Wrinkly And Squinty-Eyed

Recently I was asked to donate a very popular drink charm set for a Facebook giveaway. Not a blog giveaway. Not an Etsy Team giveaway. A Facebook giveaway. I never heard of such a thing and I was skeptical. As well I should have been.

I looked into this person's Facebook page and didn't see much. Lots of links that I didn't have time to click. Then I went to look at the person's Etsy shop. Yikes.

The shop was all about crochet. Crocheted things for babies. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, except for the fact that she used those true-to-life rubber babies as models. I'm so grossed out by those things I can't even tell you. I was so distracted by these wrinkly, squinty-eyed things that I couldn't even get a good look at the product for sale. Rubber...babies. That's just wrong and bad.

Here's the thing. This person wants to pay tribute to the anniversary of The Wizard of Oz. She wants people to donate their beautiful work, their hard work, their work that they don't model on rubber babies, so she can just give it away.  I don't suppose she's got any of her own things to give away either.  She's just going to list this stuff as "Free Giveaway Stuff" on her Facebook page, people are going to get it for free and that will be that. She's not showcasing particular artists or crafters. I speculate that her reasoning for doing this, on Facebook, is so people follow her, look at her, give her Facebook numbers she can brag about. She's not doing a service for the particular people whose things she's giving away. She's not paying tribute to the work that goes into these special giveaway items. She's not going to encourage anyone to shop at these people's Etsy shops. She's giving away good stuff so people pay attention to her. It just all kind of made me sick. 

It all got me thinking about donations in general. Not just donating created items, but also donating clothes and household items to charities. Why do people donate? Why do they not?

I'm not above donating something to make myself look good. If someone wanted to write a blog post about me, interview me, and request that I donate something for one of their lucky readers to win, I'd probably do it. I'd do it because it would benefit me.

On the other hand, I donate a lot of things from my house that I don't use anymore. Clothes, bedding, small appliances, books...lots and lots of things. I don't donate them to make myself look good, I donate them because I want to get things that are useless to me (but still in fine condition) out of my house. OK, in that respect it benefits me - a less cluttered house is always a good thing. But I'm not looking for people to admire me because I'm donating something. In a way, when I make my donations I'm having a giveaway too. But I'm not doing it on Facebook and I'm giving away my own things. I'm not looking for the praise. I'm not even looking for a tax break.

I just thought this person's methods were in bad taste and had a disrespect for my work. She didn't even give an opinion of why she thought my item would be a good giveaway item, like "what a clever idea," or "these are so cute." It's all about her. Sorry honey, but when it comes to my business it's pretty much all about me. Unless she can guarantee this giveaway will bring more business to me, I'm not interested. Oh, there's one exception to that rule: some craft fairs will ask you to donate something worth at least $10 for a silent auction or raffle. The proceeds for something like that goes to the organization sponsoring the craft fair. I'm all for that and will gladly donate for their cause.

I sound so selfish about this, but seriously, I can't get those damn rubber babies out of my mind. Ick.

Stirring Memories Through Facebook, Part III

Dear Football Head,

You didn't know we called you that, did you?  Yep, that and a lot of other names.  We called you Football Head because your head was, well, shaped like a football.  Your hair was so thin the shape of your head was way too obvious. 

But I'm not here to tell you about the names we called you.  I'm here to tell you...I know. 

Cruising through Facebook the other day shed light on a very real possibility - a possibility that burned me up today as much as it would have had I figured it out twenty-five years ago.

I'm not saying my suspicions are true, but you've got a history. 

I was looking through your list of friends on Facebook and saw all the boinks you had throughout our friendship.  Why they decided to befriend you now is beyond me, unless you're still boinking them, which totally wouldn't shock me.  When I knew you you lived to boink, because for you boinking is validation.  You boinked your friends' boyfriends, you boinked your own boyfriends, you boinked your boyfriends' friends when your boyfriend wasn't looking.  For God's sake, the day your dad killed himself you didn't want the consolation of your best friend (me), you chose instead to hunt down the first guy who would boink you. 

So I was scrolling through your list of friends which consists of your boinks, your boinks' wives, your boinks' kids.  Suddenly I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.  There, included in the list was Al.

You boinked him too, didn't you?

Oh, I know I shouldn't care.  Except the only thing you two had in common was me.  And plus I think you should know he thought you were dumb as a post and quite hideous.  He never liked you, which is why we ditched you in San Francisco that one time.  If I remember correctly you didn't like him much either.  And yet now you are Facebook Friends.  WTF?  What happened?  Has Facebook become your proverbial belt and those friends your notches?

You'd think after two husbands you could have figured out where you went wrong.  Horribly, horribly wrong.  But no.  As long as their faces are on your friend list, you still believe it's you they love and desire.  Sadly, you never latched onto the concept that men will stick their weenies into anything that won't clamp it off.  That would be you.  Not a clamping kind of gal.  In fact, the Grand Canyon is probably second to you. 

Stirring Memories Through Facebook, Part II

Dear Al,

All right, so I wrote a letter to your long-time friend Winkie, don't be jealous.  It's your turn to get a little attention.  And who better to get attention from than your long lost, the one who got away? 

I saw you on Facebook and I must admit I was pleased to see your avatar doesn't make you look like some old paunchy thing like your friend Winkie.  You still look active and virile.  That's considering the massive ski gear you had on.  Goggles and everything.  So I couldn't really see you.  I could tell it was you through your stance, though.  You've still got it, that stance.  Way to go.

Except then there was this little photo album you included on your page.  And there you were.  Oh Al, why'd ya do it?  Get old, I mean.  I still don't think you look as weird as Winkie, but well, yikes.  Put your dang shirt on. 

