The Five Types of Facebookers

The Five Types of Facebookers

I spend a lot of time on Facebook. Like, a lot. I imagine my kids’ first sentences will be something like, “Are you going to update your status soon, Empress of the Universe?” Also I will be teaching my kids to address me as Empress of the Universe. And since I not only spend a lot of time on Facebook but also have a degree in public relations, which means I am basically a Facebook expert, I have noticed a trend. The majority of Facebookers I see fall into at least one category, sometimes two. Sometimes three. I fear those people the most. And, lucky you, I have decided to share these categories for your benefit and enjoyment. Which one are you? Are you more than one? Tell me all.

The Liker:

This person may or may not comment, but as soon as your status goes up, you can count on them to click the “like” button to show their approval of your latest update. This person moves like a silent ninja, liking things all over the place, even if what they like makes no sense. Sometimes this person likes other peoples’ comments – people they don’t even know. The most terrifying power this person wields is the notifications. Oh, the notifications. There is nothing like opening up Facebook, clicking on your notifications, and seeing the same profile picture eighteen times in a row because The Liker has struck once again to express their approval for everything you have written in the last three hours. Well played, Liker. Well played.

The InstaCommenter:

I don’t know how this person moves so quickly, but within five seconds of you pressing “post,” this person has already commented on your status/picture/link. This truly baffles me. I am not judging how much time The InstaCommenter spends on Facebook, because people in social media houses shouldn’t throw virtual stones. But how does this person react so fast? HOW? What’s even more impressive/confusing is that this person, much like The Liker, moves swiftly and silently. They may not have had any activity on Facebook for six hours. But the moment you respond to their comment, there they are, ready with an InstaFollowUp. I can only imagine they have some kind of pager attached to their wrist at all times that alerts them to the exciting news that they can once again comment on a Facebook status. Or maybe they’re psychic.

The Drama Llama:

My goodness, this person has a rough life. Or so they would lead you to believe. I am not the Facebook police. You can write what you want on your Facebook page. But there are some days where I see a Drama Llama and have to resist the urge to find a way to cut off their Internet access. You will recognize the Drama Llama because while their crisis will seem urgent and/or terrible, further inspection will show you that what they are experiencing is not, in fact, that big of a freakin’ deal. The Drama Llama is crafty, and toys with your emotions using lots… of…. ellipses… to build up… … … suspense… before doing… a… big reveal IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS. An experienced Drama Llama could make buying new shampoo a nail-biter of an event. It’s hard to tell whether the Drama Llama is really this upset about a non-issue, or if they just really like typing sad faces. This is one of the mysteries of life that may never fully be solved.

The Nostalgic Stalker:

Have you ever gotten a notification that someone has liked or commented on a post, clicked to see the post, and been really confused for about thirty seconds before realizing said post is from 2009 and you barely remember writing it? That confusion is brought to you courtesy of the Nostalgic Stalker. Part of the blame has to lie with the silly Facebook newsfeed that shows you posts from two days ago and pretends they are new. But most of the blame lies with the Nostalgic Stalker as they scroll through your profile and acknowledge every post you have made in the last six months. Unlike The Liker and InstaCommenter, subtlety is not this person’s strength. Oftentimes they refuse to acknowledge that any other events have passed since you posted whatever they are commenting on, resulting in gems like, “Hope your wedding is full of blessings!” three years after you get married. Have they not been on Facebook for several months? Do they think you might like to be reminded of the day you graduated college? It’s hard to say why the Nostalgic Stalker does what they do. But one thing is certain – they will do it to you.

The Killjoy:

Oh, man. This person. This person bums me out just to write about, so you can imagine what running into one of them on Facebook is like. The Killjoy’s main goal is to suck the life and fun out of every hilarious or uplifting thing you post. Writing out your favorite Bible verse and posting it as your status? The Killjoy will comment with a fun fact on how that verse is actually severely mistranslated and really does not mean anything close to what you thought. Want to post some lyrics of your favorite inspirational song? The Killjoy will link an article that explains the artist is now on meth and hates kittens. And heaven forbid you post something a little tongue-in-cheek as your status. The Killjoy does not do sarcasm. Any statuses about how you want to sell your baby online will result in lectures on how children are a precious gift, why DFACS does not want you to sell your children, and articles from parenting magazines about loving the moment. Don’t be that person. No one likes that person. At all.

