HOW TOesday: Facebook Etiquette for Newbies (Guest Post by Mabel Buckley)

Hello there, readers. (I doubt there are any). Mabel here. You may have heard about me before on this blog, though I can promise you that any stories Allison has told about me destroying things, being rude, peeing on stuff, etc. are absolutely false and fabricated by a pathetic human in a sad attempt to get sympathy from the Internet. GET SOME REAL LIFE FRIENDS, ALLISON.

Anyhoo, you may or may not be aware that I recently joined Facebook. I’ve heard quite a bit about it lately, and was wondering WHETHER ANY OF MY FRIEND OR FAMILY KNEW WHAT IT WAS. Well, being the innovative cat that I am I joined, and it’s just as glorious as the commercials suggest.  The things that connect you humans connect us cats too.

I have noticed that there seems to be a little bit of confusion as to how to behave on Facebook.  I’m here to “shed” (HA, CAT JOKE) a little light on the subject with a short list of “Must-Dos.”

1. TO BE SURE THAT YOU GET YOUR POINT ACROSS, MAY I SUGGEST ALL CAPS?

It’s a proven fact that no one reads posts on Facebook if you’re writing in lowercase letters. Might as well call them invisible letters, because that’s how much people are going to look at them. Not at all.

 

See what I did there? As you’re scrolling through your newsfeed, you can’t help but notice that I (1) am bummed out that it’s Monday, and (2) tricked my roomies into thinking I was dying this morning. It’s undeniable that #2 is hilarious, so you’re welcome for posting. Just think, if I’d written in invisible letters, you never would have seen it. 

2. IF IT’S A MEDICAL, EMBARRASSING, OR JUST PLAIN GROSS CONFESSION, PLEASE POST IMMEDIATELY.

 

 

Some might be ashamed to admit that they are under the care of a psychiatrist, but I ain’t ashamed. I REPRESENT the problem of cat anxiety to all those I meet (not that I meet many … my anxiety really is crippling and I spend most of my time under the bed when my roomies have friends over).

You probably notice that I didn’t just post about my anxiety for the sake of posting, but I disguised it as a complaint about the rising price of healthcare. That’s a Facebook favorite these days. THANKS, OBAMA.

 

 

Also, if you’re confused about how your medical history may affect your everyday life, ASK YOUR FACEBOOK FRIENDS. You’ll be amazed at the wealth of information your FB friends can provide.

3. COMPLAINTS IN DISGUISE ALWAYS GET THE MOST FEEDBACK.

 

It’s no secret that I hate everybody. EVERYBODY. (Yes, you too, Evanshine). It’s really fun to publicize this repeatedly, though.

4. ESPECIALLY COMPLAINTS ABOUT YOUR FRIENDS.

 

 

See? I like to make a complaint with just enough detail that the one I am complaining about immediately recognizes it. (AHEM, ALLISON). Then, if your friends ask what’s up, as they should, you can explain in even MORE detail. Good things come to those who READ THE COMMENTS.

5. IF YOU ARE UNSURE OF CURRENT EVENTS, FACEBOOK > GOOGLE.

 

I don’t read the paper, or watch the news. Obviously. I am busy enough napping in the sun all day. So when I hear a little snippet of a current event, I just post on FB and usually someone can help me out. I trust my friends’ summaries of the news more than I trust the News itself.

6. YOU SIMPLY CANNOT GO WRONG WITH A SELFIE.

 

Even if it makes you look fat.

 

You're welcome, friends. Now leave me some love in the comments section (which Allison finally figured out how to use, so you should be able to actually leave a comment now), or email me at mabelthecatbuckley@gmail.com. (I am pretty bad about checking my email, though, so be warned).

#tbt: From the Desk of Allison L. Grogan, age 6

Last night, I finished The Goldfinch, a Pulitzer Prize-winning, nearly-800 page novel. It was great: nearly as well-written as most of what's on this blog. Naturally, I immediately picked up a new summer read: School Days: A File System to Retain Records and Memories, Preschool Through Grade Six. It's basically a compilation of all the monthly update blog posts my mom surely would have written as I grew up had the Internet and blogging in general been invented at that time. I highly recommend you add it to your Amazon.com wish list immediately.

