Friday

Death of a Facebook Page

A big welcome to the 6 of you who will see this....thanks for coming to pay your respects...read on.

I've already picked out my tombstone and mentally prepared for the death of my Facebook page.


In the beginning Zuck created Facebook.
And it was good.

What Zuck Giveth, Zuck Taketh Away.


In the beginning, the excitement of logging in was a rush.

How many friend requests would you have that day?
Who haven't you heard from in years that you'd love to reconnect with?
Did anyone post on my wall today?
How many notifications will I have waiting for me?
SQUEEEEEEEE  I LOVE FACEBOOK!
I hope someone poked me today!

And then Zuck said: Let there be Fan Pages; and he made fan pages.
And they were good.

We didn't even know what we were doing when we hit "like" but it was funny, so we did.

And some of us became Fan Page Admins - and it was fun.

And Zuck said:  Let there be Wars, Mafia Wars.  And it was good.


But then Zuck said, Let there be changes to your wall: And the newsfeed was born.  It it was....confusing.



Remember when that happened, no one could figure out where anything was? And then this went around:



And then just as everyone figured out how to use the new facebook...we got the "it's time to switch to Timeline" notice.

And the complaints continued, but we rolled with  it pretty well.
www.someecards.com


But things were still good for FB Fan pages.  We had interaction, we posted funny photos and ecards and jokes and questions.  And it was good.

And then Fan pages had to switch to timeline and suddenly, things were not so good.

But Fan pages pressed on.  Shared things. Grew bigger. Still had fun.  Still pimped other pages and tagged them when they did. We could see where new friends came from and who to thank when they did. And pages grew - and it was good.
But then He took away tagging and we could no longer see who shared us.  And if they shared and included our page name, fewer people would see it.  It was very bad.


And Zuck said, let Facebook be made public.  And it went public.  And it was...errrr...what was it?

And He said..let us Pay to Promote!  And that was bad. We're just Admins, we don't get paid - whatever shall we pay with?  Peanuts? Beans? Giggles? No money, no funny. Not good.  But we kept the faith, and hoped that through sharing, our posts would be seen.



And then they decided to stop showing our posts to people. And that's when the slow, painful bleed began.

1000 people saw this post - out of 45,000.  I'm no math major but, that kind of zucks.



And Page Admins got frustrated...

and confused..

and angry..
and finally, acceptance..

This is the stage I am in.  I am prepared and ready to accept the death of my page.  It was so much fun when you could just post something, interact with people and enjoy the hobby.  It's not fun when you're sitting there having a conversation with yourself because no one sees the posts anymore.  I'm not deleting it or quitting, just putting it all in perspective.  It's hard when you spend time trying to get funnies out there, and then only 1% see it - don't get me wrong, I LOVE MY 1%.  I just have to keep it real that things have changed.  I will still be around because let's face it - I can't quit - it's an addiction - but I can make the changes needed to accept that it's not the same.  I LOVE my fans.  LOVE THEM. And I appreciate all of you no matter what.  



My FB page is on life support, and I'm at peace with that.  I'll miss you my friend, but I am comforted by memories of good times, and will find solace in Twitter, Blogger, Pinterest and Instagram. Oh, who am I kidding, I'll be holding your hand until you're gone for good.  Until the next time something strikes me as funny and I post it to my 6 people...

Seen by 6.  <slow clap> Bravo.


Cheers and Love,
DG

Tuesday

Funny Winter Weather Memes..

Living up here in New England is nice because as soon as you start getting sick of one season, we are ready to slide into the next one.

Once Thanksgiving is over, the thing everyone wants, needs, and begs for is snow.  It's like 8 months was too long and everyone has amnesia regarding what the snow looks like and how wonderful sweaters and warm clothes are.  We've got boots we want to wear, ski jackets to show off - and the pure white driven snow to be in awe of.

People start to panic if it hasn't snowed by December 1st.

And then...it happens one day.  The first snowfall of the season.
Stop it Dwight, I said SEASON.

Everyone is just....happy.

Unless, it snows really hard when you're flying to or from Christmas...
So all of a sudden, snow is not snow fun anymore.
it's January, you're cold and tired and want to stay home.

And you get the 5am wake up call...and as happy as you are you have a snow day, you can't go back to sleep - because the 5 am wake up call scares the shit out of you.

But you have fun inside and stay in your jammies all day.
and then...all across America..
Polar Vortex...

Polar Vortex Means IT'S REALLY F*&^%$# COLD OUTSIDE.
It also means...
More snow days for everyone..
And you haven't gone anywhere in days..you can't come up with any more indoor activities.
Everyone has been together too long.
Everyone has cabin fever.
"Too much Larry time." from Curb Your Enthusiasm..when you've spent wayy too much time together.

