A dad searches for a cure

Kevin of Always Home and Uncool has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife's birthday.

*

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, part of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

*

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit the Cure JM Foundation.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to Kevin's personal FirstGiving page or the Cure JM donations page.

It's Not A Vlog It's A Fucking Video Post

10 Ways You Didn't Know You Could Use Coffee Filters

... And Probably Shouldn't Try

1. Coffee- Of course, the first use of coffee filters is to make coffee. If you use enough filters and make enough coffee you might be cognizant enough throughout the day to not need coffee filters for the following items. Because you would have remembered to buy paper towels.

2. Glass cleaner- With a little glass cleaner and a coffee filter or two, you'll have streak-free, lint-free windows. If you're into that. I haven't cleaned the windows in a while, but maybe I will tomorrow. Or not. Probably not.

3. Toilet paper- Yeah, it's a little hard and scratchy, but if you've not only forgotten to buy paper towels, but also toilet paper, they do come in handy. You might need a few of them, though. They aren't very absorbent.

4. Kitten poop picker-upper- Another situation where you might need several, but when you've got six kittens who can't figure out the fucking litter box and you leave the house for several hours one day, you're going to have a problem. Of course, while you were out of the house you could have picked up some paper towels, but you didn't do Number One enough to remember that.

5. Face blotter- When you live in the South and it's summer, sometimes your make-up gets a little shiny. A single coffee filter pressed to your face is the perfect remedy. If you're especially lucky, you might even get a full face print like in Forrest Gump when he inspired the Smiley Face icon.

6. Prom dress- Hey, the economy is tight for all of us, right? A few staples, maybe some markers, you've got a prom dress, baby. And when it comes to prom night after party escapades, it comes off easily. Heh.

7. Dust cloth- Obviously, this is much like using it to clean windows, but you get my drift.

8. Apron- It would have to be the apron to a French maid, but it would keep her itty bitty skirt clean, anyway.

9. Welcome Home outfit- You remember the thing about opening the door for your man dressed only in Saran Wrap? Three coffee filters, baby. That's all you need and it's better for the environment.

10. Baby wipes- If you've forgotten to buy paper towels, and toilet paper, and baby wipes, you can layer two coffee filters together and wet them. And it works really well. The texture is even much like a cheap store-bought wipe.

I think I better go to the grocery store tomorrow. Now I'm getting low on coffee filters, too.

100 Things - Post Two

Are you sure you really want me to continue this list? I mean, really, why would anyone want to know 100 Things about me? Hell, I don't even want to know that much about myself.

You do? Really?

Oh geez. Now you're going to be a smart ass? My ego can't handle it. Screw you. I'm writing it anyway.

Where was I? Right, number twenty-one. Let's see...

21. I can't take an Alka-Seltzer Cold tablet without licking it before I drop it in the water. And singing the old jingle... Plop! Plop! Fizz! Fizz! Oh! What a relief it is! I have a thing for jingles. I remember a product based on their song. And I love a good commercial. I'm more likely to mute the actual show on TV than the commercials.

22. I've always been a night-owl. I love staying up late, when the world is quiet. Even when I was young, before I had kids, I stayed up at night. When I was in school, I would read until 3 or 4 in the morning, snatch a couple hours of sleep, then pry my eyelids back when my dad would come pounding on my door.

23. In high school I was invisible. I wasn't a popular girl, or a band geek, or just a geek, or an outsider, or anything. I was just a normal kid. I went through hell in middle school, and got teased an awful lot, but we moved after my freshman year and then everything was okay. I knew a lot of people, and everyone liked me, but I only had a couple of friends.

24. When I was in school, I was a bit of a professional artist. I was always good in art class, and every year I had many pieces in the school art show and won a ribbon or ten I think. My specialty was portraits. I did big black and white pencil drawings for people and the last few I charged $150 each. But then, it got to be too much of a job and I didn't want to do it anymore.

