We all know of my undying love and devotion to Duran Duran and big hair. Especially Duran Duran because actually, I can’t help the big hair, I happen to have a ton of it which causes it to be big. Be jealous bitches. OK, I’m kidding. You aren’t bitches. That’s just the lingo everyone uses and I felt the need to surrender to the pressure.
We also know of my love for Twitter. Where big hair doesn’t matter. Because no one can see you behind that screen.
I generally only follow my bloggy friends and people that I have actual conversations with. But, I’ve been known to follow a couple of famous twits. For example, John Cusack who, giggle, responded to a tweet. I know. I was shocked too.
I’ll tell you who I don’t follow…Ashton Kutcher. Nope. I also don’t follow about a bazillion other “stars” or “verified” accounts.
Because they don’t interact with us little people, on the most part.
And, I completely follow them. Giggling. Like the 1983 me, with bubble gum pink lipstick, gummy bracelets and a uni-bang, sprayed stiff with Aqua Net.
It’s so totally tubular to be able to see tweets written by them and catch an idea of what their personalities are like. Simon, well, half his tweets I don’t get. And John, he likes to RT questions asked to him w/his answer.
It’s so dreamy.
Then? Like any self-respecting, grown adult and mother of 5…
I try my luck and toss my virtual black bra at them.
I wave it around like a flag. Well, it’s certainly big enough to be a flag.
I talk to them…as in, conversations, like I did when their posters took over the funky colored walls of my teenager angst ridden bedroom.
But really? I may as well be talking to myself. Or putting my bra over my own head.
Never, ever do they respond.
If they were other bloggers, after awhile of unrequited love and one sided convo I would click on the unfollow. Because no one is worth degradation. And it’s REALLY liberating to get rid of those peeps that don’t deem you worthy of responses.
Except for Duran Duran.
Yes friends. I will keep tossing tweets in Simon and John’s direction in hopes they someday notice the cute blonde avatar vying for their attention. In anticipation of just one responding tweet in acknowledgement.
Before I die of old age. Which really, could happen first.
I know, I’m a pathetic teenager trapped in the body of a chunky, middle aged mom.
I’m ok with that.
But holy cow, that’s a big freaking bra.