A few months back, Google mentions their :: super secret clubhouse you must know the handshake stand in line behind the ropes beta social network launch :: that you can technically join but ONLY if you have an invite (until public). Oh please. If there is anything I am skilled doing it is eye batting (and research). It took me 24 hours worth of hunting, down urine soaked back alleys, that I found a swarthy guy who knew a swarthier guy, who introduced me to Kaiser Sose’s (who wasn’t yet invited either) lawyer, who set up a meet with Jimmy Two Times, who gave me a map to a wharf, where I met a woman on the run by the name of Sandiego, who DID have an invite and was willing to trade for a Cheeseburger Happy Meal. Those things contain crack I’m telling you GIVE ME A CHEESEBURGER I WANT A MCDONALDS CHEESEBURGER cheeseburger, omg cheeseburger thank you for the cheeseburger (for Capitalism Feeding Advertising Opportunity: Please contact Site Administrator).
<sarcastic non-brag brag>
I got in that first week. SQUEEE!! And so did as many friends as I could drag with me, offering them invites on a silver platter, because
once you were in, it was Big Pimpin’ all the way. I look so good with a cane in one hand and a hanger in the other.
</sarcastic non-brag brag>

But shiny things always dull and roses really smell like, never mind, I hate that song.

A few months later and what now.

Only a few of my friends bother to check their streams, meh, once a week, maaaaaybe. Facebook, which I watched from afar morph painfully (picture: American Werewolf in London) to keep up those first several weeks Google+ smashed on the social network scene, still had their hooks in them; getting to know strangers was far more daunting than interacting with what was already known – even if that meant the High School jock they didn’t like then and still don’t like now. Me? I all but abandoned Facebook, deleted Twitter and scoffed at Tumblr, ignored my blog, and began posting publicly to my G+ wall instead, interacting as often as I could and can; it is the current hypodermic needle of love in my arm. If my mother was buried (or buried alive) tomorrow, I would probably be sitting in the pews checking my stream while some nauseating Bette Midler Wind Beneath My Wings song (no one is putting me in charge of body disposal) played in the background, randomly posting death haikus and commenting/trolling/laughing. For me, it is the all in one: dices, slices, chops, bakes, and takes the cake. I may shoot myself later for that last bit. Better finalize The Will, round up the Scavenger Hunt plans.

Our different methods of joining, defined our experience. I get news stories, inspiring artwork, writing prompts, creative collaboration, real time updates on the world around me, advice, suggestions and laughs. Let me not forget to mention how much I laugh every time I log in and read or interact with the bat-sh*ttiest group of strangers I have ever had the pleasure of not knowing. And now here I am, writing on some website I had never before visited, for some guy I don’t know, who I barely interact with other than the occasional sarcastic banter (he does send me a daily unsolicited photo of his junk though, so one could say we at least keep in touch, just kidding, it’s more like weekly).

In the land of a whole lot of uncool, that is pretty damn cool to me, the random life connection birthed by the internets and genetically DNA altered via Google.

But enough with the Kumbayah, it’s totally unlike me to not be apocalyptically brazen in my spewed forth head-flow, and besides – I’ve got mail.

Three guesses who just sent me a new pic.

JUNK HOLLA!

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