25. I only like doing things while they interest me. I'd love to be a professional writer but I'm afraid I would lose my joy in it and then it would just be another fucking job.

26. Despite that, I'm very loyal. I bond with friends right away, and it generally takes a lot for me to decide I don't like a person anymore.

27. I'm a writer. Shut the fuck up. I am. Technically, I write, therefore, I'm a writer. I'm working on my first novel. Geez! You're going to question everything I say tonight aren't you?! Fine! I haven't written anything for the book in about a month now, but it's not like I've put it away. It's still there, it's just not talking to me right now. I've always been a writer. When I was nine, I think, my class was supposed to write a little story. Mine was around ten pages and involved my teacher meeting her husband and something to do with a hot air balloon. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Fowler, being astounded. I wrote a few stories in high-school, too, and my freshman English teacher tried to get me to get them published. I didn't though.

28. I love the beach. It's calming, exhilarating, peaceful, awe-inspiring... It has many, many opposing traits and I love that. It makes me feel small and insignificant, yet somehow, at the same time, a part of the big picture. I love the sound of the waves and the wind in my hair. But the best time to be at the beach is at night. All the loud sun seekers have gone, the heat of the day is coming up from the sand, and if it's a bright night, you can still see the waves coming in. The sound of the waves is like a beating heart, somehow. Ah. I miss it.

29. I'm a music lover. It plays a huge role in my life and most memories I have are triggered by songs. When I hear a trigger song, I see the exact scene it calls to mind. Not just my feelings at the time. I like pretty much all music to a degree, but the best is rock. Classic rock, new rock, alternative, grunge, punk... Whatever. If it has a lot of guitar and drums and cool lyrics, I'm all over that shit. Especially if it makes me move.

30. I'm a dancer. Not a good dancer, mind you, but I still love it. Don't ask me to go clubbing, though, because I don't dance like that. I'm a kitchen dancer. And a car dancer. Heh. Especially at red lights because I don't have to worry about wrecking. I laugh when I get weird looks because at least I'm having fun and they're sitting there impatiently. I passed on my love of music and dancing to the kids. It's funny how their own personalities change the style. Noah is awkward and off-beat (much like me. Heh), Tess likes ballet and swirling, princess type dancing, and Tripp is a head-bopper (also like me. Poor poor kids) and arm shaker.

31. I sing a lot, too. I have my old favorites that run through my head constantly, and I sing them in the shower and all over the house. I'm... Not bad, but not all that good either. Most of the songs I like to sing are by men, for some weird reason, but I can belt out a lot of girl songs if they aren't too high-pitched. My voice is sort of low for a girl. The best night out for me includes Karaoke, as long as a little alcohol is involved.

32. Ummmm. Hmm. I don't really like to talk about myself this much. You know how you have a conversation with some people and you wonder when they're ever going to shut the fuck up about themselves? Probably wouldn't with me, unless I have a problem or whatever that I need to talk about.

33. I'm sympathetic and empathetic to other people's problems. I can almost always understand where the other person is coming from. That might be a good quality, but it sure has bitten me in the ass a lot.

34. I want to travel the world one day. It would be nice to see it all, but my first stop, the place that calls to me, is Ireland. I'm not sure why, but it just seems magical to me.

35. I hate to cry. I'm okay with a few tears over a good book, movie, song, or even commercials, but if you make me cry about myself, it pisses me off. And then I cry more. When I do, it's not pretty. My entire face turns red, especially around my eyes and my nose. I'm not talking about that delicate pink that's really kind of pretty on some women. I'm talking Rudolph. My eyes, nose, and lips swell up, too. And the swelling takes a full day to go away. So, yeah, if you make me look like that, I'm going to be pissed.

36. I don't watch much TV anymore, but when I do it's a comedy or crime-drama. I hate reality TV, though I have been watching a little Big Brother this year. Mostly, I prefer anything that makes me laugh, though.

