Addressing your audience (So people who don't give a damn, can go on with their lives)

That awkward moment when I'm scrolling through my newsfeed and I spot this random post, where the author of the post, is talking directly to me. The problem with this is the fact that, the post is written in second person, yet the author knows absolutely nothing about me. I always wonder, what is she talking about? Why is she directing this useless babble at me? If she's talking to someone or someones in particular, not some random "YOU," why doesn't she address him, her, or them? Why doesn't she give a name to her audience, so I can ignore her unoriginal words of wisdom? The Straight Dope called their audience "The Teeming Millions." My Ex-Bestie, called the fans of 3AHA, Animals; where as I still call the fans, Lovelies. My point is that, there is a population of people, this person is addressing, and I'd like her to address them formally at the beginning of her "YOU, YOUR, YOU'RE" posts. That way, I don't waste precious moments of my life realizing, that the current batch of shite, isn't really directed at me personally.

It sounds mean, I know, and I may suffer for ranting in such a public forum. However, I'm doing this in such a public manner in hopes that she will realize the difference between actually talking to  her friends, and talking to a following of people whom she knows, or network with for a particular reason. It's like reading a horoscope, the only difference is that, I want to hear/read my horoscope. This stuff just randomly comes up in my Facebook Newsfeed.

Every time I see this kind of post, I feel like the guy in my lovely Le Derp illustration (thank goodness for google). It takes me about 30 minutes to recover, and in that time I could have been productive. Instead I just get irritated and I have to turn into doe horrible internet troll. No one wakes up and says, "I'm going to troll the internets today." Since I'm irritated though, I almost feel compelled to go there. The level of irritated I can reach upon the sight of such utter nonsense, can't be tabulated. I really wish she'd stop doing this.

Anyway I figured I put my frustrations into words. I have been having nightmares lately, and my current state of irritations might be a direct result of them, but what eve's.

The Worst Scam Artist Ever

I keep terrible hours. Now that it's pushing 6 AM and I'd like to be getting some shut eye. Unfortunately, one last check of my email has me awake and fairly alert. My junk file inbox is usually filled with crap I never need, newsletters from sites I no longer visit, or random people trying to sell me their nieces and daughters, mail order bride style. This one came from a "university undergraduate."

Miss Catherine Koffi sent me not one, but two emails; both poorly written and incoherent. Normally, I delete these, because they are obviously phishing emails. This one was done so terribly, that I had to share it with you. I became incensed. Who are these people? Do they (the infamous they) think we (the royal we) are so stupid, that they can just write anything, and we'll just do it? I've officially lost all faith in humanity.

Really, all faith...

Notice the body of the email is in the subject line. Garbage, just plain garbage.

I, of course wrote a critique of the email, from it's poor structure, terrible plot, awful use of grammar, to it's non-linear concept. I don't expect you to read the above, but if you did I'm sorry.  It needed to be shown to the world. I may even Facebook it later.

Would you like me to edit this letter for grammar? It really sucks. I think a part of my brain seized, trying to understand what you’re attempting to say. Look, if you haven’t mastered the language, please don’t use it. Try using the language that is native to you. It makes for a more professional look. It gives coherence to your thought process and a level of intelligence. Also while I’m correcting your presentation; you placed your entire message in the subject line. This leads me to think that you are truly unfamiliar with not only email, but computers, as well. 

You’re obviously running a phishing scam. Fishing is the act of acquiring fish by various means of aquatic capture. Phishing on the other hand is the act of sending mass emails to unsuspecting people looking for financial assistance in a matter, with the eventual goal of a promised pay off that’s many times larger than the initial investment. In my personal opinion this is a very lazy version of a confidence scheme. A true con-person would be ashamed to consider you of the same ilk.

Your story, if it can be called that, needs work. Harkening back to the issue of clarity, I don’t know what you want from me. You say, your father passed of your father. What does that even mean? You claim that your deceased father told you he left money in two metallic boxes. Great for you. You also state that you’re 19 years old and an university undergraduate. The proper term is, “I’m an undergraduate at university.” State the name of the company, bank, storage facility, or whatever the name of the place, where the boxes are located. Being that you ARE 19 years of age, you should be able to access these boxes if you have a lawyer present, or if you furnish documentation proving your father is in fact deceased. If you have access to seven million US dollars, you do not need my assistance. You need a financial advisor. I would suggest a company that does that for you, but I’m not familiar with your area.

As a recap, I suggest mastering the language in which you choose to operate, learn how to properly send an email, and get a better story together. I hope that the information I’ve supplied helps you to become a better scam artist. God knows I grow tired of reading this crap. I feel like you’re not even trying anymore. 

Have a great day, and I wish you the best. 

Yours truly,

A Grammar Nazi

I think I was brutally honest. I feel that this presentation was horrid, and I'm insulted that it came to me looking like this. You can call me a snob for feeling this way, but I think, probably naively so, that I'm better than that; as is the rest of the planet.

