My Interest in Pinterest

Oh boy, what have I started now?

Yesterday someone suggested to me that with my blogging and the quotes I put on Facebook every day, I should get on Pinterest. She even said she’d follow me.

While I’ve heard of Pinterest, I really have no idea what it’s all about. I mean, I assume it’s another social networking site. And I know you can “pin” things to it. What things I have to pin, I have no idea.

So I clicked on the site and asked for an invitation to join. And I was sent an email that said I was on the “waiting list” to join. That kind of irritated me because (a) I have to ask to be included in their super-secret society? And (b) someone then gets to decide if I’m worthy of being a member?

Whatever.

Yet a few hours later when I received an email telling me I was invited to join, I immediately clicked on the link.

What does that say about me? That I can’t stand not being “in” on things? That I am without a modicum of pride and I jump at every opportunity to be a joiner? Perhaps. But I prefer to think it says that I’m simply curious and I’m trying to learn about and keep up with modern trends. Yeah, I think I’ll stick with that answer.

So apparently I now have a Pinterest account. I don’t know what it looks like because I haven’t seen it. But I’ve gotten several emails telling me people are following me. Really? They must be bored or something to be following me since I have no idea where I’m going. Not yet, anyway.

Of course, it was only a couple years ago I wasn’t so sure about the whole blogging thing. And here I sit writing my 254th blog. This is an activity I thoroughly enjoy, so I don’t imagine I’ll stop using Blogger.com anytime soon.

Unless, of course, some bigger or better blogging website comes along. Which I’m sure is in the works as we speak.

So joining Pinterest means that I now have one more user name and password to remember. It probably means I have to add another app to my overcrowded iPhone. And it means that there is something else on the computer that will divert my attention and keep me occupied instead of, oh, I don’t know, talking to people face-to-face.

So let’s see. I have a Facebook account (well, actually, three accounts – but two are for work). I have a Twitter account that I haven’t accessed in well over a year. Probably I can’t even get back into it because I’m sure I’ve forgotten the password. But that’s probably not a bad thing because I am really lousy at trying to write a message using only 140 characters.

I have Gmail, Yahoo, and Hotmail accounts. I have a Google+ account that I’m not even sure I’ve ever used. I am a member of Plaxo and LinkedIn. I email, text, IM and I have about a bajillion accounts on various things like bank sites, travel sites, shopping sites, and X-Rated video sites.

I have an Etsy account and an eBay account…

What? Oh, so you WERE paying attention! Yes, I’m totally kidding about the X-Rated video sites. I so don’t need that kind of trash on my computer infecting it with all sorts of viruses and stuff. As it is, I get enough SPAM from places like the Central Bank of Nigeria telling me I’m the beneficiary of some inheritance and I only need to send a nominal fee of $630 to cover administrative costs associated with the release of the funds. Or that I’m an international lottery winner, which is weird because I don’t even play the lottery in my own home state. Or that I can get 20% off my order of male enhancement pharmaceuticals if I order by midnight.

Anyway, you get the idea. I – like many folks – have way too many online things going on. No wonder we freak out whenever we see the “low battery” signal or panic at the thought of a power outage.

Nevertheless, I am sure that I’ll get the hang of Pinterest. I will probably even enjoy the experience and find interesting things on the site. But for now, I’m a little stressed about my first “pin.” What to do, what to do? Oh, hey, can I possibly pin a link to this blog? Wow, now that’s a GREAT idea…

It's Blog Tuesday! (Yes, I just made that up.)

Where does the time go? I wrote my last blog eons ago and haven’t written a single word since.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I have written e-mails. I have written to-do lists that somehow never quite get to-done. And I have written a comment on a Facebook page or two.

But I have written no blogs.

Perhaps I was restraining myself from responding to all that Rapture nonsense. Or maybe I’ve been in a severe state of depression since learning that Oprah’s last show is tomorrow (25 years!!)

Nah. I don’t believe any of that The-World-Is-Ending stuff from people who don’t know any more about it than I do. And Oprah? Well, sure, I’ve watched her show from time to time over the years and have enjoyed it. She has brought a lot of people to the public eye. I mean, because of Oprah, people know who Stedman and Gayle are. I don’t know about you, but I’m sure I’m better off knowing that there are two people in the world named Stedman and Gayle.

And, okay, so she also introduced the free world to people like Dr. Phil, Suze Orman, Dr. Oz and Maya Angelou. I suppose those people – as well as Oprah herself – have had a positive impact on some folks.

But mostly her show’s end means to me that I’ll never have an opportunity to sit in her studio audience and rake in the loot on an “Oprah’s Favorite Things” episode. Darn.

No, I suppose the real reason I haven’t written any blogs lately is that I have had a lot on my mind. And, believe it or not, I don’t write down every thought that enters my head. Not for public consumption, anyway.

I’ve been getting myself back to the gym lately, which is a good thing. But a time-consuming thing, as well. And we’ve been considering a move. The thought of which overwhelms me. I mean, if you’ve ever read one of my blogs before, you know how much crap we have at home. Fortunately, I suppose, the garage is filled with boxes – so perhaps we’d just have to move boxes from Abode A to Abode B, and that wouldn’t be too difficult.

