Facebook, MySpace, and my navel.
Facebook is just like high school all over again, just like someone said. The bullshit drama, the backstabbing, blah blah. It's too boring to get into, but suffice it to say, someone who was a backstabbity little attention-whore bitch twenty years ago still is, and proved it in about five posts.
I have no particular grudge against the majority of people who've befriended me there, but nothing to say to them, either. Yeah, there's a certain weird smugness about how some people's lives turned out - you went to college, you got married, you had kids; that's it? Really? Did you get a tattoo, did you ever make art, did you have lovers, did you live experimentally and communally by choice, did you ever do anything that doesn't fit in one of those neat resume categories? No? How sad - but by and large, I just have no more in common with them now than I did then. The difference is that I don't really care. Retreating to Normal isn't an option, and I've come not only to accept that but embrace it. Not as a "How Weird and Different Can I Be" thing, but just that I'm not mainstream and never will be, and that's OK. It may even be important.
It's also entirely too public. Anyone who finds me on MySpace or here has been directed here, invited to see what I'm not showing everyone. I'm assuming you can handle it - or not - in a mature manner. Not so with Facebook. My real name's on there, leading to my family, and while I may deal with questions and hostility towards my religion, politics, and orientation with either reasoned discussion or a big, fat flipping off, it isn't fair for my other family to have to deal with some crap some little shit-disturber digs up on Facebook.
Such as the promised pics of my navel, which did not appear because the Spouse and I couldn't make them come out. I am too pasty. It looked like a personnel access hatch* in the snow. Sadness.
*manhole.
I have no particular grudge against the majority of people who've befriended me there, but nothing to say to them, either. Yeah, there's a certain weird smugness about how some people's lives turned out - you went to college, you got married, you had kids; that's it? Really? Did you get a tattoo, did you ever make art, did you have lovers, did you live experimentally and communally by choice, did you ever do anything that doesn't fit in one of those neat resume categories? No? How sad - but by and large, I just have no more in common with them now than I did then. The difference is that I don't really care. Retreating to Normal isn't an option, and I've come not only to accept that but embrace it. Not as a "How Weird and Different Can I Be" thing, but just that I'm not mainstream and never will be, and that's OK. It may even be important.
It's also entirely too public. Anyone who finds me on MySpace or here has been directed here, invited to see what I'm not showing everyone. I'm assuming you can handle it - or not - in a mature manner. Not so with Facebook. My real name's on there, leading to my family, and while I may deal with questions and hostility towards my religion, politics, and orientation with either reasoned discussion or a big, fat flipping off, it isn't fair for my other family to have to deal with some crap some little shit-disturber digs up on Facebook.
Such as the promised pics of my navel, which did not appear because the Spouse and I couldn't make them come out. I am too pasty. It looked like a personnel access hatch* in the snow. Sadness.
*manhole.