This Time Hits Different

In an effort to push myself to write more, I was going to force myself to post something on here once a week. (Sidenote: A dream goal of mine would be to delete all social media, and just use this to shout into the darkness. When I told Lucas I wanted to delete Instagram he asked, "But where would you post all of the birthday tributes?" I guess on Blogger? The most antiquated web software around. Seems right.)

I am on week two of "forcing myself to write on this blog," and it is truly really hard. When once words flowed out of me effortlessly, I am now filled with self criticism and writer's block. Part of me thinks I have nothing good to say, part of me is so cynical now and thinks that everything I have to say is stupid and dumb and cringeworthy, and everyone will think I'm like so dumb. I realize how ridiculous this sounds as I am typing, but here we are.

A very good antidote to this is to just write more. I think writing is like a sport, and you need to practice to get into shape. While I have been writing a ton for my real life work job, it is definitely not the same muscle to write ~whatever this is~. 

Also, I am now 42 and my children are teenagers, and I am so tired and jaded. And, maybe, not interesting? I gotta tell you, being at this stage in life/motherhood is a real kick in the ass. Your kids do not think you are cool; and by all accounts it is true. You are not cool. For the first time I look at what the "kids" are wearing these days and think, "NOPE. I definitely cannot do that." I have aged out. My hair is turning grey at a rate that I had to make the crucial decision to dye or not to dye (I am choosing not to dye and it is very hard. Maybe more on that in a future post.) Sometimes when I wake up my feet hurt. People call me ma'am at Trader Joes. So you know, it's been a hard time for the old ego. 

All of this to say, it's gonna be a struggle. But I am sort of motivated to do this, so I am going to keep writing shitty posts like this until something good pops up. I am being fueled by my hatred of big tech CEOs and what social media is doing to society (so I can delete Instagram, even though I love it for the fire memes), and because I think I have good stories to tell.

2022. Amirite?

I realize this title makes no sense whatsoever except for me (and maybe others) who have already had a very aggressive 2022. This is my half-ass attempt to get back into writing something for fun while remaining accountable to maybe the 5 people that will see this or read this (Shout out to Gaga and my friend Gretchen!). Don't question my methods. 

Here are some updates, to get my imaginary audience up to speed:

• We moved into a new house! Can you even believe? This was truly spurred on by the pandemic, being stuck in my house and walking around my neighborhood for 2 years, and the crazy housing market which resulted in my house being sold for more than I would ever dream of. That house and neighborhood did me right ... until it did me wrong. That is a whole other story for another day.
  
  Our new house is stupidly big for us, came with a malfunctioning hot tub, a whole house generator (I mean, okaaaay), a few mice, and a pool table and weight machine (that I have been assured by the middle aged men in my life is "good quality") in the basement. It also has beautiful light, a LAUNDRY ROOM (can you even imagine?) and a big tub that is very 90s, but IDGAF because I love baths.
  
  The neighborhood is great, the location is perfect (Shout out to Intech!), and the neighbors seem nice and normal, even while I've already branded myself as the lady who walks her tiny, psycho dog 5 times a day (sometimes in her PJs). Which brings me to the next bullet ...

• We got a "dog"! I'm not sure what he is, but he's a "special boy" as Lucas likes to call him. His name is Loki, he is 10 lbs, and had a rough start to his life being shot by a BB gun, by I think his previous owners? I was very set on rescuing a dog, but in classic Bri fashion, did not think about what implications rescuing a dog would have. In this case, it appears a heaping amount of PTSD, an affinity for peeing literally everywhere, and a love for running with wild abandon in the great big world. Again, he's a special boy.
  
  I've only had him for a little over a month and he has run away 3 times (at press time). The third time he ran away so far, I had to just let him go because I had to take the boys to school and also go into work to help run a conference. Shockingly, he found his way back to our house and was waiting for me to pull in after about 30 minutes of being gone. He was covered in mud and burrs and looked like he had been through some thangs. If I believed in pet psychics, he would be a prime candidate. 
  
