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I love my hubby!!!!!

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Okay, not really. I mean, I do, but I’d never say it like that in a million years.

I didn’t set out to get all ranty today, but I love this “12 Blogger Bad Habits” post on Sweet Tater so much and it got me thinking. Number 3 is my favorite, and it’s something that has been bothering me for a long time. It goes like this:

Calling your significant other anything but his/her given name. I’m serious with this. Just stop it.

Look. If you’re so concerned about privacy, why are you even broadcasting shit on the internet? Could you, at the very least, be less annoying than women who refer to their significant others as anything like:

  • hubby
  • hubs
  • hubster
  • Husband
  • Mr. [insert your internet identity here]
  • Daddy [insert your internet identity here]
  • lover (gross!)
  • boyf (unless you’re a drunk 21-year-old, in which case “boyf” is okay)
  • any variation of gentleman (unless you’re at least 90 years old, in which case “gentleman caller” is okay)
  • stupid college nicknames based on excess body hair
  • any type of monkey-like animal
  • DH, unless you’re married to Jim Thome, David Ortiz, or the like
  • the [insert occupation here]
  • a beverage
  • a fake name you clearly publicize as fake (if you didn’t tell us we’d never know and wouldn’t care)??

One blogger I like refers to her husband as LT. This doesn’t bother me. I don’t know if those are really his initials and I don’t care. Initials aren’t annoying. Also, I picture her being married to LaDainian Tomlinson, which really adds a little something to her posts. I can think of a (very!) few well-thought-out nicknames used by people I know who don’t really blog, but that’s about it.

My favorite is when a blogger refers to her husband by some cutesy-annoying nickname on her blog but then @s him on Twitter, where he uses his real, full name. Or he “likes” her blog’s Facebook fan page (Why do these even exist?). You’re not fooling anybody! If people want to find out your husband’s name, they will. The more you make a big deal out of it the more they’ll want to find it. And you know what? Who cares? It’s not like people suddenly gain power as a result of knowing your husband’s name. Or even your child’s name.

Nicknames for kids also bother me. They’re always gross and they don’t even work. There’s always someone somewhere who will tell people your kid is named after a crappy Beatles song. And if you’ve ever referred to your child as DS, DD (which sounds like boobs), or any type of bean anywhere online, the internet should be able to get a restraining order against you.

(And yes, for the record, Ben and I have nicknames for each other. They are terrible and will never be discussed here. They’re embarrassing and you don’t want to hear about that shit, anyway. And I don’t give a shit if the entire internet knows his name is Ben.) (Full disclosure: I briefly referred to Ben and Soren as B and S. But that makes me sound like someone from Gossip Girl, which would greatly improve my station in life but no.)

You know what also annoys me? People who write shit like “I love my husband.” I mean, duh? Does that really need to be said? Every time I want to see it I want to respond, “Oh man, lucky you. I fucking hate my husband!” Aside from the stating-the-obvious factor, nobody cares about the simple fact that you love your husband. If you want to tell us that, at least make it interesting!

Finally, today I realized that John Elway looks like a chess piece. See?

separated at birth

Written by Tracy

January 16th, 2012 at 10:29 pm

Posted in and life

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Don’t call me ma’am.

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Recently, something terrible has happened to me twice. First it was the hot guy who works the front desk at the gym. Then today it was the building security guy. “Goodnight, sir,” he said to the dude walking in front of me. “Goodnight, ma’am. Take care.”

They ma’amed me.

Ma’am? Really?

Grand BaroqueI strongly believe that you should never call a woman “ma’am” unless she’s 80 or you’re in the south. That’s a southern thing, isn’t it? Ma’aming women? I used to be kind of obsessed with the south, back when I was heavily involved with posting on a message board for fraternity and sorority members. (I just lost any street cred I ever had, not that there was much. I might have to write a post about the Thirty Days of Shanks to try to get it back.) I learned all kinds of crazy shit in those days, including but not limited to the fact that people in the south are obsessed with Shiner Bock and get dressed up to go to college football games. Also, “bless your heart” is a nice way of saying “fuck you.” I even read A Southern Belle Primer or Why Princess Margaret Will Never be a Kappa Kappa Gamma. (There’s a thing about silver patterns in this book. Silver patterns are like the southern Zodiac. This shit fascinates me. Fascinates! My fancy flatware is Dansk Rondure and my sorority was founded in New York. I’m sure that tells you all you need to know about me, bless her heart.)

