Forgive me if you tweet but I don't really understand the appeal of Twitter.

I feel like I get enough status updates on Facebook- I don't need to go looking for more. Not to mention the fact that the majority of users don't really know when to stop letting people in on what they're up to.

It's like this:

11:30am: “2day is gunna be a good day. Cleaning then lunch then shopping with @mybestfriends!”
12:00pm: “Cleaning is done! Now to decide where to eat!!!”
12:02pm: “Can't choose between cafe rio or cheesecake factory #ihateharddecisions”
12:30pm: “Finally decided. Getting in car now.”
12:36pm: “@mybestfriends im drivin to ur house as I tweet this. be ready!!!”
12:45pm: “Almost got in huge wreck. But we made it. Waitin for our table.”

And so on, and so forth.

On any given day I am privy to way more information than I need. I know about the level of cleanliness of each room of someones home. I know the status of someone else's progressing labor, centimeter by centimeter. I know people's vacation itineraries before their plane even takes off and the meals that another person is going to be cooking every day that week. I can probably tell you where someone parked their car that morning and what someone else ordered at Starbucks- all through my news feed.

And honestly, I don't really care.

I love funny status updates. I love interesting status updates. I love occasional status updates. And by occasional I mean every day or every other day. No need for me to know what's on your mind hourly.

But this post isn't about my issues with Facebook. It's about Twitter.

Twitter, who took the very worst part of facebook and only made it accessible to the people who don't know the meaning of the word “excessive.”

Even so, while I've never had much of an interest in joining the revolution, I assume it can't be all bad.

Beside being the unofficial sponsor of The Overshare, I see Twitter as an ideal place for businesses, charities, celebrities, athletes and politicians alike.

There they can convene, share news and get their messages out quickly and effectively.

Well, some more effective than others.

Enter Sarah Palin who, by the way, is decidedly the Paris Hilton of politics. Pretty, but when it comes down to it there's no real reason for her to be where she is.

Sarah made history in the english language with her tweet: "Ground Zero Mosque supporters: doesn't it stab you in the heart, as it does ours throughout the heartland? Peaceful Muslims, pls refudiate."

Refudiate, hmmm. Not in the dictionary.

I have to give her credit for noticing her mistake. She deleted the original message, sent a new one using the word “refute” instead and explained the whole situation with: ""Refudiate," "misunderestimate," "wee-wee'd up." English is a living language. Shakespeare liked to coin new words too. Got to celebrate it!"

There were many reasons preventing me from joining Twitter in the past.

It only took one good reason for me to give in and sign up.

Thank you, Ms. Palin, for giving twitter.com/whitneybfoster a reason to exist. You can bet I'm following you. After all, when it comes to enhancing my vocabulary, I'd be foolish to refudiate a reliable source such as yourself.

Tracy Morgan is my absolute favorite comedian.

From Brian Fellow's Safari Planet to Tracy Jordan on 30 Rock, everything he does is pure genius.

I even watched G-Force because I love him that much. And yes, he does make a hilarious guinea pig.

When I found out he was coming to Utah in September I immediately bought our tickets.

Five months in advance.

Third-row seats.

I would compare my excitement to a child waiting for Christmas morning, but that would be an understatement.

However, if you take that same child eagerly awaiting Christmas and inform them Christmas has been canceled, their disappointment is likely pretty similar to mine when I learned Tracy Morgan would no longer be coming.

That's right- Tracy Morgan had to cancel due to the taping of an HBO special. Apparently great comedians are in high demand.

I took the news pretty hard. As in, I seriously contemplated eating an extremely large piece of cake when I found out and not even the upcoming Anniversary Sale could console me.

Luckily I had the sense to not eat the cake and instead read the part of the previously devastating email that said the show would be rescheduled pronto.

Crisis averted. But I'm still sad I have to wait.

I'm just going to come out and say what everyone has been thinking: I've been a bit neglectful in my posting lately.

I said I would never apologize for such a thing but I also said I would never quote Eminem.

