internet snobbery and other such nonsense...

I have a confession. I do not play nice on the Internet. Well okay, not to be misunderstood, I always give positive feedback on eBay (well at least I did the two times I used it); I almost never type in all-caps in my emails, lest someone mistake happy yelling with angry-e-yelling; I never make people feel dumb when they pass along a billionth-forwarded email with a "Snopes Verified! story about someone's pet giraffe that ate an entire house, and here's the pictures to prove it," and it turns out to be completely bogus on snopes. I never do any of that stuff.

For the record, I rarely leave comments on people's blogs, or play "tag" games of any form online, and certainly never bother with the applications on facebook. Internet snobbery? Probably. But really, I certainly don't expect everyone who reads this flapdoodle to comment on it. Who's really got time to comment on every blog they read?

Where was I?

Oh. The Internet. You should know then, that, at least according to the emails I've received, I don't really love my country, I really don't care about protecting my children, I've cursed myself with tons of bad omens, I have no heart, I've lost my one chance with my big crush, I've offended slews of veterans because I didn't boycott Target, I'm a lame friend, I'm likely responsible for most of the bad things that have happened to my friends, and I've broken at least 27 chain-emails that some kid was supposedly doing for his 4th grade science project.

And all because I don't forward emails. Oh sure, I used to, way back when the Internet was new and it was the first time I'd received some touching story about a lost child and (sniff) knew that I had to forward this one, because what if I was his mother?!!

But then time happened. And I kept getting the same emails about someone trying to outlaw God in schools or some tragic story about someone who desperately needed a miracle and sending this email on would somehow provide that, or someone else who, while putting on lipstick and facing east while standing on one foot, was attacked by a crazed lunatic, just two feet away from her vehicle.

Have I turned into a cynic? I can't say, but who wouldn't become at least a little cynical when their inbox is being flooded with countless messages about how the world is coming to an end because the guy they didn't like was voted in as President; or how a bazillion germs are on my toothbrush because I don't keep it 100 feet away from the nearest toilet; or how lemons in my ice water are covered in e-coli and I should never order "with lemon" again. Come on, life is too short to be pestered with this kind of stuff. Sheesh, we've made it this long, haven't we? Even with the lemons in our ice water or toothbrushes in the cabinet right next to the toilet, and heaven forbid, a Democrat in office.

I got a good one yesterday. It had a link to some guy on YouTube, but the details on that don't really matter. The introduction before the link told the thirsty email masses that the very President of the United States had viewed this video, and had been so disturbed that he called the guy and asked him to a secret meeting at the White House to discuss it. The President "told the White House staff to handle the press and not to talk about the video or the visit."

"That's interesting," the email said.

You're telling me. Anyone else wondering who told about the "secret meeting?"

Help me.

Okay, so I'm a cynic. At least email-ly speaking.

But I've got one word for you: Delete.

It's a beautiful thing.

Pass it on.

a few words on my long absence...

Okay, so was it wrong to miss an entire month and a half without some sort of mention of what in the world was going on at my house?

Here it is, in a couple of deliciously long, run-on sentences.

Long about the beginning of May, my husband's masonry work finally dried up, causing a few dark weeks, made darker by hopeless thoughts, of blah and oh dear and what in the world are we going to do; by June we began survival mode, in the form of selling anything that could be liquidated, buying new, used-paid-for vehicles, and trying to come up with a general plan of what in the world are we going to do next; in the midst of all that, I was called as the Young Women President in our ward (do you ever wonder if the Heavens snicker a bit behind discrete hands?).

Let me be honest. I couldn't even think as far as next Tuesday to get my perspective straight. I had to just wait until next Tuesday came, and come it did, long about mid-June. The darkness left, even though no great, substantial things happened to push it out. It was just hope. Delicious, lovely, hopeful, Hope. We are certainly not out of the woods yet, but we are definitely not alone in the woods, and because of that, life keeps going, and we keep living it. Not just surviving, but living.

Thank goodness for Next Tuesday.