This text message honestly happened this morning. Forgive me if it’s not the most hilarious thing you’ve heard in weeks; I don’t get out much and nine-year-old’s are totally NOT FUNNY. So, with that, I nearly pissed myself when I saw this:
Here’s your key:
My boyfriend will be referred to as “THE BF”
His brother will be referred to as “THE BRO”
Text Message arrives:
“THE BRO” What time is the soccer game?
“THE BF” 9
“THE BF” checks his phone, reads the next text, looks at me, pauses, reads it again, I yell at him, (“you’ve got time to read a damn text message but not enough time for a hug!! I’m a raging b*tch these days…FYI), “THE BF” gets flustered, wants to cuss at me, sends a response text, and then stares at me.
Hysterical laughing is coming….
“THE BF” is shocked, and manages to read the text history to me without laughing. Here’s what you missed:
“THE BRO”Received the letter ‘g’, need a number.
OMG… there are so many things about this that are funny!
Who talks like that–in all seriousness. “THE BRO” is commando!
“THE BF” was so confused when that text came in; it literally took him 4.5 minutes to get it. HAHAHA!!
Time for AT&T to update their font! Lawsuit!!
Speaking of upgrades, “THE BF” is the last man standing who still carries a flip phone-side-slide for texting—WORD!
Thank YOU for small moments.
“THE BF” NINE:30A.M
That’s not it folks; “THE BF” hopped into the shower, laughing, of course at “THE BRO.” The shower is a time for inspiration I suppose–after three minutes, “THE BF” bursts into the bedroom…..
“ROB! ROB!” (That’d be me), “I’m gonna text him back now!”
“THE BF”101 Dude….
“Get it, Rob? Get it? Instead of LOL, I sent 101!!”
Honest as shit!? I just received an email from “Apple” informing me of a security breach. GASP!! What do I do? What do I do? Calm down Robin!! Keep reading. Oh, phew! Click here. Thank God!
You haνe receiνed this email because our sγstem has noticed some susρicious actiνities with ΑρρleΙD ,all what you need to κeeρ enjoying all the benefits of your id is to confirm γour identitγ , follow the linκ below to start this ρrocess
If you’ve read anything I’ve ever written in the past, you’ll understand that I am not bashing the tactics of the fine young team of thugs; my beef is with the horrible (dare I say it?), grammar. Please note, once again, that I am not attacking the “misplaced comma” or the “horrible use of CAPITAL letters”—God, and spammers know, I’ve got no room to judge. I am attacking the idiotic MISUSE of words, and the slang that clearly implicates them as ridiculous fakes.
Kindly Ignore Me if I’m Offensive, BUT….
Oh yah…another indicator this was bullshit, (for the record, I didn’t need a second opinion), I’m a writer (air quotes). There was obviously a mix-up of email lists—The only Apple product I own is well, nevermind…man, I’m hilarious. (Please note from my highly technical graphic above)–I need nothing fancier than a kids tablet to get “work” done.)
If they really want to hook someone with a pansy-ass sucker punch, they need a new content marketing strategy. Why the hell hasn’t someone already pitched this idea? Damn writers! I’ll pitch my idea first (you can go next!):
I’ll pitch my idea first and you can go next!
Dude!!! Our bad!! You’re AppleID is all jacked up. Yah, I’m at the gym with my homies, working out ( I SOOO love sweating to Taylor Swift! LOL), when myApple-Nano-Redunculous-Retro-C573982-Customer-Service-Management-Device alerted me to a compromised situation occuring with your shit, dude. Here’s the dealio: You can click this button to confirm your identity, or me and my boys are gonna have to quit it at the gym early and hit the office for a total re-boot of your system. MAN!!! We were about to get down in here. J/K! Anyway, it’s your call.
Questions? Real Quick
1. Who the hell is in charge of the organized “Spamafia” group? This bullshit has gone on long enough. Here’s the email I received:
2. Who keeps clicking the damn spam links??? For real! In order for a scam to continue, it has to work—-> STOP CLICKING on the links! Stop it!
In addition to supporting a group of complete morons who should have spell-checker or grammar software by now, you’re making an entire group of people look idiotic!
In closing, I leave you with these thoughts.
Spammers: Use a stolen credit card and pay for a program. Duh!
People: Quit clicking the links. Duh!
Do you honestly believe tech support at Apple talks like this? Do you not think PayPal has a quality control department that proofs emails before they’re sent out? Do you STILL think your Internet is safe?
I’d like to gracefully dive back in as a writer who shares a unique voice, and a seat at lunch with Oprah; however, I’m belly flopping into content marketing and sharing a seat at lunch with the cool kids at every writing forum I can find.
