So last night was the BMB Twitter Party/Wine-tasting. I really wanted to go. I mean stay home. I mean sit at my computer and Twitter. I got as far as two posts. I don’t even know if anyone saw them. But I just wanted to give both an explanation and my excuse for such a pathetic performance.
Problem 1: I can’t Twitter. I seem to be seriously handicapped when it comes to Tweeting. I don’t really understand the whole process. Who sees me? Why does anyone give a shit? Am I supposed to post links, random thoughts, real-time updates? Every time I wipe my kid’s nose or eat a piece of candy, well, is that Twitterable? And who has time to work, mother, manage the help, blog, read everyone else’s blog and watch the Twitter Tweets like it’s a stock exchange ticker tape? It seems exhausting.
And as for these little conversations within Tweets. @ so and so. Am I supposed to see that? Or is that like listening to two women talking in a dressing room about sex while trying on swimsuits and I’m in the next cubicle wishing they made Spankx bikinis?
Last night was even more confusing than all that. There was a BMB wine tasting group. But was I supposed to sign up for it? Was there like a dial-in that I didn’t know about?
Okay, so my technical inabilities aside, there was also Problem 2: H.
“What the hell’s a ‘Twitter party?’” he asked.
“It’s part of my work, honey, it’s for work.” (I call blogging “work” so that he’ll leave me alone. You have to learn to speak their language, you know.) I was in the kitchen tossing back some Sancerre and roasting salmon. “So because it’s work, I need to get my computer back for a minute once dinner is almost ready.” (And I do remind you here that we currently have 4 other computers in the house and an iPad, but my computer is the one he must run to after he gets home.)
“That doesn’t sound like work. It sounds stupid.”
“Okay, but can I have my computer?”
Big sigh. “Here.”
Two seconds into my pathetic attempt at Twittering: “I’m hungry.”
“One minute.”
“I’m tired.”
“Hang on.”
“Feeeed me.”
And he broke me. Trying to attend a Twitter Party with H sitting next to me is about as feasible as taking a nap on the floor with my children in the room while covered in M&M’s and flashing lights. He's just a giant, overgrown toddler incapable of entertaining himself for 14 seconds.
So anyway, there you go. If someone could be so kind as to explain the Twitter issue to me and then plan the next party to coincide with one of H’s business trips, that would be grand. But as for me, enjoyed that Sancerre. Crisp and mineralic. Paired well with the salmon. So good I even let H have a glass. It was my bottle you know. I don’t have to share everything.
