“What Do You Mean, You’re Not on Facebook Anymore?”

About two months ago, I was sitting at home scrolling through my Facebook feed, and I just thought, “Ugh. I hate this. Why am I here?” I clicked off the page, started looking at something else, and not five minutes later found myself back on Facebook, looking at the same crap I had just looked at (and chided myself for doing so) again. That’s when it hit me: I’m kind of over Facebook. Like, totally. Over it. All of it –  the fake bragging. The passive aggressive posts. The potty training updates. The rage-inducing politics. The duck-faced selfies. The “Doesn’t-This-Recipe-Look-Amazing-OMG” posts that TOTALLY BELONG ON PINTEREST HOLY CRAP PEOPLE GET YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA STRAIGHT BEFORE I SMACK YOU.

So I went to my settings page, I found the button that said ‘deactivate profile’, I took a deep breath, and I clicked it.

And I never looked back. And then I braced myself for the inquisition.

“Wait, you just deleted it? Just like that?”

No, I didn’t delete my profile. I deactivated it. It’s still there, somewhere, with all my pictures and oh-so-witty-status updates and such, it’s just not active. People that I was friends with on Facebook can no longer see me. If I choose to reactivate it at any time, all I have to do is log in, and I’ll show back up in everyone’s newsfeed again. (Shrewd, Zuckerberg). I don’t think I’ll ever delete the profile, I just won’t be active on Facebook for a while.

“Woah. But…why? What made you do it?”

Eh, I realized I was spending too much time on a site that just truly annoyed me more than anything, and WHY would anyone do that to themselves? There’s more to it than that, but it’s a little personal and I don’t want to get into it here.

“Oh. Was it me? Did I post something that annoyed you?”

No. Absolutely not. It wasn’t any one thing that made me do it, just a myriad of annoyances.

“Well, you know you *can* block people from your feed, and block certain people from seeing everything you post…”

Yes, I do know this. I have taken advantage of those functions on more than one occasion, believe me. But like I said, it wasn’t just one post, or one person. It was the whole experience. Plus I’m really not a fan of how integrated Facebook has gotten into everyday life. There’s just SOME things I shouldn’t need to “Connect to Facebook” for. Believe me, no one on Facebook cares what I’m buying from Old Navy, or what I’m looking at on BuzzFeed.

“You’re much stronger than me! Have you ‘cheated’ at all?”

Twice. Once about a week or so after I deactivated the account, to see if Facebook wasn’t as annoying as I thought it was and if I made too hasty of a decision (nope, still annoying). The second was about two weeks ago, I wanted an old picture that was on there. I still didn’t miss it.

“Do you think you’ll come back?”

Some day, probably. Maybe around the holidays. Maybe sometime next year. I’m not sure. I am sure, however, that I’ll do it differently next time around. Less lingering, less profile creeping, less…everything. I needed to go cold turkey first, then I can think about occasional use.

“Okay. But I miss you.”

And I miss you, too! I know not everyone posts everything everywhere and I know I miss stuff and I’m sorry. I’m hoping in the long run this will only serve to make my real life interactions with friends more meaningful. It’s not like I’ve deleted myself from the internet. You can follow me on Twitter and tumblr and my Pinterest is kind of amazing, not gonna lie. Plus there’s  my blog and Flickr and Instagram and I’m still on Google+!

“Wait, Google+? What’s THAT??” 

Um…

Blogging To My 16 Year-Old Self.

I usually don’t pay attention to the memes that circulate around Twitter — 9 times out of 10 they’re childish and annoying. Today, however, I saw one circulate that I actually participated in; the ‘Tweet yourself at age 16’ meme. I only tweeted twice with the tag, but it made me think about what else I would say to myself at that age. 

Dear Me at age 16;
First off, honey, stop being such a bitch to Mom. She ends up being your best friend, and the one person in the entire world who will put up with all your shit and still love you the next day. Secondly, do some damn homework. Study. Consider Penn State, but maybe take a year off first to grow the hell up. Travel when you can. Learn to speak Spanish. Take pictures. Fall the fuck in love. But not with him, because he just used you to get over her. 
Don’t waste your tears. 
Be reckless. Be wild. Enjoy your youth. Don’t be so concerned with being the good girl. Make friends, but be careful who you trust.
Tell Grandma you love her, a lot. 
Credit cards are a bad idea before you get a real job. As are denim overalls in 1997. 
Stop perming your hair. It’s gorgeous. 
And so are you. 
Love, 
You at age 35
 

Drunken Quotes (And Tweets and Facebook Statuses) From Last Night

Before Dinner, 5 PM

Me via FB: Dinner tonight at the Melting Pot, tomorrow at Cactus Blue. Saving money, I’m doing it wrong.

Cheryl via FB: Dinner at the melting pot 🙂

7PM

Me via Twitter: No tables at the Melting pot until 9 w/out a res. Bar service it is, I want fondue.

7:45 PM

Me, to Cheryl: mmmm, this wine is good.

Me via Twitter: Mmmmm, Gerwurztraminer.

8:00 PM

Cheryl, to me: That was good, but I’m still hungry. And those martinis look fantastic.

Me: NO MORE DRINKS. We’ll stop at McDonald’s or something, get you something to sober up.

Cheryl: OOOH, FRENCH FRIES!

Me: Yes, we’ll get you some french fries.

Cheryl: I want some onion rings. Like the beer battered kind. Not those breaded shits I can buy in the store. Seriously, fuck those kind.

Me via FB:
BTW, Cheryl on two glasses of White Zin? Hilarioussss. (Also seen here.)

Me: I don’t feel like going home yet, it’s early.

