August 2, 2010 § Leave a comment
I created a Twitter account.
I am the kind of person who shouldn’t have a Twitter account.
But, more on that later. First, genesis:
It started in LA, as almost every one of my entries seems obligated to reference at some point in the entry, when Wayne and I spent the daylight hours of our vacation chasing down food trucks. Why? Because there are no interesting food trucks in Tyson’s Corner; there are just three Louis Vuittons within walking distance of each other instead — Dear World, FYI, themed food trucks are much more important to life than designer bags. And because life isn’t fun unless you have to chase down your food. Don’t worry all you naysayers, Cheng has your back:
However, Wayne and I realized that since all the food trucks we were trying to hunt down never stayed nor returned to the same coordinates, we had no way of tracking them down unless we went to their Twitter page. So we went to each individual page. It would have been easier to just created a Twitter account and follow all the food trucks we were hunting down to have all their locations on one page. But we never got around to doing that because of a mixture of reasons: half — neither of us wanted to give in and create a Twitter account; quarter– “Wouldn’t if be fun if we just drove around and found one? It’d be FATE!”; quarter — “Erm, you know it’s our last day here so maybe next time?”; and sprinkled with a heavy dose of laziness.
So, honestly, this is my preparation for my next trip to LA where I can resume hunting for my food.
Now, I am one of those people who should not have a Twitter account because I’m apathetic about following people or being followed. I would be perfectly happy if no one ever read anything I tweeted. And on that note, if people were to read my page, I am one of the those people whose tweets most people will read and think one of two things:
1. God, why doesn’t she just have a blog?
2. You know, I bet that boyfriend of hers she keeps mentioning is imaginary, because, honestly, who the hell would find demonic (okay, demented) growling like a manic wire-haired Jack Russell terrier (only NOT cute) when extremely happy, sexy?
For the record, he doesn’t find it sexy. He just laughs nervously and reminds himself that dating me is completely worth it because of my key lime pie. I know that could be left to some perverse interpretation, but, really, I make a really dreamy-creamy, tartly sweet key lime pie that is a very pale shade of yellow and speckled with bits of bright green zest from the lime rinds.
Believe me, it’s worth my crazy laughter.