And then..
5 am.
Again...
Not again...
You're starting to get desperate..

And then...the next day..
But it's not.
It's back to school for everyone!
But you long for summer...you MISS summer - you promise, you'll never complain about
being too hot again...
you're just so damn cold...
and utter exhaustion takes over..
www.memegenerator.com

and then just a few months later...
this.
www.quickmeme.com

In the end...
this.
www.someecards.com

When all else fails, blame the weather.
Cheers,
DG

Feeling 22



Every day, when I round the corner to my home, I wince.

Not some days, not every other day, not once a week.  Not snow days, sunny days, rainy days and Mondays.

Every day.

As I make my way around the juniper lined yard, I squint, as I look at my front door.  Is it ajar? I someone there, standing in my doorway?

Even my eyes play tricks on me.  I think I see a shadow and my heart hides in my throat and beats like it did that day.  That dreadful summer day.

I was 22 years old.  A flight attendant without a care in the world.  The thing about 22 is that you're too young to know what you are supposed to be afraid of.  It's like a toddler discovering how to walk - they just don't know to be afraid - they just go, toddle, stumble and get back up.  When you're 22 you just stumble through each day, falling and brushing yourself off constantly trying again because you don't know any better yet.  The fear shackles haven't taken hold.  The world hasn't completely shown itself and all of its dirty little secrets.

Being a flight attendant taught me to be brave in the face of the fear.  Between nasty turbulence, an angry delayed passenger that you can't escape from, how to solve problems quickly and quietly, or how to make sure you have a backup plan in case you don't get from point A to point B the way you were supposed to, I learned to be resilient and resourceful.  It taught me not to give too much information away to strangers, and to always have the pilot look behind my hotel door on overnights before I went in.  I learned when to stop serving someone, and how to calm myself and others when things got rough.  I was brave and bold, but I was young and naive.

Life was easy breezy. All that worrying by my parents for so many years - ha! I knew it all.  I had this thing called the 'real world' in the bag. My only concerns were keeping my eyes and ears open when new bases came available and the best routes to grab - I didn't focus on details in my life. Isn't that where they say the devil is? The details?

That summer, the devil was watching me.

I was on a 4 day on, 3 day off schedule.  It was glorious and I loved every minute of it.  Hoppers to Nantucket and Boston, Bangor and Portland, Hyannis and Burlington.  I was doing 8 flights a day most of those days.  People were happy, pre -9/11 passengers were fun,  and flying was mostly good, easy, laid back.  There was the occasional tantrum from an unhappy person or two having a bad day for whatever reason - but it was manageable.  It was summer, and having three days to hop from place to place in the jump seat were the dreams that the life of a 22 year old were made of.  Especially my dreams.  I'd been putting off my Wanderlust for years, and when I graduated from travel school, I was bursting at the seams to start flying.  Life was good. Flying was even better..and my days off - were the best.  As excited as I was to finally get home to my cozy little first apartment in my fun new life, I couldn't wait to unpack and repack for my next big adventure on my days off.

My taxi pulled up in front of my old New Englander multi-family apartment. It was a tiny one bedroom in a giant old house with quite a few tenants scattered throughout the building.  If you think being a flight attendant pays money, think again.  It doesn't.  But at 22, there are some things worth suffering for.  I was based in Maine, so my rent was dirt cheap and at least I didn't have to share an apartment with six other people like my friends based in NYC or DC or Boston.  I gave a friendly goodbye to one of my regular taxi drivers and he sped off, leaving me standing in the warm breeze in the driveway of my apartment.  I noticed the main front door was open but didn't think much of it as some of my neighbors left it open from time to time.

I happily made my way to my old yellow door, decorated with my silly attempt at a wreath, and it only took a moment to realize that it was ajar.

My door was ajar.

I suddenly felt like there was an elephant sitting on my chest. My smile and confidence left me just as fast as the cab driver. The feeling of not breathing, and even remembering how to breathe consumed me.
Panic.
Fear.
Sweat.
Danger.
All rolled into one.

I pushed the door open, still holding my breath.

What if someone is in here?

There were cigarette butts in the floor.

My mantle was wiped clean of my jewelry and personal things.

My underwear drawer was open and strewn on the floor.

My bills were thrown from the desk.

My closet was destroyed.

The window was broken.

My TV was gone.

I slowly crept in to my bedroom to notice my pillowcases were gone (apparently, those would come in handy to shove the goods into?) and my bed wasn't made.  I always made my bed before I left so it became apparent that someone knew my schedule, and took their time, and lingered a while.