If you’re not in the south, I believe most women interpret “ma’am” as “old lady.” In general, I don’t think we really like it. I hate it. To me, that guy today was saying, “Goodnight, old lady. Please don’t slip on the ice and break a hip on the way out of the building.”

I might be extra sensitive because I have a birthday coming in, um, a little tiny bit less than two weeks. I swear I don’t get all freaked out about birthdays. And I don’t feel old. And if it’s okay for me to say this, people are usually pretty much horrified when they find out how old I am. Everybody’s always all, OMG you are not!!! And that happens often enough that I think they’re not just being nice. I guess it’s a combination of good genes and rampant immaturity. What I’m trying to get at is that I don’t feel old or, I guess, look old, whatever “old” means. (I always laugh if by “laugh” I mean “roll my eyes” when people who are younger than I am bitch about being old, which, for whatever reason, happens all the time. Bless their hearts.) So it’s not like I have a complex or anything.

But I really, really hate being ma’amed. When in doubt, which you should be if you’re in Colorado, just don’t do it.

Written by Tracy

December 8th, 2011 at 8:55 pm

Posted in and life

Tagged with ,

PMS & Antlers

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I hate to write about stuff that’s totally a downer or getting into girly-TMI territory (sorry, dudes), but once every three months or so, I get, like, the worst PMS ever. I’ll first notice it during that hectic part of the evening after I get home from the gym and Ben is making dinner and Soren is experiencing toddler witching hour and there are toys all over the place and the animals are all OMG you guys you guys you guys feed us now the end is near and I’m trying to at least take off my shoes and ignore the fact that I won’t be able to shower for a while (“not showering for days” is the biggest lie anybody will ever tell you about life with a child, but sometimes I at least don’t get to shower at the exact minute at which I’d like) and I just, like, kind of snap. I might say something even bitchier than the things I say about Tim Tebow or Philip Rivers on Twitter after I’ve been drinking, or I might feel a sudden burst of rage that seems to come from nowhere but then I realize oh yeah, PMS.

My mental train leaves the sudden-burst-of-rage station and spends the next few days chugging through regions that include “not quite totally depressed,” “hopeless,” “angry,” “torrential verbal outbursts,” “outright crazy,” “fat and bloated,” “couches and sweatpants only,” and “zitty.” I recognize when I’m in it, which is good, but that does little to make it suck any less.

The good news is I know it’s not all that bad because I’m able to function and I tend to, inexplicably, have really good workouts. And I know it’s only temporary.

antlers

hiding

The bad news is nothing really helps and you just have to wait it out. Well, honestly, weed helps, but it’s not something we have around. (I’ve seriously considered looking into getting medical marijuana just for this intermittent PMS.) In theory, keeping busy helps, but it’s hard to keep busy when your brain knows it needs to be busy but your body is just this doughy lump on the couch. In a feeble attempt to cheer myself up this weekend, I consumed large quantities of cheese bread dipped in ranch dressing and tried to implement an antler-wearing regime with respect to at least one of our small animals. This mostly failed. I don’t know why it’s so hard for these guys to understand that I really enjoy animals with antlers. I mean, just humor me for a few minutes, dudes.

We’re getting there.

antlers

sweatpants and antlers: good for what ails you

Written by Tracy

November 28th, 2011 at 10:18 am

I don’t want to read your goddamn sponsored posts.

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I have a very hard time finding blogs I like to read that don’t annoy me so much I have to stop reading them. I had to unsubscribe from yet another blog the other day after something annoying happened. “Something annoying” often goes like this:

Despite the fact that I’m 35, was raised by wolves, and don’t know how to [wear makeup] [wear jewelry] [decorate my foyer] [wear hideous dresses], [insert name of shitty makeup/jewelry/home decor/clothing brand here] contacted me to ask whether I would completely whore myself out and write a boring-ass post you don’t want to read to pimp their tacky shit in exchange for giving me some free crap I’ll use for purposes of writing this boring-ass post and then forget about until 7 years from now when I find this shit in my bathroom cabinet/dresser/basement/closet and throw it out. I wish these fuckers would pay me to whore out their products but when they don’t, I just take the free crap they offer me because I have no respect for myself or my audience.