Penelope is getting her laughs.  I think she was secretly angry for me comparing her old friend to Louie Anderson, so she came back and told me who she thinks you look like.

That's right, Henry VIII.  Well I certainly don't think you're looking that doughy, but I have to say there is a resemblance. 

Seeing you and Winkie brought back lots of memories for Penelope and me.  Stonehenge, St. Cloud, chewing live goldfish, the patio at Sweeney's.  Those were fun times for sure.  But what happened since then?

You turned into sort of a stepchild.  Maybe it was the pot, maybe the older you got the less you could get away with.  You tried to crash one of your ex girlfriend's wedding "for the sake of [your] friendship."  You tried to seduce me while I was in a relationship.  It doesn't matter that my relationship was extremely toxic and dangerous and I was horribly unhappy in it.  It was mean of you to flaunt yourself and try to tempt me into your lair.  After all, you only had the best damn legs of anyone I ever dated.  But still, it was stepchildish of you to keep coming back.  Don't you think? 

So you got married somewhere along the line, and then divorced.  You've probably made a big pile of money and spent it all on toys and trips (read that any way you'd like.)  You got a little pudgy around the middle and you're probably kind of full of yourself as always. 

But I'll tell you this.  It doesn't really matter what you've become because I know I'll never get with you again.  Whew.  But I did have a taste in the past and baby I got you right in your prime.  And there's one moment of our fling I'll never forget.  We were riding your motorcycle in downtown Minneapolis on a dark summer night.  We were at a stoplight.  As we waited for the light to turn, you reached back and rested your hand on my leg, then gave it a little rub right before the green light led us onto Hennepin Avenue.  It wasn't about love or commitment or a lasting relationship.  It was about you making me feel like a hot little thing on the back of your motorcycle.  I thought I was in heaven.  And as we rode into the hot city night the speakers of the wind jammer sang to us:

That was thirty years ago.  Now go put your shirt on and act your age!

Stirring Memories Through Facebook, Part I

Dear Winkie,

First of all you're welcome that I didn't use your real name.  Despite the fact that most people don't know that Winkies are the guards of the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz, I named you that for reasons you should remember. 

{Just for the record, Winkie doesn't actually look like a Winkie.  In fact no one in the world could look less like a Winkie than Winkie does.  This picture is posted here merely for the purposes of putting a picture in the post and letting you know (if you didn't already) what a Winkie is.  Unfortunately this picture isn't even of a real Winkie, but that of a doll.  Doll Winkies are the subject of a whole 'nother blog post, but don't hold your breath as doll making of characters like Winkies for doll collectors is just wrong.  Doll collectors are just wrong.  Neither deserve a blog post of their own.  But I digress...}

Come to think of it, I shouldn't expect that you would remember the circumstances that brought me to naming you Winkie because most of the time in those days you were pretty much stoned or drunk or both.  Be that as it may, I'm keeping you anonymous because frankly you don't really want people from your past discovering who I'm talking to.

I experienced the misfortune of seeing your Facebook page at the direction of Penelope, your long time "friend."  Neither of us would dream of friending you for obvious reasons, but we're not above checking out your page and gasping at what you've become. 

Everyone knows our appearance changes the older we get.  But seriously, as someone who hasn't laid eyes on you in over twenty-five years I must say I would never have recognized you, but may have mistaken you for Louie Anderson.

{This is a picture of Louie Anderson.  It is not Winkie.  But it really looks like Winkie.  I know, this is getting confusing because Louie Anderson doesn't look at all like an actual Winkie, but if you've done your homework you'd know that actual Winkies from The Wizard of Oz don't even closely resemble those described in the book, The Wizard of Oz. So maybe Louie Anderson (and Winkie) really do look the the original Winkies.   Whoever thought of posting pictures in blog posts?  The captions they require are confounding.}

Penelope disagrees, but she's just a little biased.  And suffering from complete denial.  That's not to say she isn't aghast at your picture, she just doesn't think Louie Anderson is a good comparison.

Anyway, the point is, what the hell happened in the past thirty years?  Oh, I know you had a brillant career in the military, got married, had kids and other assorted fun facts.  But seriously, what the hell happened?  In your Facebook picture - what is that hangy thing under your ear?  Oh my God, it's your neck!  And what's with the gut?  The whole tiny hair thing?  It's got to stop.  You were wearing that do when you were a ROTC in college.  It's the one thing you should have changed and didn't.

What am I trying to say to you here?  Have a Facebook page all you want, but keep the pictures to yourself.  You caused quite a shocking surprise to your old friends in that you're looking nothing like you used to.  It doesn't matter that the rest of us have gray hair and crow's feet; we're smart enough to keep those embarrassments to ourselves and off the internets.

So now I'm seeming all superficial and beauty-oriented.  I'm really not.  I just want to remember people the way they were.  Winkie, seeing you on Facebook today can be compared to going to a funeral.  You know how when you walk up to a casket and expect to see the person you've known but instead there lies a completely different person with a bad make-up job?  When I saw you on Facebook it was like I was looking in a casket.

On the other hand, maybe you didn't think that the likes of me and Penelope would ever be looking you up in Facebook.  Didn't it occur to you that you might be Googled by people from your past?  Obviously your Facebook friends didn't know you way back when, or else have grown old with you and probably haven't noticed the semi-grotesque aging process you've undergone.  I'm here to tell you, we're watching and looking and the romantic memories of our youth are shattered by the realities that are Facebook pictures.

So please, either take the picture down from your page or put up a different one from thirty years ago.  You're disturbing those of us invisibly snooping around in your life.