My things were ravaged.  My privacy violated.  My innocence, robbed.

I tried to think. I ran to the phone. I had to call 911 immediately.

They took my phone. They took my phone!

I was 22 years old.

I ran, crying, down the street, to my (now ex- husband) boyfriend's house and called the police.  It was like I was in some kind of nightmare that I couldn't shake myself out of.

I met the police back at my apartment.  I couldn't sit down.  I had no comforts of my home anymore.  My first time on my own, my first place, my inaugural shot at being a grown up.  Someone took all of it from me. Hell, some of the things they stole hadn't even been paid for yet.

Do you have renter's insurance?

I gulped. Renter's insurance?

I learned quickly what it was, and the importance of having it.  You mean I didn't know it all at 22?
There were harsh realities in the world that I had no idea about?  I didn't cover all my bases when I finally branched out on my own?  You mean I lied, when I thought I've got this.  How could I be so stupid?

They asked me for serial numbers from my things...HA! Doesn't every 22 year old write down the serial numbers of their belongings?

Every question they asked me seem to imply how stupid of a kid I really was.  No insurance, no back up plan, no nothing.  But I had a question for them!  Were they going to dust for fingerprints?  Their answer -
you watch too much NYPD Blue.

There was no hope, no help from these guys whatsoever.  They asked around for any information, they interviewed the neighbors, but no one saw anything  - no one knew anything.  The investigation was over before it began.

I had nothing left.  Besides the clothes in my flight attendant suitcase, the ones on my back, and the few they left in my closet, I had nothing, and the worst was having my innocence stolen from me.

I left that day, never to return.  I took a few photo frames of family and I left the rest of my tainted things.  I told the landlord he could have anything I left, the futon, the emptied bookshelf, whatever - it was his.  He was kind enough to tell me he'd worry about the ashes in the carpet and the broken window, he, after all, had insurance to cover the damages.  I did not.

The next few days, I got situated somewhere else.  I was angry, bitter, lost and upset.  Every single person that walked by was a suspect.  Was that my necklace?  Was that my shirt?  Was it you? YOU? HER? HIM?  WHO!? It was making me crazy. Who was in MY bed? Who was in my living room? Who got in my drawers and read my mail?  I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat.  And for me to not be able to eat - you know that's bad. I even gave up my dream job as a flight attendant and opted for something that would afford me the luxury of staying in one place. My immense desire to see the world was overshadowed by anxiety and despair. I was consumed with fear and uncertainty, I felt bruised and empty.

It took me a few months to get over what happened, but I did.  I got another place, I worked extra hours, I bought new things, including renter's insurance, and I found a slice of happy again.  That was the beauty of 22.  The forgiving nature, the renewed hope found in the little things, and the endless supply of energy pulled me through a dark time.  The belief was still strong that when one apartment door is 'ajar', another one opens-so to speak.  I never once doubted that there was a reason this happened, I just had to find it.

These days, I have an obsession with locking doors, car doors, once, twice, three times on some days. I have dreams of coming to that same apartment door, and creaking it open to find the same mess I saw that day.  It sucks, but it happened.

I was forced to grow up overnight because of that.  I learned that there was so much I didn't know, there were things that I needed to be responsible for, and that being 22 didn't earn me the know it all award.

I am grateful for the life lessons.  And I am thankful for my three boys that make me brave every time I round the street corner.  They are my fortress around my castle, my armor, my courage.  Without that break in, I would've never changed the path that I was on that eventually led me here.

It's not mine to question. Why it happened? How it happened? Who did that to me? It just happened.  I feel like it was an invisible hand, changing the direction of the path I was on.  Sometimes, it's completely baffling how much I went through to get to this place that I am now.  The hard times make you who you are whether you realize it at the time or not.  You just have to trust yourself and if that means throwing the road map that you drew for your life aside and going with fate's GPS, then so be it.

Every brick, every step, every mistake, every glorious win and heartbreaking loss led me here.

Grateful,
~DG


Monday

Superbowl Yoga Party

10 Most Popular Superbowl Yoga positions.  
So easy, you won't even know you're doing them.


1.  Group Namaste:  also known as the same -team high five. Most often occurs early in game when optimism is flowing like the alcohol being served at the party.


2.  Downward Facing Hot Dog - getting the entire hot dog in before it lands on your shirt. It's all in the wrist strength and requires coordination to execute properly.


3.  Half Moon - when your shirt rides up too much from you leaning forward and grunting to grab more           chips while doing a seated forward bend.,also called Pranayama Plumber.