For reasons beyond my typing control, the words of Marshall Mathers made it into the title so I guess offering an explanation of my absence isn't the worst thing I could do.

Jason and I have spent the past few weeks on something big and, in my opinion, quite exciting. It has demanded most of our time and efforts and so blogging has taken a bit of a backseat.

I can't fully reveal our news yet, but I will just as soon as we tell those who would rather not find out such things via the world wide web.

In the meantime, please take comfort in the return of my often inane observations.

I know you've missed them.

According to my calendar it is officially summer. It may be wishful thinking but I believe the weather is bound to follow suit.

With the 90+ temperatures come trips to the pool, campfires, barbeques and endless shaved ice. The long summer days are so packed with being carefree they can't help but spill over into the warm summer nights.

It should go without saying that the good times summer brings can only be made better when shared with good people.

Sadly, many lists of go-to friends for summer fun are tainted with people that take it a little too far- the self-professed “masters of the season,” if you will.

Everyone knows at least one person like this. It could be a brother, cousin, neighbor or your closest friend. They take certain aspects of something so many are content to just enjoy and, as I've heard it put, make it an art.

Now, I'm all for entertaining the idea of a perfect summer day. By my own standards, I've even experienced a few. But these people go above and beyond this, and not in a good way. They dissect and perfect every last piece of glorious summer until you wonder if it's even fun anymore.

Take for example, smores.

Consisting of graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate, it's quite possibly one of the simplest recipes there is.

However, if you've ever stood next to one of the “masters of the season” at the campfire, you know it's anything but simple.

They make a big showing of selecting the perfect marshmallow from the bag, which if you ask me, should be the first hint you're not preparing a gourmet dish. Anything that comes in a bag screams “mass production” and eliminates any need to tap it like it's a watermelon in the produce section.

Once their marshmallow is on the stick it's all about finding that ideal spot in the fire. Not too close to the coals, but not too far away, either. The marshmallow must always be moving so that one spot isn't roasted more than another. And the way you rotate the stick is crucial- it's all in the wrist.

This is all spoken aloud, of course, as they wouldn't be master marshmallow roasters if they didn't provide their own commentary. Super arrogant if you ask me, but at this point I'm putting out the ball of fire that is my own roasted marshmallow for the third time which, by the way, never fails to bring on additional comments.

Master of All Things Summer: Oh Whitney, your marshmallow is on fire.

Whitney: [blowing out the flame and sticking it back in the fire] Yep.

Master: It's going to be all black now, not golden brown like you're going for. Try to keep it moving this time.

Whitney: [moving marshmallow but only because it caught fire again]

Master: You should really try standing over here more. And it's all in the wrist, remember that. I like to think of it as an art. Would you like me to help?

Bitch, please. It's a marshmallow. It's roasted. And now, it's between chocolate and graham crackers and, ta da- it makes a smore all the same.

I'll skip the details on the so-called art of assembling smores, as I know you've run into these people before. That, and I'm apparently more bitter towards master marshmallow roasters than I previously thought.

Just know this: Turning summer into something that must be perfected is not only irritating to others, but it's a dangerous, downhill road. If you or someone you know have shown signs of such behavior, get help immediately.

It starts small but it will ultimately lead to far worse things. And, if you thought perfectionism was typically associated with women, think again. When it comes to summer men are affected far worse.

Don't believe me, guys? Well, today you may be the master of smores, but before you know it you're an aspiring master of the grill.

You won't set foot in the kitchen, but when it comes to the barbeque, you're all over it. You don't just have any grill, either. No, your model is far better than any model of anyone else you know. It's the only one that can get the job done.

And your grilling skills? Unparalleled.

It doesn't matter that you're serving up rare when the guests requested well-done. Grilling steaks is an art that you have perfected. Only you and you alone know how to prepare meat the way it's truly meant to be prepared.

Okay, so maybe my bitterness has been extended to barbeques, but you see my point.

