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I was skeptical about Twitter at first, y’all. Really, I was. And now we have a love affair for the ages. I assume most people either love Facebook or they love Twitter (MySpace, what?), but few are equally excited about both.

I’m looking at you, LiLu, master of all sharing your thoughts via social networking.

I never even think about Facebook (Oh, but I made my blog a page thingy! Go like it!) updating.

But now, Twitter, you’ve gone too effing far. I’m not sure it’s really your fault, aside from the fact that you EXIST.

There are few things I find more bizarre than people who set up Twitter accounts for their pets. Your pets do not need social media. Take your dog to the dog park, she doesn’t need you to tweet in her voice. Now, it’s gone one step further. According to this article on Mashable, your cat can now tweet. Your cat. On Twitter. Without supervision.

I guess that will be when he’s on break from pissing in your purse or opening all your cabinets or destroying your mini-blinds. Please, Twitter, make this stop. What’s next? Your cat needs a cell phone?

I have no idea why this is only for cats and not dogs. Probably because your dog’s too busy licking his balls to be worried about tweeting. Maybe you should be, too.

Yesterday, I attended a funeral. As some of you may know, Natalie’s mom passed away in the early hours of Mother’s Day morning. This may be overstepping my bounds a bit (even though it was announced in several public places), but I hope that Natalie will understand that my intentions are good.

I haven’t been to many funerals in my life. I usually choose to avoid them. Not because they cause me to look at my own mortality, but because usually I would rather my memories of a loved one not be clouded by all the tears and sadness that are staples of a funeral.

I had never met Natalie’s mom. I was there because Natalie is my friend and I love her dearly, and I wanted to be there for her. To show my support and to honor our friendship. I can’t even imagine what Natalie is feeling right now, but in my head it is akin to stepping into a alternate universe of some sort. Where everything you thought you knew and could count on for your whole life is suddenly different.

As I sat in that room, full of people who had loved this woman I had never met, I was surprised at the strange feeling that spread over me.

You see, I’m an atheist. So it’s not terribly surprising that my views on death are not really the norm. I believe that life should be celebrated and lived. I believe that death is an inevitable part of life, and as such, isn’t all that sad. I didn’t expect to feel much of anything, aside from compassion for my dear friend and her family.

The pastor made time for people to tell a story or share their thoughts. One by one, people began to stand and share. There were tears and laughs and memories. I listened respectfully, knowing, of course that I didn’t have my own story to tell.

But if I could have, this is what I would have shared:

I never met Debbie Aldridge. She is a complete stranger to me. I’ve now heard stories and seen pictures and I feel honored that I was allowed to attend such a personal event.

I truly wish that I had gotten the opportunity to spend time with Debbie Aldridge. She seems to have touched every person she met. But I am so lucky that, even if I didn’t get to meet Debbie, I get to have Natalie as a part of my life. I am so grateful for that.

I sat silently. I only teared up once (damn you, April), but I didn’t cry. I almost felt that my tears would be cheap. Cheap because I didn’t know this woman. Cheap because I hadn’t lost anything. Selfish because I get to keep my friendship with Natalie, even though she has lost someone who was such a huge part of her life.

Last night, when I finally got home and laid my head on my own pillow, my mind was whirling. I was exhausted and emotionally drained, but I couldn’t sleep.

I’ve been wracking my brain for a couple of weeks now, trying to figure out what I could do to honor Natalie’s mother. To show Natalie that I love her and that I care about her. I thought about asking people to do something with me, but right now, that also feels cheap.

What I’ve settled on is this:

I will live my life with my arms wide open. I won’t be stingy with love. I will laugh. I will give back. I will try to touch the lives of the people I meet. I will dance. I will create memories. I will leave a lasting impression.

And if something ever goes horribly wrong, and I end up with children, I will raise them to do the same.

I will learn to cherish my own family and be a part of their lives (if I can). I will find my passion. I will remember that my best friends should be a reflection of me and who I am, and that they are family, too.

So to any member of Debbie Aldridge’s family who may ever read this, just know that the woman you loved so much has touched my life, too. Thank you for sharing that with me.

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen! It’s time for LiLu’s TMI Thursday.

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted a TMI Thursday. So here goes.

My vagina is grounded. It apparently has magical powers that make men act like crazy, stalking, emotional fools, so April said I can’t use it any more. Oh, and I’m not allowed to say “Hi.”

What? I do “Hi” really well.

Anyway, my vagina has been grounded for about a month now. Which is fine with me, really, because I have had no urge to share it*. Since it doesn’t make me crazy, I’m allowed to use it for myself.

Because I’m me, of course, I really had to get all the rules to this grounding. Just in case. I haven’t been grounded since high school (the trip to Mexico was TOTALLY not worth it, in retrospect), so I wanted to make sure I remembered how it worked.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: So this whole “my vagina is grounded” thing. Can we talk about it?

April: You’re not getting out of it.

Me: NO! I just want to make sure I understand the rules.

April: It’s GROUNDED. How hard is that?

Me: Well, is it grounded all the time or are there special circumstances in which I might be allowed to use it should I ever get the urge?

April: ……….

Me: Let’s say, I travel to another country. Am I allowed to use it there? Or what if I meet someone here who doesn’t live in the same city? State? Country? Would that be okay? I mean, let’s say I meet an adorable Australian man and he’s only in town for the week and he has a hotel room, so he won’t know where I live and I don’t give him my phone number. Could we declare his hotel room some sort of sovereign state for the evening?

April: You are a pain in the ass.

Me: These are LEGITIMATE QUESTIONS! Would you really deny me an Australian man? LIKE DR. CHASE?

April: Okay, I don’t think it’s good enough that he just lives in another state. If he doesn’t live in the country and he’s going to be gone within the week, I suppose you can have permission. BUT THOSE ARE THE ONLY CIRCUMSTANCES.

Me: What about Canada? It’s attached.

April: I think there should be an ocean involved. If he has to cross an ocean to get back to you, I think we can safely assume he’ll stay away.

So there you have it folks. You continental US people are OUT. As well as the Canadians. I’m guessing that also leaves out the people of Mexico. And really anyone in Central or South America, since they’re still kind of attached by a piece of land.  (Which is good because everyone I know who goes to Central or South America ends up married to a midget Peruvian.)

Europeans? Africans? AUSTRALIANS? Call me. Don’t expect me to answer though. I’m difficult like that.

*Except earlier this week when I may or may not have ended up in a…sticky situation. I know. It seems like I would have told you that story for TMI Thursday, doesn’t it?