[Insert 27 boring-ass paragraphs about shitty products here.]

[Insert 38 hiddy photos of overly made-up/jewelry-covered/ill-fitting-dress-wearing blog author and/or her fugly house here.]

As you can see, although I am barely able to function as a human adult, [insert name of shitty makeup/jewelry/home decor/clothing brand here] made me look like a raging alcoholic who got into a heated argument with a Rottweiler on a faux fur throw. I feel so beautiful and wonderful and now I want to share the joy of these shitty products with you by giving you free shit you don’t really want.

You may enter my shitty-ass giveaway by kissing my ass in the following ways:

a) Leave a comment in response to the sweepstakes prompt on this post telling me how gorgeous and awesome I am. You must use at least 86 adjectives.

b) Tweet about this promotion 500 times, annoying everybody who follows you, and leave the URL to those tweets in a comment on this post.

c) Blog about this promotion so you too can be known far and wide as a spammy asshole who posts shit nobody cares about and leave the URL to that post in a comment on this post and that post will tell two friends and I’d tell two friends if I had any friends but obviously I don’t considering how fucking boring and self-promotional I am.

d) For those with no Twitter or blog, get the fuck out of here because there is no way you’ll be able to benefit me by increasing my Alexa rank.

e) Follow me down the street making catcalls and whistling.

This giveaway is open to US assholes age 18 or older. Winners will be selected via random drawing, and will be notified by e-mail and Twitter 972 times.

I mean, seriously? Why do people do sponsored posts and giveaways? Are they so hard-up to get free shit that they’re willing to compromise the integrity of their blogs to do so? Obviously, the answer is yes, but why?

Here’s the thing. I get it. I’m a hippie curmudgeon. I hate advertising and consumerism. So maybe my perception is a bit skewed. Still, I have a hard time imagining that anybody is interested in spammy giveaways or sponsored posts. Sponsored posts suck.

Whenever I’m reading a blog and I see any sort of sponsored post, my eyes glaze over and I scroll to the end, hoping that the next post will be something marginally interesting that I might want to read. But you have to understand that while I’m doing that eyes-glazed scrolling thing, my opinion of you and your blog is going way down. If I’m new to your blog, I’m trying to figure out whether you’re interesting and have credibility such that I’d like to continue reading. If you have sponsored posts, I’m going to find you uninteresting and lacking credibility. That might seem harsh, but that’s just how it is. If I’ve been reading your blog regularly, I’ll be willing to overlook this for a while but eventually, the interesting-content-to-spammy-bullshit proportion will get out of whack and I’ll stop reading. (FYI: Links to your Babble articles are just as bad.)

If somebody sends you free shit and you’re writing about it on your blog, you can say “My opinions are my own” 800 times and I won’t believe you. Your opinions can’t be your own because you’re allowing them to be purchased in exchange for exposure on your blog. (And it doesn’t help when you say that if you don’t love a product you won’t write about it, because you don’t bother to tell us about those instances.) Aside from the fact that I don’t believe you, even reading the sentence “My opinions are my own” makes me absolutely die of boredom. I’ve seen that shit on 900 other blogs and I didn’t find it interesting then. I don’t find it interesting when you say it. It’s boring.

And for what it’s worth, I hold this shit against brands, too. Chances are, if you’re a brand doing sponsored posts, I don’t buy your shit anyway. I don’t buy poor quality goods, makeup that is tested on animals, disposable diapers, disgusting processed food items, or any of the crap you usually see associated with sponsored posts. So I’m probably not your target audience. But I am the target audience of a few brands I’ve vowed to boycott forever as a result of ridiculousness in the blogosphere. For example, if you’ve ever given a free washer and dryer to someone who was acting like an entitled snot on the internet, I’ll never buy your stuff. And I have a long memory.

The only blog I’ve ever seen that does giveaways in a non-annoying fashion and writes about sponsors in a way that doesn’t shred the authors’ credibility is Young House Love. I know opinions on that blog vary (and honestly I’d rather read your sponsored post than more shit about the Bowers), but they are the only ones I’ve ever found who do giveaways and have sponsors in a way that doesn’t make me want to stop reading. The main reason, I think, is that they’re very clear about not accepting free shit from anybody in exchange for anything.