Perfecting summer is wrong and must be stopped before it's too late for summer to be enjoyed.

Hours age, Utah inmate Ronnie Lee Gardner was executed by firing squad.

All technicalities and facts specific to this case aside, the question has been raised, are we better off as a society because of this?

Personally, I don't think we are any better off with him having been executed. I don't believe an overwhelming sense of peace and justice settled over the valley just after midnight and I don't feel that the pain of the families of the men killed has been lessened because a sentence was carried out.

But then again, I am completely opposed to the death penalty, regardless of the crime so it's pretty black and white to me.

What I fail to understand is how so many supposed Christians feel comfortable in the grey area of picking and choosing whose life is worth fighting for.

If we are to claim God as the ultimate judge of our sins, it shows a complete lack of faith and trust in His judgment to invoke something like the death penalty in the meantime.

Do not think that I see Ronnie Lee Gardner as being above the law because I don't. He committed horrible crimes and the severity of his actions need not be minimized.

I believe in our justice system and understand that the law of the land should absolutely be followed and when it is not, punishment is necessary.

However, I don't believe the power to determine if someone lives or dies in order to make restitution is a right our justice system should hold. The extent of power should be limited to how a life should be spent, not if it can be lived.

In this case, life without parole would have been sufficient.

Jason: If you go to prison for murder I don't know what I'd do.

Whitney: You mean, like what would you eat?

Jason: I'm pretty sure I would have some bigger life decisions to make at that point besides what I would eat.

Whitney: [blank stare]

Jason: Like staying married?

Whitney: Oooh. Wait- you would divorce me if I murdered someone?

Jason: Uh yeah, murder is grounds for divorce.

Whitney: What about manslaughter? Or negligent homicide?

Jason: That would be okay.

It's 9:30 pm and we're home with no prospects of going out.

Big surprise there- it's Tuesday.

Still, I'm having a hard time settling in for the evening. It might have something to do with the fact that this is the first night since Saturday that we haven't been out filling sandbags.

You see, our town is pretty much flooding. It's a lot like the Lost City of Atlantis, only instead of an ocean, it's more like the snow on the mountain melted super fast and caused the creek that runs right by our house and through our city to rise higher than it should.

Also, the water is brown and muddy. So I guess it's not like Atlantis at all.

Moving on.

Saturday evening we got a call notifying us that we might need to go help out in a potential flood situation a few blocks away. Twenty minutes later, a knock at our door alerted us of the immediate need for help in our own complex.

We helped our neighbors lay sandbags for an hour or so then decided to check out the situation we were called about. We arrived to find about fifteen people at the home of an elderly woman who had the pleasure of the aforementioned creek running through her backyard.

We joined the ranks and filled sandbags until 3:00 in the morning.

The next day I could hardly move and the palms of my hands were bleeding from a dozen tiny cuts. Nothing a little rest wouldn't help, though sadly rest was not to come as the flooding was steadily getting worse.

Luckily this time we were only filling and hauling bags until just past midnight.

I won't regale you with lines of false hope of rest the third day. On Monday we joined many more volunteers to fill bags yet again, bringing the combined total of bags filled by the Whitney-Jason Sandbagging team to nearly 1,000.

Thankfully, the flooding in our area is now under control.

I can only hope that my sore muscles will soon be as well. As it stands, the range of motion in my thumbs doesn't even allow me to text.

Although I guess I'm okay with non-functioning joints if it means we don't have to see any more images like these:

All image via ksl

I've often wondered what hotel chains mean by "Free Continental Breakfast."

Well, okay. I get the free part. It's the "continental" part that throws me for a loop.

What's continental about cereal, coffee and maybe a stale danish if you get to the lobby quick enough?

Oh, the unanswered questions that plague my mind, and will continue to do so because, sadly, this isn't a post about how I discovered the origin of the term.

It is, however, about how I discovered what the term should really entail.

This morning I cracked an egg onto the griddle. Imagine my surprise when I noticed it looked exactly like the United States.

