You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better. ~ Anne Lamott
Am back. On Facebook. Ugh. I feel like I just handed over every shred of decency I have to Mark Zuckerberg and he is doing unspeakable things to it. This better work better than it did last time girls!
Yes, I remember what I said about Facebook and all its co-conspirators last year. I still stand by that. I have even more arguments against it (planking, homicide due to wall posts and Farmville) now and, quite frankly speaking, cannot wait until the next thing comes along. Oh sit down Justin "I just bought MySpace" Timberlake. Best you will do is piss YouTube off. This business of you trying to be an actor and trying to relive your Social Network days makes you look silly, cheesy, and deficient. I digress...
Are we fighting yet, Amy?
As a precaution, I have created an account that is part my name, part not. So if you want to add me as a friend, and if I think you will not stalk my life and irritate the fuck out of me with your narcissistic wannabe bullshit are worthy, I will add you. You can email me privately for further information.
If I do not respond to your email or add request, I want you to give some really deep thought as to why I have not before you blast me about it and start calling me all the bitches under the sun in your news feed, status box, etc. I mean really really deep thought. And then choose my answer(s) from the following list that best apply to you (and they do): a] I am not interested in your drama. b] I am not interested in you stalking my life. c] I really just tolerate you because I find myself in socialized situations where I am required to or I may loose my job. d] You are a friendwhore, we are not now nor will we ever be friends, and I would not be caught dead on your friends list. e] Your "join this club" invitations and all the other spam you posted on my wall last time I was on Facebook created so much spam I had to abandon a much loved email address. Fuck off with the invites, I can join myself. f] We may be related but that does not mean I like you or would consider you a "friend". g] You bore me with your feeble and pathetic attempts to look cool. If you really were as cool as you want me to think you are, if your life was as cool as you attempt to project onto me, you would understand that cool never ever tries. Cool just is.
I know you're watching from afar. I suspected you might be. Or that you would at least pop in for a look. Or eight. Don't ask how I know, just understand that I do.
It's cool with me.
The way you left things isn't.
After all that happened, I really do deserve some kind of explanation. Don't forget, above all things, we were best friends. I was there for you even when you believed no one was.
I know you have your reasons. I understand I may never fully understand those reasons. Why not give me the benefit of the doubt and at least try to explain?
This silence, it smacks of cowardice. I don't want to think that about you. You're so much better than that.
I'll be honest -- it sucks that you would rather cause me misery, would rather have me believe you are dead, than tell me the truth. I can handle the truth. On many occasions it has been served up to me in large doses that would destroy most people.
(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on February 18, 2010.)
Look around; they’ve [consumers] taken great American literature and turned it into Twitter. – Kelly Cutrone
I don’t Foursquare, Twitter or Facebook.
I used to Facebook but got sick and tired of the narcissistic bullshit that permeates it. Here’s other reasons why I deleted my account (at least I think its deleted… you never know what that pack of bastards is up to or concealing):
-The idea that anything I post to Facebook instantly becomes Facebook’s property is frightening. They now have pictures of me and information on me that can be used against me on the Internet. And I have no recourse because I agreed to their terms of use, which they tend to change A LOT, and I agreed to follow their stupid rules… the ones I signed up with and the ones they have changed or added. Visa and MasterCard already own my soul, now that pile of dung that runs the show over there can use my second grade class picture against me. In my defense, it was the 70’s and my ringlets were an attempt to disguise a bad hair cut.
-Friendwhores. Get over yourselves. You wouldn’t walk across the street to take a piss on me, even if I had been on fire, in high school and now you are sending me private messages wondering if we can add each other and hang out when you come to the “big city”? For really? Let’s you and I get something straight, OK? I wanted to light your hair on fire in high school for being one of those five bitches who dragged me around the school, both levels, and then picked me up, carried me down a hall, and threw (yes threw) me at Darren Nimchuk’s feet when you found out I had a crush on him. I bet you forgot about that, huh. I didn’t. For two years, every time I saw him or one of his friends, I wanted to die. Literally. Like go Peden Hill and throw myself in front of an oncoming logging truck. You and your bitch friends took time out of your day for four years to mock me, set me up for rejection, reduce me in every way conceivable, and now you want to be friends and hang out? Fuck off is too good for you darling.
-Spam. I have had to abandon the email account associated with my Facebook account. It gets flooded with stupid requests to join inane Facebook groups and I have seen just about every email in existence that has anything to do with the sale of little blue pills, member enlargement, inheritance collection in Nigeria, and watches. What is it with watch spam? Is there really that big of a black market for Timex’s?
-Being stalked by THAT aunt. And the rest of my family. When the hell did anyone other than my cousins start Facebooking? I definitely knew it was time to get the hell out of dodge when THAT aunt tried to add me. The last thing I need is for her to be calling everyone I’m related to and telling them that my new status is “His and Her’s KY jelly rawked my weekend”. True story and no I will not be discussing it any further. Not here, not privately. I over-shared, as one tends to do on Facebook and Twitter and now my step granmonster knows I’m a KY fan.
