I [upside-down heart] Psoriasis!

Translation:  “I hate psoriasis”

For the record, I don’t suffer from psoriasis but if I did, I’m sure I would hate it.  I just chose that to illustrate my point [which, in the scheme of things is useless but somewhat interesting].

I’ve become fascinated with how we communicate. Probably because the way we communicate is changing so rapidly.  And, in my humble view, it’s not always for the better. I guess it’s cool that we can  connect with each other 27/7 using a mind-boggling array of methods from e-mails and texts to  [insert method of your choice] from wherever we are in the world.  It’s convenient, I admit . But it’s making us all a little more impatient and lazy in a certain way.  I’ve gotten so used to getting answers RIGHT NOW that when I don’t get them? I start getting serious ants in my pants and I have to remind myself that I sent that text question 12 seconds ago. Getting an answer back from my waxer about whether I can come in for a Brazilian next Friday isn’t urgent and doesn’t require an answer in 30 minutes or less or it’s free like a fucking pizza delivery. I constantly have to remind myself to stop, take a breath, and buy a disposal razor if I have to.  It’s not the end of the world.

But never mind all that. What I want to talk about here is what I’ll call “the symbolic sentence movement” for lack of a better phrase.  You know, using those little emoticons to denote feelings or set the tone of the written word?

Yes, I use them in moderation. Like Botox.  But I really only like two of them:  the smiley face and the heart.

Smiley faces are nice. They denote happiness. Hearts are wonderful because they denote love.  So prolific is the heart symbol that in their absence, we can just spell out the word and everybody gets it.

I heart puppies.

I heart Spanx [not really but you know what I mean]

I heart furry little bunnies.

But what about things you don’t like…or even hate?  Where’s the symbol for that?  I mean, everybody hates psoriasis, right?  I mean hates it!  It’s horrible.

Since emoticons are used to alert a reader to, according to Wikipedia “the tenor or temper of a statement”, there should be a symbol for it.

Given my limited tech knowledge, there probably is but I just don’t know the right key strokes to make it appear.

So I made my own hand-made version: the upside-down heart. Seems fitting that turning a heart upside-down would be a gentle substitute for the word “hate”.

I [upside-down heart] war.

I [upside-down heart] Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

I [upside-down heart] those tiny wrinkles around my mouth that nothing will fix. Grrrrrrr.

Yeah, somebody smarter and quicker than me has probably already come up with this upside-down heart notion.


I [heart] my upside-down heart.


“Sorry! I Meant That For My Bookie”

I’m not big on texting.  It’s my least favorite form of communication.  I do my best to use it only for quickie notifications and the occasional confirmation of something like… “on my way” or “meet me in elevator in 5 [wink]”.  Maybe it’s because I fear we’re becoming a society of weirdly reclusive souls who, although more connected than ever, don’t have to  change out of their jammies or leave the house to feel a part of the global conversation. There is something oddly macabre about that.  Like I’m witnessing a paradigm shift in the evolution of humanity.  Think about it….we were once writhing, squishy, amoebas that somehow found the wherewithal to band together, grow legs and brains and become the bipedal wonders we are today [unless you’re one of the folks who started the Creation Museum and believe a god-like deity placed us here as fully formed humans who had dinosaurs as pets]. Who’s to say we’re not slowly morphing into fleshy little machines with one pointy digit for pecking and a language made up of clicks and beeps that have only one letter sounds?

Rise up, people!  Rise up and resist this stealthy metamorphosis!!


Back to the subject at hand which is gambling….I mean texting.

Call me crazy, but I still want to hear the sound of voices and see other humans face to face once in a while.  It motivates me to shower and get botox and get my nails done, not to mention fundamentally avoiding confusion.  For me, texting is a recipe for I’ll call a What-The-Fuck? Situation. Or in text speak: a WTF Sitch.

To illustrate:

I have a friend who is an avid text-er.  For her, it’s efficient since she is also a profuse multi-tasker.  Holding the iPhone and texting allows her to communicate while flitting from room to room with a rag attached to her feet that polishes the hardwood floor and in turn  allows simultaneous operation of her hands-free make-up applicator that she activates by blowing into a tube.

Yesterday, we were having a text conversation about the apocalyptic meltdown of her e-mail system, the dinner menu of an upcoming birthday party and the shocking changes to global weather patterns and this pops up:

“Okay, I’ll take both for 500”

“What?  I thought we were talking about lobster bisque and the jet stream!?” I replied.

“Sorry! I meant that for my bookie”

I rest my case.