I was among friends the other night when someone brought up the new tech term “twitter.”

I took aspirin from my purse, held my jam-packed head in my hand and asked with faint brainwaves, “what on earth is that?” Not another high-tech something-or-other, I thought, and was weakened trying to comprehend.

Well, no one at the table knew, but all agreed that it was something. This, as I was just getting a grip about “blogs, bloggers and blogettes.”

Blogs, of course, are the daily musings and additions to worldwide communications where at any given nanosecond, one can enhance and comprehend all information available out there. For instance, a daily blog might be an educated take on the economy, political tidbits or what Hollywood star just received a DUI. Or it might mean the current studies about men who snore too much.

Here a blog, there a blog, everywhere someone’s blog. Once you read anyone’s blog, then you are completely informed for that very nanosecond. But five minutes from then, it could all change.

Everyone knows that.

The blogger, furthermore, is that qualified person who writes about the stuff. He or she may not know what he or she is blogging about, but he or she certainly knows technology beyond the simple buttons that turn on computers. He or she knows the difference between Blackberries and blueberry pies. He or she certainly knows how to send texts that say, “where r u?” and respond, “buying T-paper, lol.”

Everyone knows that.

The blogette might be a Radio City Music Hall dancer in a chorus line. Or maybe a French bread lavishly slathered with butter and garlic to deliciously go with your New Year’s resolution of a high-fat diet. Or, the blogette may be the slightly overweight person wearing pink.

So I certainly know all about blogs, feeling quite comfortable in my cyber knowledge. But the twitter? I guess that I’ll have to look that one up.

So I got out my handy-dandy 20 pound Webster’s Edition subtitled, Everything-But-What-You-Look-Up. It takes at least a half hour because I always get caught up on other interesting words like Timbuktu or titmouse. Then, of course, I am all atwitter because I’ve forgotten what to look up.

But, alas, the thing was published more than five minutes ago, so “twitter” still means something about a chirping bird.

“Chirps, cheeps, peeps and wings a-flap,” are all related to the sounds that some people make when they can’t seem to find their way in life.

Well, that makes sense. I feel that way every time I try to decide what to do when I grow up. The older I get, the fewer choices there are. I guess I should finally cut loose the ice skating Olympics goal or the one about being a ballet dancer. But there might be careers in the nursing home, after all.

I’ve also known lots of characters all atwitter about things. A friend’s 92-year-old mother gets in a twitter when she must make major decisions like which way the mini-blinds should go. Or whether she should have tuna or chicken salad for lunch.

So now I think that my new career goal will be an official bloghag twitterer. It’s not listed in the dictionary yet, so I will define it myself. The bloghag part must have at least three chins, wrinkles all over and falling body parts. Twittering must reflect absolutely no expertise, and be in constant confusion hour by hour. The computer entries will be bits and pieces of a hag clutching her throat all in a twitter.