Archive for the ‘facebook live’ Category

This is a my story of how I ended up in Facebook Jail. I didn’t realize how many people have similar stories, but this is mine.

Let’s start from the beginning….

I met Mr. Facebook years ago. I was a stunned by Mr. Facebook’s good looks. His dazzling blue eyes (get it? Facebook’s logo is blue)and his immense social media presence. I wanted to be a part of Mr. Facebook’s tribe so I timidly joined in.

Wanting to be in the Facebook family I hastily checked the, I Agree, button on the large contract that was thrust in my face. Admittedly, I didn’t read the fine details on Mr. Facebook’s firm rules of conduct. Even if I did I would have still signed on.

Mr. Facebook lured me in. Asking me about my day. Asking me what I was thinking. He encouraged me to share pictures of my loved ones, of my ups and downs, and allowed me to connect with people in his tribe so easily it was mind boggling.

Throughout our relationship I started to notice that Mr. Facebook had some dominant tendencies. There were times he would hide my pictures and my posts. He also was known to hide my friends posts from me as well. It started to get really fishy when Mr. Facebook asked me for money in order to show my posts to the people who would enjoy them the most.

Mr. Facebook isn’t alone in his reign of control. He employees ugly smelly trolls to search for things that Mr. Facebook would deem wrong in his pristine little community.

On Halloween I felt the full extent of Mr. Facebook’s wrath. I posted a picture of a weenie dressed as a ghost.


No longer was I in Mr. Facebook’s good graces. No longer did he want to know what was on my mind.I was summoned into Mr. Facebook’s lair to receive my sentence. His right hand man pulled me into the room and threw me on the floor scoffing at me in disgust. I’m not positive, but I think Mr. Facebook’s henchman’s name was the notorious Grammar Nazi.

Mr. Facebook came in wearing low slung jeans and no shirt (a la Christian Grey style) The troll that turned me in was lurking in the shadows to remain anonymous. Only their putrid smell was present.

“What should we do with her?” Grammar Nazi hissed kicking me with his steel-toed boot.

“It was just a joke. The weenie was covered. There are worse posts than that. Hell, look at the nasty political posts, and pictures of abused animals,” I cried wheezing on the floor.

“Silence,” Mr. Facebook roared. “Solitary confinement for four days.”

I opened my mouth to fight for my right to publish what I wanted to on my own account. To explain I was a grown woman that had grown out of time-out. Before anything could leave my mouth, Grammar Nazi stuffed a ball gag in it.

I was hefted up and dragged down a dark dank hall kicking and screaming. I heard Mr. Facebook and the troll cackling over my gurgled cries.

Grammar Nazi pulled me through a cement room where women of all shapes and sizes were pressed against the wall throwing him the evil eye. A single light bulb hung in the middle of the damp room. Before being thrown into a tiny room in the corner, Grammar Nazi wrapped my wrists in thick black tape behind my back. He forcefully pushed me into the little room and locked the door, telling me he would be back in four days.

Tears raced down my face, running around the ball gag. The salt coating my tongue.

“Psst, don’t cry doll,” a woman whispered to me.

Even though I was locked in a little room, I was still able to see the people surrounding me. My eyes locked on a woman with a sad smile trying to soothe me.

“We’re all in here because we did something to piss off Mr. Facebook. I’m Sydnee by the way.”

My eyes looked down at her trying to figure out what she did wrong. She must have been able to read my face, because you answered my silent question.

“I liked too many things. Mr. Facebook took away my ability to like anything for three days. I get my thumbs back tomorrow.”

My eyes widened in horror when I she raised her hands up so I could see them, and noticed her thumbs were taped to her hands.

“It’s not so bad. I could have been, Greta.” She pointed to a woman trapped behind a glass partition. Her hands were pressed against the glass as she stared longingly at the women in the room. “Greta,joined too many groups too fast for Mr. Facebook’s liking. She can’t join a group for seven days. Poor girl.”

The woman shook her head as she pointed at another lady leaning against the wall. “That’s Susan.”

The woman Sydnee was pointing at raised her hand in a wave. Half of her fingers were taped down at the knuckles, her thumbs visible.

“Susan posted too many posts for her book. Mr. Facebook took away her ability to post. She can still like things and comment on others posts.”

My mind spun as I looked around at the women stuck in the jail cell. There were so many all of them stifled in different ways, because they did something to anger Mr. Facebook.

Now as I sit here in Mr. Facebook’s jail. I watch other people post pictures and jokes and have no means of communicating with them.

Be CAUTIOUS of Mr. Facebook’s rules, or you can end up in jail.




Remember me?

Yeah, me neither.

I have been telling myself that I need to write a blog post. I guess I’m finally taking my advice and doing it. I’ve become rather bossy inside my head.

