Here is my soaking-wet hair at 7:34 a.m. Let’s blog a bit and see if it gets remotely dry as we speak. My theory is it’ll look just the same after. It’ll start to look dry by about 11:00. This does not bode well for the corporate ladder.
Alternatively I could blow it dry and look like this:
I have received this meme approximately forty-seven million times in the last few years. Since so many of you didn’t know what “TL;DR” was yesterday, do I have to explain a meme? It’s a photo or words (or, like here, both) that suddenly are just everywhere on the internet.
Have you heard of the dismissive, “Okay, Boomer” meme? I rather like this one. No offense. If you Boom, I mean.
You know how you put up something funny somewhere on social media and someone let’s say older doesn’t get it? Here’s an example: Once I used a makeup app on Edsel that made it look like he had eye shadow, false lashes, lipstick. Anyone with an iota of familiarity with computers would see it wasn’t real. The lips weren’t quite straight, and besides, where did Edsel get lips?
“DON’T PUT MAKEUP ON A DOG!” someone wrote under Edsel’s Facebook picture. “IT’S VERY BAD FOR THEM!”
See how it works?
I guess it’s not very nice but it’s so USEFUL.
What I like is the arrogance of someone yelling at you about something, knowing full well they aren’t quite sure what’s going on here on this here internet. But I’m still going to tell you how to live!
Getting old sucks. You just become more addled and people Okay, Boomer you. I’d like to say one day I’ll get “Okay, Gen X” but no one pays any attention to us. They always talk about the battle between Millennials and the Baby Boomers and I’m all Jan Brady in between. Helllooooo! I’m annoyed with you both!
It’s not been my experience, by the way, that Millennials are lazy. On the contrary, the many (many) young people I work with seem so driven and high-self-esteem-y. I’m all, You’re 27. Why aren’t you rolling in here hung over with a giant coffee and sunglasses?
“I had a green smoothie and did an hour of pilates before work!”
Their generation is not mine.
When I was 27, I was a PR person (yes. With my sunny disposition. I was sunnier then. Life hadn’t beaten me down) for a nonprofit. I made about 47 cents a week and worked late almost every night and many (many) weekends, and yet my boss would harangue me because, “You’re often three to five minutes late.”
I am not kidding. We started at 8:00! Do you have any idea how hard it is to show up at 8:00, well, ever? What a jerk that guy was. Anyway, my point is, I would roll in there at 8:03 hung over and I’d steal one of the Nutter Butters from the honor system candy and eat it with coffee, hung-overedly.
You know what chaps my hide? [June pulls chair closer and gestures with cigarette] It didn’t matter if I got there at 8:05. No one was waiting for me except his anal ass. I didn’t answer phones or greet guests. I remember screaming over to that office trying to get there at 8:00 on the dot, then staying till 8:00 at least once a week for 47 cents a year, and did that part ever matter? Did he ever say, “You often leave at 8:03 or 8:05”? He did not. BECAUSE HE LEFT AT 5:00 ON THE DOT.
I like how that was half my life ago and I’m still mad. Rather, I wasn’t mad for years but after awhile I looked back on it and said, That was ridiculous.
It’s 8:07 a.m. now (I’d be 7 minutes late for that job), and since we started talking I’ve had some toast and let in hysterical Milhous, who loves screaming out to the back yard any time Edsel goes out, but it’s cold here today. When I let Eds back in, I “kitty kittied” and nothing. Then when I was in here I heard MEOW! MEOW! MEOW! MOTHER OF GOD MEOW! He’d sampled the cold life and wanted back in where there are heaters.
Millous doesn’t meow a lot, but when he does he’s an auctioneer.
He talks at you fast and hard.
Also, when he was small, he’d come in by squeezing under the door. Now he’s huge and refuses to come in any other way. So even though the back door is wide open, so to speak, he insists on dragging his body under the door and walks around with door marks in his fur like it’s normal.
Anyway, I’m glad he’s in and I’m sure everyone in town is in a lather about the cold day (the low is 26!!) but you know what I think when it gets cold?
The fleas are dead. DING DONG! Do you have any idea how much I spend on Revolution during flea season? Forty-seven million dollars, that’s how much.
Anyway, she says, sequiter-ly, here is my hair and it’s exactly the same as I predicted, and now Ima have to blow it dry and look like a meme.
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