4.  Awkward Chair Pose (Touchdowns & Gloating) - these poses can be dangerous to yourself and to others.  Please keep a safe distance from other guests. A styrofoam finger to the eye is a party foul.


5.  Child's (Pouting) Pose - head in hands, sulking over a bad call. Be careful not to pull a muscle in your neck doing this one. PS - no one wants tears in their chip bowl so back away from the snacks when crying.


6.  Reclining Hero - eating a sandwich in the recliner with footstool in full extension. Requires jaw flexibility      focus, and arm strength. Don't bite off more than you can chew.


7.  Superman Pose - showing everyone you have superhuman powers with the amount of food you can            consume in a short amount of time. Be careful you don't eat too much or this could end up in the Kneeling      before the Porcelain Pose.
From supersizedmeals.com


8.  Breath Retention - when the game gets really close and you just can’t stand to watch but you can’t            look away. During high-stress times, it's common to tighten the upper chest and grip the muscles in the          shoulders and throat.  To obtain calm and regain  a normal type of breathing pattern, relax the jaw, throat,      neck, and shoulders, and envision the breath sweeping into the deepest parts of the lungs as you breathe        in and out, letting the stress from a close game just melt away.




9.  Downward facing laptop while Tweeting about the game. Warning, this pose is not for beginners.       Do not attempt to tweet in this position, especially after consuming mass quantities of carbs and/or                 alcohol.        


10. Corpse pose - usually at end of 4th quarter, a combination of too many carbs and too much stress from the game - just find a spot and assume the position.
(All photos from dreamstime.com)

NAMASTE...and Enjoy the Superbowl!
~DG

Saturday

Say Goodbye to My Little Friend..



She loved sitting  by the lake to stare at the fish.

This is a story about my cat.
If you aren't a cat person..it's okay - you can X out now and I won't be upset.  Being that the main reason I have this blog to begin with is for stress relief, I need to get this out to help me get past this awful loss.

When I was a little girl, every time I'd find a dandelion, I'd make a wish and blow as hard as I could so that the little wishmakers would fly every which way to ensure that just one of those got to the place that made dreams come true.  I wished for the same thing, or variations of the same thing, every single time.



I wish I could get a cat.

I wish my brother didn't have allergies to cats.

I wish my parents would let us get a cat.

The only thing I really want for my birthday or Christmas...is a cat.

One night when I was around 10 years old, I was snuggled in my bed, listening to the April rain dancing on the roof.  The pitter patter of the raindrops were interrupted by a much more distinct rapping on my window - almost as if something was getting caught in the screen, poking and pulling, tapping and tugging.  I listened carefully as I pulled the sheets up past my nose, barely allowing my fearful self to peek out from the covers. I'm not scared. I'm not scared.  I'm not scared.




The rapping continued, only this time, I could almost make out the sound of crying.  My heart raced. I was feeling everything from excitement to fear as the sound of my heart beating overpowered the sounds of the crying.

Meow.

Wow.  THAT is a cat!  I leapt out of bed and went right to my window and there she was.  A tiny black and white cat, wet and scruffy sitting on my window sill.  I opened up the other window screen next to it and it jumped RIGHT in my bedroom.  I was GIDDY.  My wish finally came true.  This was my cat.  I grabbed my bathrobe from the chair and dried it off as it paced back and forth, smashing his little head into my hand repeatedly for more rubbies. I put this wet cat on my bed and climbed back in and instructed him to go to sleep with me.  I didn't make a move for fear he would get down or go away or even worse, start meowing or scratching on my door.  Surely my parents wouldn't go for this mysterious border in the middle of the night.

When I woke the next morning, there he was, in a ball at my feet.  I loved the feeling of this little guy snuggled up with me in my room - a scene I had dreamed about for years and years, and never got to act out in real life until today.  Now came the hard part - telling my parents what happened.

We can't keep him, you know that. Your brother is terribly allergic.  

We had him for a couple of days before finding a wonderful home for him.  I was heartbroken. Life was unfair.  Allergies are stupid. I was living out my dream if only for a day or two and it was as exhilarating as it was heartbreaking, but truly one of the greatest memories of my childhood. How that kitty knew to scratch on my window was how I knew those little dandelion wishes really do come true, if only for a moment.
I knew that day that the SECOND I had my own place when I was an adult, I would get as many cats as I could and I would show everyone that I was the boss of my house!  Until then, I would continue to wish for a cat on every birthday candle, every dandelion, and any other chance I got and prayed that my brother would miraculously overcome his allergies to cats.

What did you wish for?
 "A cat, of course." 