37. My favorite authors are Stephen King and Dean Koontz, in that order. I've read The Stand at least seven times, and absolutely love it. Same with The Talisman. I'd say if I had to pick a favorite book it would be either or those, but I've read so many, and loved so many, that I can't pick favorites. SK is great, but I get a little depressed because the Evil is never really gone, just defeated at the moment. DK is great for that because he calls to my inner-optimist.

38. I'll read anything, though. From cereal boxes to shampoo bottles, I'm constantly reading. The best gift for me is a book you thought I'd like. I like it all. Except for romance novels. I've read them because they were there, but they're too boilerplate, predictable. Give me suspense or horror or ANYTHING else.

39. I don't like gift cards as gifts unless it's someone I'm not very close to. I think a good friend or a loved one should know a person well enough to know what to get them. However, I DO buy them for certain people, like my parents, because they already have everything and it's hard to pick for them. My mom and I have completely opposite taste, in everything, so she's almost impossible for me to buy for.

40. I don't want things or stuff as a general rule. I don't have to have designer clothes or the very best, most advanced computer/car/phone. I don't want the biggest house. All I want is the emotions those things are supposed to represent. All I want is love.

Emergency!

If you follow me on Twitter, and most of my readers do I think... Wait a sec. If you aren't following me on Twitter you should. Here's the link. I'll wait. I'm still waiting dammit. Go do it already! Geez!

Thank you.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh...

If you follow me on Twitter, you heard the beginning and the end of this story, but I refrained from telling you all the good parts. Yes, I actually thought about it and kept my fucking mouth shut for a change.

Last Sunday at Noah's birthday party (yes I KNOW I didn't blog about it, but I will soon), Tripp saw the cake sitting on the bar and that brightly colored sweetness was enough to finally motivate him into climbing onto the bar stools. I turned and saw him just as he was reaching towards the cake and snagged him with only two finger marks in the edge of the icing instead of a handful missing. Now that I think of it, it would have been funnier to let him have at it, but since it was Noah's party it might not have been cool.

Monday and Tuesday I watched Tripp like a hawk, removing him from the bottom rung of the stools countless times. At one point I came out of the laundry room and found him sitting on the counter, next to the stove. I thought to myself, "I'm going to need to put the stools up," but I didn't do it right away. I am the Queen of Procrastination after all, and try to uphold my title when I can. Well, that and I truly believe the more child-proof you make your home, the less you're teaching your kids. Conversely, the more you child-proof, the less stress and anxiety you have.

The day went on, Tripp and I picked up Noah and Tess from school and the usual chaos ensued. When I had finally gotten Noah to finish his homework, I ran to the kitchen to get dinner going. I had all four burners cooking and was patting out a batch of flat bread. It was that point in cooking when everything needs your attention at once, and it was already 7:00. I had my hands in dough when Tripp started screaming (he screams a lot when I'm cooking. I'm going to guess it's the mouthwatering aroma wafting from the stove. Shut up. It is!). I asked Noah why he was crying. Noah started stuttering, then managed to get out that Tripp had fallen.

By then, I could tell by the sound of his cry that it was a big hurt, not just the normal stuff, so I took a second to rinse the dough and flour from my hands and ran around the bar. Noah told me the stool had fallen onto Tripp's head, and he had yanked it off and was putting it behind the baby gate. As I reached down to pick him up, I saw a huge lump on his forehead. It was about the size and shape of an ice cube with a deep purple stripe running through the middle! My heart nearly stopped! He was screaming like crazy, turning all shades of red and purple with the effort, Noah was flipping out, telling me to call an ambulance, and Tess was trying to kiss him all better which was just pissing Tripp off which pissed Tessa off. I tried to put an ice pack on his forehead but he wasn't having that, either.