Aaaaaanyway, this #tbt is brought to you straight from the desk of this little lady:

At this point, I was in first grade, where I was "not interested in participating on sports teams," but "loved dolls," according to my mom's excellent notes. That year, I got straight As and, along with my BFFs, performed a skit called "The Peach" at our school talent show. I was "learning to tell time" and "getting to be a great reader. (Nerd Alert). I also got a haircut and won three ribbons -- one blue, one white, and one green -- at OOVOTO ("Our Own Version Of The Olympics") Day at school, though my mom didn't write down which events I dominated.

Apparently the best thing my mom could think of to write under "Special Memories" was this: 

Allison brought Mom an old newspaper from school (when the teacher was cleaning out shelves) because I recycle papers. 

It's clear that I was just as thoughtful then as I am now.

I was also blossoming into quite the artist -- 

I'm pretty sure that's a picture of Molly holding an American Flag and standing next to a giant lollipop. This was published in the local paper. No big deal.

I also had quite the sense of style, knowing just when to use a cute denim scrunchie and barrette to liven up a side pony.

But most importantly of all, I was an activist. I didn't mind telling people what I thought, especially when I could do so by letter. 

 Exhibit A

I'm pretty sure I had some help in coming up with the subject of this letter (ahem, Dad), but if that's true he could have given me a little more help with punctuation and editing for redundancy. I do think the last line was pretty effective, though. It's always good to end a piece of persuasive writing with a reminder to the reader that you'd like them to do what you just said. 

And for this little glimpse into the mind of Allison L. Grogan, age 6, and that bit of writing advice -- you're welcome!

Happy Father's Day!

You already know that my mom is an expert at taking awkward photos. What you may not have known is that the reason my parents are still happy together after thirty-one years is that my dad is equally photogenic.

In these waning hours of Father's Day, I present you with this tribute to my dear old Dad. It's pretty obvious that he has been dying to be featured on my blog, and I've been holding out on him just to make his Father's Day that much sweeter. Dad -- it's your time to shine!

My dad has taught me many things over the years, and because it's Father's Day and I'm feeling generous, I'm going to share a few of these lessons with you.

He taught me that you can never be too careful to avoid germs:

 and how to be tough:

Dads of Anarchy

He taught me that practice makes perfect:

"Let's see…this is how I'm going to clap when Allie walks across the stage."

 and how to get a great shot:

 He taught me to always stop and smell the roses:

and how to be a great tourist:

"Hands free is the key. Strap every tourist item to your belt so you're ready for anything."

and never to miss a chance to try new foods:

PO BOY

BEIGNET

BROWNIE DELIGHT, DON'T MIND IF I DO.

TINY COKE

GIRLY DRINK

 He taught me the art of a great selfie,

a great swing,

a great catch,

"This is how you reel it in…"

and a graceful pose.

He taught me to always have a song in my heart

OLE, OLE OLE OLE!

 and to be ready to take a nap.

 He taught me to cook great foods

and to always carry an umbrella just in case.

He showed me how to strike a pose

and how to smize.

It's pretty obvious where I got my great sense of style.

Vintage is so in right now.

Gilligan knew how to pick a hat.

If you're wearing the same thing as the oldest person in the room, you're doing something right.

He taught me how to be confident in myself

Photo Booth for one, please.

and perhaps most importantly, how to cheer for the CATS.

OK, I just put this one in so we could all think back on #8.

Dad, IF you're reading my blog -- you're the best. Thanks for all the life lessons and I look forward to many more!

A Tale as Old as Time

And now, for something a little different. It’s not even #tbt and I’m giving you a rare glimpse into my past and I’m doing it as part of a storytelling link-up with Kristi at and babies don’t keep. You lucky readers are about to be treated to a tale as old as time. No, it’s not the story of how when I met Evan he was a beast trapped in an enchanted castle and after we fell in love he was transformed into his current-day princely self. That’s a story for another day. This tale is one of celebrities and missed connections and it's actually only 10 years old. Ingrigued? Read on.

