That one time when I was a one-weasel stand

Alternative Title: Part one in a series of stories about how I think I know people that I really don’t

Alternative Alternative Title: The story that makes you afraid to tweet me
Alternative Alternative Alternative Title: The longest post I’ve ever written - I’m sorry
Alternative Alternative Alternative Alternative Title: I just stopped eating carbs, can you tell?

You know how you just know that if one of your exes ever wrote a book, you would have to read it regardless of how badly they treated you or how badly you have convinced yourself they treated you? And how you just know that you would have to order the book online so no one would see you buying it and then you would read it in the bathroom so no one would see you reading it? And how you just know that if someone knocked on the door to ask if you were okay, you would say "I'm constipated" because not being able to poop correctly is less embarrassing than reading a book written by your ex? Well that is exactly what is happening to me right now. Except none of my exes have written a book and the book I’m referring to was actually written by someone I don’t really know but did negotiate 10% off of a dead weasel for and was then given the wam bam thank ya mam. The I have an early morning so it’d be great if you could show yourself out of my twitter stream.  The One. Weasel. Stand. I’m spurned, y’all.

A couple of months ago, I found a lovely taxidermied weasel in an antique store. I sent a tweet to the aforementioned someone as I knew that she had an affinity for dead animals. Of course she wanted to purchase it so I negotiated a 10% discount and asked the shopkeeper to sell the weasel over the telephone. The aforementioned someone put tiny clothes on the gorgeous creature and made shirts and stuff featuring the gorgeous creature to sell to the aforementioned someone’s many fans. She made a weasel post on her blog, referring to me as “a girl on twitter”. I thought she might give me, a new blogger trying to build an audience, a little shout-out. Nothing fancy - just my twitter handle. "@JenOsaurus tweeted me about this here stuffed weasel." But no. Oh well. No bigs. I got over it. Until…

[The aforementioned someone shall be known, for the remainder of this post, as The Girl on the Internet Who Also Wrote A Book (TGOTIWAWAB). But there are so many girls on the internet who also wrote a book - what if this post makes you think TGOTIWAWAB is really awesome and you want to read her blog/follow her tweets – now you won’t know which girl on the internet who also wrote a book she is. Exactly. Except that your probably already know who I'm referring to because she has one billion followers.]

Later I ran into my pal Susan, whose blog I would totally link to if she wrote one, and she told me that the weasel formerly resided in a funeral home. I found this tidbit pretty fantastic so I tweeted it to TGOTIWAWAB. No response. Not even a "that's nice" brush off.  Silencio (look, one of the handful of Spanish words I remember because they are very similar to the English ones). Still no bigs. TGOTIWAWAB is busy. Then…

TGOTIWAWAB took the weasel on her book tour and posted a photograph of some chick who smeared mascara on her face and didn't even try to get the weasel outfit right. Maybelline whiskers gets a photo and I got "a girl on twitter". I feel so used! What did I do wrong? Are we still okay? Friends have spats, right? We’re good?*

I still bought TGOTIWAWAB’s book. Heck, I pre-ordered it. And so far I like it. It’s funny and she gives hope to a socially awkward girl like myself who is much better at communicating via keyboard than via mouth. And apparently Twitter. 

* TGOTIWAWAB and I do not know each other. I just have this weird habit of thinking I know the bloggers I follow regularly. I really did find that flippin weasel though.