Things that happened to me this week, not organized very well, and with self-indulgent references to nothing!

At SF Weekly, I gave advice on how to shame your friends into posting better Facebook comments. Then I said no one remembers who Henry David Thoreau is because he’s not on Twitter, and was immediately publicly shamed because of course you don’t have to be alive (or real) to have a Twitter feed.

I totally forgot the word “exclude” – like, its existence in the English language. I was like, wait, what’s the opposite of include? And all I could come up with was disclude, which is not at all a word and which should effectively ban me from ever referring to myself as a WRITER again.

At AfterEllen, I gave advice about how being asexual doesn’t make you a bad person, but littering does. Also, how to stay friends with your ex, unless she’s Lindsay Lohan. Then someone argued with me about sexual fluidity in the comments, but in a totally polite and respectful way that doesn’t often exist on the internet. I’m looking at you, Mother Jones readers!

At Mother Jones, I blurbed myself (not a euphemism). Then, I was kind of but not really at all mentioned in this video about how Mother Jones rocks social media. You may remember me from such vague descriptions as “the fellow” and “young person.” (Still taking credit!)

On Facebook, I asked people to write me bad poetry. And they did. Samples:

Anna
You pulley
my heartstrings
also my vagina…strings
(ew?)

~Raquel

Your spaghetti like hair makes me hunger for you:
Tender tendrils morsels afloat in a sea of follicles.

…Your eyes do red enchiladas like beacons spew,
like lazy hipsters wearing latex riding on icicles.

Your icy glare leaves me cold like uneaten stew,
as you disappear from my life like Catholic miracles.

~Young

I dated this girl
Chi independent film fest
we went to cool places
…
she left me for a girlfriend
Got an email about it
two weeks later

~Lance

Thanks for making me look like an asshole, Lance. And for not adhering to proper haiku structure. No wonder I broke up with you via email.

I wrote a haiku too, about the classiness of making out at bus stops.

Lauren and I walked most of the way across the Gelden Gate Bwidge. For some reason I can’t seem to walk ALL THE WAY across it. Marin is scary?

Yes. Okay. Good.

Related:

• Obsession
• Why don’t we have more vagina festivals?
• Don’t tell me I can’t reference my songs within my songs
• Haikus for Adulthood #11-18