WAYT: I’m onto your mind games, social media!

I’ve been gone from this site for so long, it’s almost laughable that I’m writing now.  As usual, the naysayer Devil on my shoulder is cackling about it because he thinks no one has missed me.  It’s hard not to believe that he’s right, but I feel fairly certain that there are enough people who used to read this blog that surely they’ll be glad I’m back. 

And that is my problem these days.  Between Facebook, Twitter and the hits and comments on my blog pages, I seem to think that everyone is my friend.  Maybe I spend too much time conversing with the Devil on my shoulder exclusively, or maybe people are really my friends. 

I’ll never know, because Facebook, Twitter and comments are so faceless and without value, that in my heart of hearts, I know it’s all superficial.  It’s not real friendship.  (But is it????)

Case in point: I feel like I am best friends forever with Jack Morrissey and Sylvain Reynard.  Jack Morrissey is Bill Condon’s main squeeze.  Yes, you read that right – Bill Condon, as in, major Hollywood film director.  Sylvain Reynard is the millionaire author of these books that I totally love (read about it here and here).  I’ve exchanged tweets and/or Facebook messages and comments with these two totally awesome, mega-rich and greatly beloved people and if anyone asked me, I’d tell everyone all about those tiny few words we’ve shared. 

Because social media wants me to think they’re my best friends.  Social media wants me to believe that these interactions make me someone special to these people who are so much larger in life than little old me. 

But really, are SR and Jack telling their friends, “Oh my gosh, this chick Kayla from Illinois tweeted me and I totally wrote her back and now we’re best friends because I love her Facebook profile picture!”?  The answer is no.  I need to get some perspective.  (But really, if you’re my Facebook friend, I don’t know how you can’t LOVE my profile picture.)

Except the sad thing is that I’m totally addicted to social media for that exact reason: I think they’re my friends and I want to keep that connection alive. 

Today, I curse myself and whatever I must be thinking, setting myself up for a sad, empty life with no tweets and no notification on my Facebook homepage from these celebrities and important people.  I also curse myself for hoping that they’ll read this and remember that one time we were BFF because Facebook and Twitter brought us together for one magical moment, and I want us to hold hands and sit around the warm campfire of our shared interests once more. 

“It’s all so laughable,” the Devil reminds me, so that I never forget.  Curse him to Hell!

"Like" This!

I just read this article.  What are these people thinking??  What is the world coming to?? 

This article, as circulated by the Associated Press, absolutely horrifies me.  It says that some employers, while interviewing prospective employees, turn to the person they are interviewing and ask them either to give over their Facebook password or log in to the site at that moment so that the interviewer can view the interviewee’s Facebook activities. 

I don’t know about you, but I feel that Facebook is private.  I understand if your employer doesn’t want you complaining about how much you hate your job or how incompetent your boss is, but that’s your right as provided by the United States Constitution.  If your employer wants you not to name them by name in any way on your page or in your posts, they can ask you to do that, and I don’t object to that.  A simple “my job sucks” will update your friends about how your life is going without implicating the culprits regardless of any non-disclosure agreements. 

But for an employer to expect to receive your password or to have access to your private messages to your friends and family is a violation of your rights!  I love that the gentleman who is the focus of this article said NO.  He should say no, and lawyers and constitutional rights activists everywhere should fight for the answer to be no nationwide. 

Is there nothing that is sacred anymore?

I use Facebook to post my status, follow causes, track celebrities and to keep up with my friends.  Granted, I hardly ever see any of my Facebook friends in real life, but I still feel that they are my friends.  I talk about Facebook happenings around the dinner table.  Facebook helps me share pictures and videos of Auggie.  Bragging about my kid is one of my main interests and Facebook helps me do that 24-7-365.  None of this is earth-shattering.  None of this should affect my potential employability. 

I think what bothers me the most here is someone asking for your password.  If you want to give away the keys to the kingdom, give out your Facebook password.  I would estimate that 95% of all Facebook users have the same password for their email and Facebook accounts, and probably their online banking and credit card statements, etc., etc.  (Why don’t you just make your password “hellohackers” and call it a day?)  Anyway, the point is, giving someone your password is something you should never do.  I’ll be honest, I may be married to the guy, but I don’t know any of Frank’s passwords.  I’ll be damned if his boss gets to know it and I don’t!