-Being stalked by THAT co-worker. I don’t need her calling all the branches and every division and each department telling them I had a KY weekend either. She’s got a big mouth and if you think I over-shared, in the name of narcissism and competition, she will not be outdone and will retell the story every chance she gets, using some escapade involving her psycho husband. And the gym. And the dog. And tightwad Tuesdays. I stop listening when she explains what THAT is. I already know that her step daughter’s nipples point upwards and that her husband likes to stick his dick between her legs (THAT co-worker, not the step daughter... come on, they are born again Christians and so not into that) when she’s sleeping. Ya, she’s like that. Really really.
But the number one reason why I can’t stand these social networking services is that I just don’t care. I don’t care that you took a shit this morning and it felt like it was leaving you sideways. I don’t care that you just posted another set of 200 pictures trying to convince me that your weekend was better than mine. I don’t care that you have over 600 friends because I know it is simply not true.
Honey, allow me to be honest with you, you are lucky if you have 6 real friends.
(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on October 14, 2009.)
There have been two certain, absolute truths that I have learned as an adult:
1. There is no polite way for a lady to eat a banana. Or a Popsicle. 2. People will come and go from your life. Keep the dearest and beloved ones, divorce the spirit killers and time murderers, and always remember the lesson, even if it is “I will never do THAT again.”
The banana has officially joined ranks with the carrot and the cucumber to form the triple crown of sexualized produce. The Popsicle really needs no explanation. I know you and I know you have a vivid, phallic filled imagination. Please play safe and don’t forget to use your tongue… to catch the drips.
And now for an attempt at profundity…
I believe we are all on a path (you can call it fate or your destiny or your karma or your life plan, whatever flips your pancakes) and that every once in a while, people cross that path to teach you something about you and the world you live in. Some of those people stay in your life but I have learned that most will go and only a few are actually the sort of people you would want to keep around.
How do you know if a person is worth keeping around? Chew on this: You wake up in a hotel room in Las Vegas with a dead hooker lying beside you. You are completely unaware of how you got to Las Vegas and how this person ended up in bed, dead, with you. Who do you call? And off that list of people, who would come to your aid with garbage bags, shovels, a road map to nowhere, and absolutely no questions? That tiny list of people is the people in your life that are worth keeping around. I am lucky enough to have a couple of people like that in my life. And I have some garbage bags… just in case!
Spirit killers and time murderers have got go. This is not negotiable and who gives a rat’s ass what the return policy may be. When these types reveal who they really are to you, pay attention to what you are being told and shown. If they look like, behave like, and exist like a drug addicted emotional train wreck, chances are that is exactly what they are. If you feel like you are being lied to or that the story you are being told seems a bit “off”, summon the courage to ask the questions that are written on your heart… and don’t take bullshit for an answer. Pay attention to your intuition, it will never fail you. Learn the lesson that is being served up to you, and then divorce these fungi immediately. They will only suck the life, energy, goodness (and in my own experience, money) out of you and do everything they can to make you feel bad about yourself. They are like trash on Tuesdays… kick that shit to the curb. I know that there is a natural inclination to be nice and have compassion because that is what we were taught as kids. However, just because someone graciously serves up a plate of horse shit to you does not mean you are required to eat it. Any time any person makes you feel less than who you are, and especially when they do it to make themselves feel better, you gotta cut that shit out of your life like its cancer. Your worth should never suffer or be reduce by some loser’s egomaniac bullshit drama. Never.
Then there is the people who fall in between these two groups. The drifters. They drift in and out of your life or their stay in your world is short lived. Sometimes they are friends, sometimes they are lovers, sometimes they are just the person standing in front of you in line at the ATM machine. Cherish the time they spend with you and when they are gone, remember the lessons and joy they brought to your world. Try to understand that as much as you may want to have that person in your life forever, as much as you may want to spend the rest of your days loving that person, your path is unfolding as it should, everything happens for a reason, and you will have to let go. It sucks ass that they are no longer in your world but over the course of time you will come to discover that there is a blessing in having known them at all.
Sooooo, Kells and Sausage… you’ll always be in my soul. Your garbage bags are my garbage bags.
To The Zoo Crew, Ozzie, and Phil… you can respectfully suck a bag of dicks. May you all be forced to listen and watch Susan Boyle for eternity. Sober. And may you have to burn off every ounce of bad karma you ever generated as a mosquito.
To Captain Celery, Happy Belated Birthday and may the sun always shine on your lovely face.
I'm still here But it hasn't been easy I'm sure that you had your reasons I'm scared for this emotion For years I've been holding it down And I Love to forgive and forget So I Try to put all this behind us Just Know that my arms are wide open The older I get, the more that I know.
From "This Boy" by James Morrison (James Morrison, Tim Kellet)