And there you go – the Five Types of Facebookers. They are real. They are out there. I have been all of these at one point or another, and – admit it – so have you. It’s okay. We’re here for you. But seriously, don’t link parenting articles to my status. I will not have that nonsense. I will. not. have it.

Do You Want Fries With That?

Do You Want Fries With That?

Well, Obama won. I’ll be honest and say I was disappointed, but them’s the breaks, right? I will be praying for him to make wise decisions as he leads our country. I encourage you to do the same – regardless of your opinion of Obama, he is still our President and we still need to care about our country. 

However, that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun with it, too.

This morning when Daniel told me Obama had won – my dedication to my country is second only to my dedication to my pillow so I was fast asleep for the results – my first thought was, “Okay. Just four more years. We can do this.”

And then something occurred to me. What will Obama do after his next four years are over? I mean, he has kids, who I am assuming like food and shelter. And he doesn’t appear to have any kind of magic wand or leprechaun to provide him with resources. So what will his next job be? **Disclaimer** I know there is probably an answer to this. I don’t care about that answer. Mine is more hilarious.

I like to picture President Obama walking into a Barnes & Noble in about 4.5 years. He will walk up to the counter, straighten his tie, and say, “I’d like an application, please.” A bored teenager will hand one over to him without looking up from his Angry Birds game and Obama will sit on a nearby couch, filling out his application, wedged between George W. and Sarah Palin.

Just picture it. For the section about his former jobs he would have to put “President of the United States of America.” That’s awesome. 

Then, of course, the interview process would be next. Still wearing his best suit, he would sit down with the manager of the store – a guy named Bobby who wasn’t even eligible to vote in the last election because of his age – and proceed to answer some of the typical interview questions:

Bobby: So, Mr… How do you say it?

Obama: It’s Oh-bah-mah.

Bobby: Right, sorry. So, Mr. Obama –

Obama: It’s President, actually.

Bobby: Sorry?

Obama: It’s not Mr. Obama; it’s President Obama.

Bobby: Listen, Mr. Obama, the first thing you need to know to work here is that we are all team players. There’s no room for any superstars here. May I continue?

Obama: Sorry; of course.

Bobby: What do you think qualifies you to work here at the B & N?

Obama: Well, I have great leadership skills.

Bobby: Can you give me an example?

Obama: Uh – well, I led a country for eight years.

Bobby: Mmhmm, I see. I noticed that you also wrote down that you had your last job for a while and then it suddenly ended. Tell me what happened there.

Obama: Well, that job had predetermined time limits. You can’t work there for more than eight years in that position.

Bobby: Mr. Obama, we don’t like the word “can’t” around here. And we don’t like excuses. It sounds to me like the job got too hard after eight years.

Obama: No… I mean, they made me leave. I didn’t have a choice. It’s the law.

Bobby: So you’re telling me you were fired.

Obama: NO. I knew it would not be a permanent job when I took it. That is how the job is set up.

Bobby: Okay. Is there anything else you want to add?

Obama: Just that I also love the work of J.K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer and would be a great help to shoppers in the teen and young adult section.

Bobby: Great. We’ll call you.

AAAAnd scene.

Tell me that wasn’t the best thing you’ve ever pictured.

Good luck and God bless you, President Obama. And if you get to work at Barnes & Noble, call me. I applied like a million times in high school and need to know what I was missing.

“And then I got to see the BREAKROOM. Boom. Obama’s back in action.”
Lock Lock Chain Chain

Lock Lock Chain Chain

When Daniel and I were dating, I was on this quest to make his nieces and nephews like me. They tend to like everyone so this wasn’t hard but I was determined to be the best aunt ever. So when Christmas came around and we wanted to give his nieces and nephews a gift, I was trying to think of something that would be good for a variety of ages.

What about stop blocks?!” I said. “Kids love stop blocks!” And before Daniel could even raise both of his eyebrows, I realized my mistake.

In my family, Legos are called stop blocks. I don’t know why. All I know is that my sister Mandy started calling them stop blocks when she was little and it stuck. My parents just let us live in a world where the actual names of toys meant nothing. Since my sister also had a doll named Nobody, maybe they figured it was best to just let her figure things out on her own and subsequently misinform her siblings. I don’t know.

