The People-Who-Suck-On Facebook’s Guide to Facebook — The Unofficial Biography

For  years I would watch many of my Facebook friends doing things on Facebook, but refusing to connect with me. I figured they just didn’t like me. That made me wonder why Facebook refers to them as friends, since people who ignore me and blatantly don’t like me seem more like family.

Then I realized that those people weren’t ignoring me, they just suck at Facebook! Hence, this guide. And who better to write a guide for Facebook than a Technical Writer/Trainer whom Mark Zuckerberg often refers to as “The Facebook Queen”?

Here is the guide, organized by Facebook feature:

Friends

In the 1960s, when Facebook was just getting started, everyone wanted to have as many friends as possible. This may have been because the friends number was prominently displayed on one’s wall for each of us to fret over its sometimes decreasing number. Those days are over.

Fact: Once you’ve accumulated more than 127 friends, you are basically just adding the names of people whom YOU DID NOT CONNECT WITH IN HIGH SCHOOL FOR VERY GOOD REASONS.

Now, I’m not talking about the lovely people you didn’t know that well in high school, but always liked. Facebook is a great tool for connecting in new and wonderful ways with them. No, I’m talking about the people that you’re not even sure were in your graduating class or your brother’s, and their names sound kinda familiar, so you accept the friend request only to learn that they are rarely on Facebook and when they are, they never even pay attention to you, and not in a way that someone with a bottomless pit of need would require, but — like — in a NEVER EVEN CLICK LIKE ON A PICTURE OF YOUR CHILDREN way.

Keep your friends number low.

Status Updates

If your only status updates involve pictures of your children, a picture of you tagged by a significant other, or a plug for your business, guess what? You totally suck at Facebook!

Try posting a thought, a feeling, an overly-circulated internet meme, a link to a news story, something…ANYthing! Jesus, I’d take a Jesus-y post over another picture of your kids or update of your business venture.

Profile Pictures

When your old friends try to find you on Facebook, how are they going to recognize you if your profile picture is a shot of your kids or of a stone? What if you have a very similar name to another Facebook friend or one of your friends constantly confuses you with another high school classmate for reasons that do not need to be detailed  here (menopause)? Abstain. Desist. Danger Will Robinson! You are wonderful, beautiful and awesome. Put up a picture of YOU. Wanna show off something else beautiful? Make it your Cover Photo.

Likes

We get it. Not everyone can confidently write a status update that they themselves find absolutely hysterical. Some people just need to sit back and see what others are doing. (In some circles, this is referred to as stalking). But, for the love of all things Not Sucking On Facebook, click “Like” on something. Seriously, do you hear me?!?! The “Like” click is the socially awkward Facebook programmers’ answer to letting socially awkward introverted Facebook users let the rest of us know that they’re out there. Use it!

Acquaintances

Next to the “Like,” this is possibly one of Facebook’s most brilliant inventions. Putting someone in your “Acquaintance” group does two awesome things: First, it makes them show up less in your Newsfeed, thereby stopping the torture of having to see people doing stuff on Facebook but never saying a word to you. Second, making someone an Acquaintance allows you to hide your posts from them. Acquaintancing is sort of like Unfriending, but without the Supreme Commander of the Universe douchy-ness.

Unfriending

Unfriending should be reserved for the most extreme instances, like — say — if someone is abusive in the tone of their comments, or, if the “personhood” bill is up for a vote in Mississippi and a guy whose name you barely recognize sends you a friend request and you mistake him for the unknown younger sibling of a beloved, but now deceased, classmate because you are terribly forgetful and also because the friend-requesting guy’s last name is eerily similar to said deceased classmate’s and that guy (the alive one) posts stupid crap on your wall the day of the personhood vote. Those people can suck it.

Everyone else? Do you really want to unfriend someone so that when they discover you’ve unfriended them, they’re left wondering why? Grow some breasts and tell the person why you’re unfriending them.