Yeah, right.

I have to stop thinking about moving or else I’ll get paralyzed here and won’t be able to write another word.

We have a lot of upcoming events on the calendar, some of which are out of town, so I’ve been trying to make sure we don’t double-book and end up in Cincinnati when we’re supposed to be in Columbus hosting dinner for friends.

And in a couple weeks I will be donning my chauffeur cap and driving my parents to Cape Cod, where they’ll “summah at the cahtage.” (Said in your best Thurston Howell the Third voice. And if you don’t know who Thurston Howell the Third is, then stop reading this blog. You’re too young.) Meanwhile, I’m having nightmares that my dad won’t be paying attention to the road and I’ll get us hopelessly lost and we’ll end up in Tampa, despite ol’ trusty Gladys the Garmin Lady telling me where to go.

But my biggest concern at this very moment is the dress I’m supposed to wear in a friend’s upcoming September wedding. It’s short. And practically sleeveless. I haven’t worn short, sleeveless dresses since I was 10. It’s Navy Blue, er, “Lapis” (which is a fancy name for Navy Blue) and has sparkles on it. It would look ideal on a 6 foot, 98 lb. model. I am close to 6 feet, but nowhere near 98 lbs. Notice I didn’t mention the model part? ‘Nuff said.

I suspected that on me, the dress would look like a short, navy blue bag with sparkles. Oops, sorry, lapis bag with sparkles. So I ventured into Macy’s last night and tried it on. And, yes, I did, in fact, look like I was wearing a short, navy blue bag with sparkles. Sigh.

If you ask me, after a certain age – say, 25 – women shouldn’t be forced to wear identical bridesmaid dresses. In any other situation, two women wearing the same dress is verboten. Why should weddings be any different?

My friend wanted her wedding color to be purple, but her mom selected the blue sparkly bag, er, dress. Helpful friend that I am, I tried on a purple dress that didn’t make me look like I was wearing a bag. So I bought it instead of the blue one. Probably, I’ll be exchanging the purple dress, but for now, I’m feeling better about the wedding.

So those are just some of the thoughts swirling around in my little brain. Exciting, huh? Yeah, well, sorry. Next time I’ll try to come up with something better. Maybe the kitties will do something newsworthy and I can write about it. Or I’ll spill something or get into another one of those "Lucy"-type situations. Those are always good for a few words. (Again, if you don't know who Lucy is, stop reading. I'm sure Lady Gaga writes an entertaining blog.)

Ah well. At least I didn’t once mention the crappy rainy weather we’ve had here in Central Ohio lately.

Happy Blog Tuesday. Time to celebrate!

I Yam What I Yam! (Subtitle: Happy One Year and One Week Anniversary to Me!)

I missed my one year blogging anniversary, which was a week ago today. Of course, Hallmark hasn’t yet started selling “Happy Blogging Anniversary” cards quite yet – so I guess it’s no big deal. But personally, I think it’s kind of cool that I’ve managed to keep this thing going for over a year now.

Who knew I had that much to say?! And, yeah, okay, so it’s not earth-shattering information I’m imparting here, but hopefully I’ve been able to get you to smile a time or two.

I was talking to someone last night about my blogs and said that they pretty much fall into two categories: 1) caffeine deprivation and 2) Calamity Jane strikes again.

Sheesh! I seem to be a veritable walking accident waiting to happen. Before all these blogs, I had no idea that I was this clumsy or forgetful. Maybe I’m just not ingesting enough caffeine?

Nothing like ratting yourself out to the blogging world that you can’t walk and chew gum at the same time.

Oh well. As Popeye says, “I yam what I yam!”

Except…I’m not really like Popeye at all. Vince would totally agree with that statement because he has a hard time getting me to eat my ‘greens.’ Spinach? Yuck. Well, except I could probably go for a good spinach salad with some chopped walnuts and a little bleu cheese, and tossed with a light vinaigrette, perhaps.

Plus, Popeye has a weird eye, freakishly big forearms, smokes a corncob pipe and sports a tattoo. Other than the weird eye, I do not resemble Popeye in the slightest.

If I had to compare myself to a cartoon character I’d be more like…um…uh…

Hmmm…I can’t think of a single cartoon character that I even remotely resemble. I don’t have any supernatural powers to speak of and I’m unable to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Nor do I live in a pineapple under the sea. My eyes are nowhere as scary and big as the Powerpuff Girls and, besides, I’m no longer in kindergarten. So that’s out.

Oh well. I never wanted to compare myself to a cartoon character, anyway.

I think, instead, I’ll just keep on being plain ol’ unique me with my weird thoughts that I write down and turn into blogs. So…when I next run into a wall – or trip over yet another carton in the garage – or spill my coffee for the gazillionth time, I’ll be sure to tell you about it. Hope you’ll keep on reading!

And…thanks. Just knowing someone out there is reading my blogs is enough. No “Happy Blogging Anniversary” cards necessary.

