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So it finally happened.

I broke down.

Should have seen it coming.

I could only last so long.

Especially given my career in electronic publishing.

Yes.

It's true.

I got a Twitter account.

(Sorry for the melodrama)

I have two, actually. I signed up for my own account months ago, just because I figured I probably should know what this Twitter thing is if I want to stay up to speed with web publishing. Twitter is basically the king of quick, concise advertising and copywriting (or it should be... stupid people ruin that aim, as is the case with pretty much every version of social media). I never posted anything though.

But I figured I'll try it out and see. My personal account is protected, so you'll have to request to follow me, but you can if you want to.

The real reason I'm even sort of active on Twitter at all (as of last night) is that Roommate and I ran out of room on our fridge for the wacky things our friends say. So what do you do when you don't have fridge space?

If you were going to say put it on a wall or a door, that is so 2007, dahling.

You put it online. Duh.

It's actually kind of fun. Since Twitter is only meant for the written equivalent of "sound bytes" anyway, using it as a stream of quotes and blurbs from friends seems like an obviously well-suited thing to do. And it's public. Stalk, share, follow, and smirk to your heart's content. We did it for you.

As for my personal Twitter feed... I have no idea what I'm doing with that yet. It's an experiment.

Respect Him

Disclaimer: I spent weeks on this post, and I'm still not sure I've got it where I want it, but it's about time I posted it. Consider it a small ramble that may or may not make sense.

Little Brother spent Labor Day weekend with me, and it was wonderful. I seriously missed him. I missed his smiles, his good-natured and witty ribbing, his absolutely brilliant brain, and his fantastic sense of humor. But my favorite thing about my brother? I almost always learn something cool from him.

Something you should know about my little brother: He wants me to get married almost more than I want it. And in his new-RM phase, certainly more than he wants it for himself right now. And his opinion matters more than almost anyone else's when it comes to who I date. He's also a really good judge of character and often picks the same guys for me that I pick for myself. 

So at church on Sunday, he quickly identified one of those guys that I would certainly be willing to date if the opportunity arose, and mentioned that he really liked him. Then he said something that I'll never forget: "He seems like the kind of guy that Dad would really respect."

I loved that. Respect. I mean, yeah, I agree that it's important that my dad likes the guys I date, and it's definitely even better if he respects them, too. I'd just forgotten—or never really stopped to think about—how important the word "respect" is to me.

See, it really isn't enough to like someone. There are plenty of people I like well enough. But not all of them have earned my respect.

Typically, when we respect someone, we care about what they think. We consider their opinions and values to have weight and validity, thus deserving our personal consideration and attention. That sounds egotistical, but most of us are. We don't give our attention to things we don't consider worth our time. With those we respect, we are also much more likely to seek and accept their counsel, because we trust them.

I want to trust my man. I want to value his opinion above my own. But I'll be honest, I can't give that freely. He has to earn it, just as I expect to earn his respect. Love without respect just seems lacking.