Orble - On Life, Love, and Five Points

On Life, Love, and Five Points

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Facebook - Hey Mom, I'm a Whore

Grow out of Love

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Facebook - Hey Mom, I'm a Whore

July 7th 2009 03:47

Facebook - Hey Mom, I'm a WhoreWhat are your children REALLY into? To find out, please log in.

I need a facebook application that lets me know whenever a parent, step-parent, priest, or future employer sets up a facebook account. Just so I can scourge tagged photos and modify privacy settings. Seriously. Today I received a facebook message from my mother. It stated, "Jesus loves you". I am still pondering a response. And fumbling through my recent news-feed, to see which posting induced this message. Perhaps the recent photo of me twirling around front stage at a rock show handling a vodka tonic and air guitar? ohmygod. Oh. My. God. Did she see that?

This could be dangerous. Parents, if you want to know ANYTHING from your child's favorite color to the name of any of the three guys your daughter is crushing on....Sign. Up. Now. Forget that, retroactively start up an account. It is the quickest way to find out their interests, hangouts, goals (or lack thereof), and lack of respect for your dresscode.

WARNING: Facebook may replace whatever remained of your dinner conversations.

However, if you are in my situation (parent in one city, offispring in another), this website may prove to be entirely efficient. Hell, my mother will just as soon facebook message me before she will pick up her blackberry and hit my speed dial number. I wonder if I even have a speed dial designation......EITHER WAY, why would she call me when she can scroll through recently tagged photos and wall posts and find out exactly what bar I closed down on Saturday evening, which boy helped me do so, and what outfit i should never, ever wear again. Hell, she can even correct my grammar on my drunken status update if she deems necessary.

And still I resist putting her on a "limited profile" listing. Because in some strange way, (thanks to her ever-increasing facebooking/stalking abilities) I believe this access makes her feel more active in my life, 350 miles away from her own. And for some reason, it is kind of nice knowing someone cares to comment and let you know she still knows EXACTLY what is going on even when you don't mention a word.

Thank you Mark Zuckerburg...now my mother knows I'm a whore.

Only joking.

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Grow out of Love

July 6th 2009 23:32

“We outgrow love like other things
And put it in the drawer.
Till it an antique fashion shows
Like costumes grandsires wore.”
-Emily Dickinson

Maybe we do outgrow love. I know that I have at least hoped that was true a time or two. And if it is, then why is it so hard to keep it tucked away in a drawer? It continues to reappear, wanted or not. It always comes tumbling out like dirty laundry; like pulling out your favorite old comfy sweatshirt after having it tucked away all summer; causing sentiment in the hardest of people. This begs the question; can we really ever truly outgrow love, or do we only hide ourselves from it for a while?
I think this parallels the idea that at times our surroundings cause points in our lives that make love easier to accept. To let in. We are humans after all. And with that comes a natural propensity to long for love and to be loved. Whether or not we think that is what we desire or need. Sometimes we wear love like a new fashion, or a costume; nothing more than an aesthetic statement. Then we casually outgrow it and toss away until next season. I’ll cut the rambling there and end with this. How do we know when it’s real? And not just an extreme version of the feeling we get buying a new pair of shoes. I think it is when two people’s surroundings happen to parallel, for whatever reason. They share the same experiences that create a bond of emotion that will never go away, even if aesthetic “love” does. I have this sudden urge for a new pair of shoes. Duty calls.
This time I listen.

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Posted By: Joy - Category: No Category

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Rain

June 25th 2009 03:59

She wears flip-flops in the rain,
When it doesn’t make sense.
She laughs in church,
For all the wrong reasons.
She trips, over Everything
With nothing in her way.
She doesn’t, match.

She’s not sure of anything,
Except that You make her nervous.
You can’t scare her,
She already knows the ending.
She hasn’t cried for years, until
Yesterday.
And it doesn’t make sense.
She’s not afraid of
Being clumsy, or inappropriate,
Or all the wrong reasons.

She knows the words that could make
sense of it all,
But she’d never dare speak them.
She hates lies.
Watch her leave…
She’ll sort it out in the rain,
Wearing flip-flops and a forced smile.
It doesn’t make sense.
But it’s her only truth.

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