Social media confounds me.

Or maybe I understand social media and people confound me. That's more likely.

Remember the Mean Girl who dissed me, pointedly asking my friend - but not me - to accompany her to a gathering where "all the cute and fun girls" would be?

She just asked to join my network on LinkedIn.

You won't talk to me but you want me to help you find a job? Seriously?

I also received a LinkedIn invite from a rather shy but crazy-smart analytics guy at Corporate Behemoth. He's so nice but so quiet. But so good at his job. Will I social network with you, Shy Guy? Hell yeah! I will help you find whatever job your heart desires.

But Mean Girl? Go to hell.

In other social media news, I've discovered the joys of diagnosing high school classmates with random psychological disorders based on their Facebook posts.

Case in point? One of my classmates posted about the craptasticness of her local public schools. Like, posted a lot. To the point she announced that she would be home-schooling her daughter.

OK, that's cool. Do what is best for your family.

But! But then my classmate saw Matt Damon speak about the necessity paying public school teachers better. She responded in the most effective way possible: via Facebook. And so, she posted this gem for all the world to see:

I wanted to jump through the TV screen and strangle Matt Damon for talking about giving teachers 10 year. What a load of crap!

It took me a long, long time to figure out what she was talking about: tenure.

I'm thinking borderline personality disorder with a side of anger-management issues. Thoughts?

Miss Congeniality lives here.

We are back from the beach.

Sigh. It was great.

We walked on the beach every morning. This was relaxing and exfoliated the crap out of my feet. It also meant that even though I had a bloody mary every late morning and some sort of fried fish every night, I only gained a pound.

I read four books while lounging in the shade by the pool:

• Into Thin Air
• She's Gone Country
• The First Day of the Rest of My Life
• The Financial Lives of the Poets*

There was a bar on the main drag in Clearwater that had a sign that read "Tuesday ladys nite / Weds Karaoke / $3 flu shots."

I think everybody could get a flu shot, not just "the ladys."

I renewed my love for and utter devotion to fish tacos.

We got back last night to find that Puppy Love Lisa had overfed the doxies all week. They are visibly larger. Last night, Lil' Frankfurter yakked in the bed at about 4 a.m. I caught it with my hand. Because I'm an excellent mama.

But now we're back to a house where somebody's limited potty-training skillz took a hit from a change in schedule. And there's no room service. And we have to go back to work tomorrow ... but only for 3 days. Then, we're off on a family vaca with My Guy's siblings.

I have been in a horrendous mood all day.

Lil' Frank has peed all over the house, none of which My Guy has noticed. So, I've been cleaning up pee all day. And doing laundry all day. And trying to get a jump start on my overflowing inbox at Corporate Behemoth. And dear Lord, what does a girl have to do to get some help around here?

This seems like the dark underbelly of vacation: the reentry sucks.

*Thanks Patti!

Book reporting it up.

Thanks for all of the book recommendations. Ordering books has been a nice respite from the canine oozing wounds / doggie diarrhea around my house as of late. And oh, yes, I'm blogging at 6:30 a.m. because Lil' Frankfurter jumped off the bed at 5:45 and I just *knew* something was afoot. Let's just say he tried but didn't make it all the way to the door before dropping trou.

So, because turnaround is fair play (talking books here, not pooping on the floor), here's what I've read or, more likely, listened to lately.

Role Models by John Waters
I thought this would be a book where somebody famous (yeah, it's that John Waters) interviews other famous people. But not so much. While Waters does talk about his run-ins with awesomeness like Johnny Mathis, he also tracks down folks like an overweight pothead lesbian stripper who was infamous in Baltimore in the 60s. I love the idea of finding role models in unexpected places, but I will admit I got a bit bored at the end of the book with the graphic descriptions of gay porn. I'm guessing not every reader would find that dull.

Bossypants by Tina Fey
Oooh, shocker! I loved this book! I tried to read it in bed, but my laughter kept waking My Guy up. Now, he's reading it, and laughing like a hyena. It makes me happy.

The one thing that wasn't so much a shock but more of a surprise was Fey's no-BS approach to the whole women-in-comedy / feminism thing. She's pretty much like, "Yeah, it's stupid but it's still an issue, so get over it and quit whining and just do what you're gonna do but for god's sake, don't cry at work." Which, since I've felt like crying at work lately, is a bit of tough love.

