the nonsensical musings of a clueless twenty something

The Toxicity of Lace Underwear and Social-isms


Being on Facebook is a lot like dating someone you’re not all that interested in. You put your best face forward, try to appeal to your audience, edit out the unfavorable, and remain witty-esque at all times.

All of this for someone you’re pretty darn sure you’re never going to let touch you.

Don’t sit there in your pretentious little bubble and tell me you don’t take the viewing public into consideration when you update your status or post pictures (Fine. Go ahead. But you’re a liar).

I do.

Actually, typically, when I throw something into the realm of Facebook I’m hoping there’s certain people in the audience. Typically an ex-boyfriend or someone who made my life a living hell at one point or another. It’s like the most passive aggressive way of saying “Look at what you gave up, douche. All of this AND I’m funny. You’re dumb.”

That’s one form of unhealthy Facebook usage. Here’s another one for you.

Females have this unexplainable and morbid need to know information about people who bring zero joy to their life. My ex from Michigan? I could probably tell you how many hairs are on his head from staring at his pictures so frequently (that’s obviously a dramatization but…seriously). When we were together, I stalked his ex-girlfriends so that I could make comparisons on who was more awesome. I got jealous of females that he hadn’t talked to in years and that I had never met. I forfeited my own energy to despise someone of complete irrelevance to my bubble.

If we’re being completely honest (I’ll just assume we are), some of those girls (past and present) are the motivation behind my gym habit. They are the reason I shop at Victoria’s Secret (you think any of that stuff is fun to wear? Please). They are the reason I risk melanoma and spend money on MAC products.

I want to be better than what was before me. Or better than what he left for (did I really just lay all of my crazy insecurities out there in cyberspace? I think I did).

Nevermind the fact that I can diagram a sentence.

Makes total sense.

I’ve talked to my fellow females about this. I know I’m not insane. Either that or we all are…collectively (I’m just going to assume the former).

Why? What is this? Do we have that much expendable energy?

Do you know how many fights have ensued over Facebook related things? How many of my days have gone to complete and total shit because I saw something or read something that hurt? How many assumptions have been made and conclusions drawn about me and my life… from words that I’ve posted?

And then there’s the whole presence of family and coworkers on there now. Cussing, not a good idea. Ghost-face-wastedness with your scantily clad friends? Do…not…post. Posting blogs about whatever the hell you want? Forget about it.

I’m tired. And not just of Facebook. I’m tired of trying to be the 30 different people that my at-times-pretentious self feels the need to be on Facebook.

I don’t even know where it came from. This need for acceptance from people who seriously do.not.matter.

So I’m  out. For now at least. Until I can stop doing…this.

Why am I letting a website affect my mood? Ever?

Stupid. It’s stupid.

 

 

 

 

 

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This entry was published on August 30, 2011 at 7:17 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

One thought on “The Toxicity of Lace Underwear and Social-isms

  1. Try Google+ (plus.google.com). You can post what you want and control who sees what. Be yourself with your family, and a slightly more perfect Amy with your co-workers. But whatever you decide, don’t censor yourself. Censorship is how creativity dies.

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