Facebook, lick my nuts.

December 1, 2008

Okay, so I appreciate facebook in all of it’s super-de-duper communication glory. It is just another page in the book about how our generation is completely incapable of commitment, but whatever, I’m not a hypocrite, I check mine like 30 times a day.

But how unsettling is that newsfeed thing? Let’s get real, if I wanted to know what was going on in everyone’s lives simultaneously, I’d have a big dinner party and ask everyone to talk at once. Here’s the kicker, I don’t care about everyone I’m friends with on facebook. I’m pickier than I am on myspace (don’t ask me why,) but out of the 900 or so people I am “friends” with, I probably only communicate with 10-15 on a regular basis.

Originally in this spot of the post, I had this long shitty sob-fest about this guy I used to like and how newsfeed informed me that he has “added” some friends, who just happen to be friends of mine – I’m just confused as to all they all met (it’s more complicated than I care to explain) but it’s just fucking annoying. He was kind of an asshole. :/

I realize facebook isn’t my best forum. In the realm of digital first impressions, I don’t give the best one. I write snide, often perverse or vulgar, and even cryptic messages to people I’m having passive aggressive feelings towards. This is not what I want new friends to read. I do not want them to spend a solid 5 minutes going through all 230 photos of me, most of them making an unnaturally scary face (I’m not very photogenic), getting a loose outline of my past life, all the parties I’ve been to, and if you look verrrry verrrrry closely, you can spot a few people I made out with once. Fun right?
Not for girls like me.
Girls like me work their asses off to get attention. We’re not the one with the personal trainer or excellent nose job courtesy of their trust funds. We’re the ones that walk into a room, demand attention, and try to make everyone want to be their friend. By everyone, we mean men, because other women find us incredibly intimidating and often call us nasty names. That’s okay, because the women that know that they’re “like us” band together. It’s kind of a nice accidental camaraderie.

I don’t know where I was going with this, but lately I’ve been feeling out of my own mind. I’ve always been a self-professed control freak. I don’t like leaving things up to chance, and I’ve taught myself to have back up plans. I am currently incredibly uncomfortable with where my life is, and sure, I have plenty of plans that I’m going to start soon, but there are only so many slaps in the face I can take. I’m worried that I’m cutting my own achilles tendons before running the race, but part of me thinks that it’s better than losing the race after competing.

In a conversation with a friend earlier, I was able to describe fairly well what I was feeling: “It’s like one of those volcanoes with the baking soda. It just keeps bubbling over.”

And that’s it. I’ve really just continued to bubble over. And nobody’s mom is there to clean up the mess.


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