What I do know is that I had just called Legos, an item so popular that there are entire stores and theme parks centered around it, a name that made absolutely no sense to anyone but my family. And Daniel’s eyebrows were getting higher and higher.

I tried to explain. But it was too late. The damage was done. Our relationship was a little rockier after that. And we wound up getting the kids something non-Lego related.

You think I would have learned my lesson about revealing weird childhood secrets. But no. Just a few weeks ago, when Daniel and I were on vacation with my family, it happened again.

We were all sitting in the pool, including my nephew, Peyton, who was just over 8 weeks old at the time. My sister (yes, the stop block creator) was trying to dip Peyton’s toes in the pool but he was having none of it and was getting fussy. Can’t blame the kid. So then I spoke up:

“Maybe when he’s older he’ll like playing Lock Lock Chain Chain.”

I had done it again. Daniel turned to look at me. “What in the world is Lock Lock Chain Chain?”

Here’s the deal with this game: When I was little, I loved for my dad to chase me around the pool pretending to be a bad guy. He would catch me and say he was going to eat me for dinner. (Hang in there; it gets weirder.) When he caught me, he would take me over to a ladder and pretend to secure me to it with a lock and chain. In order to do this, he had to say, “Lock lock chain chain…” as he pretended to make me his prisoner.

But it didn’t stop there. Locks and chains were not enough to hold me so I would always escape. Honestly, it was like my dad wasn’t even trying. So when my dad would catch me again, he would add things to the security process to keep me there. It would turn into “Lock lock, chain chain, nail nail, hammer hammer, glue glue…” And, yes, everything was said twice, like some kind of very specific obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Trying to explain this to Daniel went a little something like this: “My dad used to chase me and tie me up. Well, not really. I mean, I wanted him to. Wait, back up. We would go swimming. Not like just to play this game but if we were already in the pool we would usually play it. He would chase me and pretend he was going to boil me in a pot and eat me with ketchup. It sounds worse than it is.”

Daniel’s face now had the expression of someone who had just seen a naked clown juggling babies on an ice rink.

“Did you just say ketchup??”

Apparently, other children did not play this game. Apparently, it was “creepy.” Apparently, pretending to be a serial killer with your children is not something every parent promotes.

But look at us! We turned out great!

Okay, so… maybe don’t play Lock Lock Chain Chain with your kids.

Welcome to the Elevelds’

Welcome to the Elevelds’

Daniel and I are going on vacation for at . Yay! In order to allow our cats to live while we do this, we are asking some friends to come over and make sure there is enough food, water, people to glare at, etc.

When we watched the house/cats for one of these friends, she thoughtfully put together a very helpful information sheet with details about the cats, her house, contact information, and more! I’ve decided to return the favor:

WELCOME TO THE ELEVELDS’.

Hello, Monica and LeeAnn. Thank you for watching our cats. We’ve spoken to them about it and they’re all sorts of excited about seeing you. They might look angry but that is just their love language. Below are a few ground rules and expectations regarding your time with our feline friends. Please let me know if you have any questions.

~ As Monica’s house is clean enough to perform surgery in at any given time, and LeeAnn could organize the home of a group of wild blind orphan monkeys, I expect my house will not be quite as “clean” or “mold-free” as you’re used to. We think it adds personality. If, however, this is a serious issue for you, please feel free to clean at any time. We have some Tide-to-Go sticks in the pantry. They might be old.

~ You might notice loose change on the floor, dryer, counter, etc. Please do not remove this change from the surface on which you find it. We are firm believers in being prepared for an emergency and at any given time can access at least $1.17 just by walking down the hallway.

~ We have two cats. One is large enough to pull a covered wagon while the other one is so small we often have to play “Marco! Polo!” in order to ascertain her whereabouts. Feel free to play with with her. Or just let her stay lost. She seems to like it.

~ To feed them, we put food into a big bowl. The little cat, Robin, is absolutely not kidding around when it comes to getting her meals so we find a larger bowl keeps the bloodshed down to a minimum. The big bowl lives on top of the washer. The food also lives there. We don’t do a ton of laundry.

