My Own Facebook Profile Picture Game

While many of you who are on Facebook enjoy running your profile picture through a Facebook app to find out your sexy name, your grandma name, or what you’d look like if you were a snake, I have a Google game that I made up.

Google Chrome has a feature that helps people find pirates using their pictures without permission. Using Chrome, I right click on a picture and tell Google to search for it. Well…tonight I told Google to look up a picture of the mother of the groom and her bestie from the office that we had taken at the wedding. Here is what Google thinks we look like.

What Google Thinks I Look Like

By the way, don’t use any of my pictures without permission!   Google can spot me a mile away!  Take a look at the great job Google did of matching my picture this time.

I could entertain myself ALL night long with this game!

It’s Not the Size of the Trailer that Counts, It is How Many Parking Spaces You Can Block!

Being the nosy Mrs. Kravitz that I am, I noticed that a silver truck with a trailer was doing something odd in our parking lot. The driver worked feverishly backing up and repositioning several times to get the trailer positioned juuuussssst right (except it wasn’t parked right at all) into the covered parking space next to my car to load up SOMETHING PRESUMABLY REALLY BIG AND HEAVY out of a condo. (Otherwise, why go to so much trouble to get a few inches closer?)

The driver of this truck and trailer has blocked me in, blocked my good friend DB out of her spot, and another neighbor is blocked out of her space, too! Oh hell NO. That’s dangerous business, right there.

After 15 minutes, I have observed that the truck owner has manhandled out of the condo one measly nightstand that I could have loaded up by myself with no problem.

I hope that something else that is super heavy is loaded up before long and it’s worth blocking three working women’s parking spaces because when one or both of those two women come home and can’t park, there’s going to be some trouble out there.

I’m waiting by my kitchen window for one of them to arrive and frown at the truck and trailer parked rudely in the way — my friend April won’t be able to get into the parking spot belonging to her.  Sure, she could park in the guest area and walk a few extra steps, but at quitting time, no one wants to walk a few extra steps.  You’ve walked around all day in shoes that are gorgeous and make your legs look awesome, but when 5:30 p.m. rolls around and you are ready to get out of those rotten criminal b**tards called designer shoes, every step is like walking 6.27 miles on shards of glass.

That truck owner better get ready.  His lunch better be packed in a Gilligan’s Island lunch box with a matching thermos, because in a show of solidarity for working women wearing pretty shoes all day, I’m going to grab my purse and run out screaming like a banshee, “Move the truck…get that trailer out of my way!! I have a broken nail — it’s an emergency and have to get to the salon before it closes!!!”

If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll reverse that pathetic parking job he’s done and run for his life.