At least, as close to looking like the United States as an egg can get.

Don't believe me? See for yourself.

Quite literally, continental breakfast in it's truest form.

The resemblance is uncanny, is it not?

I kind of feel that such an egg should not have been eaten because, really, it's not every day someone discovers a country in their breakfast.

We all know what happens when someone doesn't wash their hair regularly.

It's less than flattering.

Interestingly enough, the undesirable process by which hair absorbs oil can be used for good.

Matter of Trust, a non-profit charity, is using human and animal hair to assist in the clean-up of the gulf coast oil spill.

The donated hair can be woven into hair mats, or stuffed into nylons and placed along the coast to soak up the oil.

I find the whole thing slightly disgusting, yet oddly fascinating.

Matter of Trust is currently asking for people to sign up to be in their reserves, ready to mail in hair, fur and wool when asked. Donated nylons are being accepted at any time.

I found the least gag-inducing photo possible here

I recently complained about the movie Babies not showing in Utah. As it turns out, I just needed to be a bit more patient.

We went tonight and were not disappointed, although it would have been hard to mess that movie up.

The entire film, previews included, lasted less than ninety minutes. The minimal dialogue extended to little more than the babies' first words and the occasional song. With no complicated plot to follow, it was quite possibly the more refreshing thing I've watched in a long while.

Also, the Mongolian baby was my favorite. Don't be surprised if I move there.

Last year American's spent 1.9 billion dollars on flowers for Mother's Day.

If the fact that so much money was spent on something that's just going to wilt didn't shock you, it probably reminded you that you still need to get a Mother's Day gift.

Instead of flowers, which I think are boring and show a lack of effort, why don't you try something new- like a pot plant.

No, I didn't mean to type potted plant.

Pot plants are promising to be all the rage with women, at least as far as the Women's Marijuana Movement is concerned. However, they might be a little tricky to get your hands on for awhile.

No worries. Just click here to send your mom a personalized marijuana mother's day card.

I've already sent one to my mom, but something tells me I probably should have stuck with flowers.

I won't comment on Tebow going in the first round of the draft.

I won't comment on Tebow not even being at the draft.

I will, however, comment on the cruel twist of fate that is bringing him to Denver.

At a mere 535 miles away, he could not be closer. I checked.

Such proximity can only add fuel to the fire that keeps my hatred toward all things Tebow burning.

For those who don't see the potential disaster, tell me how having this in the same time zone as you could possibly be a good thing:

photo credit

Every weekday morning while Jason's in the shower, I lay out his clothes for the day. I choose everything from his shirt and tie down to his shoes and socks.

I may go so far as putting his belt in his pants before he puts them on so he doesn't have to worry about missing loops. What can I say- I like to help a man out.

The extent of my helping out was made manifest Saturday morning when Jason woke up early to play basketball. I stayed in bed while he shuffled about getting ready.

I heard him get to the front door and was about to go back to sleep when he suddenly burst into the room.

"I forgot to put on a shirt."

Nothing establishes a sense of marital security like knowing how much you're needed, even if it's just to avoid indecent exposure.

Jason has an extensive dvd collection. I may have increased it by four or five when we got married, plus a copy of "Never Been Kissed" on vhs.

Jason can string together an intricate web of who's-who among directors, producers and 2nd AD's. I can usually recognize a Pixar film when I see it.

Jason can quote movie line upon movie line. I've only ever been able to quote "Dennis the Menace."

Jason is a movie buff. I am not.

That being said, I'm sure you can imagine how rare an occasion it is when I look forward to seeing a movie well before it makes it to theaters.

I have been waiting to see the movie "Babies" ever since I saw the trailer a few months ago.

It finally hit theaters today but it's not showing in any theaters I want to go to. Not because the floors are too sticky or the the seats don't recline, but because I would have to drive a little too far. As in, out of state too far.

Seriously. A movie about babies and Utah isn't even showing it.