~ We give them water in an even BIGGER bowl. This is usually because the dog shares it with them. Also because we forget to give them water every day so we find it best to give them a few days’ worth at a time, just in case. Feel free to report us to the animal agency of your choice.

~ As Daniel works with lots of small metal pieces, you will likely find these everywhere in the house. I vacuumed as far as the cord would stretch, which is the living room and about half the hallway, so you should be safe until then. If being barefoot is very important to you, you will find paper towels in the kitchen and can make a path throughout the house that is free of small metal dangers.

~ Strewn throughout the house you will find many weapons and accessories, including but not limited to: two swords, a machete, various guns, a bow and arrow, possibly another machete, a few Japanese scary sticks, several airsoft guns, and enough bullets to supply a military bunker. If any of these make you uncomfortable, I recommend playing with them for a while to get used to them. The broadsword is especially fun.

~ We can’t find the remote. Let us know if you see it.

~ We only have two cats. A third one hangs out on our porch sometimes. It looks like Batman, the fat cat. It is NOT Batman. Do not attempt any cuddling. It doesn’t like cuddling. Only our porch.

~ Please note my talent at carefully arranging our pictures to be “eclectically organized.” You can tell me in person how much you loved it, or leave a note/gift that conveys your level of envy at my mad decorating skillz.

I think that’s it for now. Please review this list carefully and see me with any questions. We have nothing but peanut butter and I think some Pringles but it’s all yours for the taking! Thank you for your service to your friends, your country, and your local domestic pets.

~Kristen and Daniel

Please note the trash in both the left and right corners of the picture. 

The Awkward Bathroom Encounter

The Awkward Bathroom Encounter

Yesterday, I was at church for a meeting. I was participating and laughing – oh, the laughing – when suddenly I realized I had to… you know. 

I had no choice. It was time for The Awkward Bathroom Encounter.

Women, you have all endured this. You find the bathroom and realize with some horror that it is for one person at a time only. And the door is shut. And as hard as you try to see if the light is on under the door or listen for any sounds while also keeping an eye on the hallway because if your pastor sees you crouching by a bathroom door he will report you and then you won’t be able to go back to your meeting, you just can’t tell for sure. So what can you do but knock?

But this isn’t just any knock. This is the most stressful knock in the history of time. What if someone is already in there?

For me, that’s the worst feeling. I don’t want anyone to think I am rushing them, like WHY HAVE YOU BEEN IN THE BATHROOM FOR THREE MINUTES DO YOU HAVE A MEDICAL EMERGENCY OR WHAT. I am merely gathering information – if someone is in this bathroom, I will move on to the next one. All women learn this around the same time they master the art of the ninja kick in order to flush the toilet. And yet I think all women also fear hearing a voice from the other side of the door, saying the dreaded words we hate: “Someone’s in here right now.

ABORT, ABORT. MISSION FAILURE.

It’s not easy being a girl. All men have to do is walk into the restroom and give a manly nod because no man’s bathroom is for only one person at a time, and if it is it will be available in .23 seconds since that is all the time they need. Men. 

In case you are not as familiar with this process, I have broken it down for you, step by step, in the list below. Enjoy:

The Plucky Procrastinator’s Guide to The Awkward Bathroom Encounter:

1) Realize you have to make a sacrifice to the porcelain throne soon. Ignore it because you don’t have to go that bad and you can wait.

2) 30 seconds later, realize you cannot wait one more millisecond or this will be first grade in Mrs. Bishop’s class all over again.

3) Locate nearest bathroom. If in school, you’re in luck! Most of those are multiple stalls. If you’re at church or K-Mart, prepare yourself. 

4) Investigate thoroughly. Is the door shut because someone is on the other side or because the door is heavy and always swings shut?

5) It’s because someone is on the other side. Duh. 

6) Stand straight, take a deep breath, and knock a solid three times. No more, no less. 

7) If no one answers, hooray! Open the door slowly, like you might if you were diffusing a door bomb while on roller skates. 

8) If “someone’s in here,” proceed to verbally vomit all over them with your apologies and explanations. 

9) Run away to the next bathroom, praying the first person didn’t recognize your voice, doesn’t have a child in your class, and is not leaving the bathroom any time soon.

10) Blog about it. 

Awkward Encounter-ers, form a line to the left.