If you’re not a hugely popular blog, it’s hard to take that position. I understand. I know what it’s like to need extra money and to want to make it off your blog. Believe me. I need extra money and I’d love to make it off my blog, which is something I spend a bit of time and effort on. I’ve just never figured out a way to do it that isn’t gross. And no offense, but most of you haven’t figured that out, either. And until you do, you should stop trying, unless you want to lose more readers. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who’s totally sick of this shit.

Written by Tracy

October 30th, 2011 at 8:39 pm

Posted in and life

Tagged with , ,

They’re Klout to get me.

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As you may know, I have a well-documented hatred of Klout. (See, e.g., this post.) Don’t get me wrong — I don’t sit around and think about how stupid Klout is all day or anything. I just think about it once in a while.

Yesterday I went over there to see if my score has been decreasing since I changed my Klout name to “Fucking shit Klout is dumb.” It has. Coincidence? I have no idea, nor do I really give a shit. However, do you want to know what pissed me right off? The topics about which Klout thinks I’m influential. The three things highlighted for me yesterday were, and I shit you not:

  • weddings
  • Klout
  • Joe Buck.

Okay. Think for a minute. If you need more than a minute, take it. Think long and hard. Are you in your happy thinking mindspace? Can you possibly come up with three things I hate more than weddings, Klout, and Joe Buck? That’s like the trifecta of awful right there. Weddings, Klout, and Joe Buck are the things I’d encounter were I ever unfortunate enough to travel to Circle IX – Cocytus – The Traitors – Judecca – Traitors to Their Benefactors of Dante’s Inferno, which, if I recall correctly, was represented in the versDante's Infernoion of the book I had junior year of college by a terrifying drawing of one man eating another man’s skull (this is the sort of thing you definitely want on hand the first time you try LSD, if you’re into that sort of thing).

Okay, I exaggerate a little. I don’t hate weddings, really. I’m actually planning my own, if you want to know the truth. I haven’t really mentioned it much here because we’re marrying ourselves (you can solemnize your own marriage in Colorado, which is awesome because that means you don’t even have to go to the courthouse to have a no-big-deal wedding ceremony, which is a big plus for me because as a retired attorney, going to the courthouse feels like work, not fun happy big life moment to me) and totally not doing anything at all because, shit, we already have a house and a kid and 100 animals and I think this is one of those figurative horse-barn-out situations where it seems a little silly to make a BFD about it, plus I’m on a spending fast and not looking to throw down more than $30 for the marriage license. I’ll probably tell you more about getting married while on a spending fast as we get closer to the date. I think we’ll be able to pull the whole thing off for less than $200, and most of that is for a thing I got to wear in my hair way back when we were talking about going to Vegas and I was going to, like, wear a dress and stuff. We’ve nixed that idea because if I was already buying shit to wear in my hair, a wedding in Vegas, as humble and low-budget as it intended to be, was going to end up a huge expensive thing. We’re now firmly in the cheapest-wedding-ever camp.

So I don’t really hate weddings. But I do really hate Klout and Joe Buck. If we combined the two, we’d find out that Joe Buck is influential about:

  • sucking
  • speaking in a monotone voice
  • inducing boredom-related comas
  • killing the fun of sports.

In Dante’s Inferno, Joe Buck would make it to Circle III – Violence Against God, Nature, and Sports, where he’d encounter people who shoot wolves from aircraft and Chris Berman. Gross!

Written by Tracy

August 16th, 2011 at 4:33 pm

The HBP Press Release

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I generally refrain from discussing pretty much anything related to my job here. Today, I will make an exception.

As a result of working for a publication, I receive countless press releases. I have never asked to receive press releases and have engaged in no conduct likely to result in receiving press releases. I’ve never had any interest in any press release I have received. In fact, the press releases I receive are so far from being relevant to what I do it’s almost laughable, or it would be laughable if it didn’t indicate the tragic condition of our society today wherein individuals and businesses pay good money to PR jackasses to spam people all over the internet with their irrelevant, self-promotional bullshit.