  Anyway, he's a lot of work, and I'm not saying I regret my decision, but I'm not not saying it either. 😬

• My kids are teenagers. (Well, Sam is literally 1 day away from being one). And, boy oh boy what a wild ride that is. In all fairness, they are both really sweet, good kids (and yes, I am obviously very biased, but I think I could provide you with at least 4 adults who are not related to them that would say the same thing.) But, teenagers ... they hit different. 
  
  Nothing can prepare you for the feeling of being made fun of by your children. Especially when they were the ones you could count on for a big dose of acceptance and love. Not anymore! Everything I do is "so cringe" (and I actually think cringe is out). Abe "worries" about me "being alone" with the dog, because I "might get hurt." I mean, WTF are you kidding me!? Somewhere along the lines, my personal brand went from #1 Best Mama, to Unhinged Crazy Boomer. I don't even know. 
  
  I will try to provide more updates on them, because I realized the content on this blog is very weighted with delightful baby and toddler stories. The teenage years deserve some stories. I will try to deliver.
  
  

That's the big stuff. I hope to write more to help dispel my reputation as Unhinged Crazy Boomer. I feel like writing a blog is very 2003, and also maybe a very punk thing to do in 2022, especially with TikTok and whatever other new, addicting, social media content generator is on the horizon. I've said this before, but how is Blogger even still in existence? I'm too lazy to move this all to a Substack or whatever the cool kids like Padma Lakshmi is using these days. So, you know, click the link in my bio, like, and subscribe. ✌

A Formal Apology to My 8th Grade Class

It's a wild time around these parts. For readers from the future who do not remember this time of literal dumpster fire, we are living through a pandemic. Because of this said pandemic, my life has looked very different from my normal life for the last 6 months. I have spent a lot of time alone, and a lot of time "with my children." I am not sure why I put that in quotations, but "with my children" seems like it should be held to a different standard then just a casual, with my children. We are very much WITH EACH OTHER ALL THE TIME. 

But when I am not "with my children" I am working from home, which to all people who have never worked from home sounds like such a delicious treat. I, too, thought it would be a delicous treat, but I have found that it is just really more time for me to wear sweatpants, stare outside watching the many, many squirrels in my backyard, and overthink all the decisions I have ever made in my life. 

My latest regret was triggered by hearing the song Lean On Me by Club Nouveau (not the Bill Withers version.) 

The year was 1993. I was in 8th grade at Seton Catholic School with 18 other 8th graders (only 5 boys in the entire class). It was a very small class. Looking back, that is a very weird way to go through middle school. 

Every year our school did a "Spring Program" -- as you can imagine from such a small school (and class) these things were very awkward. Especially the older we got. We were basically forced by our teachers to sing some random song in our music book, aloud in the church to all of our parents who, let's face it, did not want to be there. 

So, after a very dismal performance in 7th grade to the song, Go My Son (I believe it had Native American roots, and the entire class mumble-sang the song. It was very embarassing for everyone involved), we decided that we were not going out like that. Something had to be done. 

This year, we were not only going to sing a cool song -- we were going to add ... CHOREOGRAPHY. And, that, my friends, is why I am apologizing. 

I am not sure who came up with the song choice, but we apparently all agreed that the song Lean on Me by Club Nouveau (again, I cannot stress enough that it was obviously not Bill Withers. This Lean on Me had a part in the song, "We be jammin, We be jammin." Just FYI) was the best way for us to express ourselves. But, we all knew singing was not our strong suit. However, DANCING. Dancing was going to be our new thing. 

So, thirteen year old, brace-faced me pitched to the 8th grade class the idea of incorproating a dance routine that I learned at gymnastics camp the year before. Surprisingly, THEY LOVED IT. (Although, looking back now, I am pretty sure I blocked out the naysayers). 

Because the dance that I learned at gymnastics camp was pretty short, we (maybe me - OMG I AM SO SORRY) decided that we would spend the rest of the time doing the Electric Slide. Because, obviously. 

