When I was your age...

...I didn't have your fancy Twitter to do my status updates. I walked ten feet to my computer and had to log on to facebook to update my status! Hmph. Kids these days.

Seriously, though, I don't have Twitter. And I don't really intend to get it. This isn't a steadfast resolution -- I have nothing against Twitter, and if I ever find I need it I'll sign up -- it's just that I don't see how it's any different than facebook status updates, except that on Twitter you can make them more easily. This seems like a great arena to post even the most trivial of updates. Frankly, I don't feel the need to load my friends up with the mundane details of my life -- because, let's face it, most of the details of my life are mundane. Here's what my twittering would look like:

@an-organized-mess (7:15 am): Holy shit, I can't find my pants for work!
@an-organized-mess (7:15 am): I'm going to be late for work. NO PANTS!
@an-organized-mess (7:15 am): OH GOD WHERE ARE MY PANTS?!
@an-organized-mess (7:16 am): Oh, here they are.
@an-organized-mess (7:20 am): Walk walk walk walk.
@an-organized-mess (7:25 am): The train is late.

...and so forth.

So, I guess it's official: at my prime age of 24 (and 11 months!), I am now crotchety. All I need now is a porch, a rifle, a spitoon, and some kids on my lawn to complete the image.

PS: Did you know that they sell spitoons on Amazon.com? Okay, so I know it's just a wine spitoon, but I'm willing to bet it'll hold spit equally as well. That thing looks snazzy, too, with the chrome. I'll bring crotchety with style.