was playing in the Superbowl, and how I discovered the Navy Seals blew up Bin Laden.

I seriously learn more “news” from SOCIAL media than I do from any other source.

I will live tweet through an awards show like nobody’s business.

Yes, I live tweeted through the Grammy’s.

Frank, Frank, Frank. I’m just so confused.

Speaking of “what the crap” live TV moments, would it not have been so awesome to have had twitter to live tweet through the American Music Awards that year that Guns N Roses was straight up drunk while accepting their award? Or when Sinead O’Connor ripped up that pic of the Pope? Or when Justin Timberlake and Janet Jackson had a wardrobe malfunction? Oh the things we could’ve tweeted and retweeted, yall.

I feel proud to say that I watched all of those events listed above LIVE.

Anyway…me. Wallower.

So, I can pop on Facebook or Twitter, and see pics of people enjoying themselves with 15 of their closest friends. Or show that really cool handcrafted dog sweater they just made. Or read about their trip to an island they recently purchased with the inheritance they’ve received from their rich Nigerian uncle.

And I will leave feeling like I have no friends, the talent of a dead parrot, and curse the fact that I don’t have any rich foreign uncles. Or that I’ve even been on airplane since 2006.

That last part is true. Well, last two parts. I don’t have a rich foreign uncle.

That I know of.

I’ll probably receive an email from one tomorrow.

And he’ll need my bank account number to transfer me the money.

After he takes my kidney and leaves me in a tub full of ice.

But in the meantime, I have GOT to get out of my wallowing funk.

Tonight, I flipped through and saw some pics and statuses, and I was all, “Oh. That looks fun.”, “Oh, her hair is cute.”, “Oh, why can’t I figure out how to wrap a freaking scarf like that? It’s just a piece of fabric! It shouldn’t be that hard!”

And amid all the fun and happenings, this was my post tonight, guys.

I’m seriously laughing as I write this.

It’s a snake. Made out of felt.

And it has no purpose WHATSOEVER.

I literally have no idea why I made it.

One of my children asked for it. So it’s their’s now. And its name is Snakey.

If you’d like your own personal Snakey, I’ll make you one. But…for a price. You must come up with a story and use these words: lederhosen, kumquat, piratical, and the phrase “no refrigeration necessary”. Then I’ll send you a Snakey. For real. Humor me, and Snakey is all yours.

By the way, rights to that game belong to my friend Terri. She’s amazing and makes me laugh. She’s my only friend who I can say I’ve saran wrapped a raw egg to her head and tried to smash it with a frozen fish. This is a true story and no, we were not drunk.

So, tonight, as I was sitting on my right foot, and wallowing in self-pity over Facebook, my foot fell asleep.

And I was going to come up with this amazing and awe-inspiring and completely epic analogy involving our self-pity and loathing and what it feels like when your foot falls asleep and you try to walk on it and you can’t even feel your foot so you end up falling down, ON YOUR FACE, but your husband’s upstairs and the kids are asleep so no one hears you and then when your foot starts to wake back up it first feels like a big ole sandbag and then it feels like a thousand mosquitoes are biting it all at once…

But I couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound completely dumb…and by posting it would make me feel like even more of a loser than I did to begin with because I was posting wonky looking stuffed snakes and everyone else was beautiful, with their 34 closest friends, and had amazingly clean carpets and no random laundry laying about in their pictures.

Now, I am NOT saying that I think you shouldn’t post that stuff, because you should. I LOVE looking at it. And it’s a good exercise for me in getting over my wallowing in self-pity thing.

In seriousness, I’ve been working on TRYING to (I don’t want to say “meditate”, it sounds so ethereal)…”think on” a verse of scripture each day. Really just kind of mulling it over in my mind and trying to let the words seep into my heart and soul, so that it overflows into my actions and relationships.

It honestly was the best thing for me tonight to have a verse come to my mind that pulled me out of my wallowing pit.

So, I’ll continue to post my freaky little felt creatures (felt is my medium these days…well, that and calories. I bake when I’m in a self-discovery mode…anyone need a cake?). And you guys post pics of your infinity scarves. And we’ll all live happily ever after.

Oh, and if you’re a Frank Ocean fan, or better yet a Forrest Gump fan, I just want to offer you my sympathies after last night.




  1. says

    You see, here’s the thing. I quit Twitter last night when I realized the Grammys were on live on the East Coast, waited 3 hours, then backed up my twitter feed because I knew you and one @stephenparris would keep me entertained. And then I was sad I couldn’t watch it “live” with you all. And so I get this. It’s one reason I also don’t do Facebook. I have enough issues without volunteering my poor mind to overthink them in another place. It’s hard enough being 3000 miles away from my people, I don’t need to be inundated by people who aren’t my people.

    P.S. You never responded to my phone call invitation. Please hang with me soon. :-) In person for realz.