I’ve always been skeptical of the adage, “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

It just seems too absolute for me. There are times when saying something that’s not-so-nice is appropriate. Like when yelling at the football players on TV that they’re chumps and even I could have caught the ball. Or when you’re pushing a baby out of your bagina, cursing the man who put it in there. Or if your internet stops working for no DAT BLAMMIT reason. Those are valid reasons to say something that’s not-so-nice.

The internets have brought out the worst in people. With the anonymity of the series of tubes to hid behind, there is a sect of the population who feels it’s OK to insult and walk away. It’s not OK, jerks.

There are entire blogs devoted to negativity: the negativity of parenting, the negativity of others, and the negativity of negativity. It all exists, and the perpetuation of criticism leaks into spaces where it’s not welcome.

Criticism is OK. To disagree is OK. It is NOT OK to make critical comments and just walk away.

Imagine shopping in your grocery store, minding your own grocery-buying business, and someone came up to you and said, “YOU SUCK!” then walked away. Wouldn’t you want to know why you suck specifically? Is it because of the food you’re buying? The clothes you’re wearing? Are you taking up too much space in the aisle? Is it because you’re actually sucking on a lollipop? I’d like to ask, “WHY do I SUCK?”

Unfortunately, some people on the internets don’t feel an obligation to follow through on their declarations of your suckage, and if they do, the reasons are benign and unfounded. So then you’re left with an incomplete thought of why exactly you suck compared to the accuser. And that totally sucks.

How about some constructive criticism instead of blanket insults? A little, “I read what you’re point making, and I’d like to offer my opinion of the situation.” Or, “I like what The Rock is cooking, but I think I know of a way you can improve it.”

Think about what you put out to the universe. Negativity begets negativity. Being an unsubstantiated jerk is not OK.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: being a jerk, This? Is Not OK

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There are some rules that are meant to be broken:

• eating after 7pm
• watching more than 2 hours of TV a day
• drinking a Zima after prom

There are some rules that are meant to be adhered to:

• drinking and driving
• staying in school
• wearing rompers as an adult women

Let’s discuss the last rule at length, because it’s really one that should be honored by all women over the age of fresh-out-of-college. Like me, most women are what you’d call Fashionably Challenged, but even the majority of women know there are some things meant to be worn by toddlers or teenagers who count Ke$ha as their fashion icon.

It’s unsure whether dressing in the same shirt day after day in each of the colors sold by the clothier of your choice (my personal fashion secret) may not get you out of being caught in a from-the-neck-down Fashion Don’t on Tim Gunn’s next Bravo special. However, wearing one of these currently- or recently-available frocks, should get you a one-way ticket to TLC’s What Not to Wear.

Jumpsuits are meant for fighter pilots.

Ladies over the size of 00 can not wear horizontal zebra print, especially in a romper.

"Plus Ruffled Slub-Knit Romper" should never be allowed for adults.

Harem Pants belong in Harems and Kardashian sisters.

Even though you admire your circa 1986 2nd grade teacher, you shouldn't dress like her in an applique denim dress.

Don’t do it ladies. Just, please don’t.

What’s your #1 (or #s 2-5) fashion don’t rule?

photo credits: oldnavy.com, lanebryant.com, macys.com, amazon.com

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 28 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: bad fashion, clothing, fashion, This? Is Not OK, women

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My Gorgeous Mama

I have never been so ashamed to be my mother’s daughter.

Sure, she may take to the dance floor doing her best Elaine Dance imitation.

Sure, she may have one or two or three too many glasses of her favorite wine every now and then.

Sure, she may talk your ear off about the best tile that goes with the best soap dispenser and how she bought the wrong one, took it back, got a different soap dispenser only to realize it didn’t match the bathroom tile like she had intended.

But until today, I’ve never been so embarrassed to be my mother’s daughter than I am now that she posted this on my Facebook wall:

In case you can’t read that graphic, my mom basically belittles every web designer, web professional, and internet-savvy individual the world over with her one simple line,

“Sorry – I LOVE comic sans! It’s so friendly – and I’m not a Fortune 500 company!”

It’s like she’s taken a sword, dipped it in a vat of Witch Hazel, stabbed me through my proverbial internet-beating heart, stripped me of my dignity, then taped a letter on my chest typed in Comic Sans defending her actions.

Dear Mom and every other mother,
For the love of everything I hold dearly to my internetty heart, please stop using Comic Sans. The world thanks you.
Love,
The Comic Sans Must Die Army

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 7 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: comic sans, facebook, mom, This? Is Not OK

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Over at one of my super Awesome weblogs, We Know Awesome, we’re showcasing the best of the worst Glamour Shots from the ’90s (and sadly the new millennia). I was never subjected to the feather boa accessory that is a requirement in all Glamour Shots photo sessions at the mall. Instead, I was subjected to my mother’s idea of what would make the perfect engagement photo to be published in all of the local papers and put on display for decades to come.

I am not immune from my own What the Fruck Were You Thinking? professional photography session. Mine just happens to be my engagement photo from 1997.