Last but not least, we decided that we all needed to coordinate outfits, and landed on the sassy, yet sophisticated lewk of silk shirts and ties. Forcing probably everyone in the class to borrow one of their dad's ties, and pair it with a silk shirt (that everyone already owned because it was 1993). 

To Everyone In My 8th Grade Class: I AM SO SORRY. I do not understand how this even happened. 

Signs from Sassy AP English Teachers

I am a big believer in signs. As in, "signs from the Universe." I'm sure I get this from my Mother. She is a big believe in signs, and also ghosts. Ghosts of loved ones, ghosts of people that are haunting houses, Mediums, psychics -- you get the picture. If I tell her I had a dream about my grandma, she will always say, "She was visiting you!" There are really too many stories to share, which could be it's own blog, I guess, but having "visitors" in your dreams, and sharing a ghost story does not cause much alarm in my family.

But back to my sign. We aren't going to go down the supernatural path with this one. More of "the Universe is sending me a message." 

I have lately been going through a sort of personal crisis regarding my professional career (not to be confused with my non-professional career as robe and cheese enthusiast). It's been a struggle to say the least, which has resulted in me losing a lot of confidence in myself and abilities, and basically questioning everything I do. Although, that is actually maybe a little par for the course for me. THIS time though, it's bad. It also caused a two-year long eye twitch. Yes, my eye twitched for two years straight. Every. God. Damn. Day. Talk about signs, that should have been a very big one. Instead of thinking that maybe I was under a lot of stress, I assumed I had a brain tumor. I got an MRI and everything. GOOD NEWS! Not a brain tumor! Just really stressed out.

In the last week or so, things sort of came to a head and a weight was lifted off my shoulders (magically my twitch went away!) But, I am still in a murky state of what's next. As always, the path isn't clear or easy. Hence, me looking for signs.

My parents are in the process of moving. They have actually been in the process of moving for about a year now, and every so often they drop off small bins and boxes of random items from my past. Barbies, yearbooks, letters to old boyfriends. In my last delivery there was even a container of old teeth. I cannot understand what was going through young Bri's brain to actually make the decision to take these teeth (they were molars) and put them in a tiny, plastic box to keep forever. I also have a hard time understanding how these teeth were moved to not only one, but two locations.

In this special teeth delivery bin there was also a paper from AP English. At the top in blue writing from my teacher was, "Writing is good, but paper does not succeed." This of course, piqued my interest, so I read on.

The paper was about the book, "The Heart of Darkness." It should be no surprise to you based on my teacher's comments that I do not remember anything about this book except that I did not like it. I believe it had something to do with a couple of dudes in the jungle, but really had to do with a lot of deep shit, that obviously went over my 17 year old brain. As I flipped to the second page, my teacher wrote an entire paragraph of notes. She began with, "I hope this paper didn't take you long to write; it shouldn't have."

OHHHHH SNAP!!!! Mrs. Thompson is savage AF.

I'm not going to lie, her comments pissed me off even 23 years later. I mean, it probably DIDN'T take me that long to write. I tried to think about myself in the winter of my senior year, and spending a lot of time thinking about "The Heart of Darkness" is probably not what I was doing. I most likely was too busy planning my elaborate tooth terrarium. But, still. Being criticized has never sat well with me. I am just not good at it.

But, this brings me to my sign. Why, at this moment of my life did I find that paper? Why did I even keep that paper? Surely, past Bri would not think to keep just the one paper that I got ripped apart in.  Trust me, I am not that evolved. I started to wonder if really my whole identity of being a good writer was a sham. Although she did say the writing was good, but the paper didn't SUCCEED. Maybe that is a metaphor?

I have been turning this over and over in my mind for days. I showed my children. SPOILER ALERT: They do not care. I take that back, Sam was actually concerned for past Bri that this teacher didn't like me. I told him sometimes teachers won't like you and that is okay. So, you know, I got a good teaching moment out of it. Then he said, "Well, look at where you are now!" And, I thought, "God bless his sweet heart."