Some people who send press releases become so brazen in their conduct that they send press releases covering shit I don’t care about every day. Look. I don’t care if you’re my significant other or my mom. I don’t want to receive email from anybody that often. Who on these world wide webs thinks that shit is a good idea?

I’ve never figured out how to stop the press releases. I set up a rule or whatever it is you do in Outlook (we are plagued with PCs at work) that makes any incoming mail containing the phrase “press release” go into a folder called “crap.” (I also have a folder called “shit,” but that’s a subject for another day.) This is good because I don’t have to see them until I go to the folder called “crap” for the purpose of deleting press releases and emails about the office Powerball endeavor, which, in my opinion, is just about the worst idea ever because one day maybe they’ll win that shit and the person in charge will abscond with the winnings and what are you going to do then.

The press-release senders keep getting more innovative, if by “innovative” I mean that now they sometimes don’t admit that what they’re sending is a press release, which keeps it from getting caught in my filter. These sit around in my inbox and then I delete them. In the terrible cases where I receive the same crap from the same people every day (a recent offender of this ilk sends messages in Portuguese), my heart fills with cold, black hatred and eventually I visit the website of our spam prevention people and add the sending email address to my block list. Sometimes this solves the problem. Sometimes the spammers or some dude who calls himself Psycho Cowboy just get a new email address and start sending their shit all over again.

Press releases. Ignoring them doesn’t work because their mere presence in my inbox fills me with rage. Blocking them sometimes works but isn’t reliable. I don’t want to respond asking to be removed from their list (Don’t press release me, bro!) because that never works and just confirms that I’m a real person who hates being bothered so chances are they’ll bother me even more. What would be a more effective way to fight the press releases?

Maybe it’s time to resort to clichés. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Fight fire with fire. Tit for tat. You send me a stupid-ass press release I don’t want and didn’t request and I’ll send you one right back. Take that!

Here is my first installment, complete with as much PR-bullshit-speak as I can wrangle.

*******

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE (as you might have guessed from the fact that it’s been released)

Contact: Me

fuckyou@youobnoxiousspammyasshole.com

Breaking: Editor Hates You and Your Stupid Fucking Press Releases

Denver, CO – July 26, 2011 – Before you invest time and money sending press releases to people who have no interest in what you’re trying to promote, what you’re doing, what you have to say about it, or in fact anything about your sorry existence, check with your conscience, assuming it exists, and just stop the madness. Tracy can not only tell you that you suck but also that whatever you’re doing is a worthless waste of time, based on a detailed assholery review.

No newcomer to receiving unwanted and unsolicited press releases from people who clearly have no idea what she actually does and have never even picked up the publication for which she works, Tracy is a market leader and community builder with outside-the-box skills and 15 years of experience. Presented orally, as a written report, or in a PowerPoint presentation of doom and utter boredom, her game-changing in-depth analysis can save you hours of preparation and thousands of dollars. Stepping up to the plate to take social media expertise to a new level, she is prepared to step in at the last minute when you’re about to hit send, unleashing paragraphs of bullshit on innocent, unsuspecting people unfortunate enough to have publicly accessible email addresses. A matchless operator who is equally comfortable around the cream of the crop and shady underworld figures, her talents and skills are truly unique.

According to Tracy, “The question I get most often is, ‘Is it spammy bullshit?’ My job is to sort out the bad press releases due to occurrences that fall outside the internet standard of care and decency, which, frankly, is all of them including yours. The question of whether a press release involves a high level of bullshit is one that looms over every person working in PR. If answered correctly (yes), it can save both you and the unwitting public on which you wish to unleash your torrent of unnecessary and meaningless words from mental anguish and time wasted hitting the delete button.”

Tracy serves on the staff of a major U.S. publication affiliated with a top-rated organization that provides vague but groundbreaking services to the industry. She sits on state boards as an expert reviewer and expert witness in spamology, as well as numerous park benches. She has written cutting-edge books, book chapters, and numerous scientific and editorial papers, as well as articles in the legal-spam literature, received honors and awards in spam-avoidance teaching and scholarship, and has 18 years of academic experience ranging from Post Spam Press Release Care Unit Director and Outpatient Spam Recovery Services to her current position as Clinical Associate Professor of Complete and Utter Bullshit. She has leveraged core competencies and worked for multinational corporations and once ghostwrote a groundbreaking book for an unnamed and mysterious celebrity, a fact you will never be able to prove or disprove. She has appeared on CNBC but had a touch of the crazy eye that day and, as a result, you won’t find it on YouTube.