If you can’t stand to tell those you want to unfriend why you want to unfriend them, then just block them. That way, they won’t think you’re still on Facebook being friends with all your other mutual friends. (I’m talking to you, Steve Lauber! [1])

Although you will be tempted to unfriend some of your family members or tell them that you are hiding their posts, DO NOT DO IT. These acts are just more evidence that you suck on Facebook, and possibly have sucky social skills.

Security

We’re not friends and I can see all your pictures and posts. I’m less concerned here about your personal data, and much more concerned about how this makes you look DAFT. I’m just kidding! This makes you look totally and completely daft.

Programming Updates

Do NOT complain about programming updates on Facebook. #1. It makes you seem like you’re about 90 years old. Actually, I’m friends with a 99-year old woman and she handles minor transitions much better than you did when the Facebook Ticker launched.

Seriously, it’s a minor change. Think of it as a metaphor for life, except that it’s not your life, it’s a cloud application. You wanna get upset about something? Then take to the streets because the top 1% of wage owners have been paying less in taxes since 1980 but, despite republicans’ love affair, and all but referring to them as deities (Job CREATORS), the 1% have essentially sapped the economy dry and left the middle class with a wage decrease and massive unemployment. This is not me talking here. I’m just paraphrasing a multimillionaire member of the 1%.

#2. Actually, I don’t think we need a second point here. Carry on.

Timeline

Continue to refer to the Timeline as your Wall. Calling it a Timeline is a way of Giving Into the Man. It’s your Wall and will never be anything else but your Wall. Please note that this is not “complaining” about the new Timeline, because the Timeline features really are better than the Wall’s. This is just saving you some syllables.

If you don’t mind the two syllables, refer to it as your Wall-line, because that’s funny and creative and still Sticking It To The Man-ish.

That’s the end of the guide…for now!

—————————————————————————————————————————————–

[1] And Kim Kernan, and Chris Bahuniak, and…

The High School Reunion Guide for Guys

It’s high school reunion time! I love this time of year. Why? Because I went to two different high schools and I’m informally known in certain circles as The Reunion Whore.

We women don’t really need a guide for going to our reunions, mostly because our guide has already been written. IN EACH AND EVERY ONE OF OUR HEADS. Our guide states: color the grey, exercise, and take massive doses of anti-anxiety meds before going. How to show up looking and feeling amazing is in our core.

The guys on the other hand? Well, I suppose the beer gut is sexy in cultures where food is scarce.

Seriously, the guys are UNRECOGNIZABLE. Fat and bald, and if they have hair, it’s completely grey. To see the cutest guy in high school with no hair is truly one of the most painful things I’ve ever had to witness. The sad thing is, those guys who were the cute ones in high school don’t even have decent personalities to fall back on.

Now, if you think this is just me taking all the hurt and lack of self-esteem that I’ve suffered at the hands of a culture that worships at the altar of thinness, beauty and football and TURNING that hurt on guys as a way to try and make them feel bad about themselves, you are sadly mistaken. Because — really  — my goal here is to make guys feel TOTALLY FUCKING HORRIBLE ABOUT THEMSELVES.

Ohmygawd, don’t worry about the guys! Did you hear about the guy who felt bad about himself because of something a woman said or wrote? No? Hahahahahhaah! THAT’S BECAUSE THAT GUY DOESN’T EXIST! (For more information on guys, click here.)

Without further adieu, here is…

The High School Reunion Guide for Guys!

• Wear your name tag. We can barely tell who’s inside that body.
• DO NOT BRING YOUR WIFE. No one wants to party with your spouse, especially if you just met her last year. Online. Plus, we all just feel sorry for her, because we’ve known you since high school.
• Do not talk about your financial success. Ask a question. Oh, I’m sorry. Here is the Wikipedia definition of a question.
• If you are recently divorced, do not show up looking for your future wife. It’s creepy. And, again, we’ve known you since high school.
• If you’re a money manager of ANY kind, try to think of something you do outside of your job that you can share with your classmates. Anything. Please, for the love of all things good, do not make anyone else have to meet another money manager!
• Talk  to the women you used to date ABOUT when you used to date. You’ll be amazed how much 25-year old bullshit can be cleared up in one, light reunion conversation.
• If you are married, do not fool around with the aforementioned high school girlfriend. (Don’t make me link you to the Wikipedia page on marriage.)
  