Blogging, Buca, and The Bitchy Waiter

Ever since I started this blogging thing, I’ve been interested in reading other people’s blogs. And I’ve discovered that there is a whole blogging world out there that I never knew existed. Oh, well, I take that back. Sort of. I mean, I knew the word “blog” has been around for a while – and I knew people were doing it. I just never took the time to read any of them.

So now, whenever I post one of mine, I press a handy-dandy icon at the top of Blogger.com that reads “Next blog” so I can read, well, the next blog. And I’ve gotta tell you, there are some pretty strange bloggers out there. I’ve landed on foreign blogs, mystical blogs, poetry blogs, mommy blogs, photography blogs, ranting blogs and blogs that pretty much defy categorization. Actually, some of them even scare me a little bit.

The other day I discovered a better way of vetting the blogs I read. There is an icon on iGoogle called “Blogs of Note.” I’m not sure how it works, but it seems that the powers that be at Google select one lucky (or clever) blogger per day and shine a spotlight on their blog. Immediately hordes of readers flock to that blog and the blogger becomes an instant celebrity.

Well, not really. But it definitely kicks their readership up a notch.

Most of the time I find these “Blogs of Note” interesting and there have even been a few that I’ve started following because I enjoyed reading them. One is called “The Bitchy Waiter.” It is written by a guy in New York City who has worked in the food industry a l-o-n-g time, which means he has pretty much (a) seen it all and (b) lost all patience for diners. He’s funny. He’s sarcastic to the point where the words practically drip. And he swears a lot.

Mostly, I think I keep reading his stuff because I want to know what not to do when I go to a restaurant. Before I started reading the Bitchy Waiter’s blog, I figured I was a pretty normal restaurant diner. Rarely do I ask for substitutions and I tip at least 20%. I’d say that if I received really bad service I would tip less, but over all these years, I’ve done that maybe once or twice. When I ask for a glass of ice water, I try to do it when I order my glass of wine or beer or soda – so the waiter doesn’t have to make two drink trips. And I read the menu carefully to make sure I like all the ingredients in the dish before I order.

So imagine my consternation the other night when we went to Buca di Beppo and I couldn’t eat what we’d ordered! Vince and I normally order the same dish every time we go there since we both like it and the portions are served family style, which necessitates sharing. I don’t like spicy and he does, so we get the wimpy dish and he loads it up with whatever spicy stuff they have on-hand.

Well, they had a summer menu with some new offerings, so I threw caution to the wind and we ordered one of the summer pasta dishes. Vince did ask for a substitution of the white wine sauce that we normally get on our other dish – and the waiter said he’d be happy to bring it to us on the side so we could add it to our pasta. Now, for all I know, he could’ve really been annoyed that he had to do extra work and perhaps he did whatever bitchy waiters do to the food of people who are annoying them. I don’t know – and I really hope that I never find out.

I usually order a glass of wine whenever I have pasta – I think it’s some sort of Italian law – and I’m a very law-abiding citizen. However, once we’d asked for ice water, we never moved beyond that to the wine list, so I decided that this once I could do without a glass of wine.

Anyway, the piping hot bowl of pasta comes out and I serve some to Vince and then to myself. I take an anticipatory bite. And then I put my fork down. There were spicy red pepper flakes liberally sprinkled throughout the bowl. Arrrgghhh! Maybe I AM wimpy, but I really can’t stand to eat anything hot and spicy. And if faced with that sort of food, I’d be happier abstaining completely than eating it. And I love pasta – so that’s a pretty strong statement for me to make.

It turns out that nowhere in the description of the dish did the words “spicy” or “red pepper” appear. Believe me, I look for those sorts of words! So both the waiter and his manager came over to our table to apologize. They promptly offered us the dish for free. And then they offered to bring out a bowl of the pasta we normally order. By now, I’m feeling like one of those very diners the Bitchy Waiter writes about. A pain in the you-know-what.

Vince, on the other hand, was happy because he had a whole lot of spicy pasta to enjoy. But by the time my bowl of wimpy pasta arrived, I wasn’t hungry any longer. So the waiter had to box up both my entire bowl and most of Vince’s bowl. Separately, of course. While he was off performing this task (and hopefully not spitting in it), the manager came back over to make sure we were happy. And she handed us a couple $10 off coupons for future visits.

Well, we already had a $10 off coupon for this visit, although we sort of debated about using it since we felt we were getting a lot of food for not a lot of money. But the waiter took it and returned with our bill. We ended up with about $50 worth of food for, well, less than half of that. We did, however, tip the waiter as if we were paying the full tab – including the free bowl of pasta we’d received.

Our waiter definitely deserved a good tip. He worked hard for it. And he was gracious and professional throughout our meal. If he was at all “bitchy” it was not something we saw. Of course, for all I know the Bitchy Waiter blog-writer might be gracious and professional throughout his shift – only to go home and wax sarcastically about his customers.

So, in review, we (a) drank only water that the waiter had to keep refilling, (b) asked for a substitution, (c) complained about our food, (d) got the manager involved (inadvertently), and (e) used a coupon. I can only hope that our waiter does NOT write a blog.

Oh, and I am VERY happy that the Bitchy Waiter is located in New York City.