I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
My friend Jeremy refuses to evolve past the social networking dinosaur Friendster. I think it’s a little weird to be of typing age and not have a Facebook profile and a network that includes at least six people you’ll never actually talk to again. How else do you stalk people? Or put yourself out there for others to stalk?
Jeremy just responds that he’s past all of it, that he was a social networking O.G. (original gangsta), and can thus, rest on his Internet laurels.
I’m walking in Brooklyn with my friend Jeremy. We pass a children’s bookstore window display. One title catches my eye.
Me: Ha! There was a book in there called Always Lots of Heinies at the Zoo.
Jeremy: What?!
I met Life Coach, a thirty-something Queens native, through a freelance job from my mentor back in 2007. Since then, he’s given me advice, whether I asked for it or not, and a lot of laughs. The man is a walking t-shirt quip, though he just thinks he’s speaking his mind.
A lot of my company is now on Twitter, and it’s about time, considering that we’re in the digital marketing business. One of the bigwigs recently suggested that everyone not on the bandwagon suck it up and start tweeting. There’s been a lot of grumbling, and most people answer “What are you doing?” in less than inspiring ways, if at all.
I, however, am excited by Twitter. I like word games and being pithy. But if a tweet goes out on the Internet and no one is there to snicker at it, was it indeed tweeted?
I’m trying to not so subtly nudge my favorite co-workers to follow me.
Me: I think dads have to leave the maternity ward wearing them, or they don’t get to take the baby.
TBID: There’s a tax deduction on all the fabric saved from wearing them instead of boxers.
My mom’s discovered acai berries and is ready to consume them so that they will officially change her life. As with all good things, she’s hoping to share them with my dad, the pickiest eatin’ man in all the land.
TBID and I are IMing at work while I edit an interview I did with J.C. Penney, my mom’s go-to retailer when I was a kid, which never had anything that looked good on me except for those high-waisted Bongo jeans.
A young man, ponytailed and rockstar thin, catches my eye as I cross the street. When I walk by, he approaches me.
Over the weekend, Jing went to the commitment ceremony of her math teacher and his partner. The entire seventh grade was invited, and no one was unaccepting or hateful. The fact that the story didn’t make news ended up making news – the front page of The New York Times City section, I think. Today Jing was telling me her decidedly unromantic impression of the ceremony.
I’m tutoring Deedee when a man with a long, curly, white beard and a jolly smile walks by.
Me: Hey, he looks like Santa Claus.
She turns around and scrutinizes the stranger.
Deedee: More like Copernicus.