 

Of my college years, 2004 was a pretty great vintage.  I started off the year with a Winter Term class on film studies, lived with three of my best friends in the Alpha Phi house, spent the summer stuffing myself full of cornbread and fried green tomatos while waiting tables at Ramsey’s, and then headed in Spain, where I peppered my semester abroad with weekend trips to Morocco, London, Ireland and Paris. I would do it again in a heartbeat, but wearing more sunscreen and moisturizer. (Oh, the things you learn as a semi-grownup.)

What made 2004 an even better year was the fact that my film studies class involved watching a few movies on campus, then heading to Park City, Utah to continue my “studies” at the Sundance Film Festival. For me, an avid student of celebrities and pop culture in general, this may have been the highlight of my life. (Evanshine, take note: I REALLY LOVED Sundance and WOULD LOVE TO GO BACK, PERHAPS AS A CHRISTMAS PRESENT ALONG WITH SOME BLACK BOOTS…).

For a few weeks every January, Park City, Utah is like a condensed version of Hollywood: chock-full of celebrities, but because the town pretty much consists of one block of bars and restaurants, the ratio of celebrities to normal plebes like myself was excellent. Just walking around, we spotted Sharon Stone, Andrew Firestone (Bachelor fans, unite!), Tim Robbins (who refused to take a picture with us because he was "too sweaty"), Mallory from the Real World: Paris*, Mark Ruffalo, Jay somebody from Supertroopers, McCauley Caulkin, Mandy Moore, Robert Redford, Darrell Hammond, and more. I’m such a namedropper, right? Sorry. No, I’m not.

 * This was a big deal to us at the time, okay?

For my roommate and travel companion Stacy and me, 2004 was also a great year in Hair. We had perfected the “flip out” style and were rocking it pretty hard. One of many great things about this style was that it looked great even with a hat on.

Exhibit A.  See how nicely my hair stuck out from my hat?

 

Fortunately for her, our other friend Tanja had not fallen prey to this trend. Instead, Tanja had long, curly blonde hair that doesn’t even look out of style now. Tanja also wore very stylish sunglasses all around Park City, giving her the air of a celebrity and leading a whole lot of people to stop our little trio on the streets to ask Tanja which movie she was in. For a reason that I still don’t understand, I was not asked this question even one time.

One night, as we made our celebrity prowl up and down Park City’s main drag, an oldish, non-famous-looking man stopped us. As usual, he ignored me and Stacy and asked Tanja: “What movie are you in?”

Tanja laughed. “Oh, I’m not in a movie…”

“Well, my agent would like to talk to you.”

Nervous laugh. “Um, okay, sure…”  What a line!, I thought. This guy was clearly a liar and we needed to get away from him immediately. So we all took a few steps backward, avoided eye contact, and continued our celebrity hunt on down the street. We soon got cold and found a coffee shop to warm up in. Because I had not yet discovered my love of chai lattes, I ordered hot chocolate and we found an ideal table giving us not only a prime view into the street, but also easy access to the door should a celebrity stroll by that needed our stalking.

A few minutes later, our old friend walked by the store. Glancing through the window, he spotted Tanja and opened the door.

“Hey, I was serious about my agent wanting to talk to you –“

“Oh,” said Stacy, cutting him off. “You have an agent. So you’re an actor, huh?”

He tore his glance away from Tanja and noticed Stacy. “Um, yes.”

“Ok, if you’re an actor, what have you been in?” Stacy clearly wasn’t buying this guy’s act. Neither was I.

He gave a confused smile and named a few things that sounded like soap operas and some movies that I’d never heard of. Amateur hour, I thought, nodding like I knew what he was talking about. He was still going. “…Coach.”

“Huh.” Stacy was also not impressed. Tanja and I gave the man an awkward smile (though I’m still not sure he had noticed that I was there.)

“Well, okay,” he said, defeated. It was clear that he wasn’t impressing us. “It was nice to meet you all.  I’m Craiger.” And with that, he turned and left the coffee shop, taking Tanja’s big break with him.