In conclusion, not 100% sure what it all means yet, but I am pretty sure it's something. Here are my takeaways:

1. Just because my writing is good, doesn't mean it succeeds. 
2. "The Heart of Darkness" is not for everyone and most likely has never been appealing to 17 year olds.
3. Do not save your teeth.
4. Sam is an angel child, and I must remember this when he does not listen to me after telling him the same thing 34 times in a row. 
5. I should really stick to writing things I like to write about.

New Lewk

Heyyyyy! It's been a hot minute. I have only posted four times in the last two years. That's really bad. For the last six months or so I totally didn't know how to log in. Frankly, I am surprised that Blogger is still up and running. It's owned by Google so I feel pretty good about it sticking around, but wonder if me and all the other people who started blogs in 2005 are still on this platform. I am guessing no.

But, I am feeling the vintage vibe that Blogger is bringing, and if I don't have the ability or energy to maintain a swanky website like SquareSpace, I am just going to stick with what I know.

I still feel like I am Shouting Into the Darkness (TM), but I think that's okay. This blog has always been just for me anyways, and there is something freeing about it. Also, something thrilling about it being posted into the interwebs! I do know that someone at my current place of employment totally stalked this thing before I started my job. I don't know if it's creepy, or just totally normal because everyone deep Googles everyone.

Anywho, I decided to revert back to the Classic Lewk Theme that Blogger had to offer. I find comfort in its no frills, no design page, with easy access to the archives. That's just a little insight into my decision-making progress.

Here is a photo of me receiving an Under the Sea themed birthday cake at work for my 40th birthday!  The cake theme has nothing to do with anything (at least I don't THINK so). I am including this photo because it was the only one on my computer and today I am too lazy to upload something else.

So that's about it. I hope to provide you with more, equally riveting and random blog posts. Some future topics include:

* Abe and Sam Hijinks! - What are they up to now!?
* What makes me angry! - Spoiler Alert: SO MANY THINGS!
* Nightime Beauty Routine! - JK I don't have one!
* How Britney Spears is Doing!? - I hope okay!

And, much, much more!

Whatta Way to Make a Livin'

Alternate titles: A Cup of Ambition. Teacup of Ambition? Wine glass of Ambition? Shot glass of Ambition.

Whatever.

I just finished watching the movie 9 to 5. It was not the first time I had seen it. Like most children of the 80s I had watched it many times while it was on basic cable on random Saturdays. My favorite part of the movie as a child, was when all of the ladies had a fantasy sequence of “offing” their boss. I was really into Lily Tomlin being Snow White and Dolly Parton as a cowgirl. Haha! What fun these ladies are having trying to kill their boss! Good clean fun!

via GIPHY


Also -- because I was six -- I failed to pick up that the ladies were having these vivid fantasies whilst totally stoned. On Lilly Tomlin’s character’s son’s marijuana no less!



via GIPHY


Funny what you pick up when you have the anger-twitching-almost-40-year-old-eyes compared to that of a sweet child. This really had me thinking about other movies of my childhood that would read a little differently now. (I mean, we already know that The Neverending Story is absolutely terrifying and I cannot believe we watched that movie as children.)

Anyways, after watching it this time, I LOVED it. I had just finished a documentary on Jane Fonda (which, by the way, is VERY interesting and I totally recommend). I learned in that documentary that Jane produced and created this movie in sort of a protest to the way women were treated in the workplace. The movie came out in 1980. That’s nearly 40 years ago, and it still resonates with me today. Guys, there is a lot of work to do. I will just leave it at that, and someday be able to write an entire book about it. But, for now, I will just comment on some fun things in the movie.