  I wish I’d thrown a jab, cross, hook & uppercut at that guy who mistook my breasts for eyes at my 20th.

• Under no circumstances should you refer to the women in the classes above you as MILFs or talk to them while constantly staring at their breasts. Some of us know kickboxing. Parenthetically, when did my alma mater start letting THESE douchebags in?
• Mingle. This is a high school REUNION, not high school. All the people who hated you in high school will appreciate any earnest effort you make to connect. I’m sorry. This one is probably too hard. Never mind.
• Last, but not least, I recommend the Marczykian approach to reunion. Every chance you get, state how awesome the women look. Over and over. Here, try it with me:  “The women look AMAZING!” Number one, you’re using the word “women” in stead of MILF. Way to go!! Number two, even though we’re mothers, writers, business owners, not-for-profit starters, college counselors, engineers, dancers, doctors, artists, and on, and on…we do appreciate when the hundred and thirty bucks we spent on our hair is recognized.

Have fun, guys!

The Un-Rules

Just thinking about the existence of The Rules makes me want to send those two authors to Las Vegas in the middle of the summer while 1,000 of the nation’s local radio DJs are in town for a conference and then force them all to attend a Cirque du Soleil show where one of the cast members is dressed in mime but talks to the audience in Quebecois all night.

I’ve created my own set of rules that will make you feel like 1970′s feminism and the Bionic Woman existed for a reason.

Un-Rule #A — Feel Free to Sleep with Guys on the First Date

Here’s what it says when a woman sleeps with a guy on their first date: Even though you’re dumb, I’m sleeping with you because your are ex-TREME-ly good looking. Also: sex feels good. I’m female, so I don’t know how to have sex with you and then not talk to you, so I’ll call you a few times, just to unconsciously push you away, and then I don’t have to do the dirty work of blowing you off.

Un-Rule #X — Most Guys are Douchebags

If you don’t enter the dating arena knowing that most guys are douchebags, then you might start to think that you are one of those women who likes men who hate you. Do not beat yourself up! This is a supply chain problem.

Men are mostly douchebags because they all just want to have sex. You know how you feel right before you’re about to eat an entire bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs ™? How you’re all, “I’M HUNGRY!!!!! Nothing bad happens when I eat 900 grams of sugar!!!! Eat crunchy thing now!!!!”  Sex is basically guy chocolate. And guys will rationalize their bad behavior — declaring love, continuing to date you even when they don’t like you — just to sate their hunger. Douchebaggy? Yeah. Your self-esteem problem? Most definitely not!

Kate Middleton isn’t so much a RULES GIRL as she is a grown WOMAN who probably never read this stupid fucking book.

Un-Rule 𝝅 — Like Yourself. A Lot. Possibly To the Point of Thinking You Might Be Conceited 

Don’t worry! You won’t ever be considered conceited. American culture has taught you enough about how to hate yourself — your thighs, stomach, wrinkles, grey hairs, toe hair, mustache hair, leg hair, underarm hair, bra fat, calf fat, small breasts, uneven breasts, too large breasts, pointy-nipples-showing-through-t-shirt breasts, seriousness, humorlessness, not-as-funny-as-men-ness, meanness, bitchiness, slutty clothes, dowdy clothes, being too smart, being too dumb, being too ambitious, wearing too much makeup, wearing no makeup — that any way you can think of to like yourself will still only have the slightest affect on these messages.

Liking  yourself to the point of borderline conceit is not really a dating rule, but a Good Life Rule. You’ll meet all sorts of great people this way. Why? Because when you really dig yourself,  you #1. won’t put up with a lot of bullshit and #2. will end up attracting people who really like you. It’s a known fact* that people who only half-like themselves attract others who only half-like them. Who needs that? The extra bonus cool thing is that even if you feel lonely, you’ll at least be spending time with someone who thinks you’re Totally Freaking Awesome — You.

