A BLOW to the EGO

It may surprise many people to know that I don't have that many friends. At least according to MySpace. I have about 40. And I think ten of them are celebrities or bands or some random person. So needless to say that it always gets me excited to log on to MySpace and see that I have a friends request.

And that's exactly what happened tonite. Imagine the scene...a lonely young woman sitting in front of her computer. She longs for some acceptance. After all it is a Friday night. And she is dateless once again. Truthfully, she's only two glasses and a pair of sensible shoes away from playing for the other team. But she has hope. So in an effort to relieve the crushing loneliness in her chest that threatens to turn her soul into an immense black chasm of emptiness.

Well, maybe not quite that dire.

More like the fear of becoming like that creepy old lady who lives in that big house on the corner, her yard overgrown hiding all manner of creature including her seventeen cats and twelve dogs. The entire visage so frightening that little children dare each other to walk past and then end up running past, screaming 'She's sucking out my soul.'

Wait. I hate cats. That was way worse. I'll take the black chasm and sunken chest please.

Back to the story. She's checking her MySpace account when Lo and Behold, she has a freinds request. She could feel the heart begin pound in her chest. Fingers shaking, she clicks on the bright blue word. There he is. John, her mind sighs. could this be him? Could it be that easy? She takes a minute to daydream. This could make a very cute and funny story to tell their grandchildren. How Granddad 'found' Nana in a sea of profiles, choosing her above all. Again she moves the cursor. Click. Her breath stops in her throat. Faster, dammit, faster, show me my destiny.

There. There he is. John. 40 years old. United Kingdom. Okay, that could be a problem. Not too unmanageable. Intrigues she scrolls down the page. It looks a little off. There's something that she can't put her finger on.

Then she sees it.

Thunk. The sound of her heart dipping into her stomach like a boulder. The words blur as the tears fill her vision. It's over. All before it even began. It was the last thing she'd ever expected.

An advertisement for how to make money money using the internet.

Using her sleeve, she wipes her eyes. No more crying. Suck it up and go to bed. Your cold lonely bed.

Awww.

It wasn't quite that involved. I don't think I'd named our grandkids. Just our firstborn. And his sister. Maybe their baby brother as well.

Aw, well. There's always the next random loser that sends you a request to be his friends.

Maybe next time, it'll be an advertisement for Natural Male Enhancement.

Random Ranting

As my loyal readers may already know by now, I'm an asshole with an opinion. I have one for everything. Even those things that I know nothing about. Especially those things that I know nothing about. I go off half-cocked and make outrageous statements that may or may not be correct. But I do it with conviction. I have a lot of that. I have conviction. Which is a good thing but can also hurt me because I tend to see things in terms of black and white, right or wrong.

An example: Infidelity. I think it's just plain wrong. There is never any justification for it. Period. I don't find it romantic, I don't see the participants as tortured souls. THERE WAS NOTHING ROMANTIC ABOUT GUINEVERE AND LANCELOT. They betrayed her husband, their friend, and their king. And for what? The kingdom fell and Guinevere ended up living out her days in a convent. With no sex. Ever. Unless the nuns were doing things that I don't want to know.

But this was so not what I wanted to say tonight. I did have a point to this rant.

WARNING THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS CONTENT THAT MAY BE OFFENSIVE.

It all began with shoes.

I hate the mall. I HATE the MALL. I LOATHE THE MALL. I also hate shopping in general So imagine my surprise when I found myself wandering the esteemed halls of K-Mart. I didn't have any agenda. I was just kind of loafing around with nothing to do on a Saturday night (pathetic but true). So my good friend Julie calls me and we decide to go to a shoe store because we both decided that we needed to buy shoes. And pants. Well, I needed pants. I'm not sure about her. She may have needed pants.

So, we're in the store looking for shoes. And I'm pointing to a pair of chunky-soled something or others and I ask Julie, "What do you think?" "Fine. If you're a lesbian," came her ready reply. Needless to say, I don't buy the shoes but I do leave the store with a nice pair of New Balance sneaks.

Fast forward to the next day. I'm at Payless, my normal shoe mecca, looking again for a nice pair of black shoes suitable for work. And all the shoes that I find are nice, sensible shoes. Lesbian shoes, according to my friend Julie. So I call her and I leave her the following message, 'Hey Julie. I think I'm a lesbian. I like sensible shoes.'

And I did. But I didn't want to buy them.

Now, before anyone jumps down my throat for making crass generalizations, I do now have justification. I was watching an episode of 'The L Word' in which all of the main lesbian characters are on a quest to find out if another woman is a lesbian or not. Their two main tells: The woman's nails and her shoes.

So apparently even lesbians have a dress code. And it starts with the shoes. I guess clothes do make the man, or the lesbian for that matter.

What about you? What would your clothes tell the average people watcher about you?

Football Freak

I love football. No, I adore football. If football were a real man, I'd be his love slave and allow him unfettered access to my body. THAT'S how much I love football. Most days, football loves me back.

Fantasy football, however, hates me with a passion. For the second year in a row, I am LAST in my fantasy football league. I am a laughingstock. People now stop and point at me on the street and whisper behind my back that my team, Moe's Joes, are now 0-4. They shake their heads in shame as they ask what kind of football fan am I.

A very sad one.

Now, some women who read this may be asking themselves how another of their kindred can be so devoted to such a violent and immature game. To them I say, have you ever taken the time to WATCH a game. To see modern-day warriors take the field in a battle of wits, skill, and brawn is truly an almost holy experience.

Plus they wear really tight pants and most times have great asses.

For me, I think that football is an outlet for all of my pent-up aggression. Since I can't necessarily go around tackling all the people that get on my nerves (mostly because I'd never even have time sleep) I have to get my jollies some way.

What about you? How do you release frustration?

My Blurb

So this is the blurb that my good friend Jaye wrote about my blog...

"Random Acts of Randomness lives up to its title. You never know what subject CreativityVacuum will take on next. But you always know her unique perspective on the issue will be funny. The hot sex scenes are just a bonus."

YEAH!!!! She hit it right on the head. At least SOMEONE sees the humor that I try to spread in the world. And hot sex is never a bonus. It's a necessity, ladies. Am I right? You know I'm right.

Ciao Bella

ANNOUNCING...

The winner of the 'Name My Book' Contest is....(drumroll please)

Nicole and 'Chasing Riki.'

CONGRATUALTIONS!!!!!!

This was a very hard decision. You all had some VERY GOOD entries. In the end, Nicole's title just seemed to click.

But I have to say that it was a close race with Ljay and 'Mister Opportunity' running a close second. This title alone has sparked an idea for yet another book. And for this, I have decided to offer a prize for runner up which is some very luscious Godiva chocolates.

Thanks to everyone that participated. You guys were awesome. Thanks again for visiting my blog and I hope that y'all will continue to read and enjoy my admitted craziness.

To Nicole and Ljay, y'all can claim your prizes by e-mailing your addresses to me at CreativityVacuum@gmail.com

Later Gators