After a serious drought of submissions, TMI Tuesday is back with a vengeance! I owe a debt of gratitude to the author of this confession. Sweetheart, you really outdid yourself. As for the rest of you, I’m still waiting. Patiently.

Confessions of a Teenage “Sexter”

Okay so it wasn’t bad enough that I happened to befriend the player-est jerkface in school. It wasn’t enough that I ended up developing a HUGE crush on him, and began to cling to every compliment I received from him.

It apparently wasn’t enough that I texted him non-stop, and actually got flirty messages back from him. It wasn’t enough that I ended up talking about stuff that probably shouldn’t be discussed between friends, and it wasn’t enough that he responded with exactly what I wanted to hear.
It just wasn’t enough.

One night, my mom turned on my phone to get a contact from it. She accidentally (or so I hope) opened my inbox, and several disturbing conversations were displayed for her eyes to see.

The next morning, she told me all her thoughts and feelings regarding this “disgusting side of me” and took away my phone.

But, that wasn’t enough, either.

She CALLED the player jerkface and told him that if he ever talked to me about anything inappropriate again, she would call the police and press charges. It sounds really mean and tough, but now that I look back on it, I realize it was all my fault and I shouldn’t have been talking about such things.

I thought that the jerkface and I could at least be friends, but he is so scared to talk to me anymore, he doesn’t even say hi. The last thing he said to me was “is your mom really going to call the police??” and although I knew she was over-reacting a little bit, and told him “probably not, but you should sleep with your windows closed, just incase she decides to kill you.”

I tried to make light of the situation by saying this, but it probably really scared him. Not the smartest thing to say to someone who is afraid of being in the same hallway as you.

Anywho, I was really sad for a few weeks, and wrote all of my thoughts down in a Microsoft Word Document, to vent out all of the feelings I had for him. Even though he was only using me, and didn’t care for me in the least bit, I didn’t know that at the time. I thought he really did mean all the “I love you”s he sent, and I was obviously wrong.

Now, I know that he is a complete jerk. I am over him, but I felt that his evil-ness should be displayed for all to see, and so everyone could take note of him the future Plus, I want to remind everyone to never be (as proclaimed by mom) a “sexter.”

Check back next week for the juicy follow-up TMI from the same person!

I’m a self-described grammar nerd, and it’s no accident that I majored in Russian in college and became an ESL teacher. I love learning the rules and following them (most of the time). My own grammar is by no means perfect, but it’s pretty darn good. I don’t correct anyone’s grammar unless I’m being paid to because I think smug, unsolicited lectures on usage are obnoxious.

I realize that by writing this post, I’m being obnoxious. But I’m aware of my own obnoxiousness, so that makes it okay. Doesn’t it?

Come on, doesn’t it?

Huh?

Whatever.

I notice grammatical mistakes when people speak, but they don’t bother me that much. Speech leaves more wiggle room; when a person is thinking and talking at the same time, it can be easy to use nominative instead of accusative (“The conversation was between him and I.”) or mess up a superlative (“That’s my most favoritest dessert.”).

Writing is a different story, however.* People have more time to think about what they want to say and how they want to say it. They can edit, proofread, use the spell checker.  So they have fewer excuses for screwing up.

The real problem, though, is grammatical ignorance. Writers may have all the time in the world to double-check their documents and messages, but that time won’t be of much use if they didn’t know the rules to begin with.

Grammatical ignorance is an epidemic in this country. And it’s driving me crazy. Here are the top offenders:

1. Your vs. You’re

Your is a possessive adjective. It always comes before nouns.

I like your shirt.

You’re is the contraction of you are.

You’re a fashion goddess.

Therefore, I cringe when I see this:

Your a fashion goddess.

2. A lot is two words, not one.

This sentence bothers me alot.

3. Apostrophes in plurals
There are a few cases in which it is correct to use apostrophes to form plurals, and you can find an explanation here. In general, though, plurals are formed without the help of added punctuation. Many people don’t realize this.

I was guilty of this offense for year’s.

Now I know better. And so do you.

Lately, I’ve been seeing apostrophe abuse with verbs, too. Apostrophes also have no place when using the third person singular with present-tense verbs, except for the contraction of is.

Correct: It’s cold at night.
Incorrect: It get’s cold at night.

4. Run-on sentences

I blame technology for this one. In the age of text messages and Twitter, folks don’t want to waste characters on periods and commas. Their tired little thumbs can’t be bothered to punch in capital letters, either. This style tends to carry over into other types of writing, and it horrifies me.

it also makes writers sound stupid i dont know why anyone would want that but i guess some people dont care

There. I’m glad I got that off my chest. I feel so much better now.