Un-Rule #1 Gagillion — Dishwasher Loading

In all honesty, it’s not how you load but IF you load. Never trust a guy who cannot clean. Those guys are either looking for a 1950′s mother. Or a fight.

Un-Rule #2.49 — The Point is NOT to Meet Mr. Right

Let’s be clear here: the point of dating is NOT to get married. When you have marriage as your #1 goal, you are slapping decades of feminism in the face. Now, while Gloria Steinem probably could kick box your ass into oblivion, you generally do not want to punch a feminist in the jaw.

Making marriage the goal of dating is also very anti-zen. Who died and left me Thich Nhat Hanh? No one, and my god — you are a riot! Just replace the word “marriage” with the word “money,” as in: I’m dating so I can get money. Wow. That makes you sound like a hooker. That’s not really the point I was trying to make. I was trying to say: having an outside goal like marriage be the point of dating makes the whole process of dating horribly, inextricably unFUN.

So, get out there! Meet some interesting guys that you have zero chemistry with. Have a disappointing, miserable time dating the jerks. Sleep with the ones you’re attracted to. Go to some movies, eat some great food, have a few good coffees or drinks. Keep your standards high and your birth control in. Have some fun and maybe you’ll meet someone you’ll fall in love with and marry. Or maybe you won’t. Either way, you won’t be in Vegas with the authors of The Rules at a Cirque du Soleil show.

Love, Catherine

* “People who only half-like themselves attract others who only half-like them” is a fact from INSIDE MY HEAD.

You’re a Rich Girl

One great thing about telling stories from your rich kid childhood in mixed company, and when I say “mixed company,” I mean with adults who grew up with very different socioeconomic class surroundings, is the look of incredulous-slash-borderline disdain on their faces when you tell your rich kid stories. And trust me, I know the look of “incredulous slash borderline disdain,” because I have it every time I remember that men get turned on by drawings of comic book characters and those dipshits are still running this place. But, that’s a whole other blog. Or possibly even a book. I’m not sure. Here, I’ll continue non-parenthetically…

I’ve noticed that it doesn’t help if you couch your rich kid upbringing in, “Have you seen The Ice Storm? Well, that movie is like watching home movies for me.” Or with, “Yeah, we grew up with a lot of money, but my mom never had food in the fridge.” Having a guest room in your house is Having a Guest Room In Your House, as are Having a Kids’ Wing, and Never Having to Wait to Use the Bathroom.

As a kid, when I saw a movie character complain about having meatloaf for dinner, I internally referenced this experience:

ME: What’s for dinner?

MY MOM: Fondue.

ME: Fondue?!? AGAIN?!

This is not a big, wood-paneled station wagon colonial home, but the most frequent picture I found when I searched for “Wilton, CT images.” This was also my neighbor.

Class differences go both ways. We weren’t big colonial home, wood-paneled station wagon, grandmother from Greenwich people. We lived in modern homes! We drove Nissan 280Z’s  and Ford Econoline vans! We were from Jersey City!! Hell, we didn’t even know what lacrosse was!

People from “old money” also don’t tend to talk openly about all the stuff they had growing up, or try to make others who grew up middle class feel “better” by saying, “See! We had stuff, but we didn’t have a mom who gave us a key to the house!” Old money people know it’s impolite to talk about their money. And their mentally ill mothers. Also, old money doesn’t tend to marry or hang out with people who grew up working or middle class, which is a shame, because there’s an entire world outside of Money Managers.

Ever since college, I’ve been trying to live a more middle class existence. There is no love lost between me and my rich kid childhood. Unfortunately, my aesthetics have been honed on pristine woods, reservoir frontage, stone walls and good exterior house paint jobs. We’re all products of our class, no matter how hard we try to move up…or down. Or try to forget that we had a sauna and a hot tub in our house.

The Like

Ahhhh, the Facebook “Like.” That little blue link that says so much and so nothing at the same time.

