Social Media & Substance Abuse

Actually, this is more like Twitter vs Facebook. One is marijuana and the other, crack. Both are addictive as hell (yeah, yeah, I know pot isn't habit forming, just go with me on this), completely unnecessary, and both are relatively HUGE time-sucks, however, which one is worse?

I vote Twitter as the least of the evils in this particular drug den and here's why: 
Facebook is great for catching up quickly with someone you might not have seen in a few weeks or *ahem* twenty years, it has some decent games, live chat, almost unlimited characters for posts, email notification, photo albums, etc...but, that's my fucking point. It's too much. You can log on on a Sunday evening with the intention of "just hopping on for a minute to harvest my crops" and before you know it, it's next Saturday and your cat is dead because you forgot to feed it. God forbid you're responsible for the care and keeping of live people in your home. (Don't scoff, it fucking happens.)

Not only that, but everyone's turned to FB as the end all be all in communication. If you're not on FB, you're out of the loop. Everything from your friend's pregnancy announcement to their ninety-eight year old grandfather's obituary is posted there. Someone having a party? Don't expect an actual invitation or phone call. Someone in the hospital who needs prayer? Hell if you know! If you're not on Facebook you may as well not exist. Shit, you might as well just move to the Gateway to Death Valley and call it quits. Better yet, tidy up your affairs and mark your calendar for the next comet and make sure you've bought your ticket and have plenty of pudding.

Sound bitter, do I? Maybe a smidge. I mean, I'm not hard to get a hold of. I have a phone. I answer it. If for some unfathomable reason I don't, leave a fucking message. Call me eccentric, but I believe if what someone has to say is important enough, it'll warrant a live person saying it. Another thing I hate is that FB tells me to reconnect with people...Out of all the people on our friends lists, it told The VoR to reconnect with me. We speak to each other every fucking day of the week. Well, maybe not every Saturday, but still... Then FB told me to reconnect with H once. I looked over at him sitting on the sofa watching TV with the Minions and said "Hey, wanna go reconnect after Modern Family?"  I mean, really...WTF?! Is FB trying to aid our marriage? We live together for Christ's sake! We even have that stupid application in our bios that say we're married to each other so FB knows he's my husband! 


I just think Facebook has devalued us as living, breathing, physical creatures and encouraged us to become indolent and dependent on technology for socialization much like a dope dealer would have us depending on the drug he sells. And I say us because after being incessantly whined at by people saying, "come on, everyone's doing it" like three year olds who want a snack, I, too, have succumbed to the peer pressure of joining that online community. However, I can quit at anytime. I swear.


Twitter, on the other hand, is basically just a means for people to shout out a quick blurb, which are typically funny as hell, not a forum to document your entire life and keep track of others' or to study the intricacies of agriculture or how to be the best mob boss around. Most of the folks on Twitter work their behinds off to tweet stuff that will make their followers laugh and who doesn't like to laugh? But here's the thing, you know that annoying feeling or sense of duty that has you spending your precious time off replying to every damned person's status update on FB? Well, it doesn't exist on Twitter! How cool is that? You can comment on a tweet or re-tweet it if you choose to do so, but if not, no one cares! 


One other plus with Twitter is that you get to hear from some of those people you thought had fallen off the face of the earth, like Wil Wheton and Steven Weber. They didn't disappear, they're on Twitter! Plus you can be kept up to date by all your favorite companies, too. Twitter still allows you to make friends and build a following (because you're actually friends with the 537 people on your FB "friends list", right?), post web links, pictures and videos as well, but on the whole, it's far less detrimental to the health of your cat. 


So will it be crack or marijuana? Personally, give me the weed...I like to laugh. And even though it's not always convenient and may sound a little too much like the pot calling the kettle black, it's my opinion that the people who love you would still much rather hear the sound of your voice than see how well you can type.


I'm going to wrap it up with this...Twitter isn't meant to get the really important stuff out there and in my opinion, neither should FB...
Some of you may remember that time I posted a picture of my IV to FB, which I'll admit was unintentional...I was bored in the ER and only meant to post it Twitter, not start a panic the scope and scale of a global pandemic on FB, and I apologize to everyone I freaked out and appreciate their concern and comments wanting to know what was going on and if I was okay. But the one I dug the most? I quote: 
"Feeling better? Any results? Forget it I'll call." 

How I Reclaimed My Virginity

A fellow Tweeter tweeted something tonight that prompted this post.

He said, "Someone stole my virginity."

I replied with, "I've reclaimed mine."

Then he asked, "Was it in the lost in found?"

No. It wasn't in the lost and found. Toast's husband had it.

See, here's what happened...