*I am extremely forgiving of grammatical errors in messages written by fans. So if you are linguistically challenged but want to write and tell me how great you think I am, or how great TMI is, please don’t be shy. I am willing to look past even the most heinous language offenses when they are part of a flattery package.

sarah (at) sarahquigley.com (hint, hint)

This made me really happy. So did this (check out the chance to win a copy of TMI!). Do I have the most adorable fans or what? They send me the cutest emails, and their blogs are so charming. Love you guys!

I need all the good vibes I can get these days because I’ve been feeling bad about myself lately. More to the point, I’ve been feeling bad about something that makes me feel good.

Other than the pan of wildly delicious butterscotch brownies I made and demolished this past week with very little help from my husband.

Ahem.

I should just come right out and say it. I’m only making things worse by drawing out the confession.

But I love the drama.

So what’s making me feel like scum? It’s The Bachelorette. I love that show. I don’t watch it with the dog-like devotion that I have for Survivor, but every so often, I let myself get sucked into a season. Up until now, I had no idea why.

I mean, the show is unbelievably stupid. One “lucky” bachelor or bachelorette is given a rabid pack of twenty-five potential mates to date over the course of six weeks. The field is whittled down with the goal of a marriage proposal in the finale. The show has resulted in only one wedding in its thirteen seasons to date. Yet ABC has no trouble recruiting folks who hope to find their soul mates this way.

That’s not even the worst part. After so many seasons, the conversations all start to sound the same. The people on the show quiz each other about what they’re looking for in a life partner. There’s always someone who’s universally hated by the other contestants, and this person somehow manages to survive the first few rounds of elimination before being booted. The producers frequently refill everyone’s cocktails to up the drama factor further. Still, its often clear that drama is manufactured for the sake of production value.

While I’m sure that the bachelors and bachelorettes on this show are okay people in real life, they all manage to come off looking pretty vanilla. Jillian, the current reigning bachelorette, is supposed to be spontaneous and sassy, but she’s actually not that interesting to watch.

So why do I bother watching? Simple: the make-out scenes.

One of the main criticisms of this show is that the people on it make out too much, but I don’t agree. If they made out any less, there’d be nothing to recommend The Bachelorette at all. And then I might have to go do something worthwhile, like, I dunno, read a book with words or maybe even write a book.

Heavens.

I just love watching people make out. That’s all it boils down to. And now that I’ve made this realization, I refuse to be ashamed of it any longer. It’s a harmless bit of voyeurism. And as Sheryl Crow said, “If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.”

So please excuse me, but I have to go watch this evening’s episode of tonsil hockey unfold.

This made me really happy. So did this (check out the chance to win a copy of TMI!). Do I have the most adorable fans or what? They send me the cutest emails, and their blogs are so charming. Love you guys!

I need all the good vibes I can get these days because I’ve been feeling bad about myself lately. More to the point, I’ve been feeling bad about something that makes me feel good.

Other than the pan of wildly delicious butterscotch brownies I made and demolished this past week with very little help from my husband.

Ahem.

I should just come right out and say it. I’m only making things worse by drawing out the confession.

But I love the drama.

So what’s making me feel like scum? It’s The Bachelorette. I love that show. I don’t watch it with the dog-like devotion that I have for Survivor, but every so often, I let myself get sucked into a season. Up until now, I had no idea why.

I mean, the show is unbelievably stupid. One “lucky” bachelor or bachelorette is given a rabid pack of twenty-five potential mates to date over the course of six weeks. The field is whittled down with the goal of a marriage proposal in the finale. The show has resulted in only one wedding in its thirteen seasons to date. Yet ABC has no trouble recruiting folks who hope to find their soul mates this way.

That’s not even the worst part. After so many seasons, the conversations all start to sound the same. The people on the show quiz each other about what they’re looking for in a life partner. There’s always someone who’s universally hated by the other contestants, and this person somehow manages to survive the first few rounds of elimination before being booted. The producers frequently refill everyone’s cocktails to up the drama factor further. Still, its often clear that drama is manufactured for the sake of production value.

While I’m sure that the bachelors and bachelorettes on this show are okay people in real life, they all manage to come off looking pretty vanilla. Jillian, the current reigning bachelorette, is supposed to be spontaneous and sassy, but she’s actually not that interesting to watch.

So why do I bother watching? Simple: the make-out scenes.

One of the main criticisms of this show is that the people on it make out too much, but I don’t agree. If they made out any less, there’d be nothing to recommend The Bachelorette at all. And then I might have to go do something worthwhile, like, I dunno, read a book with words or maybe even write a book.

Heavens.

I just love watching people make out. That’s all it boils down to. And now that I’ve made this realization, I refuse to be ashamed of it any longer. It’s a harmless bit of voyeurism. And as Sheryl Crow said, “If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.”

So please excuse me, but I have to go watch this evening’s episode of tonsil hockey unfold.