The word itself –  like — is so completely inadequate. For example, in 7th grade, when you begin to like boys for the first time, you have to use the word twice to even imply your like, as in, “Do you like J.W. or do you like-like J.W.?” [1]

On Facebook, the “Like” has meant many things to me, including the standard “I like this.” For a while, though, clicking “Like” on a comment could mean, “I cannot believe I’m friends with your  bitchy/douchebaggy self and this comment is such a buzz kill that I don’t even want to engage you while I’m making these hilarious political jokes on my own page, so I’m just going to click “Like” in the hopes that you’ll go away, but please know that this “Like” really means FUCK YOU.”

I stopped using “Like” for that purpose, because it seemed so passive-aggressive, when what I’m really shooting for is aggressive-aggressive.

When I click “Like” on a friend’s response, it can mean a whole host of things. Here is the definitive list:

• This is hysterical
• This is funny
• I’m laughing
• I’m smiling
• Cute
• Cool
• Okay
• Thank you
• I’m sorry
• No way!
• !!!!!
• I’m glad you wrote this
• I’m glad you LOL’d at my post
• I have now seen your comment
• I have nothing witty to add to your already witty comment
• I’ll watch this 3-minute video later, when I’m sure I’ll like it
• I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m too embarrassed to ask you to explain it, but I bet I’ll figure it out later, so I’ll click like now, so I don’t forget to acknowledge that I’ve seen this (also see: “I have now seen your comment”) and thank you (also see: “thank you”)
• I’m sick <—- Actually, I never click “Like” to imply that I’m sick. I’m sick right now and I just coughed a real phlegmy cough and wanted you to feel sorry for me.

This was the first picture that came up when I typed the word “like” into the clip art feature in Word. I often use clip art photos, because I don’t like-like to be sued.

[1] J.W. is not the first boy I liked, but the second. I cannot remember the name of the first boy I liked, possibly because he never talked to me. This was not because he didn’t like-like me, but because he was so shy that his best friend had to ask me out on his behalf. When we went on “dates,” we literally didn’t say a word to one another. [1i]

[1i] In case you’re wondering what I did on dates with a boyfriend I didn’t talk to, the answer is: play tennis and beat him. Also, go to a dance with him that his friends once again had to ask me to, and then talk to said friends for the entire evening. [1ii]

[1ii] In case you’re wondering why I went on dates with a boy who didn’t talk to me, the answer is: he was SUPER CUTE! And also, based on the caliber of what my future college boyfriends did say to me, the no-talking thing seems kinda dreamy now, and maybe I knew it would balance things out in the end. [1iii]

[1iii] In case you were wondering if there were going to be any more sub-footnotes, the answer is no.

A Real Life Conversation About Movies with a Man Named Joe

Carol Channing is the perfect 1970′s Hirschfeld drawing subject

I’ve always loved the movies. I remember as a girl diving into the Arts & Leisure section of the New York Times and trying to find the Hirschfeld NINA. Later, I would impress older cousins with my ability to spew multiple lines from movies I’d seen years earlier. I even used to record “movie reviews” each week on my answering machine.

I still love watching movies. But now I can’t make the synapses fire when I try to talk about them. There are no more full scenes recalled from memory. No yelling, “Oh! That was directed by the same woman who did Desperately Seeking Susan!” No more movie titles at my fingertips. Instead, it’s a game of spiraling references, trying to GET to the actor, director or title.

What are spiraling references? (I’m trademarking this term, like threepeat!) Here’s a real example, taken from a conversation with my friend Joe.

ME: I like streaming on Netflix. We’ve found so many sweet, quirky, funny independent movies.

JOE: Which ones did you like?

ME: Did you see The Extra Man?

JOE: No. Who’s in it?

ME: That guy…Michael…he was in Jagged Edge. He’s married to that woman who used to do the cell phone ads……

JOE: Michale Douglas?

ME: Yes! That was a really sweet, quirky, funny movie.  Have you seen Tenure?

JOE: No, what’s that one?