Once I got him calm enough to look at it better, I knew this could be bad. I called my mom and she agreed he should be seen, especially considering we have concrete slab floors (I'm not sure that's what they're called. There's no crawl space under the house, and under the linoleum tiles it's concrete). He was hit on the back of his head and the front of his head. So I ran out to buckle Tripp in his car seat and told Noah to make sure he came out after Tess and to shut the door really hard. Out of the driveway we flew, being on the move making my impatience kick in. I had to make myself drive normally, knowing a wreck wouldn't help anything. Neither would a fucking speeding ticket. And I knew Tripp was okay because he didn't have any symptoms of a concussion. I dropped Noah and Tess off at my mom's and rushed on to the hospital.

I had the radio on, and tuned to the local rock station, as usual. When Let the Bodies Hit the Floor came on, I shuddered at the awful irony. I remembered the kids hadn't gotten dinner, so I called my mom and told her. She stopped mid-sentence in the conversation and said, "Wendy? Did you turn off the stove?" My mind went completely blank. I remember thinking how pretty the sunset was instead of trying to remember if I had. I focused, and still came up empty. I hoped my mom would drive over and check, but it is a longish way for her, so my only other option was Thomas, the last person in the world I wanted to call. This is when it sucks that nearly all my friends are online. I had decided before then that I wouldn't even bother telling him about it unless the doctors said it was more than a bump because I knew how he would act about it. I even considered just letting the house burn down, but decided that would be stupid. So I called, and of course he was a fucking asshole, as usual. I had to beg him to come check it, and he acted like I was a bad mother for letting Tripp get hurt. Turns out, I had left the stove on, so it was a good thing I called. He didn't even have to break a window to get in because Noah hadn't shut the door hard enough for it to latch.

We finally got to the ER and I was a mess. Thankfully I had a bra on, because I know I wouldn't have thought to stop and put one on, but my hair was slipping out of the ponytail and I didn't have any makeup on. My black pants were too big and kept wanting to fall off, and they had flour all over them. I had bathed Tripp just a little while before he fell, so thankfully he didn't have food in his hair or sucker residue on his face. But he was shoeless, and only in his shirt and diaper. I had grabbed a pair of shorts on the way out and put them on him in the waiting room.

I could tell once we were waiting that he was fine. He ran around playing with the other kids, climbing all over the little tables every chance he got. I would run take him off, worried he would fall again and really do damage this time, and as soon as I sat back down he would climb up again. When he wasn't doing that, he was trying to escape down the hall, or messing with a patient's wheelchair. Finally, with trails of sweat slipping from my temples, I sat him on my lap, with his back to me. I crossed my arms over his torso and lodged each hand under his opposite thigh. He kept fighting me, and I HAD to distract him. So I tried singing lullabies and nursery rhymes to him, very softly, directly into his ear. Yeah. It didn't work. My frazzled mind made a leap and I thought, "Hell, he loves music, but when does he ever hear this kind of music? Never!" So I sang the songs I sing all the time at home, starting with The Divinyls I Touch Myself. He actually stopped struggling and listened! But then I noticed a couple of people looking at me kind of weird, so I moved on to Radiohead's Creep. That worked for a while, but nothing ever lasts, so next I sang Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. And yes, I do realize I have issues, but fuck, it worked so whatever. And I like those songs. Anyway, just as I was finishing up with Queen, we were called back and the doctor saw Tripp within a few minutes.

Thank God, he was fine. It was just a bump and they didn't need to do an X-Ray or CT scan or anything. We finally made it home and he slept well and woke up the next morning with nothing but an ugly lump. It's still there, by the way, two days later. And now it's got a Technicolor bruise going, too. And the stools? They're put away.

100 Things - Post One

So I've been wanting to do a 100 Things for a long time, but stupid Blogger doesn't let you add pages. I'm really looking forward when my year is up on this domain so I can go buy it from Wordpress and have a site like I really want. Ok, really? I want someone to design a site for me, for free because I'm cheap like that and would NEVER spend that much money on a site. Of course I would have to pay to have it hosted, but that's different.

Anyway.