Say Her Name by Francisco Goldman
Goldman's young wife was killed in a freak accident, and this is his rumination on grief and loss. Not exactly a pick-me-up, but authentic. However, I must admit that if you're looking for first-person grief lit, I much prefer Joan Didion's Year of Magical Thinking. However, Say Her Name is more from an analytical standpoint, and is honest about, oh, fucking women who remind you of your late wife. And calling it "fucking."

Lies Chelsea Handler Told Me by a bunch of people who know Chelsea Handler
My one-word review: Ehh.

In a nutshell, Chelsea Handler is evidently a bit of a nutjob who loves to play very involved practical jokes and to mess with the heads of her family, friends, and coworkers. Working for her would stress me out - I'd always be afraid that she was going to send some e-mail from my computer to the CEO of Corporate Behemoth, telling him that I have hemorrhoids or something.

The interesting string that connects all of the tales in this book is that despite the embarrassment, shame, and general inconvenience that Chelsea's hijinks cause, every writer loves her and swears she's loyal, generous and kind. Hmm.

In addition, I'm still working my way through Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series. However, I'm a bit off ... last one I got from the library, I had this exchange at check-out:

Librarian: Have you read other books in this series?

Me: Yeah.

Librarian: Oh, so you want me to remove the last disk from this audio book?

Me: Huh?

Librarian: Well, you know how it ends, right?

Now, I like this exchange because I like my librarians with a little bit o' sass. However, it means that my worst nightmares are true: Librarians are judging me based on the crap I check out! Which brings me to another book I recently read:

This Book Is Overdue: How Librarians and Cybrarians Can Save Us All by Marilyn Johnson
This mostly entertaining but sometimes mind-numbing book talks about modern library science - it ain't just about moving the card catalog to computer, baby. Different sections of the book cover topics ranging from librarian bloggers to librarians fighting the government to protect the privacy of our library records. Also? I had no idea that people poop in libraries. Like, in the stacks. Librarians don't get paid enough. Seriously.

And that's my book report. I'd like my Pizza Hut personal pan pizza now. Thanks.

A mean mom. And broke, too.

Lil' Frankfurter typically smells like fish. This is mostly due to his nasty-ass teeth.

So, being the unreasonable mama I am, I took him to have his teeth cleaned on Thursday.

They had to pull one of his front teeth.

I'm trying to convince him that he looks like he was in a bar fight and is therefore a total bad ass. I don't think he's buying it. At least he wasn't Thursday night.

He kept listing to the side. He wouldn't just give up and go to sleep, because admitting defeat is for wusses. Instead, he kept leaning at about a 45-degree angle.Yes, it was adorable.

Cut to Friday night. I refused to give up and go to sleep, and so was barely with-it when I finally got up off the couch. As I stepped over Big Doodle, I noticed that the usual fatty tumor thing on his side was replaced by this bloody monstrosity that looks all red and veiny, like the planet Jupiter. Except where the storm is? There's a hole with gunk coming out of it.

We were back at the vet Saturday morning. Poor guy is doped up and scheduled for surgery on Thursday. But meanwhile? Meanwhile, I can hardly look at Jupiter, but I'm enthralled by it. It's so completely and utterly disgusting. We're calling our dog "Massive Side Wound Doodle." He has an open wound and is leaving blood all over our baseboards, because he keeps laying against them, applying pressure to Jupiter and causing it to goo all over.

So, just another weekend in paradise. You know.

Paper + sand = awesome.

I just realized that I have perfectly symmetrical chest and back zits. Disgusting in the front! Disgusting in the back!

Did I mention that we're getting ready to go to the beach?

In 10 days, My Guy and I will be enjoying the sands of lovely Florida. I am already trying to decide if I should start out with a mojito or break out all my calorie-busting moves and start with a margarita. Did you know that the hotel lounge chairs have these little flags on them, and when you want a waiter, you just put the little flag up? And your waiter walks over and takes your order and brings you the tropical drink of your choice and you never have to get up off your probably sunburned ass?

Yes, it is my idea of heaven.

But I do need some help. I need books! Got any recommendations for good beach reads?