The other day at work I was talking to someone across the field at the cubicle farm -- I had needed him to call me and I said, without thinking, over the heads of a bunch of technically challenged people (who laughed),"You could have Twittered me."
Out of context, a rather suggestive statement.
But lately, it's a heck of a good way to get my attention.
Those 140-character updates are both hypnotizing and addicting, whether I'm following my closest family ... or some organization for work ... or, God forgive me, a celebrity.
If I enjoy getting updates from my nephew ("I hate cleaning the grease tubs as work") (He works at a KFC), and if I learn a lot about what our competitors are doing at work ("New blog post about blah blah blah"), it's my new BFF I really can't quit following.
ohiamsosorrytoadmitthis
. Indeed, I am one of John's 50,000+ Twitter followers. But the beauty of Twitter? I feel like he's Twittering just to me.
Because there's my Twitter screen. And in the list with my sister, my nephew, my friends, my interests, is my new boyfriend, John Mayer. Twittering to ME.
His guitars, his Oscar experience, his jokes, his new web site, he's telling me all about it.
And sometimes, it's so, so hard not to reply, to tell John just what I think of tux, his music, his poll on People.
Twitter gives you ... the illusion of chumminess. The Twitter illusion.
'Cause I know that really? John Mayer does not follow my tweets. He doesn't know I had to choose between McDonald's or Burger King for lunch, or that I love my netbook, or that I needed coffee this morning. John. Just. Doesn't. Care.
Oh, well. His loss, huh, that he won't know he's the star of my latest blog post?
But if YOU'RE wondering what I'm peeping about, just follow: CathyBlogs
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