It's not you, I just need MySpace

I've succumb to the horrible reality that MySpace can make you or break you.

I have hopped on the peer pressure band wagon and created a MySpace page.

If you have never used MySpace before, here's how it works:
1. You fill out a bunch of information about yourself in your 'profile'
2. You post pictures of yourself in front of a mirror using your 'blackberry' or wearing tired, tinted shades to make you look more like Bono (Dear Bono, still lovin' the music... still hatin' the shades)
3. You can create blogs for yourself to make you look more 'emo'
4. And lastly, you acquire as many friends as possible in your 'network.'

If you are going to make it in the MySpace networking world you have to take extreme measures... so you lie.

MySpace has made me a "celebrity" in the sense that friends have enjoyed reading my blog and sending me comments. With being a celebrity comes the harsh reality of your actions as well. Lindsey Lohan has showed us the way, with the posting of her va-jay-jay all over the Internet. I have been 'tagged' in several photos by friends in unlikely situations that I would not normally post on my page. (I thank you to those who have contributed to this.)
Granted, I have had this page for almost 4 years now, and in this 4 years I have acquired 20 friends. The goal of MySpace is to reconnect with old friends and make new ones. Apparently, I haven't grasped this concept. I must admit, I have gone through my share of 20 friends. I have deleted some, added some, and likely blocked some. I receive friend requests and of course, what I say first is, "OMG IDK it's my new BFF." No, seriously. That's really what I say.

I did however enjoy the welcome message that came with me creating a personal profile on MySpace. The welcome message from the MySpace team came along with a friend request from Tom. Who was this guy, and how did he find me so fast? A dream actually, because he wanted to be my first friend, in my Top 8. Good for you, Tom. But than adding him as a friend, quickly found me in doubts as Tom had 6,852,749 other friends! How dare he? It's over, Tom. Delete.

I've quickly found out that the people who fill the MySpace population are teenagers and those wanting to sleep with teenagers. I was neither; I was just a MySpace wannabe. Not looking for love, not looking for sex, not even looking to reconnect with old friends either... It came apparent to me while 'reconnecting' that there was a reason why I hadn't 'reconnected' with these people in so long.

MySpace has ultimately showed me why I would rather be on FaceBook.

Much like MySpace, FaceBook was created by a Harvard student, doing a school project. Mainly a networking location for college students, it is a little more reserved. Yes, I was a college student at one point in time (far from being reserved), but did not join FaceBook until 3 years after college.
Again, I show myself as lame.

I guess MySpace has made me into the person I'd rather not be, and broken me into the person I can see myself being. It has shown me to not lie to be cool, to be aware who has the camera at the party, and contemplate why I ever went out with that guy in high school.

Kudos!

Chap Stick Junkie

If you are like any other human being who subjects themselves to the marketing geniuses of those who choose the products that line the cash registers in all major stores, than you will appreciate the relevancy of this blog.

I, Liz Allen, am a chap stick junkie.

"As if I need another one," I tell myself. But if I would only hear myself talk. Maybe it is the slight head cold that I acquired over the weekend, that has caused my own reasoning to be altered. But, I reach for a stick and put it back. "There are so many kinds," I say again. Justifying the fact that I should purchase one even though they all serve the same purpose. I reach for the newest, best, most expensive. I say outloud, "Am I crazy?" and a witty Walgreens sales clerk walks past saying, "Possibly." I laugh because I'm just trying to be polite. But actually if she could read my thoughts she would walk a little faster.

My addiction is so bad, that I carry with me 5 sticks of chap stick. I'd like to think that I have been part of the rising sales goals at any particular Walgreens due to my increased buying habit. Right now, I can tell you exactly where all my chap sticks are located. I have a fantastic 1 in my pocket that I received in my stocking for Christmas. I also carry a few sticks in my purse that consist of Burt's Bees, Mary Kay Satin Lips, and Carmex. I tend to buy the cherry flavor. Sometimes I will switch it up and buy strawberry. There's really no need to try to convince me to buy chap stick. I am already reaching for the tube before you notice it's there. I can enter a store and spot all the places the chap stick is located, within the first 30 seconds of walking through the automatic door. With this in mind, I usually don't go to a store without buying a tube.

Curse or Cure? I have been told that the more you put on, the more you will need it.

As previously stated, I acquired an illness over the weekend. Being a newbie to the Walgreen's Pharmacy, along with my prescription, I received a 'Welcome' gift from the pharmacist. Inside was an eclectic array of Walgreen's samples. Lotion, hand sanitizer, crayons, a pill box, and as amazing tube of Chap Stick.

Bottoms up to you, Walgreens. My lip therapy has just begun.

Ain't that some Sh*t?

I always wake up at a different time, my routine is not religious at all! I have a different way of doing things each day. I hear the alarm. Sometimes I hit the snooze button, sometimes I don't. Sometimes the kids wake me up before the alarm even goes off. Sometimes I eat breakfast, sometimes I don't.

But one thing is always for sure, I leave at the exact same time every morning to bring the kids to their Grandmother's house. And with doing this during the week, you tend to see the same cars every morning,. This is such a drag for me. I always get stuck behind the same SLOW green station wagon, with the bumper sticker that says WWF on the back. I hear myself say, "here we go again." I know you may be telling yourself, "this chick needs to leave 5 minutes earlier or 5 minutes later." I've tried it all. And it seriously never fails!

This morning in particular, I was not interested in anything going on around me, because I was completely late - about 20 minutes off schedule! I rushed to get the kids in the car and out the door. As I was pulling towards the stop sign at the end of my road I giggled to myself, "I bet he is running 20 minutes later as well." I didn't see him! I didn't see one trace that he was even there. Now I have the freedom to just drive and not have to tail-gate!

My daughter started yelling in the backseat, so I turned around to see what was going on and as I turned back my head, a car pulls out in front of me from a side street. The green station wagon from HELL!

I am beginning to think I have a stalker on my hands. I am also wondering if he feels the same way about the situation as I do. He's probably thinking to himself, "this damn Malibu behind me is always riding my ass. Everyday!"

I am trying to see the lesson in all of this, but I don't see the point in the World Wrestling Foundation or for that matter, people who go 5 mph under the speed limit. Besides, who would not want to look at my Malibu everyday?

NitTwit

I have succumb to the beautiful words of Twitter. www.twitter.com/lizallen84

Add me!