Aside from the fact that Twitter is entirely frivolous and a bit buggy at the moment, I’ve had few problems indulging in this public display of a ephemera. One biggie–and I admit that it’s entirely my fault–is that I treat it like a four-way IM. (If only it could be more than an IM, but my libido digresses.) Within a day or two of haphazardly posting with Noche, my sister-in-law called me, furious.
“Barfy? You think my gift was barfy?!”
“Uhm. Kinda.” It’s always good to be honest when backed into a corner, right?
She’d bought me a full set of Victoria’s Secret body care stuff for Christmas. Love Spell. It smells like grape soda. And not to put too fine a point on it, but the actual term I used was barftastic. Which, I’ll have you note, is a combination of fantastic and yes, maybe a little barf. I’d absentmindedly posted my views on the VS line of body spray and snot. My sister-in-law, evidently, had sniffed the vile concoction and decided that it was just the thing for me. Who does that? Who wanders around looking at girly stuff and says to themselves, Oh, this is incredibly sweet and fruity. It’s so Jenna. (That’d be me.) And then she decided to read my blog. I’d been very polite and thanked her sincerely, but I’m under no obligation to tell everyone that I like this stuff. Even on my blog. I pointed this out and was treated to a scathing retort.
“You’re just like a teenager, I swear! It’s not cool to pretend you’re not a woman anymore.”
“Oh, is it the trend to pretend I’m a man now?” I asked flippantly. I wasn’t even sure what point she was trying to make.
I could damn near hear my brother fuming in frustration in the background. Why can’t my sister just shut up and disappear? Or act civilized. Or shut up? Or disappear? There’s a reason why I told my friends and family about this site, and why I have my image plastered on Technorati. My family is supposed to see it and think, Oh, there’s the Twisted Sister. I’d best stay clear. I really didn’t think any part of my family, extended or otherwise, would be interested in my sex life. Guess I was wrong.
My sister-in-law and I are all good now. She called back to give me a list of things I’d bought her that she’d hated. We’ve agreed on trading wish lists from now on. As it turns out, once again, a little honesty goes a long way. I know my sister-in-law a lot better now. And now that I have her IP, I know her favorite subjects on my blog. Don’t worry, sugar. I won’t tell.
And I owe it all to Twitter. : )