Fast forward many years and many wonderful cats that I'd nurture and love and raise and lose to old age or sickness, there was one in particular that had my heart in a way no other cat did.  She was the cat I got from a friend's horse farm, born from a barn cat's litter, I fell in love with her orange and black face immediately. I had just gotten divorced, it was just my one year old and me and I  desperately ached for the comfort of a little furry friend.  My son loved Swiper the fox on Dora's show, so we named her Swiper - totally fitting since she constantly took my hair rubber bands and ran off with them.

Swiper was the kind of cat who always had to be next to me.  No matter who came over, or what was going on, she insisted on being between me and everyone else.  If I sat on the couch, she sat next to me - never on my lap - sometimes behind my head on the couch so she could be higher than me if she felt in the mood for that kind of space..but always near me.  She was very vocal and would answer me in a Brrrrrrt if I gave her a rub or a talking to.  She would always  look me right in the eye.  Fast forward 13 years and three boys, and she was still my most faithful companion, my company on late night feedings and changings, my understanding friend, my comfort on sick days, my laugh on sad days.

One thing she hated - my suitcase.  She hated when we left.  Although she did have a 1/2 sister from her naughty mother who got around in the barn, she hated when there were no humans around.  She'd take one look at a suitcase and pout for days.  She'd make sure I knew she was mad.  Upon returning home, she'd quickly forgive me and greet me with her happy shaky tail and a few more brrrrts.

It was the weekend before Christmas.  We had terrible heavy rains and ice storms for days and she'd been cooped up for too long inside the house and was getting grouchy.  Though she was an indoor cat, she liked to go outside for a little bit every day to see what was going on in the yard, look for mice, roll around in the driveway and get some fresh air.  She hadn't been able to do that for days because of the rain and it was making her crazy.  It was a Sunday afternoon and I was on  the couch when she just kept pestering me, scratching her paw on my leg, talking, pacing on the couch, and looking at me right in the eye.  WHAT DO YOU WANT YOU SILLY CAT???!!!  I had no idea what her deal was, I can only think that it was the rain or the weather but she was acting so weird.  We were going to a friend's later that afternoon and she and her sister were pacing by the door.  I can't imagine why either of you girls would want to go out in this freezing rain, but here you go...you're going to want right back in though!  I was in the kitchen putting together a holiday platter for our party when I saw the two girls outside doing their thing.  I guess they just needed to get out of the house.  When we went to leave for the party, neither were ready to come in.

These two. They used to sit like this all the time and stare longingly at the yard.  They loved being outside and always came right back in just as happily as when they went out.


A few hours later, we returned to find Bella waiting to come in right at their usual spot, but Swiper was nowhere to be found.  This wasn't like her.  She would usually hang out under the porch until we came home, especially if it was raining. I looked for her for hours in the freezing rain that night, but no one saw her, none of my neighbors, no one. The next 4 days before Christmas were not spent wrapping gifts or baking, they were spent looking for her in every barn, garage, bush, tree, street you name it, I looked.  I called her name, I made fliers, I put an ad in the newspaper.  Nothing.  Nothing but an empty space on my couch where she'd spend her days waiting for me to finally plop down beside her and rub her head. I've called and gone to the Humane Society to the point of probably being called the Crazy Cat Woman.  Even my boys made signs and drawings - and sang the song from Piglet's big movie when Piglet got lost and his friends went looking for him.  It was heartbreaking and a horrible thing to go through right before Christmas.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WolD0aI_cNI


It will be 4 weeks tomorrow.  It's time for me to start accepting that she isn't coming home.  Does she know I looked for her? Did she hear me calling her name? Maybe someone took her in thinking someone abandoned her and she's keeping someone else comfy on their couch?  I can't bear to think about anything bad happening to the cat that only ever brought comfort and joy to my life. I am devastated that I let her down.



As I type this story, the amount of tears spilled on my keyboard might just cause my laptop to shut down, but I can't help it.  My heart is broken for my beloved Swiper, my friend and a cherished part of our family.  For those of you that have lost pets to illness or accident, or literally lost them like I did, I am so very sorry and I know that the heartbreak felt is almost unbearable. These pets are family, they remind us of how fragile life really is.  Here one day, gone the next.  There's a gaping hole in my heart.  That's all I can say. 13 years is a long time to go through with a pet. It's really hard to just let go.

Thanks for letting me get some closure here. To my dear friend, I hope you are somewhere that gives you your favorite wet food all day long, running in fields full of catnip with the sun shining on your little round head.  We sure do miss you.  I'm so sorry I let you out that day.  I'm so very sorry if you were sick or scared or cold or lost.  I am grateful for everything you got me through during some of the hardest days of my life and I am so sorry.

I'll get back to the funny again soon, but for now, today's a sad day.

xo
DG