Instagram Unofficial

OMG!!!!!! So this is interesting…

 

(But first, if you haven’t read the Elvis/Frankie posts you might need to for the following to make any sense.)

So, Frankie (or Middle Guy, as he shall be referred to from now on) has… wait, no, first let me tell you about my foray into Instagram…

So, if it weren’t for the fact that the Prettiest Boy Alive is on Facebook, I might not be either. I mean, my life is so effing boring. So, Facebook is the only social media I do. But I’d like to increase readership of this blog, so I thought I should get on Instagram. And because it was shortly after I had discovered Middle Guy, he was the first person I followed. I then slid into his DMs, attached a link to the post with "I wrote a blog post about you..." Pretty vanilla, right?

Then, after discovering the new guy and writing the post about him, I followed him and included a link to his post with the following: "I have a blog. You are the main subject of my latest post."

Before I signed off, I followed Newbie’s co-star, taking my following list to a grand total of three. 

Then for some reason I thought I should let Middle Guy know that he has been replaced, so once again into his DMs I went with a link to the Frankie post and this comment: "You have been replaced." Again, vanilla.

Then, a few days later, I went back and I noticed my Following list had dropped down to two. Now, my being new to Instagram, I thought I had done something wrong. So, I opened up my Following list… and Middle Guy wasn’t on there any longer!!!

Weird.

So, I searched for him again and this time I get this:

Weirder.

So, I call in help and asked E. what happens when she searches his name. And he came up for her.

Weirdest.

But this can (according to Google) mean only one thing – the fucker blocked me. I got the cyber version of a restraining order. WTF?

But why? I do not say anything bad about him in either of the posts in which he is featured. Or could it have something to do with the email I sent to his bookers (whilst plastered) telling him (because Drunk Me thought it was going to only him) that if he needed to cross off “Do A Fat Chick” from his Sexual To-Do list, I could help him with that?

But why block me? I showed only love for him. Did I come across as a crazed would-be stalker? I don’t think I did (feel free to tell me if I did). Could it be that he was so devastated I have a new crush, he couldn’t handle it?

But want to know something that only a sociopath with a death wish would enjoy? I kind of got a kick out of being blocked. Because, for one thing, he now knows who I am! And it kind of makes me a bad girl, right? Right?!!!

Frankie Has Left The Building

 

Newbies and those with bad memories might want to read this post (hereinafter referred to as the “First Crush Post”) and this post (hereinafter referred to as the “Second Crush Post”) for this post (hereinafter referred to as, um, “This Post”, I guess) to make any sense.

Yep, it has happened again: through the medium of television, I am once again crushing hard on a beautiful young man. Yes, the person who kicked Elvis/Austin out of my reveries has been kicked out by someone even hotter.

Oh! Now I remember something that has been bothering me. Not a single one of those (up to this point) 105 readers of the Second Crush Post reached out to ask who the new subject of my wet dreams was. And I didn’t realize I hadn’t included his name until a second look-see. I thought the accompanying pic might give away his identity, but then I realized the clue in the pic was quite abstruse. (I just learned that word today. I originally described the pic as obtuse but realized that that did not fit at all. So, I let Word do some Thesaurusing (a word I just now invented) on the word obtuse and we somehow ended up with abstruse. And it is kind of funny that this new-to-me word starts with “abs” because this new-to-me guy has abs for days.).

But, for the sake of my mental wellbeing, I am choosing to believe the pic wasn’t abstruse at all, and the reason none of the Original 105 reached out is because you all knew immediately who was now inflaming my loins, and it was not because none of you gave an eff who he was and couldn’t be arsed to ask me.

And because I did not reveal the identity of the hottie in the Second Crush Post, I am not going to reveal the identity of this new one. But, full disclosure, there is a not-at-all abstruse clue in this post that could lead you to No.2’s identity. And I am not going to get upset if none of you guess who this new one is because the picture above is the only clue to his identity and it is uber-abstruse. Or is it? I don’t know now, on a second viewing. Oy.

Anyway, this new one: suffice it to say he is smoking hot. And, like my two previous crushes, he is of the age where a Jocasta Complex is possible (but I’d rather it be Oedipal). But from what I remember of those myths, there would still be naughty parts touching, whomever initiated it.

I’d just been getting over Crush No.2 when this new guy popped up. The same windpipe/stomach issues came up immediately. I haven’t yet researched social media to see if he is active, but I am sure I won’t be able to hold out much longer. I think he’s single and I suspect he might be gay, but that could just be wishful thinking on my part (yes, I would rather have all my crushes be gay because then I know, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t land them (it’s the men’s prison sitch all over again)).

