Baby, I’m sorry. I’m not sorry. Baby, I’m sorry. I’m not sorry. Frig I love that song.
Gosh. What’s the old girl raving on about now. Did you just ask yourself that. Maybe not. I don’t think anyone reads this. Probably a good thing. Phew. On and up.
I’m on the rant. Again. Perhaps I need to rename this. Diary.Rant. You know what I’m going to say... Social media is upsetting me. Just turn the bloody crap off, the husband groans. Yes he’s a smart person. He doesn’t partake at all. He’s bloody right. As always...
My excuse is I’m a marketer. I’ve got to be on it. Across it. Under it. Over it. But do I. Really. Is that being real. I’m still trying to work through that. Being real isn’t liking something or someone I really don’t.
Real. What is real anymore? Did they just photoshop the shit out of that photo. Was that bird really in the sky. Does she really love those hideous biscuits. Is it all just porky pies. They’re making a living from it. Smart people. They never seem ranty. Life is one wonderful coffee after another.
So I made a plan tonight while glancing at the cricket. Bring back Lillee please. Remember his hairy chest and crazy flying necklace. I bet it was real gold. Anyway.
Step one. Unfollow. Ahhhhh. I feel better already. Who cares if I see you. You don’t know me anyway. You give me the poops. Why do I want constant runny poo. No thanks.
Step two. Stop putting people’s handles into Social Blade. Trust your gut. It’s always right unless you’ve got the runny poos.
Step three. Keep being REAL. Take real pics. Of real things. Talk real crap. Not crap crap.
Easy. Different and real wins in my eyes. Who gives a rubber glove about anything else.
Nonite. Kiss. No kiss.