Facebook sucks.

Jan

2013

Facebook. Facebook sucks. Facebook is designed to fuck you over. Facebook is not your friend. Please read my embarrassing story of Facebook horror as a warning. Do not let this happen to you. Consider this your friendly cautionary tale.

I was seeing this guy. He mentioned early on that he had an ex wife and I was like, “Fine with me, I’m not looking to turn this into anything where that means something.” I didn’t say that out loud though. I’M JUST BEING BREEZY.

Then I killed the breeziness.

On one fateful night, I’m looking at his Facebook profile, like you do, and I saw a photo of him with his ex. He mentioned that they were on friendly terms so I thought, oh, I wonder what she looks like and if we have any friends in common.

So then I started looking at her Facebook profile. Just out of curiosity. It’s not like I was doing anything weird, I was just scrolling and clicking and thinking, “Hmm, nice hair” and just being breezy.

And then I saw something horrifying. Something awful. Something that you never, ever want to see on the Facebook profile of someone whose Facebook profile you don’t want anyone to know you’re looking at.

“Friend request sent.”

Yes. Somehow, without realizing it and without doing it on purpose, I clicked “add friend.”

This was my exact facial expression:

This is a still from the scene in “Rosemary’s Baby” where Rosemary sees her baby for the first time and realizes that it isn’t a human baby, but actually the devil’s baby. Our reaction was exactly the same, down to the hand clasped over the mouth.

Then I screamed. My brother ran in the room and said, “What happened?” I said, “I accidentally added this dude’s ex wife on Facebook.” He said, “That’s not bad.” Then paused and said, “Nah…that’s pretty bad.”

I immediately clicked “unrequest” but I have no idea when I clicked “request” to begin with, so I don’t know if she already saw my request.

I have a theory on how this happened: I think I wanted to see what friends we had in common, and the “friends” box is right above the line that says “Do you know blahbah? If so, send blahblah a friend request” and I must have accidentally clicked “request friend” instead of clicking on friends. Fuck you, Facebook. That’s fucking evil. That’s horrible placement.

So I’m sitting there freaking out. Because now I look like what every 20 something woman of my generation looks like that we want to avoid at all costs: a crazy fucking digital stalker. There was nothing I could do. I could tell him before she told him, but what if she doesn’t see it or what if she saw it but doesn’t tell him? Then I’m volunteering my craziness.

Assuming she saw it, I ran through all of the scenarios.

She saw it.

She saw it, and didn’t care.

She saw it, cared, and clicked on my profile.

She saw it, cared, clicked on my profile, investigated, and saw that we have her ex in common.

She saw it, cared, clicked on my profile, investigated, saw that we have her ex in common, and told her ex.

She saw it, cared, clicked on my profile, investigated, saw that we have her ex in common, told her ex, and he was horrified.

She saw it, cared, clicked on my profile, investigated, saw that we have her ex in common, told her ex, he was horrified, and they killed my family.

But who would do that, right? I’m safe, right? Right?? Right.

A few days later, the guy comes over. We’re just talking about his cat and then, without missing a beat, he says, “My ex wife told me that you added her and unadded her on Facebook.”

This was my exact facial expression:

This is a still from “The Shining” when Jack Nicholson goes crazy and comes after Shelley Duvall with an ax.

This was my exact reaction before I immediately hid my face and did a sort of screechy/laughing/groaning thing while shouting, “Let me explain” and “Oh my God” in a failed attempt to be playful and cute and in an even BIGGER failed attempt to be breezy. I didn’t even TRY to be breezy. I’m just trying to imagine what I must seem to him like now. He must think I’m fucking insane. But it was an honest mistake on my part.

Please, everyone. Learn from my mistakes. Don’t do what I did, or didn’t do. Even though it’s HILARIOUS.

One thing though. I am not posting this piece of writing anywhere on my Facebook page, or my blog’s Facebook page, or on my Twitter. So if either of them see this, that means they willingly read my blog, and that’s all on them. Who’s crazy now, huh????? HUH?? BOOM! Not me. Not me at all. No way, dudes. Not me, I’m BREEEEZZZZYYYYY!

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You.

Jan

2013

You. No, not you. The other you. Maybe.

I would now like to address all of the different Yous. As in, more than one person. As in, this is not all about one person.

You need to stop. This is my fault, I should have been more direct. It’s not going to happen.

You are working on being a better friend, and I really appreciate that. You’re probably the only true guy friend I have left. Even though you did that thing that I will never understand, I can’t use it against you for the rest of our lives. Also, you owe me a drink.

You were my friend and you disappeared and it’s probably because of that thing that happened. Even though we were apparently both fine with it. You’re right in what you said; what I suggested, I didn’t really want. But I do want you to be my friend again.

You seem like you want to become my friend, a real friend. I really liked that conversation we had on my couch. I was touched. But I can’t rely on you to follow up and follow through. I wish you would. But you disappear and you don’t even try.

You probably don’t even read this blog anymore. You meant a lot to me. Still do.

