I was slightly illish this weekend and took to my bed Saturday, but I did rally for Brother Rob Thurman’s fantabulous cookie decorating party…and trust that a bitch was glad I did!
Re-cap - Cookie Party’s Fantastical Festitude…
A yummified vodka-based punch so good this bitch wanted to smack somebody (thanks to the Play Husband for the brew)…festive holiday music and a properly faux tree-based tribute to the season’s pagan origins, which was constructed and decorated by none other than Brother Rob…hours of Master Level Bitchitude (rated M for Mature)…and all the sugar-based frosting a bitch could take!
Happy, happy, happy and joy followed by joy and then another joy!
This news item caught my attention this morning. It seems that there is an IM gap between grown folks and teens.
Confession - a bitch can’t get into the whole IM thing and has decided that, like baby-doll dresses, it may not be this bitch’s cup of tea (wink).
Teens not understanding grown folks and grown folks not understanding teens is as predictable as bullshit, but the “teens can’t imagine living without instant messaging” part did grab a bitch’s attention.
Oh, to be young and in heat over the current newish thing again!
ABB's moment of fond remembrance…
This bitch couldn’t imagine life without Tang…Pop-Rocks…remote control, Atari and Mandarin Orange Slice…mmmmm, Slice…ummm, oh…Commodore 64 computers, tape cassettes, my Walk-Man, clear mascara and roller skates.
Anyhoo, this bitch is certain that English will survive the IM-ification of youth-based communication.
Fuck it, modern English is just old as hell slang anyway.
What concerns me more than the current adoration of messaging is the fact that people don’t talk anymore.
Have you noticed it too?
Last night I attended a party with grown folks who sat around and talked…and it felt new to me, like Corn Flakes when you haven’t had them in forever and a day.
Wait, there’s more!
Brother Rob told me about the party face to face…human to human…using full sentences!
Mmhmm, for real.
Whilst frosting one of my signature afro snowperson cookies (wink), I even overhead one guest tell another guest that she had spoken to…spoken to, children!...so and so and that she would be arriving late.
No frantically messaged abbreviations were sent and, Lawd have mercy, so and so managed to walk in the door a little bit late as had been related.
I left having shared, listened and laughed...if that’s old school then a bitch is staying old school for life.
Or at least until I figure out how to view messages on my phone (which is a complete pain in the ass, for the record) and by then the next newish “I can’t imagine life without it” thing will have debuted to torture grown folks and make teens feel precious.
Meanwhile, a bitch is left with a multitudes of unread messages and a bizarre craving for Tang flavored Pop Rocks…