1. Kristen Hirsch. She talks to me!! She says sweet things! I heart her. If she comes to Ireland, I will stalk her with cupcakes.
2. James Deen. I tweet him back and he doesn't answer. Still... I'm clinging to the hope that my attempts at funny/caring (sue me, he's just so endearing) are better than all the other desperate ones going DON'T EAT THE BURRITO EAT MY PUSSY FUCKME AAAAGH. For Christ's sake, porn fans, get a grip. Ahem.
3. Manuel Ferarra. Yeah, I know. Still, selfies and photos of his cute retriever. He can be kinda bitchy though.
4. Assorted erotica writers I knew before Twitter, who still qualify as famous even though I know them through different avenues. If you know what I mean. Shout out to Justine Elyot for indulging me in Hiddlyfantasies and Charlotte Stein for being my sister in Incompetence.
5. Most recently though*pause for minor swoon* FRANK BLACK. Who ignored me til I posted a gushing and poetic thank you for his recent Dublin Pixies gig, and then... didn't RT it but ... followed me. *Hushed awe and more swooning* It's awful pressurising though, I never say anything of interest on Twitter. That tweet may have set me up for a fall. Still... Frank Black. God of alternative rock. *dizzy*
6. Russell Brand. Many causes and much political stuff. Too much to process, really.
7. Sarah Millican. Occasionally funny, often sweet, but too much in the way of cataloguing her god awful diet of pork pies and chocolate bars. Makes me uncomfortable. I have to admit, though my own diet is pants at the moment, and for the last while, the posts on Tumblr of food I see that I reblog and yearn for tend to be of rustic salads and vegetables all artistic and colourful, or of fruit - one really obese woman often posts Southern US style cheese meat grease fests and things like cookie dough covered in custard covered in pudding and fries and waffles and toffee sauce and so on. And these, I'm grateful to say, sicken rather than appeal to me.
I still don't really get Twitter. There is ego, there is marketing, publicity and also reaching out to people - some friends, some fans, this weird crossover. Tumblr makes more sense to me in some ways - I suppose because its purpose is vaguer.. looking at nice pictures - oo, this is nice, look at this. I once thought blogging was awful, I can't remember the dismissive term I used for it, but I was scathing about the airing of one's own opinion and the minutiae of one's daily life in public... ha, funny that.
Anyway, we tweet on. This post is about nothing more than saying KIRSTEN HERSH LIKES ME ON TWITTER AND IT MAKES ME HAPPY, in tweety truth :)
2. James Deen. I tweet him back and he doesn't answer. Still... I'm clinging to the hope that my attempts at funny/caring (sue me, he's just so endearing) are better than all the other desperate ones going DON'T EAT THE BURRITO EAT MY PUSSY FUCKME AAAAGH. For Christ's sake, porn fans, get a grip. Ahem.
3. Manuel Ferarra. Yeah, I know. Still, selfies and photos of his cute retriever. He can be kinda bitchy though.
4. Assorted erotica writers I knew before Twitter, who still qualify as famous even though I know them through different avenues. If you know what I mean. Shout out to Justine Elyot for indulging me in Hiddlyfantasies and Charlotte Stein for being my sister in Incompetence.
5. Most recently though*pause for minor swoon* FRANK BLACK. Who ignored me til I posted a gushing and poetic thank you for his recent Dublin Pixies gig, and then... didn't RT it but ... followed me. *Hushed awe and more swooning* It's awful pressurising though, I never say anything of interest on Twitter. That tweet may have set me up for a fall. Still... Frank Black. God of alternative rock. *dizzy*
6. Russell Brand. Many causes and much political stuff. Too much to process, really.
7. Sarah Millican. Occasionally funny, often sweet, but too much in the way of cataloguing her god awful diet of pork pies and chocolate bars. Makes me uncomfortable. I have to admit, though my own diet is pants at the moment, and for the last while, the posts on Tumblr of food I see that I reblog and yearn for tend to be of rustic salads and vegetables all artistic and colourful, or of fruit - one really obese woman often posts Southern US style cheese meat grease fests and things like cookie dough covered in custard covered in pudding and fries and waffles and toffee sauce and so on. And these, I'm grateful to say, sicken rather than appeal to me.
I still don't really get Twitter. There is ego, there is marketing, publicity and also reaching out to people - some friends, some fans, this weird crossover. Tumblr makes more sense to me in some ways - I suppose because its purpose is vaguer.. looking at nice pictures - oo, this is nice, look at this. I once thought blogging was awful, I can't remember the dismissive term I used for it, but I was scathing about the airing of one's own opinion and the minutiae of one's daily life in public... ha, funny that.
Anyway, we tweet on. This post is about nothing more than saying KIRSTEN HERSH LIKES ME ON TWITTER AND IT MAKES ME HAPPY, in tweety truth :)