There's no way in hell I'm going to sit down long enough to think of 100 Things about me, so I'm breaking it up into five posts. That's only twenty things per post, if you can't do math. You ready for this? I'm not, but here we go anyway...

1. I'm a little anal about some things. Like the fact that when I'm writing, I always write out numbers. So it's really bothering me to have the title of this be "100 Things." I only did it because that's the way it's supposed to be. Either that or other people just don't have this issue.

2. However, numbering a list doesn't bother me. How weird.

3. I'm a Gemini. My birthday is June 9, 1978. That means I'm smack in the middle of Gemini, and I'm as much a Gemini as possible. I say and do and feel a lot of conflicting things. Probably a psychiatrist would consider labeling me as borderline personality disorder, but it's just the stars, babe.

4. I have three kids. (Yeah I know you didn't read my profile. Slacker) Noah is seven, Maritessa is four, and Tripp is one and a half. They're GREAT kids, born leaders, creative, gorgeous, rambunctious, and perfect in their imperfections. And they wear me the fuck out.

5. I'm a parent of a different breed. I cuss in front of them, kiss and hug in front of them (actually not anymore, now that I'm single). I don't mind letting Tripp run around without his diaper or if Noah wants to let his hair grow. I let them be their own person, choose their own style, within reason. On the other hand, though, I DO get stressed out and overwhelmed at least four times a week and turn into a hardass with them. I'm working on that. I don't like it.

6. Oh. I'm single again. I thought when all this happened I would want to be alone forever. I didn't want to fall in love again, or be married, EVER again. But... That changed. I am worth being loved, and I know it'll happen again. As is typical of me, I'll give it my whole heart, completely, because that's how I am. I can't love just a little bit. I love a lot, more than some people, I think. But the right man? Won't take advantage of that and I know he's out there.

7. I'm not a very good housekeeper. I really fucking HATE cleaning, especially if I let it go for a day or two because then it becomes such a huge job that I'm overwhelmed and don't know where to start. Right now the house is just a disaster. I have to say, though, if I didn't have kids I would be a lot neater. It's just hard to keep up with mine.

8. My favorite word is "fuck" and all of it's derivatives. Simply saying "fuck" can mean so many different things, depending on the intonation. I love that. It's like a Gemini word.

9. I cuss a lot. I don't think cuss words are bad words because they only have the power we give them. When someone calls me "bitch" I take it as a compliment. It is different, though, when it's in the middle of a fight and it's worded "You're a fucking bitch!" Yeah. That shit pisses me the fuck off.

10. I can get irritated pretty easily, depending on my stress levels, but it takes a LOT to really make me mad. I can't hold on to it, though. Even times when I should, it just goes. Like now it would be a great time to hold on to my anger at Thomas, but really I just don't care anymore. Whatever.

11. I'm in love with the Internet and would marry Google if I could. Or Twitter. Or hell, the blog writers I read. I didn't even have the Internet for most of the last five years, and when I did, it was just to check my bank account or research something. But last year I inadvertently discovered D-o-o-c-e and a whole new world was opened up to me. I thought, "Hey! I could do that!" My mom encouraged me to start a blog to prepare myself to write a book. She told me at least I would be writing. But then I started to get COMMENTS! And I read other peoples blogs and made friends. And was introduced to Twitter. OMG.

12. I'm a Twitter whore. I ADORE Twitter and when it's down I freak out a little. I tweet more than anyone I know and I'm not ashamed of it. When bad shit happened, my twitter friends were there for me and got me through it. If something funny happens I tweet it and most of the time at least one person replies and thinks it's funny, too. Or if I'm lonely? My friends are always there for me. My mom has finally accepted that these people ARE real friends, not just nameless, faceless Internet entities. I love my friends. :)

13. I'm also a comment whore. If I write something and it doesn't get comments it makes me a little (more) crazy. I know not everything I write is comment worthy, and I don't want a bunch of fake ass comments, but it's really disappointing to me when what I write isn't comment-worthy. Which reminds me of Seinfeld and Elaine's sponge-worthy part. I'm totally sponge-worthy, y'all. Nevermind. That's just kind of weird since I don't have sperm.