Sometimes I wonder…. I can’t understand it, and I’ve said it before— I’m the hardest working broke chick I know. On the flip side-poverty has taught me: website design, visual design, content marketing, networking, WAY more about how GOOGLE operates than I should know, WAY more about nerdy shit then I should know, how to be a pimp and annoy everyone, how to properly index a site, how to rank a blog, how to beat F’book at their own game (just kidding, just kidding, don’t cyber-slap me Zuckerburg), how to spam like the brilliant Nigerian, and finally, patience. <—-oh wait, that’s the medication, not poverty.
Not sure if I’d rather have had knowledge or money to pay someone else to do all this…. I’ll let you know the verdict when I’m living large as a “Thousandaire” —-
In dealing with mental health problems, it’s natural to also deal with self-esteem and self-worth issues which I find more and more ironic every day. Statistics indicate a significant amount of writers and authors who produce brilliant work, are also inflicted with issues concerning mental health. My favorite list is one from Listal that details award-winning authors and their actual or assumed diagnosis. Jack Kerouac was thought to be schizophrenic, Kafka endured years of severe depression, and many others were diagnosed with similar ailments.
Here’s an article about famous actors with mental health disorders.
I’m a PIMP! Yes, you heard me. I struggle daily with my talent to produce words, with overwhelming feelings of poor self-worth, inadequacies, and self-esteem problemos! BIG TIME!
AND still…. I spend 5-8 hours a day pimping myself out to editors, social media sites, friends, family, and any damn person who’ll read something I wrote. I’m still baffled.
I’m too poor to hire someone so I pimp my writing out. A lot. My experience with pimping myself out has turned me into a modern day Madam—more commonly referred to as a “SPAMMER” — I admit it.
EVEN MORE ironic?
After intense pep talks with the friends living in my head (we need encouragement to “promote” my work), I become more depressed because of the obsession to check the stats on an hourly basis.
Like clockwork, I share a new blog on Facebook and almost ALWAYS immediately receive mobile notifications—“One friend ‘liked’ your new post.” My heart races, anticipation mounts….
I can’t decide if the YouTube video I posted of my eight-year-old telling me I need a vacation is a good thing, or his way of telling me to get the hell out of his face. Anyway, here’s a funny video of my son telling me to “take a break” at BINGO. His imitation of BINGO players and winning is hilarious (well, to me anyway!), and I hope you enjoy.
He’s obviously hoping to get famous with his shirtless video.
Well played Facebook, and the geniuses who run the marketing department. This advertisement just showed up in my News Feed. Ironic? Hardly. I’ve spent the last few days creating blogs like a machine (no kids this weekend!), and what-do-ya-know? The crickets are back, and my posts are going unnoticed.
I guess I need to get with the program and:
Create Better Blogs For People to “Pretend” to Read
Start Writing During the Week Like Normal People
Wait Until Christmas Eve to Post My Next Masterpiece.
Right? I mean, it’s only the last week of summer… I can’t be the only loser protecting my skin from cancer by parking it on the couch. Right?
Keep scrolling…I’d like to answer Facebook’s question….
Dear Marketing Stalkers at Facebook,
Thanks for the cool ad today, obviously, you all are paying attention to my blog. Whoot! Whoot! And, looks like I’m not the only one working today either–the robots didn’t get the weekend off? Boo!
Anyway, to answer your question:
FACEBOOK: “Tired of Writing Great Articles that Nobody Reads?”
LOSER BLOGGER: “No! I’m not tired of creating hilarious blog posts for my MOM to read. She’s a HUGE fan. Personally, I think I’ll just grab a piece of scented stationary and a pen for the next blog. I’ll whip up some fancy paragraphs full of calligraphy and send the post directly to her mail box. It’ll be cool.”
My nap was interrupted this morning by overwhelming thoughts of my grandpa. We called him Papa Matteri. It’s a good thing I love him so much (may he rest in peace!), because missing my A.M. snooze makes me a little cranky. Originally posted on Robin Matteri Facebook in 2011
Papa died about one-month shy of his 90th birthday, so don’t be sad, he lived a full life. His life was a mixture of ups and downs; some good, some bad, some stupid, and some sad.
The Top 10 Funniest Things Papa Matteri Did (off the top of my head!) before dying at 90
10. His desire to be deaf.
As a child, I remember my grandma constantly yelling at Papa about his hearing. She told us repeatedly that he “only heard what he wanted to hear.” As a child, this never made sense to me. I finally understood her frustration when I was an adult. The aggravation of trying to have a conversation with him became, at times, so unnerving that I just walked away.
Typical Conversation went like this:
Me:“You need hearing aids!!”
Papa:“Oh, shit, I can’t hear you.”