Life has decided to give me a big middle finger.

I’m going to try and make this short, and see where it gets me. My kids are also on fall break. What does that mean? It means I’m secretly writing this on my phone hoping to get through it before someone gets hungry or hurt.

Aug. 21st I went and preformed at the Hollywood Improv. I was trying to juggle everything so blogging kind of went on the back burner. Also I had a book coming out Sept. 13th that I was getting ready for.

How was your set, you ask…

It was amazing. The audience seemed receptive to my brand of Jackassness. I’m pretty sure I floated off the stage.

That was on a Sat. Three days later the foundation I was firmly standing on shook. I’m still trying to recover my footholds and feel secure in day to day life 

I received a text from my dad saying that my mom…MY MOM…had a stroke. If you have been one if my loyal followers you would know how special my mom is to me. She is the one I take to Halestorm. She is the one I word vomit all my problems to 

My dad is the worst at relaying information. Hell, he’s the worst at answering the phone. I’m pretty sure when he sent me the text he pressed send looked down at the electronic rectangle, shrugged, thought I don’t need this any longer, and chucked it into a magical ocean that appeared to take the only form of communication I had with him. Suffice it to say it was the longest three hour drive of my life.

When I got to the ER my mom could only say Hi and I love you. She kept repeating it over and over again, while internally I was begging myself not to have a complete break down.

In the ICU she was only allowed to have two visitors. I convinced my dad and brother to go get some rest. Here is the thing about ICU they don’t want you to stay. I had one hard chair and nothing else. It didn’t matter I wasn’t leaving her.

That night she was woke up every hour. I was with her throughout the whoke thing. It was also the night she looked at me and said, “I love you, Joy” then turned aroud and corrected herself to,  “I love you, Sissy.” Yeah, the tears flowed.

The second night they realized I wasn’t leaving and a nice nurse brought me a blanket and pillow. 

My mom had a stroke that was caused by a clot breaking free from an aneurysm. Aneurysms run in my family. My grandma and aunt had one both at 56. (in about 10 years I suppose I’ll go get checked) Her aneurysm didn’t bleed or burst. It just had a piece break off. Of course my mom doesn’t do anything half assed. She had a huge aneurysm in the front of her brain in the middle of where the artery branches. 

She had surgery where an amazing surgeon and team placed a coil in the aneurysm and two stints on each side. 

I’ve never understood people wearing sports jerseys, but I can tell you I would proudly wear a jersey with her surgeons name on the back. Also her PT, Norman. He was a PT god, I watched him use PNF stretching where she moved her leg for the first time. He also let me do the PNF on her. Yeah, always the teachers pet. Or at least my mom teased me of that. 

Keeping myself busy in the hospital

Every day my mom improved. She was in the hospital for a month. I’m so proud of her. She is now home. She can walk without her walker ( I named it, Paul) She still gets frustrated, but it is amazing to see her get better and stronger every day.


Also during that time I pushed my book release back to Sept. 27th. I worked my ass off to get everything done but I had a lot on my plate. 

I made teasers and banners of my beautiful book cover. I ordered paperbacks for the signing I have on Oct. 22nd. On my release date I was so damn excited. Until around 11 o’clock when I got a message asking if I meant to spell Survivng wrong.



I sure did not

I looked at that damn cover over a thousand times and not once did I recognize it was wrong. 


I called my printer but it was too late to find out of theg had been printed yet. The awesome customer service lady said she would email me if she was able to pause the shipping. Imagine my hysterical laughter when she sent me my tracking number. 

I owned up to it live on Facebook. Explaining that Surviing Faith paperbacks will be at the signing because I didn’t have time to order another set.

Readers were supportive and understanding. Some even saying they wanted the misspelled cover. The cover is now fixed so any other books I order will be spelled correctly.

So that has been my life lately. I’m still crusing along. I have a paperback giveaway going on right now. To enter all you have to do is add a review of Surviving Faith to amazon. I’ll pick the winner live at the author by the beach signing Oct. 22Nd. Also keep an eye out for the costume I’ll be wearing. 

Hollywood Improv

July 14th, my birthday. I went live and embarassed the hell out of myself. In Surviving Faith I wrote a song. Now when I wrote the song had the JackholeS in mind. So vocals in my head were done by Kill. Van would be on drums and D and Jet would have bass and guitar. 

The song in my head had some awesome solos in it to display the talent of all the band members. So me. A woman singing it doesn’t do it justice. Also I don’t have the greatest singing voice. So be nice when watching. I screwed up one of the lasr verses and my youngest son walked in at the end. I haven’t watched it yet either, but I heard at some point it glitches and my eyelids start fluttering. 

It took us three times to get Facebook to cooperate with us. It kept kicking me off. Most likely because it hated my singing voice 

Broken Faith