First of all -- how great is Dolly Parton? I mean, I know everyone loves her. But, everyone most definitely should love her. A weird trend I have noticed about her in movies (okay only two- this one and Steel Magnolias) -- is that she always has a weird, sort of dead-beatish husband. Not sure what to make of this. I also really delighted in the fact that she carries a tiny gun in her purse. Now, I am not pro-gun, but for some reason, when Dolly has a tiny gun I am all for it.



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Lily Tomlin is awesome. I especially enjoyed the scene of her fixing the garage door opener with her son (this is the scene where he gives her the pot) Now that I think about it, I am wondering if those scenes were all edited out for TV.

Jane Fonda’s character’s is by far the weakest of the three. I mean, she shows some real growth, but she sort of annoyed me. She has some pretty cool glasses though.

Also, shout out to that drunk lady. She was hilarious. And Hart's wife. And that SONG. It's my JAAAAMMM.

The point of this (maybe there is no point) -  go watch the movie. I heard that they were going to have a reboot  led by Rashida Jones. Maybe I should send a spec script?

This is 39

Remember how I was going to update this blog in a timely manner? Hahahaha. That did not happen. But, so what who cares?

I've been reflecting on my age a lot lately. I am well into 39 years old. Some would even round up my age to 40 (I'm looking at you dad.) I can't believe that I almost 40. I am tired. And, also feel very aware that I am a MOM and not a "cool mom." This one makes me a little sad. Especially because for a while there I thought I was really cool. NEWSFLASH: I am not cool. I think when you have an almost teenager living with you, your age really stares you right in the face. 

But, I am actually okay with all of this aging. What I am NOT cool with is that I feel like I am running out of time.  Running out of time to write my novel, to make out with Dave Matthews, to go backpacking through Europe subsiding only on baguettes and cheese and wine. To save approximately a million dollars for my retirement.

My hair is getting grayer and grayer literally by the second. I am getting carded less and less. I prefer to sit in the pavilion at concerts. I cannot handle when someone wears leggings as pants in an office. However, I have finally found a really good bra, and have also embraced that I just really love wearing a robe and slippers as much as I possibly can. 

This really has no point. The point is that I am forcing myself to write and to post somewhere, and since I have this place on the interwebs, I figured what the hell!?  It's called keeping myself accountable. LOOK IT UP, KAREN.

Good talk.

(I realize I have just done what I like to call "Shouting into the Darkness." I am not sure how I feel about this.)

Can you dig it?

I have been struggling to re-enter the blogosphere. I wasn't sure why I should, or if I wanted to, or what my point of view is or was. This blog was started 13 years ago. THIRTEEN YEARS AGO. It's a teenager now.

In those 13 years, blogging went from something obscure that Rosie O'Donnell did, to the onslaught of all the Mommy Blogs, Fashion Blogs, Lifestyle Blogs, the terms "influencer" and "curate" (well, these weren't invented, but now they are used in a whole new context) etc. etc. Many people make a living off of them, and as we all know blogs are now fancier, with edited professional photos, editorial calendars, and sponsored content (or, SponCon as people in the biz say).

That is not what I want from this at all. I honestly just like writing and sharing my writing with people. I genuinely got joy from writing a story about my kids and then sharing it with those that knew them or me, or even a perfect stranger.

But, for whatever reason, writing in a public space (if you really consider this space to be public) didn't feel right to me. And, frankly, I got busy with life.

I am ever so slowly tiptoeing back out again. Yes I know that this website is not flashy (and probably a little lame) and who even knows if Blogger will be around (I'm a little worried that it's the AOL of blogs), but even so, it feels sort of right to me.

Then, I came across this quote:

When things are taking their ordinary course, it is hard to remember what matters. There are so many things you would never think to tell anyone. And I believe they may be the things that mean most to you, and that even your own child would have to know in order to know you well at all. -Marilynne Robinson

And, I thought, "Whoomp there it is!" I mean, clearly that was the universe speaking to me. Oprah would agree.

I'm just going to end it there because I have totally done way too much over explaining for something that didn't need to be explained.

Also, Tag Team really wrote an excessively long song.