There are plenty of people out there who conduct themselves in ways that are wholly inappropriate and that carries over into their life on Facebook.  There are also just as many people out there who are boring – I’m one of them.  I’m not doing anything on Facebook that would shock or scandalize anyone.  But that doesn’t mean that I want anyone logging into my Facebook account.  And you shouldn’t either. 

You should read that article up there and speak up about it.  This practice is wrong and these employers need to be taken to task!  What better way to call them out than to raise a big fuss about it on Facebook?  Since they don’t have our passwords, they’ll never see the tide coming back in on them!

WAYT: Chick hits

We women don’t do ourselves any favors.  What are we thinking?  Poor attitudes will be our ruination.

Historically, there have been books, movies, works of art, catch phrases, etc. ad infinitum about how women are so confusing.  It must be because we’re given so many messages throughout our lives about how we’re expected to act that when it’s all said and done, there’s no clear right or wrong.  We’re left to make it all up as we go along and sometimes it gets ugly. 

I would not (read: cannot) classify myself as someone who has a lot of friends.  This has always been the case for me.  Sure, when I was young, I had friends (still have a few today, SW and AW in particular).  I think the reason for that is because when we were young we were nice because we hadn’t honed our skills at meanness.  Learning to share (or not) was simply cutting our baby teeth, so to speak.  It’s when you start to learn more about yourself that you begin to see differences in others. 

Many people look at me and see things they don’t like.  Some people don’t like me because I’m thin, because they think I’m mouthy, and sometimes, simply because I exist.  Most often, the reason that others dislike me is the fact that I don’t care whether they like me or not.  Others read my indifference as a superiority complex.  I’ll admit to that, in a way – read on. 

I spent many years torturing myself because I didn’t have friends and I couldn’t manage to keep the few I thought were the best.  And then I realized that I had to learn to like myself if I wanted to attract people who could like me in return, lumps and all.  So I spent many years trying to find ways to like myself.  Eventually, I gave up.  I realized that being yourself should be effortless.  If you have to defend yourself and explain away your idiosyncrasies, you’re not being you.  I stopped and I was still and now I’m me.  So while I may come across as seeming “superior,” truly what I feel is “self-assured.”  I’m not afraid of me and that grates on people, especially those who aren’t okay with themselves. 

I’m constantly repaid for my years of effort with the venom of other women.  (Men typically could care less about women and our drama, unless they’re the men who (mercifully) chose to attach their lives to ours.  God bless you, Frank Arnolts.)  If I choose my husband over a female friend, I’m clingy.  If I choose my baby, I’m overprotective.  If I choose anything over another woman, I am not a faithful friend.  Lots of women believe that we owe one another unbreakable solidarity due to the common denominator of our chromosomes; I think that’s ridiculous.  Many women are very high-maintenance and require constant reassurance, especially from other women; I think that’s ridiculous. 

In my experience, most women respond to any perceived slight with something passive-aggressive.  The phrase “just kidding” is a prime example.  There’s rarely a conflicted moment in the history of the world that passed between two women when one of them got their feelings hurt and didn’t feel a need to dig back when it was past the time for recriminations.  It’s the trademark of our gender.  I try so hard to squash that behavior.  I’m not to the “typical” girl.  If you want gushy affection, look elsewhere.  If you want sappy pity, I mete it out sparingly.  Life is tough enough without acting foolishly and playing silly games. 

As a species, we’re doing ourselves a disservice.  This is why we’re considered weaker.  We let our emotions get involved when the majority of the time it’s not warranted.  We should really take lessons from the boys and wear a stiff upper lip.  Sure, constantly reminding myself that I don’t care is annoying, but it saves me a lot of wasted effort trying to talk rationally to an irrational woman.  I stick to what I believe in and I don’t cater to the insecurities of others.  We’re all wasting our time if we can’t find it within ourselves to see things clearly and honestly.

I know that I’m not perfect.  Many times, I’ve succumbed to this behavior that I despise.  But knowing myself means admitting my faults and owning my weaknesses.  I’m getting better and better at saying sorry and swallowing down that selfish pride that makes me want to bite back.  What about you?

This post isn’t inspired by a specific person or thing, so I’m not trying to do the “passive-aggressive social media sidestep” here.  I’m simply telling you, my readers, about my experiences in life.  I’m sure there are people who know me that will read this and practically roll their eyes out of their sockets and then get mad at me for secretly writing about them.  For the record, that is not the case today.