14. I love coffee. I can't make it through the day without it. I love the taste, aroma, mouth-feel, heat. And of course the fact that it gives me a teensy bit of energy.

15. I smoke a lot and know how bad it is for me. I want to quit, but I don't know if I ever will.

16. Words mean more than actions to me, even though that's pretty dumb. If you're talking about love, of course I want you to SHOW me that you love me, but I need to hear it even more. Or if you say something hurtful to me, then try to act sweet, I still remember the words more.

17. I'm an excellent cook and I love to do it. I haven't really done it much lately, though. Not real cooking anyway. I love to experiment with different flavors and textures. The kids have pretty refined palates, too. (I'm grinning with pride right now, by the way) I miss having someone to cook for, though. The kids are just as happy with hot dogs and home fries as butterflied and herbed chicken breast, so why make the effort?

18. I'm insecure about almost everything. I know confidence is attractive, and I can fake it pretty well, but on the inside I just DIE about every little thing.

19. I wish I had someone here RIGHT THIS INSTANT to play with my hair. I love to be petted and stroked. A light touch here and there, just a brush of skin on skin, makes me absolutely crazy in a good way. But I don't really want to be cuddled too much. Don't smother me or make me feel confined. See? Gemini.

20. I'm very sexual by nature. I like PDA's. I love to talk about sex and I think the best jokes are about it. I even like the word. Sex. Isn't that sexy? But I'm not a whore and I can totally live without it (if I have to). I could have had plenty of sex lately, but I'm not into casual sex anymore. I want it to mean something or it's not worth it.

How to Be a Twitter God

This is a guest post by brian papa aka @CHEERUPNATION.

Wendy and I met on Twitter and quickly became fast friends. One day, she tweeted:

ImWendy: Tripp is humping my leg

Eager to join the conversation, I tweeted:

@ImWendy: That's so funny, my dog humps my leg, too.

She tweeted back:

@CHEERUPNATION: Tripp's my 1 year old son.

OOPS!

Thankfully Wendy is a total bad ass and laughed it off and thus began our twitter lovefest. My twitter counter jumped from 68 to 69 followers.

Now, as many of you know, Wendy has something like 15,000 followers. Okay, not yet, but soon. She's fast on her way to becoming the next @aplusk.

So, the twitter pro that she is, I asked her help with some simple advice on how to gain a few extra followers. To start, she said, follow a few of friends of mine, enter a conversation naturally, and post more than just links back to your site.

Oh, and say Penis.

Penis!!!

(Thank you my 2 new followers!)

So while I've followed Wendy's advice, I also couldn't help but try a few tricks of my own.

1) Like 'accidentally' sending a DM to someone. Then making sure it's juicy like "She said what about his blog?" Immediately, follow this up with a tweet "Oops, that was supposed to be a DM, ugh LOL!" There's nothing better (more addictive) than a train wreck. This is guaranteed to get you some followers.

2)Another way is to post #hashtags with subliminal messages like #youaregettingveryclose, #youarealmostthere, #followmenow, #youneedme -- all in the same tweet. People like being told what to do. #youknowyouwanttodoit

3)But the best is to RT something completely banal like RT Eating dinner late tonight or RT Getting on a plane. People eat that shit up. The more banal, the better. Useful links are a dime a dozen. Also, next time someone tweets LOL or LMAO, RT it. RT everything. Guaranteed to get you more followers.

Anyway, these are just a few tricks I learned.

Obviously they're working because I'm at 173 followers now, which is HUGE.

By the end of the year, I should reach 180 or 201if I'm lucky.

I've even heard there's a thing called tweetdeck, but I think I'll wait and see if it catches on first.

In the meantime, Wendy, let me know when you get @Tripp a twitter account.

Papa will show him how to rock the Twitterverse.

-- brian papa