I’ve been invited to speak at the upcoming Social Media in Business Conference in London on the subject of social media for creative artists, and it’s really got me thinking (I do indulge in this on occasion). As the “Queen of Facebook” (according to Wikipedia and my hapless suitor Mark Zuckerberg), not to mention author and editor of numerous books, blogger for “Errant Ramblings” (you’re reading it now!), creator and presenter of Mitzi TV, and the mother to my famous bear Teddy Tedaloo, it’s probably safe to assume that my name carries a bit of clout. You can find me pretty much everywhere on the internet. Heck, I’m a social media goddess!
I have thousands of fans, friends, followers, tweeters, and stalkers from nearly every country in the world, running the gamut from authors, poets, tech geeks, musicians, pensioners, estate agents, educators, students, actors, film producers, social media gurus, doctors, lawyers, Indian chiefs, journalists, politicians, pervs (see “politicians”), exiled Communists, serial killers, PR people (see “serial killers”), dead rock stars, and teddy bears – to your aunt Tilly from Temecula who no one ever talks about since the cops dug up her back garden and discovered all those bodies. (But hey, they got great wi-fi at Quentin, so she’s always wired and ready to go – well, at least until they strap her in the chair.)
Sounds like I pretty much know everybody, right? Then why is it with all my contacts, not a single one has responded to my request to fix me up with Ian Somerhalder? Yes, I mean the very same Ian Somerhalder who plays the dishy but nasty vampire Damon Salvatore in “The Vampire Diaries“. What exactly is going on here? Where are all these people I’ve cultivated and made so happy with my many posts, tweets, rants, and raves? You know who you are, so don’t even try to wrangle out of it.
Fine, so you retweeted me a few times – big deal. But what have you done for me lately? Where are you when I really need you? I’m beginning to get Jewish mother syndrome here. I do so much for you, I sacrifice, oy oy oy. Yet the minute I ask for something, everyone runs to the hills. (Hey, wasn’t that a really bad Iron Maiden song?)
Am I supposed to believe that with thousands of people at my electronic beck and call, not one of them will show their appreciation for all my hard work and sacrifice by having a word in Ian’s shell-like? Okay, I do expect flowers, but he doesn’t have to go all out and blow his entire pay packet on them. (I’m not one of THOSE girls.) But heck, if I’m willing to offer up my tender neck, I expect him to be enough of a gentleman when he sinks his teeth into it. On second thought, tell him to ditch the flowers. Some nice chocolate will suffice. Let it not be said that I don’t have my priorities right.
I’d always vowed never to get involved with an actor. Having served some time in Los Angeles, let me tell you that you can get weary of actors very quickly. And they don’t necessarily make the best waiters either, despite popular opinion. Could be one reason why there are so many sushi bars in LA – you don’t need that many waiters to staff them. The thing is, you can’t always predict or control whom you’ll fall for. Actor, bus driver, binman… It’s in the lap of the gods.
As for Ian, I think we’d be really great together. (Sorry, Mark!) And, even more importantly, Ted likes him. Ian’s a big animal lover and, although his love seems to focus more on cats and dogs, Ted’s pretty certain he can win him over with his ursine charm. In fact, judging by that photo of them together, I’d say it’s already working! (Mind you, I just hope that Ian’s not trying to use him to further his own career. You tend to get that with these artistic types.)
So Ian, what time are you coming to get me?