Good morning! This morning while I was surfing on the interwebs, I came across a post from Mystery Group telling people how they could all pitch in, raise awareness, and do some good in this here world of ours. SWEET! So I paused and read their ideas on how to go about making some shiz-nit better…and almost needed a blood pressure pill.
“What could be so bad about raising awareness,” you ask? Well, when bombarding Celebrities’ various and sundry Social Media pages with requests that they post something about Problem X is your best idea? (Links and schedules of who to bombard and when included.) THAT will raise my blood pressure every time!
I mean, seriously peoples. If I used this logic in my proactive plans, I’d never get off my bumm and away from my computer. (Or smartass phone.) Your EX won’t return your TV or someone won’t pay back the money you loaned them? Let’s e-mail Oprah and ask her to Tweet that they need to give you your stuff back.
I want people to be more aware of School Safety Zones? I think I shall find a NASCAR Driver to post about it on his Facebook page!
To me, a loud-mouth, opinionated woman, it all boils down to the feeling that my non-celebrity opinion doesn’t mean a darn thing. My voice suffers from irreversible laryngitis in the world of Who-Gives-A-Flip. And that? Is not a reality I wish to live in. (Which is why I frequently choose to create my own. But that’s different story…)
Then it hit me. BOOM! I was just as guilty as Mystery Group. After all, am I not the one who wrote to Santa asking for a World Media Domination Package? Am I not the one who wrote to Justin Timberlake asking him to use his powers for good and help make my “lifestyle” sexy in the public eye?
*hangs head in shame* Yep. I just checked and it was indeed me.
So, in the spirit of not contributing to something that annoys the living be-jeepers outta me, I am throwing down the gauntlet. I don’t need no celebrity to tell people that pajama pants, hoodies, and scrunchies are sexy. HELLZ NO! I’m gonna own that shit and work it, baby! I am a sexy middle-ager because I don’t think I am, I KNOW I am! (OK, I’m working on the whole premise of psyching myself out, only in reverse. I’m psyching myself “in”. Logically, that should work, right?)
|Am I sexy or what? I'm even showing LEG!!|
Of course, then (if I follow my own stupid logic) I probably shouldn’t use my hard-won infamy to raise awareness about anything, which would kinda negate the whole need for Media Domination anyway.
And ya know what? I think part of my brain just exploded from the strain of trying to use reason and/or logic.
Which only goes to prove that I should try REALLY hard not to think and just keep any and all future Editorial Rants to myself.