What's On Your Mind...

Facebook has become the equivalent of the psychiatrist’s couch. Forget the doctor patient confidentiality, which is only a legal barrier preventing outsiders from commenting or “liking” what you are going though. This social networking site circumvents this potential lawsuit and brings your sorrows, complaints and joy to the forefront of the World Wide Web. It broadcasts your thoughts, fears and accomplishments, all neatly tied up with an emoticon at the end of the normally over-punctuated, run-on sentence.

The reasoning behind this self-deprecating behavior escapes me. Obviously if you are lamenting about a boyfriend with a Beyonce inspired rhetoric, you aren’t doing it for the cathartic release; you are doing it to be comforted by your cyber buddies. Each comment expressing an ‘OMG’ or ‘WTH’ mends one’s online persona, and ticks off another one of the elements in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.

This new trend of public full disclosure has gotten a little extreme. I mean when do you stop? It is obviously socially acceptable to detail intimate details on your status updates. My favorite updates include personal struggles that you have overcome and couldn’t do it without the support of your friends XOXO (insert winky face here), or how you should have never taken back your deadbeat, low life, cheating boyfriend, even though you are still “facebook official” (insert angry face here).

However, there is also a contingency of facebook-ers, which deliberately write with the intention to lead the reader on. If you are going to hint at the disastrous details of your life in 140 characters, forget about it. You aren’t going to entice me to pick up the phone and cry with you, or drop by your house with a pint of ice cream. Instead, your short hand glimpse of your psyche is only begging others to comment asking “what?!” or “call me.” No! There is no such thing as a half-hearted, soul bearing post. You are either all in or completely out. Anything less will result in me stalking you, your friends, your friends friends, and all related blogs to find out what you are whining about. Your ambivalent attitude toward life has turns me from a normally curious girl into a Google master, able to uncover the obscure details of your publically posted hint at a miserable life.

So, if we have gone this far in the facebook world – the point of no return in my opinion – we should just go all the way with what we tell to our closest 1451 friends plus all those in our network. If you are willing to share your intimate emotional details, then buck up and bare it all. For example, before your next colonoscopy no one cares about the fluff updates stating you are “so scared” and “want happy thoughts sent your way ;).” I want the in the weeds, dirty details. Inappropriate you say, I say you parading your feelings all over my newsfeed is inappropriate and as equally disgusting as the side effects of that nasty drink they make you gulp down.

Listen up all you facebook junkies: Lay off the computer and invest in a person, shrink, pet or imaginary friend. I am tired of dissecting your over punctuated, smiley face laden posts dripping in comment begging wording. Until you are ready to describe every facet of your next root canal then you better be ready to quit pounding out pathetic updates.

Tiaras, Tears and Awesome TV

I dream of sparkles, lace and diamonds, hairspray wafting though the air and the chaotic frenzy of a team of doting women stressing over hair, make-up and nails. I want the full glitz and the fake teeth; I want to be on Toddlers and Tiaras!

TLC seems to have run out of already obscure ideas for television shows. You would think after a line-up of shows focused on families with an obscene amount of children, the creation of cakes, cupcakes or chocolate, those of short stature, or any combination thereof, there could not be any worse programming. Alas, they have done it by airing a show focusing on delusional mothers living vicariously through their young children parading around in feathers, sparkles and a spray on tan only the cast of Jersey Shore would be proud of.

These pageants are held in back rooms of hotels that make the Waco La Quinta look like a four start resort. With dark lighting, a small stage and a backdrop that looks like it was painted by drunk elves, its no wonder the crowd it brings out has the grammatical accuracy of a third grader – and I am talking about the moms, not the children. These contestants range in age from 10 months to adult, yes adult. The day always seems to start with the mom stressing out about the “glitz” range of the event. Is it low glitz – or over made up flower girl? Is it medium glitz – reminiscent of a young, under developed Dolly Parton? Or - my favorite - full glitz? To be able to compete in full glitz, you better be ready to bust out the fake teeth, weave of curls and a dress that makes a Vegas dancer swoon.

Behind every little pageant girl is an over obsessive, competitive and ridiculously intrusive stage mom. They choreograph their child’s act, dance behind the judging panel to remind their daughter of the Brittney Spears inspired dance moves or don their own floor length formal dress to compete along side her youngster in the attempt to fulfill her wildest dreams. They congregate in groups and gossip about the other competitors’ mistakes, and bring complete “beauty teams” to cover up their five year old's facial flaws. They grasp hands with other mothers and cry tears of joy when their daughter manages to walk 5 yards across a stage dressed a dollar store Barbie. They do all this in the pursuit of a crown and a title or maybe the possibility of landing their kid a spot on a future season of Celebrity Rehab.

Speaking of the crown and title, the awards ceremony is the dumbest part of this ostentatious money trap of a hobby. Somehow everyone manages to walk away with some gaudy, rein stone encrusted crown or title. I sure pity the girl who wins best hair, I mean come on, its probably not even real and most time it looks like they stuck their finger in a socket. Another personal favorite: “Best Personality” for the 8-12 month age division. This seems like an obscure category to judge. How can personality be judged on sleeping, slobbering or pooping?

These pageants are not for the girls, they are for the moms who dream of being able to fit in single digit sized dresses and not have to mask their natural hair color with drug store quality dye. So to all the mothers out there parading their children around in rainbow sherbet inspired balls of tulle, I give you the award of “Most Likely to be Raising a Future Playboy Bunny.”