If one wants to fool others into giving up their hard earned money, at least have the decency to fool them nicely. This shit is just embarrassing.

Not A Freaking Clue What to Call This Post

It's pushing 5 AM and I'm writing now because I feel like I need to get something down. While I'm sitting on my bed, hands hovering over my home row, I just wait. What am I waiting for? Inspiration? That master strike of lightening that will flood me with tons of discussion topics, items of interest, though provoking ideas that need further exploration? Is that what's going to spring from my shriveled fount that is my brain? God I hope so. 

I'm doing what I've been told to do since I started calling myself a writer. Sit at my computer and write. It could be anything. It could be a deluge of expletives, expressing how frustrating it is to not have anything to say. Fuckshitcuntbaghoskankfuckfuckfuckbloodydickdrippingsowfuckityfuckfuckasswhore! Not as freeing as I thought it would be.

Since it is pushing 5 AM I can't just scream at the top of my lungs. I don't want to give my neighbors another reason to dislike me. I don't particularly care about their opinion, I frankly can't stand them. There is some kind of etiquette somewhere that says, you can't freak out your neighbors. I'm not sure what the exact protocol says, but I'm sure I'm not allowed to wake them just because I'm upset.

See the thing about this inability to express myself, is that I think I might have to just scream it out. Shout it out from the hill-side just what a hack I think I am. It's like there is something boiling under the surface of my skin and any moment my face will explode. Am I having an anxiety attack? Is it bunching up in my shoulders and sending shivers down my arms? Are my fingers getting jittery? Are they shaking? Trembling in fear? Is my heart racing? Do I feel short of breath like I ran a marathon? The world isn't going to end, but why do I feel like it will?

My world maybe, is crashing down on me? I think. There's nothing really happening and that might be the reason. Maybe because I had this expectation of myself about where I'm supposed to be right now. But really, where was I supposed to be. Not here. Expectation verse the reality is that I never really made a concrete plan. Much like what happened after I made 2nd Class Petty Officer. I didn't see, or think to see, that far ahead. I didn't prepare. I hate that I didn't do that.

I wish I had that spark I used to have. The spark that kept me focused and writing, that kept me truly engaged in myself and not the world around me. I wonder if it is because I'm not hungry. I truly don't know. I suppose the best thing for me to do is go and find out what changed. 

Find me Find me Find me Find me Find me. I'm lost and I don't know how to get back. The only thing I can do is keep writing. Keep writing keep writing keep writing, keep writing until there is something on the screen that has dept of meaning and purpose. Write until the word pops up, write until the keys in the lock turn. Write Write Write. WRITE GOD DAMMIT! FOR FUCK'S SAKE WRITE SOMETHING.

I just want to throw my computer through the window. I need some kind of catharsis. Something violent and sudden.

The Strangest Thing. How I Accidentally Became A Small Business Owner.

For months I've been avoiding my true talent, which is writing, in pursuit of more instant gratification. Retail. Yes, I said that, retail. I'm not talking retail therapy, though that has happened on occasion, I'm talking about small business. The elaborateness of my procrastination is shocking sometimes. I found myself building an Etsy shop and started selling handmade jewelry; all in an effort to not write.

I can't say that I'm good at it, I've only had four sales. I'm probably what you would call run of the mill at it. I'm selling my stuff at run of the mill prices, hoping some other kind of mill person would "please buy my stuff." It's pathetic. I should be ashamed of myself.

I threw myself into it whole-heartedly. Before that, jewelry making, there was the paint phase. It was at least satisfying. I had a great muse, space, "the final frontier." It was an endless source of inspiration. I stocked up on paints while I was exploring the artistic side of me. At least then I wasn't fooling myself. The motto back then was, "If I can't write, I can paint." I have some fairly decent works stacked up in a corner to show for it.

I became tho cliche of myself, "I'm on of those creative types..." I still feel that way. More and more I seem to want to just write. Unfortunately the demands of now being a student, artist, a natural witch, pet mom, and a small business owner, just give me more excuses to not sit at my computer and do just that. 

Even writing in this blog, seemed like the Everest of all tasks. What would I write? Would it make sense? Does anyone still read blogs? Where would I start? Can I proclaim to be a writer, if I haven't written anything in ages, almost a year? The crisis within is real, and I feel like I've been struggling to reconcile it in a coherent manner to the public. -- All seven of you.

I can say that I'm still a writer, only I've changed my platform. I've turned to Facebook of all place. Ugh, Facebook, the book of Face. The time suck that it is, the mental degradation of the planet, the reason I have less faith in humanity. I placed all my thoughts in long drawn out posts there, of all places. Of course now, if I want to resurrect this blog, I must sift through all the junk on there, to place my thoughts here. It's more of a Kilimanjaro, than an Everest, but still a mountain of a task.

Maybe I wanted more immediate gratification for my thoughts. Who really knows? I don't. I just wish I could write something of substance when it really counts.