Is this thing on?

Hello! Hi! It's me. I'm back!!

My kids are giant humans now. I have included a current photo. (Snapchat is also a thing now. Well, it's a thing for women over 35 and kids under 12).

I am not sure what this space will turn into, and I am 100% that no one is reading this (which, in fact is good), but I think I will be populating it with more stuff! Facebook is dead! Blogging is back! Amigrite?! Let's make that a thing.

More to come.

xoxox
Bri

Nine Years Old

Dear Abe,

What's up? This is the first-ever letter I have written to you that you can actually read yourself. That is pretty cool. You are so old. And big. For posterity's purpose, let me just state that you are not yet taller than me (do you know what posterity means? Probably), and your shoes are so giant that it made me gasp when I saw them for the first time.

Since you are actually going to read this as a nine year old, I thought it would be most useful to you if I actually gave you some advice, instead of reflect on what you already know. You don't really need me to tell you that you are totally into Minecraft and watching some weirdo British dude on YouTube play Minecraft. I usually do not like giving people advice, but since you are my son and I know you very well, I think I can get away with it this time. Plus, I'm very old and was once nine. So what if I made poor fashion choices back then? That is not the point.

So, here are some things I want you to know. Please believe me with this stuff.

Don't worry about a thing. Cause every little thing, is gonna be all right. So, technically, Bob Marley is giving you this advice. But, man, he was on to something. I know it is silly for me to tell you not to worry. You worry about stuff. I worry about stuff. It is the way we are. (I think we got this from the Mullally side, so it really isn't our fault, it is in our blood.) BUT, I just want you to know (as an adult who has lived through some life), it will be okay. It ALWAYS is. I know, that's crazy! But, seriously, it ALWAYS is okay. Even when you think it will NEVER be okay, it ALWAYS is. I promise. I would not lie to you.

Be nice to Sam. I know this is tough. And, he doesn't always deserve it, but Sam loves you the most. Like, the most of anyone else, I think. And everything you say to him he takes to heart. Just try to remember that the next time you want to call him an idiot. He will be around forever, and he'll probably be pretty big, so he can have your back if you ever get into some trouble. Also, he's not embarrassing anyone more than himself when he acts crazy in public, so don't worry about that. Usually, he's pretty funny.

Don't be afraid to try new things. Remember that time I wanted you to try Nutella and you thought it would be gross and now you think it is the greatest thing ever? Can you imagine if you missed out on Nutella? A life Nutella-free?? I think not. That's what life is like. Sometimes you just gotta try some Nutella. On the other hand, you may think you will love that Birthday Cake milkshake from Steak-n-Shake and it turns out to be gross. The point here is, try new things - you never know what you will love and be awesome at. And, it's okay if you are not good at everything. No one is. I had a hard time learning this one - I wanted to be good at everything I tried. But, I realized I am not (especially not good at sports with balls. Ask Uncle Robby), but who cares!? I could do a back flip off of a balance beam and land on my feet. And, I would never know that if I didn't try.

It's okay to cry. Sometimes you will have so many feelings and you don't know what to do with them and the only thing you can do is cry. That is okay. Get it out. Take some deep breaths. Talk to me. I will always talk to you when you are sad, and I will try to make you laugh with some bad jokes.

Be kind to kids in your class. This doesn't mean you have to be friends with everyone, but everyone deserves to be treated with kindness. There will probably be a time when a bunch of kids are making fun of someone else for some stupid reason. Be the kid that tells them to stop, it is always the right thing to do.

Don't forget to have fun. You are NINE. It's okay to be silly sometimes. What are you going to do fun today? Have you even laughed today? Go have fun! If you need some ideas, ask Sam. Don't do anything that involves fire or damaging the house.

Don't forget you are awesome. Seriously. Did you know that?







Know that I will love you forever and ever and ever and ever. From the moment I knew about you, I loved you. Then I met you and loved you even more. Then, I got to watch you grow up each year and loved you even more. I can't even imagine how much I will love you in 20 years, my heart may explode. You are stuck with me forever.