I don’t need this now. I am still slap-bang in the middle of my winter blues (but am glad it did not come a few weeks earlier because that would be slap-bang in both my winter blues AND my birthday blues).

I fucking wish I’d never fucking watched that fucking show in the first fucking place (Oh! One more than last time!).

Year in Review - 2025 Edition

So, in the two previous posts, I have made reference to how 2025 got off to rather a rough start (I even used the same pic twice!) but did not go into details. Let’s do that now. I am not going to include the aforementioned pic for a third time, but that rather colorful bruise resulted from my landing ass-first on a graveled part in the car park of where I live. I sat there, six minutes into 2025, pretty blotto, and had a feeling 2025 might be a bit of a shitshow. And, boy, was I ever right – at least for the first three months or so, that is. (I’d fallen trying to get a better view of the NYE fireworks. Not sure why because my first view was pretty much perfect.)

Technically, my 2025 got off to a bad start at around lunch time on NYE when I discovered my pick-up order from Wing Stop was wrong in every way it could possibly be – boneless wings instead of bone-in (which, let’s get this out of the way now, the very essence of a chicken wing are its bones. Without them, it is not a chicken wing, it is a chicken nugget and should always be described as such. Rant over); blue cheese dressing instead of ranch and – the very worst - carrot sticks instead of fries. Oh, the humanity.

I do wonder, however, if that way healthier lunch was part of my Higher Power’s way of trying to get me in shape. Because 2025 saw the closing of two of my favorite drinking and dining establishments (that makes five in the past three or four years). But a 24-hour liquor store did open up which I can get to without making a left turn, so suck on that, Higher Power.

So, yeah, the first three months of my 2025 also saw a Convicted Felon becoming president; a close family member diagnosed with Alzheimer’s; a crackhead running wild at the office; and someone attempting to break into my apartment in the middle of the night.

 

Those last two events were pretty effing scary but because of my being a sociopath with a death wish, they really didn't have that much effect on me.

But the rest of 2025 wasn’t too bad, apart from a $1,400 car bill (new tires, etc.) and $100 spent on hiring a handyman to do a few things around my apartment because I don’t have any male friends or butch female friends who’d do it for way cheaper; and the end of a 15-year friendship. 

Although that came about because of what was probably the highlight of my 2025: I became a radio star! Not really, but for a couple weeks in early October, the lucky listeners of the campus radio station were witness to my dulcet tones telling them about the upcoming Ren Faire. That was so much fun. I was given a short script and told to read it. I could not change the wording, and they did not want it done in any sort of accent except my own.

I sent the recording to a lot of friends. One of them replied with this:

 “Try this…Learning to speak passable faire Elizabethan is easy. It simply requires some practice of the pronunciation, and some memorization of common vocabulary.”

What the actual fuck? But coming from this particular person it really wasn’t much of a surprise; she has a very acidic tongue and when she insults or hurts someone, she blames it on their lack of a sense of humor. She reminds me of the “Bygones” guy in Ally McBeal. And she was oddly obsessed with my getting a boyfriend. When Sammy died, she wrote on Facebook “Well, at least you can get a boyfriend now.” One time, via text, she referenced an individual on 90 Day Fiancé who had a severe form of dwarfism and said, “If she can get a boyfriend, why can’t you?” This coming from someone who met her husband AT HER FRONT GATE. I’d been getting a little tired of her negative energy anyway, but this really was the last straw.

 

Health-wise, it was an interesting year. I started a new cocktail of pills that have helped me drop some OCD habits. For example, if I watch the very first episode of a TV show, I have to watch it until its bitter end, no matter if it has gotten crap or I have lost interest. Not now, though: I stopped cold turkey watching three TV shows, and mid-season too. That sort of behavior was unthinkable two years ago.

What else? I didn’t get a bird, despite desperately wanting to, because pretty much all my friends on Facebook warned me against it.

But I did dye my hair black, something I have wanted to do for a very long time. Interestingly, this led to my discovery that hair dye does not, in fact, grow out; rather, it fades out. I’d never noticed this when I was dying my hair just two or three shades lighter. I loved my hair black, it really brought out my inner goth chick (Elsinore) and when I am in the position to get it done professionally and regularly, I will.

And that is about it really for my 2025. I have reconnected with some of my college cohort, and some interesting things have come from that that I might include here. And on the fifth anniversary of this post, I intend to do a follow-up because it has proven to be quite interesting.

So, I am going to leave you with a quote I found that well, I could have written it, because, since Sammy has gone, completely sums up how I feel: