I Know My Hooker Name & My Dog Will Be Fine

Social media is complicating my manners.

Do I want to… Farm? Name that 80s tune? Find my hooker name?

Or the threats… I will be watching to see if you repost this; repost this if you care; if you don’t repost this, your dog will die.

And then there are the tags… Don’t you just love it when someone is trying to sell something and posts a link, and then tags seventy of their closest friends? Or how about when someone you barely know, tags you in every baby video they post, and you haven’t even seen them in fifteen years?

Or the cult groups… I keep getting added to a home-based-diet-pill-sales vitamin group marketing thing, so they can sell me weight loss products, or vitamins, or indoctrinate me into their pyramid scheme.

And the faux Happy Birthdays… I finally figured out how to take my birthdate off Facebook this year, and my brother forgot my birthday. Not. Kidding.

What about the relationship status… I really wanted to select “complicated,” but Hubs didn’t think it was as funny as I did, so I picked “married.” For me it was simple; but for some people it’s a good thing there is a drop down menu.

Overall however, I feel like Facebook is sort of like Jim Jones meets Emily Post.

My permanent dream banner… If I want to see your video, I’ll click on it; I don’t repost anything. Ever. If I want to see your baby’s bathtub photos, I’ll peruse your album; stop networking with me, I’m a dead-end; if I want to play Old McDonald, I will choose to do it for myself, I don’t need an invite, and I’ll pick my own neighbors. I don’t know any song names because I am not a detail person. And my hooker name is Tiffany Mayflower. Everyone knows its your first dog’s name and the street you grew up on, duh.

But I’m nice. Usually. So, I just go behind all of the unmannered, social media Complicators, and UN myself from all of the unsolicited joining.

And then I am silently pissed off.

Although, after this blog…

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