You are actually a wonderful guy friend. I’m so glad that happened. I wish you lived here. If things stay as they are, I accept your invitation for that thing in the spring.

You, I am so angry with you.

You and I talk about having sex, hypothetically, but I don’t know if that’s the best idea. I think you’re just lonely.

You disappeared, but it’s okay. I wasn’t feeling it anymore either. The sex was fantastic. Hope you felt that way too. Sorry your roommate thought I was being murdered. Really glad she didn’t call the police.

You wondered what happened. You pulled a classic Schmosby and honestly, that changed a lot in our dynamic. I still think you’re great though.

You are just confusing as hell, but at least you know it. I hope you know that I do want you in my life. I don’t know how. Glad it isn’t my fault. I’m not going to campaign for myself. You’ve already told me how awesome I am. If you ever figure this out, let me know. There’s no deadline. Just see what happens. There’s something there. Let’s put a pin in it.

You, I forgot to respond to your email. Sorry.

Address all of your Yous in the comment section. Very freeing.

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Fat.

Jan

2013

This was taken around ’07 or ’08 before I dyed my hair dark. I remember when this was taken. I hated my body and thought I was fat, so instead of wearing a bikini and getting in the pool, I’m wearing track pants and posing goofily with a pool net. Being silly was my default. If I looked purposefully goofy then I couldn’t be scrutinized for my appearance. That was a very sad, very sick girl. I am now 10 – 12 pounds heavier than I was in this photo and I wish I looked as “fat” now as I did then. I’m learning every day and trying to be healthy and accept myself. If you have similar issues, please don’t listen to the voice in your head that tells you you’re not good enough. I wasted and missed out on fun because God forbid anyone see me in a bathing suit. NOT WORTH IT. I’m too fabulous. You are too!

(I originally posted this on Instagram and on my Facebook page and it seemed to get a big response, so I thought I would share it here too.)

What I want from men.

Jan

2013

I asked my friend Tony, “Hey Tony. I know this is a big question, but what do guys really want? I know every man is different. But think broadly. What do guys want from a woman? For her to do or not do? You know?”

He said, “It really depends on the guy. And unfortunately, I’m so far off from most guys that I don’t know how well I can answer that.” And then, he asked me, “What do you want out of a boy? For him to do and not do?”

Here’s what I want.

“I want a boy to be honest, but there’s a difference from being honest and being blunt. To be honest is having your actions align with your words.

I like when boys don’t play games. By which I mean this: If you say something, you should mean it. Don’t say something and then do something else. Don’t act one way and then another. That’s a game to me.

I want men to be unafraid of doing new things or of looking silly.

I want men to understand that for you, it’s just a text, but for most women (NOT ALL, MOST, NOT ALL, MOST, UNDERSTAND?) we dissect texts and take them apart and over-interpret them. Similarly, we worry when you don’t text at all. We think, “What have I done wrong?” I guess my point is that, keep in mind that communcation via any medium is important.

I want men to know that we’re way less complicated than you think we are. We just want to know that we’re valued and that we mean something to you. We’re not asking you to marry us, or commit to us immediately, or try to trap you into a relationship. That’s not what I’m saying. We just want to know that you like us. That you recognize we’re people with feelings like yours. It’s always nice to feel appreciated. We know we can go a little overboard with reading into things and seeing signs that aren’t there. But we do it because we feel like you’re not giving us enough. Maybe that’s because men aren’t trained to show emotion. But we like a little emotion.

I want men to know that we hate games too. We really do!!! We don’t want to have to play them. But when we text you and you don’t text back, we suddenly think, oh, now I have to do the whole, let me just disappear thing so he’ll want me again. It doesn’t even matter that it isn’t logical, and in most cases, isn’t even correct (people are busy! people don’t think texting is as important as you do! And so on!) I think that in the same way men are trained not to show emotion, women are trained to try to trap a man. I don’t feel this way. None of my friends do. This is of an older generation. But we’re still faced with books like, “Why Men Love Bitches” and “He’s Just Not That Into You” and suddenly we panic and think, “Well wait, why ISN’T he into me? HOW DO I CHANGE IT??” That’s why there’s an entire industry based on relationship books.

It all comes down to one thing, and it’s one thing that works for both men and women: be kind, be honest, and don’t be a dick.”

(And be hot and good in bed. If not hot, then at least good.)

Men: what do you want from women?

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Priorities.

Dec

2012

(Note: this part of the story happened a few weeks ago). I freaked out when I lost this shirt. I bought it at a store in Sacramento and I went back (not just for the shirt, to see my mom) and I ran in there and said, please tell you still have them, and they said we just sold out, but these are similar, and they showed me a shirt that had different skulls on it, and those skulls looked like lightbulbs, and I was like, are you planning to order more? and they said no, and my world closed in around me, but then my friend Laura said, try calling the Karaoke place, so I did, and they had it, and I said PLEASE HOLD ONTO IT and I dashed over. Yesterday Troy at the apple store called and said, “You left your hard drive here” and I snorted and said, “Okay.”