Against everyone's better judgement (I had none and had to rely on others for guidance, which I seldom listened to anyway), Toast's ex and I were kind of an item back in the days of my misspent youth, not that I'm watching my pennies very closely nowadays, but whatever. I thought he was the cat's meow (antiquated, or, making the best phrase revival EVER since Booyah? Which I hear is making a big comeback by the way...), everyone else thought he was a douche. Anyway, tragically long story short, I wasted five years of my sex life with him. (By the way, he doesn't even deserve one of the AAAs - alias, acronym, or abbreviation.)

Fast forward however many years...I really didn't keep track of how long it was before Toast and her now ex-husband got together. She and I weren't talking at the time due to some childish bullshit and misunderstanding, but I ran into --- one day at the beach and he told me they were together. What did I do upon hearing this information? Damned right I did...I threatened his fucking life if he ever hurt her.

Why? Because even though we hadn't spoken word one to each other for more than a year, I LOVE Toast. She's a part of me. And I knew him. She did, too, but we both gave he-who-is-undeserving-of-AAA the benefit of the doubt in thinking that maybe people can change. FAIL. Well, I take that back. From what I understand, they were pretty happy together for a few years, buuuut then, sadly, the inevitable happened. He fell of the fidelity wagon.

Obviously, since I previously stated that he's her ex, they got a divorce. And since we'd kissed and made up many years prior to that divorce (actually, even prior to their wedding), Toast gave me the green light to kick his ass. And believe me, I could totally take him (C'mon Toast, back me up here...I could, huh? Hey, remember that fight we got into down in TJ? Good times...) but, neither of us really wanted to waste any more of our time or effort on him (ironic that I'm writing a blog about the fucker, huh?) so I didn't hunt his weasel ass down.

Anyway, seeing as how I had threatened him physically years beforehand and was completely prepared to throw down if I ever saw him (still am, too, so bring it, you AAAless fuck) and simply because I rock, Toast and I decided, separately, that we'd take back what was ours in the divorce. I got my virginity, Toast got her pride, dignity, self-esteem, and, well, she essentially got her life back.

And that, in a nutshell, is why I say that I'm a virgin.

(Oh, by the way, Toast didn't get her virginity back in the divorce. If she wants it, she'll have to pay a visit to my cousin, D ... ;-p)

What's In a Name?

Well, quite a bit actually. And in my case, almost 15 years of wedded bliss.

I'm asked about this a lot so here's the story. I became His Lobster on Thursday February 1st, 1996. That was the original air date for the FRIENDS episode in which Phoebe explains her theory that Rachel is Ross' "Lobster". H and I had been married less than a month (after having only been dating for roughly 3 months, but that is an entirely different Blog story that I may or may not get to writing) when we sat down to watch our ritual Thursday night TV and we both felt as if Phoebe's theory applied to us. I know, but gimme a fuckin' break, we were but wee kidlets at the time...

Anyhoo, flash forward two weeks. Come on, I know you can do it. Math it out... Bingo. Valentine's Day. And it would be our first. Ever. Remember when I mentioned H and I had only been married a month or so after only dating for three? Yeah, well, little did I know it at the time, but H doesn't believe in Valentine's Day. He does make a good point though, calling it a travesty of a holiday, making women feel desperate and men feel obligated and ultimately, it just being Hallmark's way of lining its already overflowing wallet. But it might not have been a bad idea, per se, to stuff those acidic sentiments down deep and just suck it up this one time. You know, for his bride's sake. Or his marriage's. Or his dick's. So, what happened? Well, I'll tell you. Not a goddamned thing. Oh, I bought him a gift and planned a nice dinner, which he ate, but I got shit. Well, aside from H's aforementioned acidic sentiments about Cupid's holiday.

I'm not gonna get into details here, but suffice it to say that Newlywed Wars ensued. While in bed, H audibly wondered if he'd made the biggest mistake of his life and fought down his rising gorge at the thought, I cried myself to sleep thinking I'd married the most insensitive, egotistical asshole to have ever walked the planet (I hadn't heard of Obama yet) and neither of us got laid.

The next night, after having been coached in the "do's and dont's if you ever want a blow job from your wife again" area from a more seasoned, which is to say whipped, man, (H's buddy had been married eight whole months!) H apologized, gave me a gift of Sees Candy "Nuts & Chews" (no innuendo intended, they just happen to be called that and they're my favorite so stick a sock in it), silky pj's from Victoria's Secret, which I still have, and a card, which I still have as well. Yeah, the candy was consumed in record time (dark chocolate is an aphrodisiac by the way, and make-up sex is rad). The card was what did it though. And it was also where H put in writing for the first time that I was "His Lobster" and always would be regardless of what day it was on the calendar.

It's been almost 15 years since those two spontaneous and impetuous kids got married spur of the moment and then almost divorced just as quickly, but we're still together and I'm still His Lobster. The card is in a fireproof lock box along with our wedding certificate, proving we're not living in sin, and the birth certificates of our minions, which prove they're H's and not the milkman's.

And just as an example of how much I rock; I can still fit into those pj's. ;-)