Cheryl: Me, either.

Me: OOH! We should go to the Sands!

Cheryl: OKAY!

8:30. PM

Upon leaving the restaurant, we pass a small cafe that has closed for the evening with their menu posted on the window.

Cheryl: QUESADILLAS!

Me, via Twitter: Heading to The Sands with drunk bitch in tow.

And it all goes downhill from there. There was gambling, boobs, creepers, fantastic Irish coffee, and humping of dessert products. And because of facebook and Twitter, it’s all been recorded for internet posterity.

Thanks, social media.

If this post doesn’t gross you out, we could totally hang.

On Monday I woke up with a scratchy throat and some post-nasal drip. I immediately went into denial mode and decided to (not so smartly) ignore my symptoms. Thinking it was just an allergy attack, I took a Zyrtec at work and hoped that they would simply go away. I went through work all day sniffling here and there and blowing my nose inappropriately in front of patients (mad public relations skills, I has them). I got home and started to get ready to go out. Some old friends from high school and I had planned on going to dinner then hitting Musikfest in Bethlehem (I’ll talk about the ‘fest another day, promise; it deserves its own entry.), and by the time I got home, I was just. Not. Having it. I did the shitty friend thing and called about an hour before our scheduled meeting time, apologized profusely to my friend K and promised to make it up to her. I ordered some pork with broccoli and chicken rice soup from China Fun, took some Benadryl and collapsed on the couch to watch whatever I’d collected on the DVR last week.

And then I didn’t move for 24 hours.

I’m not normally one to call out of work, but when you barely sleep through the night due to coughing and hacking and expelling phlegm through your nostrils (oh hush, like you don’t do it too), the prospect of things like taking a shower and going to work leads to moaning and grumbling and saying ‘Fuck it, I’m calling out’. So I did. Tuesday I laid on the couch, watched endless hours of Food Network and read some pretty bad yet ridiculously addictive Young Adult fiction. I barely touched any food, drank Pink Lemonade flavor Kool-Aid (Oh, YEAH!), and did not shower. I’m grateful I couldn’t smell myself, because. Whew. I took some NyQuil and slept on the couch for the second night in a row, which is a necessity for me when I’m sick.

This morning I woke up saying DO NOT WANT and “mphrmpfFUCKTHISSHITALRIGHTI’LLGO”, got around and (grudgingly) went to work. At work I self-medicated with some Sudafed and Mucinex (drink a whole glass of water with that, or else it won’t work), and started feeling better by lunch time. I know this because I started to eat anything that wasn’t nailed down. That whole feed a cold thing, you know.

So now I’m snuggled on the couch with a bowl of chicken soup and Mad Men on DVD, hoping I’m deloused by the weekend, or there will be hell to pay. I’ve got ‘Festing to do!

Twitter, Best of Edition.

I’m sorry, but I’m a very funny person. You obviously know this already, since you’re reading my blog and all, but I figure you need some more proof. So here’s my greatest Twitter hits from the past week…or so.

Upon arriving home for the weekend…
Hey Friday at 5pm. Let’s make out. I’ll even let you get to second base.

Upon catching a bit of Star Wars on TV Saturday night, in the space of about five minutes…
Los Eisley space port. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villiany. We must be cautious.

You don’t need to see his identification.

These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.

Fast ship? You’ve never heard of the Millennium Falcon?

She’s the ship that made the Kessel run in under twelve parsecs. She’s fast enough for you, old man.

FYI that exact same thing happens every time I watch Jaws, except about ten times worse. (It’s true.)

On Sunday:
In honor of March 8th, I’m taking all the Christmas music off my iPod. It made me feel accomplished for the weekend.

Spending Sunday worshiping at the Church(es) of Her Holy Home Maintenance, Repair, and Remodeling. Another trip to Lowe’s and Home Depot with Mom and Dad, in which I accomplished exactly squat.

During the week last week:

I was a good girl and had salad for lunch. I believe that warrants a hot dog and a fountain vanilla coke from Greasy Dick’s.
Heh. Greasy Dick’s. Heh.

New iPod Shuffle holds 4 fucking gigs, can fucking TALK, for 79 fucking dollars. Think a trip to the Apple store is in order.

Make that the fucking Apple store. Abso-fucking-lutely.

Comcast, we need to talk about those new uber-creepy ‘Comcast Town’ commercials. Gah.

Chandra Wilson is so the only reason I’m still watching Grey’s Anatomy. Well. That, and Eric Dane’s jawline.
For reals, yo.

Friday again:
This has been the kind of day that only a giant Reese’s peanut butter egg can fix. Guess what I just found at Walgreens? NOMNOMNOM

While watching Dollhouse:
Tahmoh Penikett needs to be more naked on this show. #dollhouse

Saturday A.M.:
My left eye keeps twitching. I think it’s because my kitchen and living room are filthy. So there’s my job for today.

A stern warning:
@flapjackjames Tyler Florence is MINE. BACK OFF, WOMAN.

Needz moar procraztinashun plz kthxbai:
Oh dear lord in heaven, Season 3 of Buffy is on Hulu.

Winding down, now…on Sunday:
Area ‘classic rock’ radio station now playing Nirvana. There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. I. Am. Old. #fuckyouclearchannel No, seriously. Fuck you.

And just today:

Is organic instant oatmeal oxymoronic? Either way, it’s damn tasty.

You’re very cute and I get the ‘look’ you’re going for. But I’m pretty sure if those fake dog tags had a name on them it’d be ‘Douchebag’

See? Comedy gold, in 140 characters or less.

If you’re on Twitter, you should totally follow me. And if you’re not on Twitter, you should be.