My guess is one of the babies was conceived out of wedlock and we all know the Larry H. Miller theaters refuse to show anything that might possibly suggest a lack of morals.

My brother's yellow lab has been missing since Sunday, April 11. Her name is Aggie and she is about 04 years-old.

She was last seen in South Willow Canyon. She was not wearing her collar.

If you're in the area please keep a look-out. There is a reward for any information leading to her safe return home.

She is missed very much. Please let me know if you happen to see her or have any information at all.

I hope all those who celebrate Easter had a happy one. Hopefully some of you were able to hunt for eggs without coats and umbrellas.

I can't help but wonder if finding a giant rabbit or chocolate egg in my basket would have made up for the cold weather.

I'm a gullible person, or so I've been told. Many times.

In my defense, I think it's not so much me falling for things as it is me believing people to be better than they really are.

I would like to take people at their word. I would like to believe the people I know wouldn't say stupid things in such a way that leads me to believe they're true. I would like to believe they wouldn't knowingly use such traits against me for their own amusement.

But they do

As much as I hate it and try to avoid it, I've long since come to accept the fact that I'm an easy target, a sitting duck for jokesters.

Harsh as it may be, it's not nearly as bad as the day the entire world teams up to make a mockery of people like me.

I have been fooled by too many on this joke of a holiday and so today I say 'ENOUGH!'

I refuse to be tricked by the dozen fake baby announcements and marriage proposals I'm likely to hear of.

I am taking a stand to be 100% skeptical of everything I see, hear and read.

Really, Google mail, you expect me to believe your vowels aren't working today? Nice try.

Really, receptionist at the doctor's office I called today, you expect me to believe you don't have any open appointments for six weeks? You almost had me fooled.

Incidentally, the receptionist wasn't joking nor did she appreciate my assumption that she was. It made me realize that, even though I am trying really hard to not be made a fool today, I still look like one.

I dare say that I come across as an even bigger idiot when I assume everyone is trying to trick me than I would if I just fell for a lame joke.

Fool if I do. Fool if I don't.

I hate this stupid holiday.

I'm going to go watch Punk'd. At least I can recognize their pranks.

I make every effort not to overshare here. But in doing so, I think I may leave people hanging. I realize that I am rather vague at times in the going-ons of our lives and, while I enjoy keeping it that way, I know there are those of you who could handle a little more info.

I've given in and set up a Formspring account for this very purpose. By going here you are able to ask me any question and I'll answer it.

The best part? You can ask anonymously.

Nothing is off limits so go ahead, get asking.

I am beyond elated for what he has done.

I feel sorry for those choosing to remain blind to facts.

I have hope, however, and pray for their eventual understanding.

As Oscar Wilde said, "Discontent is the first step in the progress of a man or a nation.”

Guilty pleasures. Addictions. Weaknesses.

Call them what you will, but we all have them.

Chocolate. Diet Coke. Movies. Handbags. Trashy romance novels.

The vices vary but there's always something that we can't, or won't, give up.

I have my fair share, but what tops the list?

Baby clothes.

You would not be hard-pressed to find full infant wardrobes, sized and sorted, hanging in a closet in my home. Hats, bows and shoes included.

Oh, the shoes. I have purchased many a pair for tiny feet that may or may not even touch the ground.

“Really Whitney?” you're probably saying. “For one, you don't have any children. And two, how can you buy clothes when you don't know if your first would be a boy or girl?”

How thoughtful of you to be concerned, but you mustn't worry. Since gender neutral isn't my thing, I have two full wardrobes. But about the lack of children- I'm glad you brought it up because I have a favor to ask.

Is anyone willing to let me buy clothes for their baby?

I'm not creepy. It's just that I've loved Bonpoint for awhile now and, with the recent launch of their US site, it's only a matter of time before I order something. And, lest I buy something else that will hang unworn for an indefinite period of time, I need a baby to buy it for at the earliest convenience.

Sure, you might be an enabler, but you can't look at these clothes and tell me that's a bad thing.

Bonpoint