This exact interaction occurred between him and every member of my family on a daily basis.
9. Who wants to spy on Papa?
Let’s just say that as children we weren’t as fortunate as the youth of today with an abundance of technology. When we played, we had to get creative.
My grandpa worked the night shift at Hank’s Deli and would typically sleep a lot during the day. With nothing better to do, Michelle, Alan and I would crawl around the house like we were in the army, creep into Papa’s room with super stealth-like moves and totally mess with him.
We’d tickle his toes with a feather, tickle his nose or just crawl around trying not to laugh. The object of the game was to piss Papa off (for some reason), and we always won.
8. Yeah, I have my license, I can drive. I was 14.
He owned a 1972 Chevy Pick-Up (still parked out on the Ranch somewhere), and I wanted to drive. We were twenty-two miles north of Patterson when I asked him.
I about panicked when he pulled to the side of the road on Highway 33, got out of the pick-up, walked to the passenger side, and told me to take over.
I made it less than a mile before I started crying, and fessed up.
7. Want to kill him and bury him in the backyard?
I cross my heart; he was just acting macho. No one is buried in the backyard.
Papa ain’t that gangsta!
6. Who bought Papa, a cell phone?
Why, thank you Alan. In the event of an emergency, Alan thought it would be good for Papa to have a cell phone. Well, unlike the rest of my family, I answered when he called 300 times a day. Please refer to number ten on this list and imagine those calls.
5. His love of poker.
Back in the day (40-50 years ago), the hottest poker game in town and on the streets was called Lo-Ball. Papa loved his poker.
As the name implies, the object was to get the lowest five-card hand instead of the highest in most poker games.
Now, please keep this in mind: With seventeen years experience in the world of poker and casinos, I have heard everyone use “bad luck” to defend their losses in gambling. In most cases, luck had nothing to do with it.
Most people lose because they play poorly.
However, in all those years, I will confirm TWO people who truly had bad luck at the poker table.
One was Papa.
When I started dealing poker in the Central Valley, Papa began to become a more frequent customer.
“Looks like you’re working for free today Robin,” said my supervisor whenever he walked through the door. The entire card room called him Papa, and every time he played, I bankrolled him with my tips.
He could never figure out how to play “that stupid high game” (as he called it), so he sat down playing Omaha, a version of high and low poker. Without boring you non-poker people with all the details, let’s just say it’s a hard game.
Let’s also say that in small poker rooms customers are enticed to play with promotions and jackpots worth thousands of dollars. Poker players everywhere are waiting to hit the “jackpot” to break even from their losses.
One night I walked up behind Papa, as he was in a hand of Omaha, and I heard him say, “raise!”
He was excited; his hands were shaking like a leaf (odd for a veteran like him), and he couldn’t wait to dump all his chips into the pot.
Which he eventually did after a series of re-raises between two players. Papa, of course, was one of them.
When Papa was out of chips, it was time for the showdown. This is the part where the players turn their cards face-up.
I looked at Papa’s hand,and there it was in all its beauty…… 3-3-3-3. Quad 3’s. As Papa started to get excited, his opponent turned his hand over and beat him with a Straight Flush.
Papa was about 80 at the time, and this was the first time he had ever made a hand this big. AND OF COURSE, it got beat. And to kick an old man while he was already down, the hand didn’t qualify for any promotional jackpot. Papa got screwed that night. But don’t worry, he didn’t lose any money, I did.
He was back the following day as if nothing ever happened.
4. Papa and his scooter.
There are so many funny things to say about this and then, of course, there is a picture that will forever be in my heart. Him on his scooter and Nicholas on his tricycle, cruising around as happy as can be. BUT, the funniest thing ever was the time he ran Uncle Jack over with that thing—-TWICE!
It had apparently been having some problems so Uncle Jack said he would look at it. As he was inspecting the front-end, Papa hit the accelerator and knocked Jack to the ground. Funny huh?
Well, imagine what happened when Uncle Jack attempted to examine the rear of the vessel? You guessed it; one wrong move and Papa backed over Jack.
Happiness is witnessing those moments.
3. An illegal left turn.
As Papa approached 87 or 88-years old, the California Department of Motor Vehicles made him take a behind-the-wheel driving test before they would renew his license. Thank you DMV!
Papa failed this test due to an illegal left-hand turn on a red light.
Of course, his failed test was my fault.
According to Papa, I had messed with his visor earlier in the day, which obstructed his view, and caused him to think that under the RED light, there was a green arrow instructing drivers to turn left.
2. All these old people.
At one point in Papa’s life, he was forced to stay in a nursing home to recover from a hospital visit. It was minor; his stay was short and we visited almost every day. He was 88 years-old.
