Contrary to popular belief I am not terribly good with working out how to get my blog, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and all the other bits and pieces of social media to work together.
I think partly I am too shit scared I will break something.
I quite like Instagram, but I often forget to take photos of my food.
Twitter is lost on me. There is so much retweeting, and cross referencing and retweeting retweets that link back to a person or a product …. at 144 characters it really seems like way too much frkn effort. But there are like 45 million users in South Africa, there are just not 45 million and one.
I am really not sure anyone wants to hear from me that much to want to know what I ate for breakfast and why I think that the sunset in Cape Town is just t0o fucking fantastic today (we have sunsets in Cape Town every day …. without fail) …. I am pretty sure no one should be subjected to that much of me. Ever. Without a script of Xanax.
Any the who.
I set up a The Reluctant Mom’s Blog Facebook page some time ago, but I fucked it up a bit with the settings – somehow Idid. True story. I have taken another run at it and here is the New and yet “no friends” The Reluctant Mom Facebook Page.
That’s me. Johnny No Mates. And yes this is a cry for attention.
Why else do you think bloggers blog? Do you actually think we are doing it for any other reason that we are desperate for the “you like me, you like me” vote. Blogger “must be liked” complex, no matter how much we act all like we don’t really care what people think or say.
Here is a clue, if a blogger really did not care what anyone thinks or says because they don’t care, they would set their blog to private and only invite their mom, a guy in Parow named Schalk, and their uncle Herman.
Sad, but true. Bloggers are naturally people-media-stranger whores. We just do it for free. So there people is the great debate unraveled for you.
If you are on Facebook and want to toddle along and hook up with me. Then here we go: http://www.facebook.com/ReluctantMom
I will promise you that I will not do many status updates. I tend to forget it is there.
I promise I will not keep you updated on much, again because I am a bit slow that way and will forget. You may have a few in the first month, but I can almost guarantee it bottoming out from there.
I promise that I will never ask you to enter something on my blog and then go like my facebook page, and then wear your panties on the outside to buy bread and Pick ‘n Pay. Seriously I pinkie promise.
I probably I will not keep telling you how fantastic my kidlets are. If I ever call my children “kidlets”, I give you permission to come over to my house and stab me with a stick of Prestik. In the neck. Repeatedly.
I also promise never to call Kennith my hubby and post how much I love him – because really if I cannot pick up the phone and leave a message on his phone saying just that, then why the fuck must I tell you?
There we go – those are the rules I promise to play by in Facebook world.
I also promise to also never refer to anyone who is pregnant as preggy. Seriously if I do, realise it is a cry for help. Come over with a bottle of wine and a shotgun. Bottle of wine for you. Shotgun for me.