Swipe up.

Swipe right.

You’re good-looking.

Swipe left. 

You’re not good-looking.

The terms swipe right and swipe left are terms from the dating app, Tinder.

I am married. I have two daughters, two dogs, a cat, a beautiful home, and my iPhone stores my credit card number for me.

I swipe up. 

I swipe up on Instagram stories. I swipe up all the time. I swipe up when Scott’s asleep next to me. I swipe up in front of his face as he’s talking to me. School car line? Swipe up. Grocery store line? Swipe up! Sitting in the parking lot of the gym? Fling! 

If you’re wondering, “Julie, what the hell are you talking about.”

I’ll tell you what I’m talking about. THE FASHION BLOGGERS ARE RUINING MY LIFE. Ok, my life isn’t ruined. I have a lovely life. But now I’m buying their life and damn, I am rocking this casually draped jacket over my shoulders on this humid 85-degree day.

Cody’s probably going to kill me for posting this but it’s really highlighting my susceptible tendencies, not hers.

FullSizeRender 3

FullSizeRender.jpg

FullSizeRender 2.jpg

I swipe up.

I can’t stop watching fashion bloggers’ Instagram accounts. It’s like a fashion magazine come to life. I get excited when I see their perfect faces pop up in my feed because it’s like turning a new page. The babies never cry. The toddlers never have meltdowns. The husbands are silent props. The inside of their houses are white. White, you guys. Who has white interior? Fashion bloggers living in a fantasy world. It’s a world where I’m an outsider, looking in. My face is pressed against the window and staring.

Do I want a perfect life? Yes, who wouldn’t. I swipe up for sweaters. Pants. Shoes. Rugs. New restaurants I need to try out. Makeup. Even fresh flowers sitting in my kitchen sink for no reason. Did you know certain nail polish colors trend? They do and I have them.

And do you know what else happens when I swipe up?

I’ll tell you what happens – Scott finds out.

Scott: Hey! What’s this charge? Did you buy something for $89?

Me: What? Oh. What did I buy? It might be the joggers I accidentally bought. Such a good deal for under $50.

Scott: Wait, what did you buy?

Me: $89. I don’t really remember. That might be a rug runner too.

Scott: Ok, well I was just making sure our credit card wasn’t stolen.

Me: Scott, I’m buying Becky’s life. I need help, I think.

Scott: What? Who’s Becky?

Me: Me. I’m Becky. My whole outfit – Becky. Our house decor – Becky. She’s like my own stylist or something. Here, look. She’s a fashion blogger. Her blog’s name is Cella Jane but her real name is Becky. And actually, she lives in Kansas City. Look, she has these swipe ups on her Instagram stories and this is how I shop now.

Scott: Tell Becky Swipe Up that she’s draining our bank account.

Me: I don’t know her personally. But…

Scott: What did you do?

Me: Nothing. I did nothing. It’s just…she works out at Fusion and I haven’t seen her yet. I just want to see her look like crap after a workout. No one escapes Fusion without looking like a drowned rat. I need to see the perfection fall a little bit.

Scott: You are out of control.

Me: Sometimes I see her chipped nail polish in her stories. It makes me feel normal.

Do I know, deep down, every fashion blogger rips ass under the sheets at night? Of course I do.

Being a social influencer is a job. It is a full-time job to appear magazine-perfect through special cameras and photo editing. Ripping ass and waving the sheets towards their husbands’ faces is the behind-the-scenes we’ll never see. Their babies cry. Their toddlers have meltdowns. All couples argue, even on date nights. No one is perfect. I know that.

Do I think Becky Swipe Up will read these words? I’d say the chances are high. Our town is big but not that big. I’m ok with being the woman that looks like a drowned rat and rips ass under the sheets. That’s who I am.

I am a humor writer, not a lifestyle blogger.

But it doesn’t stop me from swiping up. And the rug wasn’t an accident.

FullSizeRender.jpg

____________

Wait, don’t go! Find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram

And don’t forget to buy my book, “But Did You Die?”

This picture cost me $20.

I don’t post many pictures of my kids on social media.

It isn’t because I don’t want others to know what my kids look like or I’m trying to protect their digital footprint.

I am in a unique position when it comes to social media – I have public accounts. Anyone can look at my Facebook page, Instagram page or Twitter page. We don’t necessarily have to be “friends.” I made those public because it’s a platform to showcase my work. I’m a writer.