Happy birthday my sweet Abe. How lucky I am to be your Mama. It's been a pleasure.

Love,
Mama

Tinder Tips for Divorced Women Over 30

Getting back into the dating scene is exciting, horrifying and frustrating all at once. When I am able to add any positive words to that list, I will let you know. I keep telling myself that all of my experiences are just good stories for my book. Right?

And, online dating is a reality of our times. FREE online dating is a reality of non-committal, poor folks like myself. Hence, Tinder. I'm not going to lie, it is highly entertaining, and also a good self-esteem boost. I also know for a fact that you can meet nice people on there -- it's not just filled with psychos and dirtbags. However, there are plenty of those on there as well.

I have joined and quit Tinder probably four times now, with my longest stint lasting one week. So, I am definitely no pro on the matter (or maybe I am). In any case, I have compiled this list to help anyone in my boat. I suppose it is most useful if you are 35 and divorced, but I am sure any single lady will relate. For those of you not in the know with Tinder-Speak "swipe left" means you don't like them, or "pass" on them.

So, without further ado, I swipe left if:

• You have too many car selfies. One car selfie is fine. I, for one, like a good car selfie for the primo lighting. But, if all of your profile pics are car selfies, it’s time to get some friends and create some action shots.
  
• Your name is weird. Normally I have no issues with names – but for some reason, with men on Tinder I do. Obviously if you made up a name like, “Givemeachance” it’s automatic swipe left. But I have a hard time swiping right on anyone named Kenny, Bobby, Geoff (I just keep reading it as Geeee-offf) I have no idea why. In real life, I would have no problem with a guy named Bobby, but in Tinder it's an issue.
• If you are a polygamist searching for another wife. That is a no-brainer, but I just had to add it, because that shit is real.
• If you are married looking for a FWB (friend with benefits). That’s another no-brainer, just felt I needed to add it to the list to state the obvious. 
  
•  If you are passive aggressively yelling at ALL women on Tinder in your profile. A lot of guys start off by saying that they have had enough of the “down boob” shots and “color run” photos. Or, the classic, I want to see a full-body shot, because they have been “catfished” Okayyyy. You are an asshole. BUH BYE.
• The face in your profile pic looks like you are about to cry or taking a huge shit. It’s not sexy.
• The face in your profile pic looks like you are about to kill me. This makes me think, you just might.
• Your selfie is a picture of you holding your phone up in a mirror. This tells me you are not good at technology.
• You have too many photos of you and your dog. I get it. You love your dog. You need friends.
• Shirtless selfie photo (especially if it is of you in the mirror). This is different than a candid photo of yourself shirtless. That is borderline okay, but I will let it slide because you did not take it of yourself.
• Bad hair. Bad hair can be a lot of things, but for some reason I have a hard time with the gel-ed, spiky, 90s style hair. No matter how attractive a person is. If you got bad hair, it’s a no go.
• The guys who are clearly gay, but do not know it yet. I have yet to meet a straight man who will wear a mesh crop top.
• The guys trying too hard in their profile write-ups. Apparently a lot of guys fancy themselves as sarcastic. I don’t really think that is admirable quality. Sometimes it’s better to say nothing at all.
•  If you are holding a gun in any of your photos. That is just my personal preference.
•  If you are holding a fish in multiple photos. I can deal with one fishing photo, max. That applies to other things such as Cross-fit, mountain climbing, and water-skiing.
• Having multiple photos where you are the only man in groups of sexy-looking women. Really? I bet you like to go to Hooters, and also smack women on the ass when they bring you something.
• You have a typo in your profile write-up. NOPE.com
  
• You are over 40, and your pictures look like they were taken with a real camera, developed with film. Call me Sherlock Holmes, but I am betting this means it is not a recent photo. You probably had to sign up for The Facebook just to create this account.

What am I missing single friends??