Then 3 nights ago I was on a JetBlue flight to NYC and my TV was the only one that wasn’t lit up, and the guy said, “Maybe you have bad electromagnetic energy” and I said, “I really hope that isn’t the case, sir” and he said, “It will start once we’re in the air” and then I pointed around me at every single TV showing its JetBlue screen with moving images and said, “Then why are all the others working” and he said, “Just relax” and I said, “No, you don’t understand, my priorities are screwed up, and right now, this little TV is my entire life.”

The TV remained broken so he switched me to a new seat and a few hours later when it was dark I went to the bathroom and got lost on my way back to the seat and do you have any idea how fucking embarrassing it is to forget where you were sitting on an airplane? To walk down that aisle that seems so long with people staring at you, and I’m looking visibly confused and saying out loud, to no one, “Haha oops I forgot where I sat, where was I sitting?” with NO ONE HELPING ME, just STARING AT ME, with their stupid frog-like eyes, it was horrible, I almost fell into a heap crying, “JUMANJI!!!!!”

Anyway, merry Christmas.

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Flaking out on plans.

Dec

2012

We’ve all done it. We’ve all flaked out on someone. And we have our reasons, and some of them are good, and some of them are fake because we don’t actually want to say, “I have diabolical diarrhea.” But at a certain point, we all hit our limits. We say, “I get it, I’m never inviting you to anything again.” So how do we determine when that limit is?

I have some ideas:

1. They cancel, but with plenty of notice, and they have a good reason: they’re sick, or have a family thing. No problem.

2. They cancel, last minute, but it’s because they got into some sort of urgent situation or emergency. No problem.

3. They cancel, because they forgot they had other plans. Uh, okay.

4. They cancel in the sense that they don’t even really let you know until and hour or less before, or they don’t respond until you text something like, “Hey, are you coming?” Dude, not cool.

5. They do all of the above repeatedly. Oh come on, seriously?

6. They say yes to all invitations, sometimes add something like, “I’m so excited!” or “I wouldn’t miss this” but then and do the above repeatedly. STOP SAYING YES TO THINGS, YOU SODDING JERK.

Even more annoying is when they never tell you if they’re coming or not. It’s totally easy, here are your options: yes or no. If you say maybe, I don’t really know what to do with that, unless you explain something like, I have something before and I don’t know when it will be over. It’s not that I’m trying to dictate your plans or be an asshole about the whole thing, I just want to know how much food or drink I should provide or when I should get ready, or if I need to put in a plus one.

You all know who you are. And I know some of you think I’m a flake. But please know that if I don’t go to something, it’s because I am genuinely not feeling well, because I am sick all the time, like a small child in a Dickens novel, or I really do have plans.

Here’s an exception: if that person let’s you know well in advance that they can’t come and is sincerely sorry and is totally honest about their reasons, I wouldn’t give up on them. Who knows the kind of guff they’re dealing with or going through? I once didn’t go to a party because my dress didn’t fit. And neither did the 5 other ones I tried on. True story. Rather than say something like, “Cough cough, I’m sick” I told the truth, as stupid as that truth was, because that’s what you do for your friends.

What do you think?

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Smile through the tears.

Dec

2012

Thank you Invisalign for sponsoring this post. Invisalign, a new alternative to braces, is celebrating 2 Million Smiles (2 million straightened smiles and counting!).

I’ve been on this high school nostalgia binge which is kind of like a McRib binge, and I don’t recommend either one. Now that I’ve done both, I feel a little ill, and am trying to fight off the regret.

I found a photo of me in 8th grade and wanted to go back in time and hug that girl. I’m giving the shiest of smiles, only barely revealing my purple and green braces, which turned out to be the school colors, which made me want to die. I hated every moment of wearing my braces. In my dreams, I can still feel the rough metal scraping the insides of my mouth. I also had to wear headgear at night. I rarely did.

There was this thing out called Invisalign, the new alternative to braces. To date, Invisalign has straightened 2 million smiles and counting. I was not one of them.

Oh, so sad for me, I know, that my parents could afford modern orthodontia for their little girl, but not the one she wanted. But really, braces have a special way of making a young woman feel like the absolute worst of everything ever. It’s hard enough when you don’t look like the typical teenage dream; when my friend asked me, “Do braces get in the way when you give head?” saw my horrified expression, then gracefully tried to retract it with, “Oh, I guess you haven’t…done that yet…yeah me neither” I felt like maybe I didn’t belong in my year, like I accidentally “Big”ed my way into this body, this life, and I was trapped.

Damn you, braces! I wish I had Invisalign. I didn’t. I don’t think my mom believed in it and thought they were too expensive. I don’t know if they were, and now they’re probably more affordable than ever, but you can figure that out for yourself here. So instead, I looked like this:

My BFF Michelle got Invisalign and my mom thought they were great, and was like, oops, sorry, enjoy those braces. So I wore those braces, and I eventually came out the other side. Here I am with my beloved mother (she’s on the left):

I guess what I’m trying to say is, go blonde.

For more information, please visit Invisalign. I was selected for this opportunity as a member of Clever Girls Collective, and the content and opinions expressed here are all my own.

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