This, my friends, is the handiwork of my mother (who just happens to be on a cruise right now and probably won’t see this post, so don’t think I’m not purposely posting it now because she might be upset that I’m making fun of it).

Turtle necks.

Solid-color bright sweaters.

Creeper over my shoulder.

Perfectly coiffed hair.

A sweater that makes me look 50 pounds heavier than I actually was at the time.

We were just kids. Each only 21-years-old when these photos were taken, we had to do what my mother told us to do. She was paying – she got what she wanted.

Apparently, this is what she wanted:

The stuff dreams are made of.

It’s OK to laugh and make fun – we do. Often.

Sidenote: My kids’ first reaction at seeing the picture: “Mama! You have no owies on your face!” That’s right, kids. I had no acne at 21, but I do at 34, BECAUSE I GAVE BIRTH TO YOU, my face is wrought with “owies.” Jerks.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 27 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: engagement, glamour shots, marriage, photo, This? Is Not OK

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It’s a part of our daily life routine. It’s expected.

The Phfizr/V!agra/Nigerian Druncle/$ell Your Jewelry/Your Wife’s Photos! spam emails.

Spam email started with cold-calling from call centers where low-paid unfortunates sat for hours on end being yelled and over the phone just waiting to hook the old lady with her $45,000 pension and a pen to write a check. I thank the Sweet Baby Jeebus and Oprah for passing the legislation called “Do Not Call” or as I like to call it, “Do Not Answer.”

Before that, it was door-to-door salesmen lugging vacuum cleaners and encyclopedias, but that’s now left to the sweaty Jesus Saves! groupies.

I can deal with the email spam. I can deal with the *ding!* of my email, not getting excited to see an invitation from Oprah to hop a plane to Australia, and instead, seeing “P.S. Q. What do you call three lesbians in bed together? – A. Menage e twat. ” from Oscar at the Pharmacy (quote from a real spam email I got this morning). I’m used to it. No amount of Spam Blocker Sauce can prevent all annoying emails. It’s fine. It’s annoying. It’s a way of digital life.

But whoever invented email spamming needs to have at least one testicle removed and placed in a mayonnaise jar on his spool table nightstand. Because you KNOW it was a man who invented the blind emailing of phishing links to gain access to accounts and verify email addresses.

Recently, however, I’ve been accosted from inside my own pocket. When I hear that *honk*honk* of a text message just received, I get a rush of “OH MY GOSH! SOMEONE LOVES ME! SOMEONE HAS TAKEN THE TIME TO CLICK AWAY AT THEIR PHONE TO SEND ME A LOVING TEXT MESSAGE OF GLEE!”

Only, that’s not the case lately. My phone number has been JACKED, obviously, and handed over to the worst people Donald Trump the Devil ever created, and they’re sending me SPAM TEXTS.

Do you know that this has taken away my innocence? My love for hearing that *honk*honk* of my text message alert has been squashed and smashed into a crumb of doubt that someone DOESN’T love me, but rather someone HATES ME AND MY PRETTY FACE for putting me on some asshole Spam Text List.

Please, Baby Jeebus and Oprah, make it go away like you did that weird itch. Your powers for good are needed here.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2010. | Permalink | 21 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: spam, This? Is Not OK

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Running is stupid.

This is not a “Lookit me! I’m exercising! I’m super happy! I’m gonna be super skinny in 2.4 weeks! ZOH MAH GAH I’m so encouraged to change my life!” post.

Nope. Running is stupid.

Exercising is stupid.

But I did it for serious this morning. Not 1/2-assed. Like, for serious, serious sweating.

If I had checked my pulse at the height of my near-death exercise routine at minute 14, it would have been somewhere between 150 and 300 or something.

I mentioned last week that I bought the Couch to 5K app for my iPhone. Today, I used it.

I woke up early. *gasp*
I put on tennis shoes WITH socks. *double gasp*
I started the app. *triple gasp*
I stretched. *NAILED IT*
I.
WAS
RUN-NING.

*THUD*

The first two cycles of running were pretty easy. Having not truly exercised or run for the last 15 years of my life, I was pretty durn proud of myself for not falling over and dying a slow heart-attack death on my neighbor’s sidewalk. (“That poor fat girl was just trying to lose some of that Taco Bell 4-year-old baby weight. Such a pretty face wasted on the sidewalk.“)

Then came the start of the 3rd cycle of running NON-STOP for SIXTY WHOLE SECONDS. And dudes. It was hard.

Like, super duper hard.

I had no idea my size 7-1/2 feet weighed so much. Like running with boulders at then end of my chubby legs. Heavy.

Stupid.

Hard.

Then my panties started falling down. Not my shorts. My undieroos inside my shorts.

Do you know what a fat girl looks like jogging/walking briskly while pulling her skivvies up from the outside of her shorts with one ear bud falling out of her ear and glasses sliding down her nose?

If you’d been in my neighborhood at 7:45 this morning, you could have videoed it for YouPorn.

And who knew my ARMS would hurt after this “Run, Fat Girl, Run Experiment”?