And to be honest, an Instagram account with pictures of my kids would be boring to everyone but me. It’s the same concept as handing someone my kid’s scrapbook – anyone can look at it and enjoy it but I am the most proud of it. Social media only shows the good memories. Happy moments. Sometimes people forget that and families appear to be perfect.

I’m not perfect.

My family is not perfect. Happy – yes, most of the time, we are. Do I patiently wait for my family to run out of clean clothes before they realize I’m retired from picking up their dirty clothes? Why yes, I do, because I’m a mean mom and evil wife.

I don’t post many pictures of my kids because I ask my kids’ permission to post pictures. Emma is eleven and Kate is eight. They both realize people they’ve never met will see the pictures. For the most part, Emma always gives me permission and Kate never does. I also never ask Kate because she rarely smiles for posed pictures. Her reason is because she “doesn’t like fake smiling” and no one needs to be in her damn business. Ok, she didn’t say damn but I know she’s thinking it.

I asked Kate to take a selfie with me at a neighborhood party this weekend.

She agreed.

I was shocked.

We took the photo.

Kate: That will be $20.

Me: What?

Kate: You heard me. I know you sold one of your books and you have a twenty dollar bill in your pocket.

Me: I’m not giving you twenty dollars to smile for a picture.

Kate: What if I let you put this picture on Instagram or Facebook?

KateJulie.jpg

This picture cost me $20.

___________

Wait, don’t go! Find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram

And don’t forget to buy my book, “But Did You Die?” 

Kate will take your money.

The Bloggess follows me on Twitter.

Me: Oh my God. I think my heart just stopped.

Scott: What?

Me: The Bloggess just followed me on Twitter.

Scott: …….

Me: Come on.

Scott: Who?

Me: Oh. My. God. The blogger of all bloggers! The Bloggess! Jenny Lawson!

Scott: Oh. You’re social media’ing right now.

Me: Oh. You’re social media’ing right now. No, you DON’T UNDERSTAND. She’s famous, Scott. She’s written books. She’ll post something about…I don’t know…about brushing her daughter’s hair and she’ll make it funny just by the way she writes it because she’s a genius. The subject doesn’t even matter. My favorite thing about her – she’s humble. She blows off that she’s so famous. She doesn’t even believe it. She has, like, one real ad on her blog. If I were her, I would walk into a store and be like, “do you know who I am. THE BLOGGESS. BOOM.” And people would bow down. But not Jenny. She loves to dress up taxidermy, Scott. And she lives with anxiety. And she fights with her husband. But they funny-fight, like we do. And she’s self conscious. And she’s much better at writing about her life than talking in person. Probably. I’m guessing. She’s ME, Scott. But better. And you’re Victor. I don’t know who’s better.

Scott: Never heard of them.

Me: Can I just stop and take a moment here….  …AND NOW THE BLOGGESS FOLLOWS ME ON TWITTER. She clicked my profile and then she clicked “follow.” This is crazy. Amazing. Crap, do you think she thinks I’m weird for hating bacon?

Scott: Sure.

Me: Sure?! How do you just shrug your shoulders? I think she might top Eric Stonestreet following me. I need to tell someone. Someone that will scream with me.

IMG_4163

IMG_4165

Girlfriends 1. Husband 0.

Have you ever gotten giddy around a celebrity or someone you admire? Did you laugh at “knock knock, motherfucker?” You laughed if you know who The Bloggess is. Does anyone else understand my level of excitement right now?

The Bloggess.

Knock Knock, Motherfucker.

The Bloggess on Twitter.

Google search.

There is no privacy in blogging.

Wait, stop. I take that statement back – bloggers write and photograph what they want others to see. We can control privacy. We can even screen comments.

We just can’t control who reads it.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again – bloggers can see what you put into google after you click the blogger’s link. Sometimes I can tell which blog post got the hit. Sometimes I can’t.

Google search: I’m calling you out, freaks of the internet.

___________

who is brett cannon dating – One of my most common search terms. Stick around and I’ll find out. He’ll be at my house later this week to turkey hunt with Scott.

I'll save ya a click.
Here, I’ll save you a google search.

iphone love text screen shots – I’m married. This is all I got. It’s hard making couples date nights.

IMG_3971


does tyler farr smoke cigarettes – Hm, I don’t remember him smoking when I went fishing with him. To be honest, I was more concerned about sliding down the boat while peeing in an empty bucket and landing in Tyler’s lap.

*And for the record, I am not this cool. This is called the Brett Cannon Effect. You get to fish with famous people.

