I hate LinkedIn – the essential social networking site for working professionals… Granted, I don’t hate it as much as I hate the New England Hatriots and their coach Bill Belicheater, but I definitely hate LinkedIn more than I hate Harleys.

LinkedIn bills itself as the “busy person’s” Facebook or MySpace – it’s for people who do important things, like make money and broker deals. Mainly, it just annoys the hell out of me. Initially I signed up for it because I kept getting pinged by colleagues who used it, and I’d get emails saying, “Invitation to Connect on LinkedIn.” So I accepted the first invitation… then the second… then the third and then I realized it wasn’t so much an invitation to connect as it was an invitation to receive a ton of LinkedIn-generated, unsolicited email from people I already contact regularly – as well as a ton of unsolicited email from people I DON’T REALLY WANT TO TALK TO.

I got an “invitation to connect” from some guy who used to read my newspaper column in COLLEGE. I don’t even know this guy – and even better, I DIDN’T even know this guy 15 years ago: IF I WASN’T YOUR FRIEND THEN, WHY WOULD I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND NOW? Or is this some kind of trophy hunt: You want to list me as your “friend” so you can show all your other “friends” that your “friend” is the former Stacy Feducia – the chic that wrote the buttcrack column back at Texas A&M? Are you serious? Graduate, dude!

I hate LinkedIn because I’m a salesperson. I make unsolicited contacts through my job all the time, letting people know I have a solution for problems they didn’t know they had. It’s a tough enough job without the knowledge that these poor souls are now being “invited to connect” by every other jackass in the universe with a cool widget to sell. Thanks, assholes!

LinkedIn is supposed to make my life easier by helping me “Find People and Knowledge I Need to Help Me Achieve My Goals.” Well, here are my goals: Tell me, LinkedIn, how can you help?

Continue reading WHY I HATE LINKEDIN →

My definition of “sports:” Athletic competitions between individuals or teams where the winner is determined by previously agreed upon rules and objective criteria.
There are winners. There are losers. The clock, the finish line, the knock-out punch, the yardstick, the checkered flag, the scorecard: These objective criteria determine who goes on, who goes home – or in the case of the Olympics this week: Who gets the gold and the glory (or the silver and salutations or the bronze and a nice trip to the pawn shop).
By my criteria, many of the most popular Olympic events fail to qualify as actual sports though they are, undoubtedly, athletic endeavors: Gymnastics, figure skating, synchronized swimming and its diabolical twin, synchronized diving, regular diving, dressage… I mean, really – DRESSAGE? … and of course, rhythmic gymnastics. And even though it’s not in the Olympics, it is still my favorite punching bag: Cheerleading = Not A Sport … though I’m sure the cheerleading stage moms are doing their best to garner their pastime a place in the five-ringed medal count. (And I will likely hear from them, but guess what, Wanda Holloway, the comment function is conveniently broken!)
Sport / Not A Sport – This is all you need to know to be the judge: IF THE OUTCOME OF A CONTEST IS DEPENDENT ON WHETHER THE EAST GERMAN JUDGE IS HAVING HER PERIOD, THE CONTEST IS NOT A SPORT; IT’S A PAGEANT
If you’re not pissed yet, keep reading… you will be (but you also might learn something if you pay attention).

Continue reading Sport / Not A Sport: You Be The Judge →

For once in my life, I can be succinct:
I hate Bill Belichick, coach of the New England Patriots – the one that dresses like a homeless person ON PURPOSE (hoodie sweatshirt, cut off at the sleeves). He’s the one that blames the NFL after he was caught videotaping opponents and found by the NFL to be CHEATING. He’s a dirty, rotten, arrogant bastard who clearly has a small man complex because he motivates himself and his team by pretending that everyone is out to get him and hates him.
Well, he’s right on that second part. And so to be succinct, I have created the following simile:
Bill Belichick is ruining football the way that George W. Bush is ruining our country. As my husband says, “It’s called economies of scale.” Rot in hell, Bill Belichick. Go Colts!

So you wanna build a custom home… in Scottsdale… at the end of the frothiest real estate bubble… EVER.
You’ve bought the land – a pretty patch of 1.13 acres that backs up to an ocean of prickly pear, turpentine bush and saguaro cactus known as the Tonto National Forest. Your brother-in-law / architect-to-the-stars drew the most outstanding plans in the universe: 3,300 square feet of unsheathed cool, including a fireman’s pole from the upstairs closet to the garage. And yes, it adhered to code… along with the bookcase-cum-secret door that leads to the media cave that has another secret door that leads to the pantry (with wine cooler) so you can get snacks and not miss the movie. And did I mention the wrap-around porch -12 feet deep – with the disappearing glass wall that has an unobstructed view of Four Peaks.
Oh, and no one can ever build behind you because it’s a National Forest.
This has been your dream and your all-consuming project for the past five years… until you wake up one morning to discover you’re living in your own reality show, lovingly titled: BUILD ME A HOUSE, CRACKSMOKERS!

Continue reading So You Wanna Build a Custom Home →

My sweet husband bought me a Bluetooth headset yesterday. I hope to return it to the store tomorrow, as I am relieved I did not throw it out the car window today.
HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME???
It’s not that I don’t appreciate advances in communication, or that I wasn’t moved by his heartfelt longing to save his fellow motorists from the physical trauma and extensive body work derived from my swerving attempts to talk on my cell phone while shifting the MINI into third. Brings a whole nother dimension to its nickname: The Menacing MINI.
ARE YOU THERE? I CAN’T HEAR YOU? IS THIS THING ON? HELLO?
Know this, fellow Luddites: Had my husband not given me this Bluetooth as a gift, I would have placed it beneath my 18-inch sub-dubs and backed up… and then rolled forward… and then backed up… and then rolled forward… and then scooped up what was left of the damned thing and deposited it at the base of Coolidge’s favorite tree to await a yellow christening by the smartest dog in the universe.
I don’t hate the Bluetooth because I hate technology. Rather, I hate technology that is supposed to make my life simpler but instead makes me feel like a dumbass. The gloves come off here… Don’t say you weren’t warned.

Continue reading Stacy Bertinelli: Enemy of Technology →