And my foot is dead. I’m pretty sure I have plantar fascitis or that Voodoo Priestess’ spell on me from 1995 is finally working and I’ll never be able to walk the streets of New Orleans again. Either way, it hurts like yeah.

And I’m sore.

And tomorrow’s soreness will be worse.

And I DESERVED THE MARGARITA I DRANK FOR DINNER TONIGHT.

But I’ll do it again.

I get a rest tomorrow to slap on at least 9 Ben-Gay* patches all over my body.
Related: Do you think they stick on hair? There are places down there I’m pretty sure will be hurty and will need the sweet cool relief of Mr. Gay and I’m not into acting like a Brazilian ifyouknowwhatimean.

This deal of 30 minutes of work for ever 48 hours is pretty sweet.

To summarize:
* Running is dumb, but being fat is dumber.
* I’m gonna get me a preggo belly band to keep my big ole belly up and strapped down and unjiggly.
* I promise NOT to bore you with my efforts to be svelt and a MILF by the end of the summer.
* You WILL want to feel me up.

Or I’ll fail miserably after week 2 and you’ll be non the wiser.

______________________________

*Is there a better name for a product than “Ben-Gay”?

I think not.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2010. | Permalink | 56 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: exercise, Fat Girl, This? Is Not OK

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Yet another entry into the failures of American choices, “This? Is not OK.”

I’ve discussed the Mullet in a past post, but it was centered more specifically around the fancy Femullet.

Today, I’m focusing on the Groomed Man Mullet.

The Groomed Man Mullet is no accident. It’s planned, sculpted, and methodically trimmed, as if from the head of Adonis. Every shorn hair is in its place crowning the jewel of the Redneck.

Its purpose, as with all Mullets, is business in the front, party in the back. However, the Groomed Man Mullet has an additional purpose as it is buzzed under the long party piece so as to give the Adonis a cool breeze on the back of his neck on a hot day.

Ahhhh the breeze. I can feel it now on the back of my neck.
Or maybe that was the heebie jeebies.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2010. | Permalink | 11 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: groomed, hair, haircut, man, mullet, redneck, This? Is Not OK

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You knew it was coming.

It had to be done.

The New Jersey Shore Guido & Guidette Edition of “This? Is not OK” inspired by the new Emmy-contender, “Jersey Shore” on MTV.

Blow-out gelled hair check
Fake tan check
Spray tan on top of fake tan check
Lip gloss on boy lips check
Red Bull check
Parliaments check
Steroid zits check
Peen pierced check
Douchebag attitude check
Douchebag pose for the camera check

Who knew they came in a gay flavor?

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2009. | Permalink | 25 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: guidos, jersey, Pictures, This, This? Is Not OK

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I’ve been around these here internets since the early days. Way back. Back in American Online 2.0 days.

NINETEEN NINETY-FOUR

I remember when my mom bought our first internet-capable computer. We were high-teching it with 14.4 kbit/s. FAST. Super-fast slow. I still hear the whining, bliping, and screeching in my dreams nightmares.

It was super-cool to chat with people I’d never met. At 17, I wasn’t afraid of talking to molesters or stalkers yet. Message boards were cool. We were learning online lingo together.

LOL
WTF
ROTF
ROTFLMMFAO

The basics.

Since that time, social media has morphed into a constant conversation of quickly-typed messages back and forth and with everyone else online all at the same time. There is a different language on the intertubes than IRL.

The acronyms and cutesy terms born on the parenting message boards have creeped into the blogosphere and into my Twitter stream. There are just some acronyms that need to die. They need to be put out of my their misery. They need to DIE.

They are NOT OK.

DD/DS – Dear Daughter/Dear Son
It’s hard for me to even type them, they’re so skeevy.
Options: kid, child, son, daughter, spawn, result of breeding, seed, person who calls me mom/dad, ankle biter

DH – Dear Husband
I may have to vomit having just typed that. I love my husband dearly, but to refer to him as a “dear” anything? He might have me maimed.
Options: husband, sir, spouse, spousal equivalent, betrothed, other half, better half (for use by men only), bed mate, person-whom-I-hump, that guy

Baby Dance – Having Sex
Really? How can you be taken seriously in bed when you refer to your adult fun time as doing a “baby dance”? Even if your purpose for the horizontal mambo is to pro-create, don’t refer to it in any way using the word “baby.” NOT OK.
Options: sex, making love (blech), sexy time, business time, naked wrestling, doing the nasty, playing Hide the Sausage, scissor grind, going down

In summation, can we please put a moratorium on the above acronyms/cutesy terms to rest.

Kill them.

Make them dead.

Unfollow anyone who uses these terms.

Take them out of your reader.

They should be taught a lesson in abandonment that they should never, ever use these stupid-ass terms again.

Are you with me in the War on Stupid Acronyms and Cutesy Internet Terms (WOSAACIT)?

What are other words and names you use you’d like to suggest? Bring them forth and prosper.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2009. | Permalink | 39 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: acronyms, Blogging, LOL, This? Is Not OK

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Wordless Wednesday

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2009. | Permalink | 29 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: hot dog, picture, This? Is Not OK, truck stop, Wordless, WTF?

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