Tyler me
No cigarette. No bucket of my pee in your lap. High five!

bug bytes ** www bug bytes blog ** bug-bytes.net ** ksu bug blog ** bug bytes blog ** bug – bytes ** bugbytes.net ** bugbytes blogspot ** bug blog k-state ** bug bytes blog julie burton ** bugbytes ** julie burton** – You know, you don’t have to google search this every time you want to read my blog. Just put your email in the subscription box. I won’t tell a scamming soul.

dirty phone call of nurse – So what color scrubs are you wearing?

nude girls at country stampede – I don’t think I’ve ever…wait. Got it. Yes. Yes, circa 2003. Scott’s “show your titays” sign at Country Stampede. Scott never saw any titays. Maybe because “show your titays” is degrading to women, SCOTT. scottcs scott penis covers – Wait, what? FullSizeRender my husband wears a jockstrap to bed – Really? Why? What kind of pounce moves are you guys doing?

jockstrap is a bra for your butt – Not really.

men in jockstraps – I’m regretting writing about a jockstrap.

negative Jayhawk – I don’t know you but I like the way you think.

bugs at st louis cardinals stadium – And cardinal poop in your hair. Probably. Just guessing. Can’t trust those bird mascots. Go Royals. Go Wildcats.

girl says kenny chesny isn’t circumcised – I’m starting to feel sorry for celebrities. People throw their private information all over the Internet. They can’t even go fishing in South Florida without some chick throwing a high-five picture all over social media. Or writing about how your eyes dropped to my boobs mid-conversation, Kenny. 

jack sparrow with cigar  – How the internet connected my blog and Jack Sparrow with a cigar, I have no clue. Thank you, google. Thank you.

comebacks for liars –  “you’re lying.”

turn me into a alcoholic  –  it’s an alcoholic. Not a alcoholic. You’re already in a downward spiral.

i am little psycho but i love u lots quotes  – OH MY GOD! YOU GUYS, TAYLOR SWIFT IS READING MY BLOG. HEY, TAYLOR! “Nice to. Meet you. Where you. Been…”

people of walmart showing nipple – Why?

no bra when taking the bus – They’re probably heading to make their debut on the People of Walmart.

julie is hysterical about a bug in her shorts – Thank you.

popsicle stick with tennis balls – You know, I don’t know what this means. Are you making a miniature weight rack? Are you making a stick figure with giant boobs? Are you making, well, you know. Balls and stick.

witty comebacks – You go first.

mother in law steals thunder on facebook – You shouldn’t care. Take a break from Facebook. Don’t let social media make you crazy.

how do you tell coworkers to not poop on the floor? I can also see which countries are reading my blog and I hope google translated this from russian. Please tell me your are from Russia. Ethiopia? France!

why am i pooping crab body parts – You ate a crab.

he asked me on a date when drunk – Don’t give him an answer until he asks again, sober.

women left a loud fart in shop – Why does this trace back to me.

what happens when you hit a deer in a smart car – Oh dear.

restaurants that give you wedgies for your birthday – That sounds like a good ‘ole fashioned 90th birthday.

penises are ugly – Yes. And do you know what else is ugly – red rockets. I told Scott we are getting a female puppy because ew, Scott. Push it back in.

never let your friends feel lonely, disturb them all the time – Ah, an extrovert. Introverts don’t care for that too much.

“i am the one that taught him” is it a correct engish – Yes, if you speak in a correct engish.

does anyone else brush their teeth in the shower – I do not. I feel like I would smell like mint all day.

** daddy lets his friends play with my boobs ** junior teen camel toe ** picture of little girl pees her pants in the store ** my daughters camel toe ** children’s underwear models ** daddy puts crayons in my vagina ** preschool girls swimsuit pictures – There is no privacy in blogging. I will call you out.

Are you a blogger? Do you read your google search terms? What is the funniest thing someone has searched for? Do you get search terms that make your skin crawl? Can we get together and beg google to find out who the perverts of the internet are? 

The forbidden post.

This is the post Scott told me I couldn’t post when I wanted to post it.

Our conversation back in June:

Scott: You can’t write on your blog when we’ll be out of town. We could get robbed.

Me: But that’s the whole point of the post. What would they take? We have nothing.

Scott: Post it to your private social media accounts.

Me: Huh? What is a private social media account? It’s a public blog.

Scott: I will divorce you if you post this post tomorrow. Post your robber post after we get back.

