©2019 by The Loathiest. Proudly created with Wix.com

  • theloathiest

Twitter Gold Now Gone


Not Mary Lou, sad face


Before I begin, let me foretell my tale. The fault was within me, not you. You motivate. I demotivate by namesake. It is akin to very fine wine mixing with slightly sour cheez in a can. This fate, I have paid for with every snarky snippet.


Food blogging is not for the timid. Heed my story. Twitter glory is a fickle beast. Lash yourself to the mast before you tread her sweet wicked waters. Lash yourself I say or suffer my fate.


I am 0-10 getting food posted on epicurious. I believe they have a reply macro built in my honor, “composition and angle, too close.” I accept that and place no level of my manliess dependent on their photogenic consensus. I would like to base my cooking approval upon height. That rating is currently a tad over 73 inches and more than average. It’s a victory. It was a victory. Until…


I made the mistake of discovering Twitter (@theloathist). Now, my affirmation quotient currently is based upon the fickle whims of the internets. Curse you tiny toilet.

First of all, I have 12 followers on my Twitter. And then this happened: “Mary Lou Retton @marylouretton followed you.” Pause for effect.


So, it was with an exhilarating sense of joy and glee that I was followed by my favorite 80s icon and first crush, Mary Lou Retton. The big time had finally kicked me in the shins and presented me with my first major internet award. My heart and head became all vaults, bars and patriotic onesies. I of course texted everyone I knew outside of my loyal 12. You know, Gam-Gam and Pee-Paw are always please to hear from me anyway. Incidentally, my heart is normally filled with bars and patriotic onesies. I digress.


“10% of my Twitter followers are Olympic gold medalists!” I proudly texted. I was met with the appropriate congratulations. Gam-Gam and Pee-Paw, confused to the nature of Twitter sent me a bible verse. The guys in my vanpool even grunted appropriately before returning to their blissful commuting slumber (zzz..Jennifer Lawrence…zzz…the Reagan Administration..zzzz).


I’m not sure how Mrs. Mary Lou wound up in my Twitterverse, but I was stoked – a victory over the forces of a maybe-not-so-cruel world. I, Chef, Sailor had finally arrived through the acceptance of America’s sweetheart. My thrill new no bounds. My heart soared. My clichés multiplied.


This here very thing is why I went to war! This is why I cook. This is why I blog. This is why I am.


I clearly saw my followers blossoming into the 20s. Dare say someday I dreamed to hit the century. Certainly, my blog would reach out to other athletes and sweethearts. Certainly, they would retweet to retweet to retweet. “Ralphie, A Plus Plus Plus.”

Cindy, my high school crush would lament her decision to kiss the door to door cookie salesman (true story). My high school teachers would realize the error in their antiquated grading curve and re-evaluate my senior year term paper (an F, true story). Stevie Nicks and Jennifer Lawrence would fill notebooks with my name and little tiny hearts. My malevolent cat would learn to love the dog and me.


I had decided to fill my blog with hints and recipes America would love. I’d have quick hints and household tips for everyone – not just men looking for an easy burger fix. I would elevate my cooking and my life. I WOULD BECOME WHAT MARY LOU WOULD WANT ME TO BE – WHAT SHE WOULD DEMAND UPON ME. A BETTER BLOOGER – A BETTER MAN – A BETTER WORLD!!!! I AM MOTIVATED!!!!


I would refuse to use the word “boobies” outside of avian contexts.


She runs a sometimes sweet, sometimes tender, always helpful and upbeat Twitter. I do not. So, the 13th follower proved to be unlucky as history foretells. This morning, Mrs. Retton had abandoned our brief yet glorious relationship. I had tried to catch the rainbow and failed. In this time worn tale of cross purposes, the Gold medal wins. With a sad heart, I Twitter on. I understand, but I’ll miss you just the same.

Boobies.