“Craiger!” we giggled. What a name. It was only later, when we got back to the hotel and got online, that we realized who we’d been speaking to:

The Coach himself, Craig T. Nelson. Sorry, Craiger!

Note: I just realized that it says something about my current day life that the best story I could think of to tell happened more than ten years ago. Dang.

HOW TOesday: Alienate Your Daughter

Here I am again, back to give you more useful insights into life. If you're anything like my mom, you are printing off these HOW TOesday posts and storing them in a folder marked "Important" or "Useful Tips." Thanks for that.

Anyway, tonight as friends were arriving to watch a double-header of the Bachelorette, we noticed someone has been pranking me on my own anniversary typewriter:

Say what?

You may notice a "mom was here!" in the bottom corner of the page. Naturally, my top suspect at first was my mom. I have since confirmed, however, that the culprit was my father, a full-grown man and my own flesh and blood.

So today I am filing paperwork to legally emancipate myself from my father, a la Drew Barrymore. Accordingly, I am up for adoption. Applicants with a spare trust fund or vacation homes in Maine, Park City, or the South of France will be preferred. You can apply by becoming an f-ing follower of my blog! (I still only have two...which seems impossible given the useful and interesting content.)

Lola Goes to Chicago, and Other Tales of an Absentee Blogger

Yoo hoo!

I'm alive! I took an unplanned hiatus from the old blog just because. I am sure that your life hasn't been the same since. You probably also have been wondering what I've been up to lately. Well, lucky for you, I'm here to recap the last couple of weeks.

When we weren't watching the Bachelorette, doing back-breaking yard work, or making babies cry --

 

Evan and I hit the wedding circuit, and we hit it hard. First up was Katie, my best friend growing up, who got married in the prettiest Nashville wedding (no, I didn't see any characters from Nashville the show. The last time I was down there, I did see Deacon in a bar, though. I think he's off the wagon.)

 

Susan strikes back.

 

This wedding had a photobooth, which is pretty much all I need to have a good time. I was so pumped about the photobooth, in fact, that I did not take one single picture on my own camera. You'll have to take my word that everything was beautiful.

 

Next up, my friends Courtney and Keith got married in Chicago, the City of Love.

 

Before I can explain the exciting happenings at this wedding, you first need to meet Courtney's cat, and my best friend, Lola.

 

 

As you can tell by the look in her eyes, Lola is Crazy. In fact, she makes Mabel look semi-well-adjusted, which is quite difficult to do. Anyway, Courtney told me before the wedding how sad Lola was that she couldn't celebrate the union of her parents with them, screaming during the ceremony, scratching people during the cocktail hour and just destroying things at the reception. So, being the good friend that I am, I decided to take one for the team and bring Lola Dear along.

 

And that leads us to a new segment here on the tudor house:

 

 

Or, The Story of Lola and The Big White Wedding.

 

The three of us -- the three best friends that anyone could have -- hit the road Friday after a long day at the office for me and Evanshine and a long day terrorizing people for Lola.

 

 "I'm going to wreak so much havoc at this wedding, it will go down in the history books."

 

 

As you know, the Kentucky countryside is a beautiful thing, and we all enjoyed some stellar views.  We got tired, though, and stopped at a roadside hotel in northern Indiana to rest up before making our triumphant arrival in Chicago on Saturday morning.

 



Lola requested extra pillows from the concierge because she is high maintenance.

 

 

The next morning was more of the same, and before we knew it, we had arrived in Chicago, the City of Light. We quickly got ready, threw on some jewels, and headed to the wedding.

 

Miraculously, Lola behaved herself at the ceremony, and then we all headed to the reception, where Lola was so happy to see her parents that she actually got a little bit drunk and kind of embarrassed herself by hanging out in a vase of flowers all night.

 You can tell by the crazy look in MY eyes that Lola had rubbed off on me a bit here.

 

The happy fam



 

It was such a fun wedding, capped off by delicious Chicago popcorn! Lola and I are working on convincing Courtney and Keith to do it all again next weekend.