I got married when I was 24 and became a mom when I was 32. During my eight years as a kidless wife, I regularly got asked why I didn’t have children and when I was planning on having some. Sometimes I dodged the question with a joke, other times I answered honestly, and occasionally, I gave the asker a piece of my mind.

Of course, nothing triggers a stream of inappropriate questions and remarks like having a baby. I’ve heard the gamut, which cover topics from birthing choices to child-rearing techniques. Now that my daughter is no longer a newborn, people want to know when I’m popping out a second baby.

Uh, that would be sometime between “none of your freakin’ business” and “piss off.”

Look, I know people are only asking out of interest. I’m extremely interested in the reproductive goings-on of my friends and family. But unless I share a close relationship with someone and the subject comes up, I don’t ask about this kind of thing. It’s private, it’s personal, and I know that if and when one of my loved ones has some exciting news to share with me, they wil.

It kind of floors me how many people don’t get this. I mean, I get the Baby #2 question at least once a week. I’m not offended by it so much as I’m stunned by the lack of manners of so many. A few older women have even gone so far as to tell me I should hurry up and have another because two babies are easier to care for than one.

I don’t believe that for a second.

I’ve heard from moms of larger families that at some point, folks stop asking when the next baby is coming and start wanting to know when they’re going to stop procreating. The tipping point varies; it seems to some think five children is excessive while others get bugged out by three. I recently read that Elisabeth Hasselbeck, a co-host on The View, is having her third, and she was labeled “a baby factory.”

Huh?

You just can’t win, apparently.

I got married when I was 24 and became a mom when I was 32. During my eight years as a kidless wife, I regularly got asked why I didn’t have children and when I was planning on having some. Sometimes I dodged the question with a joke, other times I answered honestly, and occasionally, I gave the asker a piece of my mind.

Of course, nothing triggers a stream of inappropriate questions and remarks like having a baby. I’ve heard the gamut, which cover topics from birthing choices to child-rearing techniques. Now that my daughter is no longer a newborn, people want to know when I’m popping out a second baby.

Uh, that would be sometime between “none of your freakin’ business” and “piss off.”

Look, I know people are only asking out of interest. I’m extremely interested in the reproductive goings-on of my friends and family. But unless I share a close relationship with someone and the subject comes up, I don’t ask about this kind of thing. It’s private, it’s personal, and I know that if and when one of my loved ones has some exciting news to share with me, they wil.

It kind of floors me how many people don’t get this. I mean, I get the Baby #2 question at least once a week. I’m not offended by it so much as I’m stunned by the lack of manners of so many. A few older women have even gone so far as to tell me I should hurry up and have another because two babies are easier to care for than one.

I don’t believe that for a second.

I’ve heard from moms of larger families that at some point, folks stop asking when the next baby is coming and start wanting to know when they’re going to stop procreating. The tipping point varies; it seems to some think five children is excessive while others get bugged out by three. I recently read that Elisabeth Hasselbeck, a co-host on The View, is having her third, and she was labeled “a baby factory.”

Huh?

You just can’t win, apparently.

My trip to Minnesota was a veritable social whirl. I did two more signings, both of which were very well attended. I owe a special thanks to the good folks at the Red Balloon Bookshop in St. Paul and the Barnes and Noble at HarMar Mall in Roseville. I couldn’t have done it without you guys!

I was overwhelmed and touched by the outpouring of support I received from family, friends, and old classmates. It felt wonderful to stand up in front of so many friendly faces and know that everyone was rooting for me.

The signings reminded me a lot of my wedding. I was the center of attention, everyone was there to wish me well, and I had about two minutes to talk to everyone. I was amazed by how many of my high school classmates showed up. Most of them weren’t even people I was particularly close to, but they were still excited for me. That was really nice to see.

That being said, there were also a few awkward moments that left me wondering, “Uh, why would you SAY that?” Such as:

1. “I know I should read your book, but I probably won’t.”
Hmm. Thanks for the honesty, I guess. I actually didn’t take this too personally because the person who said it doesn’t read very much, period.

2. “I read your book in two hours!”
I’m a slow reader, so it would be impossible for me to finish a 300-page book that quickly. I know some people are speed readers. And I intentionally wrote TMI in an easy-to-read style. Even so, it’s a little unnerving to think that those pages I agonized and sweated over were devoured so fast. Kind of like spending all day cooking a meal and having a dinner guest eat everything in five minutes. Savor the flavor a little, would ya?

3. “I can’t wait to buy your book when it comes out in paperback!”
Hey, I know economic times are tough. And it’s fine if you want to wait a year and save nine bucks. But did you really need to let me know that?

Okay, I’ve already established that I’m overly sensitive, but hearing people say these things reminded me of a post on Meg Cabot’s blog a few years ago. Unfortunately, you can’t access another post that she links to called THINGS NEVER TO SAY (or email) TO AN AUTHOR (if you actually want her to like you), but the general idea is clear. It’s nice to know I’m not alone.