We’re back! We are ready to fight off intruders with barking dogs, screams and Scott scrambling to get his AR out of the locked safe in the basement.

Scott and the grandparents of Facebook are right – posting on social media when you are out of town will make it easier for intruders to enter your home without getting caught.

But do the intruders know what to expect?

Dear Intruder:

Scott and I are out of town fishing again. You know this because I posted a picture of myself holding a fish that you will not find in Kansas. I hope you are smart enough to realize we spend all of our money on plane tickets.

I let our neighbors know when we’re out of town. You’re being watched.

Whoops! Did you get dog poop on your shoe while crossing our yard? I meant to pick that up before we left.

Our neighbors are laughing at you from their windows.

I’m giving you a warning because I don’t want to see anyone die, even lowlifes like yourself –

we have a rattlesnake problem in our neighborhood.
— we have a rattlesnake problem in our neighborhood.

Congratulations! You got in! The security alarm is going off. Better go fast. What’s first on your list? Small electronic devices with an apple logo on them? Nope, we have all of those with us. They’re entertaining our kids so Scott and I don’t have to.

We also have our iPhones, laptops, cameras and Go Pros. That fish won’t appear on social media by itself.

What else is a hot item? Jewelry to pawn? Master bathroom. I have a small collection of Charming Charlie’s jewelry from the clearance rack. I love a good deal. The only piece of jewelry of any value is on my finger. And I hope it’s not attracting barracudas while I float in the ocean with a beer in hand.

You’re kinda like a barracuda yourself. I catch barracudas, chop them up and use them as bait when I fish.

Scott did lose his wedding ring. If you can find that, it’s all yours, man. We spent weeks looking for it. It’s already gone in our minds. Can you leave me a note on where you found it? I would be curious.

What’s next? Master closet. Look around – I am missing the female gene. I don’t have a shoe fetish. I don’t even like to shop. I believe money should be spent at Target and vacations. My shelves are filled with workout clothes because I don’t believe in working out on vacation either.

You can browse Scott’s designer suits and shirts. He dresses well. But you will have to move his tick-infested, poison-ivy-covered hunt clothes to get to them. I gave up on trying to organize his side of the closet years ago. I break out in a rash. You never know what will appear on Scott’s side of the closet.

This was Scott uniform for the ice bucket challenge.
A speedo. Yes. This was Scott’s uniform for the ice bucket challenge.

Hey! Get out of the bedside drawer, you perv! Everyone knows that’s off limits.

Ok, I’m just going to say it out loud – WHAT is that smell? It’s worse than dog poop. Oh, those kids. One of them forgot to flush the toilet before we left. Scott will be cleaning that when we get back because the kids get their absentmindedness from him.

Kid room. Nothing.

Another kid room. Nothing.

Is the alarm annoying you yet?

Guest room. No, not a guest room. It’s a play room. A play room where a bomb exploded pink glitter and naked barbies. The girls left tacks and staples on the floor to keep me from entering and throwing out old toys because they’re geniuses. You probably won’t notice the tacks because you are wearing shoes. Shoes with dog poop still caked to the bottom. Please – take the toys. Take it all.

Now what? Art on the walls? Decorative pieces in the house? Nope. I told you – I am missing the female gene. The house isn’t even clean because I spent my time typing this letter to you.

That alarm must be warping your brain. The cops are on their way. The neighbors have rolled out their lawn chairs and a bowl of popcorn. They hear sirens. It’s about to get good in the ‘hood.

Run to the basement! Ah, the final resting place for Scott’s trophy mounts. The deer are staring at you. The alligator head is a warning. The sailfish cries tears of saltwater. There’s a  bobcat on the wall. A wildcat. Scott is a K-State Wildcat alum. A Wildcat shot a wildcat. Get out. Get out, now. You can’t get to the guns. They are locked up. Only Scott knows the code. You don’t want this man mad at you.

That large TV in the corner looks nice. It’s a tube, dude. They still make those. We won’t give it up until it blows up.

Make your way to the bar. Do you want to take some beer to your lowlife friends? You better grab a frosty mug because the only beer we have is on tap.

Don’t touch the whiskey. You don’t want this woman mad at you either. You’ve already tracked dog poop all over my house and I’m annoyed at the fact that I’ll have to scrub like Cinderella when I get home.

Here come the cops.

Wave to the neighbors.

Don’t forget your bag of toys.

forbidden

Are you concerned when people post they are out of town on social media? What precautions do you take before you leave your house? Are you missing the female gene too? Does your husband wear speedos?