At one visit, he looked at me and said, “all these old people are making me depressed.” I freaking busted up laughing.
First of all, he had them all out-aged by at least 20 years, and second, every time we visited he would lay in his bed and all dramatic about his situation. Seriously, it was a wound on his leg that was taking a long time to heal. However, the drama king didn’t realize how depressed he made us by begging us to kill him on every single visit.
“Just put a pillow over my head!”—Papa from the Nursing Home to Me
OMG…… oh and while I’m thinking about it….thanks to the facility for also allowing him access to a PHONE!!
“Robin come kill me. Robin, come kill me”
To which I responded:
“I can’t Papa. Tyler and Nicholas need a mom who isn’t in prison.”
1. Going to Alaska.
In 2005, Papa was about 82 or 83-years old, when he called me. “Robin, I’m going to Alaska.”
Papa needed me to go with him to Modesto to get his birth certificate so he could get a passport, because he was “going to drive an old man and his camping trailer to Alaska so the old man could go fishing.”
The “old man” was 90 and blind. Why was this happening? How did no one in the family try to stop him? Why were we already at the point in this mission where he was convinced he was going? Why was I getting in my car to take him to get his birth certificate?
Well, because he was an old man. To hell with it. Let it be known now, since it’s obvious they made it to Alaska and back safely, that Papa had very little feeling in his feet and had to tap his hands continuously because they felt numb all the time.
The deaf old man (refer to number 10), and the blind old man took a three-week journey to Alaska and back. If I had honestly thought they were going all the way, I would have contacted Hollywood and installed hidden cameras. I thought for sure Papa would get to Sacramento (the next day) and say something similar to this: “forget this, I’m going home.”
I suck at grammar, so sue me. Since my inception (is that the right word?) into this industry, I’ve been struggling to learn how to properly punctuate a sentence. The only problem? I’m using the term “learn” loosely. The truth is, I’ve been lazy. Editors have picked up the slack for me. I’ve been reprimanded for horrible uses of the comma, the semi-colon, and of course, the exclamation point!
It sucks even more that I claim to be a writer but lack the necessary equipment to qualify as one. I couldn’t be a plumber without a plunger.
Or, could I?
I began writing by accident, and I didn’t think I’d ever make it this far, so I didn’t care too much about brushing up on (or learning, for that matter!) English. I wanted to write words, lyrics, poetry, and creative essays.
To be honest, I didn’t have a fair shot from the get go anyway. I learned nothing in high school about writing, grammar, English, punctuation, or rules. NO JOKE…. I even spent my senior year in HONORS ENGLISH. (That just occurred to me.) I came from a very small farming community— population 1,300 people. Anyway…. it gets better, I promise……
My high school English teacher called me Sparrow. His play on words did not go over my head.
Sparrow, the species of birds ——> Robin, the species of the birds.
Sparrow Brain ——-> Dense
Hence ———-> Sparrow
He was hilarious, or so he thought, and probably dead now.
I obviously got an inadequate education in anything to do with punctuation, grammar, and the rules of the English language (I already said that), although I’m pretty sure I was taught something. I can’t blame it all on Mr. Griffin. Can I?
In college (community college, that is!), I scored so low on the English portion of my entry exams, I’m assuming the administration thought I was from Russia, and that English was my second language. I was placed in English 125BCD (or something dumb like that), and remember being shocked at the syllabus. I’m pretty sure we had to study spelling, and how to keep a journal. Once again, NO JOKE, I still have the book, and the only thing I remember from that class was how to annotate as I read. Which to me—considering I was from B.F.E., was the coolest thing I was ever taught.
For the record: I still write in every book I read. “I learned that in college, YO!”
Considering I only lasted three semesters in school, I failed to complete anything beyond the “English for the Lazy” (note: I’m ONLY referring to myself here. Considering there was absolutely NO GOOD reason for me to score so poorly, I can only chalk it up to stubbornness and laziness.
So, today, as I attempt to live as a full-time writer, I understand the perception of my authority is based largely on my ability to SPELL, and PUNCTUATE.
Until recently, I assumed a grammar-editing program was cheating, but apparently, it’s not cheating at all. It’s called being smart!
Have no fear friends with hypothetical red ink pens! I have paid for Grammarly and will no longer bother you with inadequate writing skills (just kidding!).
I write as I speak, rarely use a thesaurus, and become confused with an overload of lessons I’m rushing to learn. I’m developing the curriculum for educating myself, and that, my friends, takes a lot of time.
My freestyle writing days are behind me.
Live well and comma on!
Note: This post was checked using the software program. If there is any additional editing required in this piece, please direct your comments to the help desk.