I think Jesus is up there saying, "That's it, Missy. That whole Jay Z/Beyonce post went a little too far. I don't mind when you make fun of others, but when you drag me into your warped little stories, well then . . . this is going to hurt me more than it does you."
And all I have to say is: "Sorry Jesus. I mean, I'm really, really sorry. And I'll never try to rap/pray again. Word to your mother—Mother Mary. What? No, Jesus. I didn't say anything."
Anyway, this is why I think I'm being schooled right now:
A few weeks ago, a friend said to me, "Hey, I tried to read your blog, but I got this malware warning."
And because I'd never heard of anything like that before and because a few martinis had been in play, I said to him, "Yeah, righhht. That's your problem, not mine. Maybe you should lay off the porn sites. Hmmm?"
He looked sheepish, like all men do when porn sites are brought up and that was it.
Now, I don't know about you, but that whole sentence sounded like Mwa, Mwa, Mwa, Mwa, Mwa, Mwa, Mwa, to me.
And my friend of the certain site would never do anything malicious to me or anyone else.
I went to my own website and didn't get a virus message, which means nothing because I'm a Mac girl. And Mac is like the North Korean border. Nothing and I mean nothing is getting past those Mac Heads.
I hadn't even had my coffee yet and I was all flustered and I yelled out, "CRAP" loud enough to scare the dogs.
And then I did what I always do whenever I can't figure crap out.
I emailed my sister and asked her for help. And then I cried a little and yelled at my kids and ate the first junk food I could find, which happened to be Doritos. All at 7:00 am.
My sister checked my blog and said, "Yeah, it's bad. It's talking about things like malicious and injections and you've got big problems."
My friend, whose blog supposedly had malicious injectable stuff, is having her people disable things, as we speak.
And I'm hoping that fixes it.
Because if not, the solution involves code and code is as big of a mystery to me as Geometry and Farsi.
I don't have any people.
I mean, I have kids who empty the dishwasher, but I have to scream at them about 4,570 times before they stomp down to the kitchen and put everything away in the wrong places.
That's about the extent of my people.
And usually, this would be no big thing. I would say to all of you, "Well, it BLOCKED it, didn't it? So stop your crying, pansy-ass!"
I'm kidding! I really wouldn't say that. Because I love you too much, Internet. Or at least the part of you, Internet, that isn't a hacker, trying to inject your malicious things into my innocent blog.
And why, I ask you, would someone get their jollies hacking and injecting me with all things malicious?
I have my theory and it involves frustrated men with bad haircuts and small organs.
And I'm not talking about their Wurlitzer.
Like I said, this usually would be no big deal.
But . . .
And here's the part where I think Jesus has put me in a time-out.
Today was my big day.
I could barely sleep last night.
I have revised and edited and spell checked and formatted and spread-sheeted agents.
It was time to go.
It was to be my first day of querying.
It was the day I was going to bring my novel out into the light and say, "See? This is what I've sacrificed the last few years of my life for. Anyone like to have a go at it?"
And if for some miraculous reason, one of those super busy and important agents took a liking to me, they would probably hit me up on Google.
And googling me always brings up Laundry Hurts My Feelings.
Because I have no other life and Google knows this.
And so, let's say by some freak occurrence, an agent decided that my blog was worth a look.
That super busy agent would pull up my blog and Taaaa Daaaaa!
They'd get the impression that I am all dirty and infected by hackers with bad haircuts and small organs who maliciously injected me with their Java stuff.
And that, Internet would be a very bad impression.
So, until my friend's people figure this out or my people do, which I hardly doubt will happen because my people are too busy rolling their eyes at me and putting my spatulas in the spice drawers, I will be waiting with Dorito-laden breath to take that cliff-sized jump in my life.
And in the meantime, can you do me a favor? If you're not scared away by the malicious pop-up, (don't be scared, darlins, I'm here) can you tell me if you got the warning when you came to my blog? And if so, what system are you on? And also? Do you know if there's some sort of blog penicillin I can get for this injected virus? If you know the answer, I'll be so grateful. I'll even share my bag of Doritos with you.
I'm ready, man. Ready to take my big, soaring leap.
So hackers, go find someone else to infect with your little pricks.
And Jesus, if you're listening? I really didn't mean to say prick just then. No more rap/praying. I promise. I've learned my lesson. And please Jesus, if I may ask? Can you send all these hackers to some sort of hell that involves a giant Build-A-Bear workshop that hosts a barrage of endless 5-year-old birthday parties with tons of screaming and a cracked out Andy Dick in a clown suit and music by Ke$ha with Nickelback as her band. And let's throw in Nancy Grace in a skimpy waitress costume serving fried bull organs on a silver platter. You know, just to taunt those little pricks.
Sorrrrryyy! I just had to get it out there one more time.
Hey, if someone slaps me on the cheek, I'll give em my other cheek, if that's the way we're "supposed to do things." But my Bible doesn't say anything about throwing a few sticks, while I turn my Retin-A cheek.
You got that, Little Pricks?
Today's Definite Download: One of my favorRITE bands: Mumford and Sons and their song, "The Cave." I'm sure you are well aware of this fabulous, fabulous song. If you haven't heard it on the radio, you've certainly heard strains of it wafting through the universe every time I was in my car, blasting it out. Yes, that was me. You're welcome.
Here's a live rendition. It isn't as pretty as the radio version, but it's sexy and rough and full of life as these talented men, in their sweaty, GREAT haircuts show the world what a great song is.
For my hackers, a few choice lyrics:
It's empty in the valley of your heart
The sun, it rises slowly as you walk
Away from all the fears
And faults you've left behind
The harvest left no food for you to eat
You cannibal, you meat eater, you see
But I have seen the same
I know the shame in your defeat
But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke, (actually I will)
On the noose around your neck...
So make your siren's call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say
Cause I need freedom now
And i need to know how
To live my life as it's meant to be
But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke, (actually I will)
On the noose around your neck.
Posted by Joann Mannix at 10:16 PM