Proud or Not

While showering today, I was daydreaming about a website for political candidates that would list promises made alongside promises kept. As someone who votes, I would appreciate this information before heading to the polls. I was feeling all uppity about my Very Important Shower Thoughts and was in the middle of naming my hypothetical site EffectiveOrNot.com when I was immediately haunted by memories of HotOrNot.com and the Ghost of Internet Past.

In college, I was a moderator for Hot or Not and was so good at spotting all the cheaters (people who hid their contact information in the captions of photos) that I was promoted to some elite moderator level, which was only cool to the two guys who convinced me to join in the first place (in the hopes that I would help them find and connect with "babes"). To clarify: I volunteered my time looking through low-quality photographs of people who were more Not than Hot and checking that the photos and their captions met a certain set of guidelines for the site. And when mistakes were made by other moderators, I went to an exclusive forum to tattle on them.

I have been repressing this humiliating memory for ten years now, but I guess you don't get a say in what kind of humble pie the Ghost of Internet Past will bring or when he will bring it. But maybe I'll stay home and skip the shower tomorrow just to be safe.

You Always Were the Perfect Fan

For the past ten years, I have had a remote control to operate my ceiling fan and light fixture (and set varying speeds and brightness, respectively), and I'll be damned if it has ever been within arm's reach when I wanted it. It is such a stupendously impressive failure of a luxury that I keep it around to remind myself what a charmed life I lead (it's like Downton Abbey but with even more tea)—and that I could probably use the exercise anyway.

Not Ready to Leave

Over the river and through the woods is exactly where my grandparents live. Their home is nestled comfortably in a forested plateau, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee. The roads are unpaved and often unmarked, and if you ever pass another person—family, friend, or stranger—while traveling through the neighborhood, you are required by ancient law to wave at one another with all the love you can muster.

It is my favorite place in the whole wide world and home to my favorite people. A weekend visit was far too short.