Accessibility is a unique and important aspect of Tracy’s services. Her vast expertise in bullshit detection, modification, and remediation is available at any time unless your email goes into the spam folder, in which case it sucks to be you. She does not work on a contingency fee basis. Your initial telephone consultation is $500. Side effects may vary.

For more information: Go away.

HBP is the world’s fastest-growing platform for social change — growing by more than 400,000 new members who never actually signed up for this shit every month, and empowering millions of people to start, join, and win campaigns for social change in their community, city, and country, whether they want to or not. Look for us on the 16th Street Mall, holding a clipboard and trying to talk to you to obnoxiously promote our smug agenda for an hour in the stifling heat while you have better things to do.

###

Written by Tracy

July 26th, 2011 at 12:45 pm

I would prefer to have no Klout, thanks.

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Can I tell you guys about something that’s been pissing me off?

Klout. Klout pisses me right off.

Look. I never signed up for Klout but somehow, there I was on the site with my score and a “score analysis” and a list of people I influence (which um, hi, I don’t even influence my dogs, so whatever that’s dumb).

Here’s the thing. I’m a raging hippie (that doesn’t make sense) and I hate shit like this. I hate scores and honestly, if you’re the kind of person who goes around talking about how you have Klout (sadly, these people exist), I’d kind of like to punch you in the face. While we’re at it, I hate websites with their lists of top blogs and the like. First of all, the blogs listed on lists of top blogs are never very good and, anyway, who in the hell who isn’t in, like, middle school gives a shit about this crap? It’s all babble and bullshit if you ask me.

I also hate Klout because it makes people spam my Twitter feed. I’m always seeing shit about how somebody gave someone +K about being a spammy asshole on the internet or whatever. Today, there were like 900 tweets about some stupid Spotify shit, which you can access if you have Klout (which, as I soon will reveal, you have if you have a public Twitter account).

Because I was on Klout against my will, I ended up linking my Twitter account so I could at least exert some control over what information about me was presented on the site. I thought maybe I could just delete my Klout profile and be done with it. Well, no. If you have a public Twitter account, you’re going to be on Klout, your desire to not be on Klout be damned. I don’t want to make my Twitter private and deprive my legions of fans who don’t actually follow me of the awesome things I say about an under-appreciated baseball team when I’m drunk, so that’s not a good option.

So. What do you do when you have a profile you don’t want on a website you think is dumb and you can’t delete it? If you’re me, you try to get banned.

How do you get banned from Klout? I have no idea. I googled it and came up with this, which is hilarious and illustrates the complete stupidity of Klout but doesn’t actually tell you how to get banned.

 

So, I figure I’ll start with the basics and do what I do best — using terrible, inappropriate language. You can see the result on my stupid-ass Klout page, which I can only hope is currently updating my True Assholery number. I’ll let you know how this goes. In the meantime, if you want to give me +K on “being an asshole on the internet,” I’ll take it.

Update: In a new effort to get my account deleted, I searched Klout help and found this:

If you would like to delete your registration, please email contact@klout.com and we will process your request within 5 business days. All personal information that you submitted to Klout during registration will be completely deleted from our database within 30 days.

I emailed and I’ll let you know what happens!

Update: Some person named Lan “deleted my Klout account” for me. All this means is that it appears that I never signed up for Klout. Unfortunately, as a result, my “Fucking shit Klout is dumb” name and position as Brand Ambassador of Your Ass no longer appear when you view my profile. My picture and Klout score are still on the site, against my will I might add. Clearly, Lan and I have a different understanding about what “delete” means.

Fucking shit Klout is dumb.

Update: As of November 1, 2011, you can delete your Klout profile. (You can see a screenshot of the page here.) If you don’t have an active Klout account, to access the “opt out” page you have to sign into Klout with Twitter. Then go to profile settings. It appears to work — I just tried it and my profile seems to no longer exist. Sweet!

Written by Tracy

July 14th, 2011 at 7:17 pm