Could you maybe just…not?

Guy I Dated for a Minute and I have mutual Facebook friends, but aren’t friends ourselves. I last saw him at a holiday party last year. We were friendly but didn’t talk much, and haven’t communicated since. Today he “liked” two of my comments — about a local bagel shop — on a friend’s post.

What in the schmeared fuck am I supposed to do with that? Stop being weird! I’m finally OK about you using me for sex and then ghosting on me because I am bad in bed or somehow otherwise boring or underwhelming… OH WAIT. See that? No, I’m not — I had just successfully buried it like a proper Irish girl should. Could you just stop being weird, then?

(Logically I know that’s not what he meant to do, and he’s probably at least half decent because my friends aren’t friends with assholes, and he just tweaked something in my pre-existing condition, and I’m glad I’m in therapy.)

To all the men I’ve blown before…

I’m not sure how I continue to be surprised at the appalling things my family will like and share on Facebook.

My father just shared a fucking Monica Lewinsky joke about all this Nike ad nonsense, and here’s what really chaps my ass — the joke wasn’t even FUNNY. (“Believe in something, even if it means swallowing everything. Just do it.” HA HA HA HA, OH WAIT, NO, that is actually a shitty joke.)

Dad, you and I are about to have a conversation about all the miscellaneous dicks I had in MY mouth at age 22, and how maybe I’d love to not be judged for it decades later and pulled into TOTALLY UNRELATED ISSUES, because the dudes were complete morons. I didn’t even have the self-esteem to AIM for the president — I was jocking my manager at a Blockbuster Video in Jersey, getting finger-banged in the candy closet. (To this day, if I see a box of Sno-Caps, I get MOIST.)

Also, just…fucking EW! I’m your daughter, and you have nieces and grandchildren! I know you’re a dude and all, but CHRIST!

It’s possible I need to lay off Facebook for a while. Or just mute my own goddamn father. Again.

Unfriending the Crazy

Today my psychiatrist advised me to stop consuming so much news and social media.

You heard it here, y’all — modern life is insane-making.

(Also, yes, I’m aware I’m posting this ON social media. Um…it’s a process?)

You can just fuck right the hell off, actually.

This was Facebook’s suggested post for me today, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m-a go find me a window to jump out of. Not because I’m dying alone, I’m fine with that, but because this bullshit exists.

Capture

Dude…NO.

Maybe 2 years ago I deleted a college classmate from Facebook because we’d never really talked other than that time he man-splained cell phone plans to me. I get enough of that shit from the men (and women) in my family, thanks. Boy, bye.

I think today is the…third (fourth?) time since then he’s sent me a new friend request. And once there was a direct message asking where I’d gone.

The first few times I denied his request, I felt kinda mean, because “It’s just Facebook,” but now…nah. I feel pretty OK about this choice. And about blocking him so he can’t do it again.

At the very least, the palate of my vagina is cleansed.

I accidentally saw something fucking AWFUL in Facebook’s “trending” news sidebar, and felt pretty close to either crying or throwing up at my desk.

I took a few minutes to breathe, then went online in pursuit of a palate cleanser. I put #Scandal on Netflix out of habit, just for background noise to finish out the workday, but didn’t realize which episode I’d left off at.

Y’all? Never underestimate the healing power of Marcus and Mellie bangin’ on a desk. 

(The other thing will likely still roam the halls of my brain for a couple days, but #MellieBelly does help.)

 

The rare and elusive Stage 6 clinger.

In 2013 after my breakup, I had a Year of Poor Life Choices. I dated before I was ready, tried to get over my ex, tried to get over the OTHER guy I’d developed a crush on. It turned into a few “relationships” that crashed and burned fairly spectacularly.

One was a friend of my sister’s, and I’m not proud of this, but I ghosted on him. We went on three dates before I realized we had NOTHING in common*, and I TRIED to be an adult and tell him I wasn’t ready to be dating. He asked if we could be friends and I said “sure,” because that’s what you SAY, but you both know you’re not going to be friends — or at least *I* knew.

Eventually I blocked his number and deleted him from Facebook because I am a coward. That was probably the summer of 2014.

THIS MORNING I got a Facebook message from him: “Hey Smug, tour name popped up on my phone so figured I’d say hi….Helloooo. How’s life treating you?”

It’s probably true he saw my name somehow since we still have mutual Facebook friends. But, like… Is there a Clinger beyond Stage 5?**

* When I say “nothing in common,” I mean I went to his Facebook page and he’s now an “all lives matter,” flag-fapping Trumpublican, and I am…NOT those things.

** I feel bad, he’s a “nice guy,” but…no. You are a reminder of a terrible time in my life. That’s not your fault, but it does mean you can’t exist in my world.

Fuzzy Wuzzy was unaware

A Facebook friend posted about how silly she was for being eager to get her period when she was around 11, and her male friend said, “Yeah, for men it’s shaving — when we were kids, we couldn’t wait to grow facial hair, but it’s such a hassle.”

Oh. Oh, honey…

*clasps hands*

Putting aside the non-visible symptoms of menstruation — bloating, cramps, irritability, etc…

What, pray, happens if you don’t shave for a week? You get fuzzier, no? Perhaps you get a little squirrely, maybe you need a trim?

But I’m gonna GUESS that if you just ignore that “hassle” for a week, and take no action whatsoever, you can probably still be seen in public.

Lemme just TRY to ignore my period for a week, to take no action, and go to work. Or on a date. Grocery shopping. The gym. Does that sound like a LITTLE more of a “hassle?”

Your wanton erections are probably a closer comparison. Or maybe if once a week your dick just leaked ejaculate for 5-10 days straight? Or, you know, if it just…bled?

Run along, sir. You’re needed at the Faulty Metaphor Factory.