ME: It stars………………….(lots of ellipse dots mean really long CBW pauses for thought. Here’s a funny blog about the need for Superellipsises and other new & necessary punctuation.)…………..it has…….you know the two brothers…………….one is blonde, the other is brunette…………….I think they’re from Texas…

JOE: Luke and Owen Wilson? (It should be noted here that to remember Joe’s response, I had to search on the terms “tenure movie” and then again on “luke wilson’s brother.”)

ME: Yes! It stars Luke Wilson. It’s a really sweet, funny, cool, quirky comedy.

JOE: Any others? (Joe was a much more interesting conversationalist than I’m portraying him here.)

ME: Oh! That one with………………………………Jeff Daniels………the movie has the wrong name (If I can’t remember the title of a movie, I now declare that it has “the wrong name.” I also do this WITH PEOPLE’S NAMES, as in: Me: You know that girl Stephanie? Husband: Stephanie’s the mom. Me: That kid has the wrong name.)……………………..it stars Jeff Daniels…he plays a haughty professor….

JOE: The Squid and the Whale?

ME: No….not that one………his back goes out and he has to crawl to the chiropractor’s office…….

JOE: Oh, I saw that one! With <actress’s name> who was in <other movie name>. (It’s 2am and I don’t feel like searching for those two references. But look how fast Joe was! This is because he has not birthed babies.)

ME: But my favorite movie last year was……….the one that was filmed entirely in Rhode Island……by that quirky director……Luke Wilson (!) was often in his movies…kingdom something…

JOE: Moonrise Kingdom? That was a great movie. I didn’t know it was filmed in Rhode Island.

ME: Yeah! Wasn’t it such a sweet, quirky independent comedy?

I’m adding Joe to my movie group.

Fighting Nemo

After sequestering myself during blizzard Nemo and tending to the fire for 24 straight hours, I emerged Sunday morning to walk the dog and saw my neighbor driving by. He shouted out to me, “Are you having fun yet?!” I replied, in all earnestness, “I LOVE this!”

It’s true. I loved every second of that power outage. It was like Clan of the Cave Bears meets Cragged Mountain Farm: no electricity, just being with family, keeping the fire going, coming up with a method for cooking eggs ON the fire, and figuring out where the next bundle of non-wet wood was coming from (Thanks, Joe! Thanks, Joe’s “guy!”).

All that focus on the basics is an anxiety-ridden woman’s dream. I didn’t worry about a single one of the thoughts that typically plague my day. What are the thoughts that plague my day? Oh! I’m so excited you asked! That is the whole main idea of why I’m here!

Here are just a FEW of the things that did NOT occur to me during the 36 hours that our power was out:

• Local, morning DJs spell the end of civilization. (Hold on. This is totally a red herring. I don’t really worry about local, morning DJs spelling the end of civilization. I KNOW they spell the end of civilization. I’ve just been meaning to write that out loud for a long time. Okay, here are my real daily worries (I hope you can still trust me)).
• The snack I’m packing for my son is too sugary and he won’t eat any fresh fruit at school so he’s going to grow up to have a digestive disorder.
• I really hate that headband in my daughter’s hair and even though I said her hair looks so much better down, it will still reek of an insult and will somehow AFFECT her in a bad way and this INability of mine to JUST KEEP IT TO MYSELF means that I’m a bad parent.
• OHMYGAWDWHYISTHEDOGBITINGATHIMSELFSOMUCH?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!!?!?
• Is there some rule that if you LIVE on Matthewson, you cannot PULL to the left — close to yellow line — and wait to make your left-hand turn so that you don’t back up traffic ALL THE WAY across the bridge? (This is not so much a worry, but one of the many annoying thoughts that occur to me after I leave the house when I am forced to meet up with Bad RI Drivers combined with Entitled Rich Douchebags. NOTE: I’m not even a 1/4 mile from my home at this point).
• I really don’t understand this technical concept I’m supposed to be documenting and it’s been taking me a REALLY long time to get it and I AM SO STUPID AND SLOW that I’m going to be fired.
• My son comes home and just reads while he’s eating his snack. He doesn’t even talk to me. He used to talk to me all the time. He’s going to have a drug addiction.
• There’s are THREE plates inserted into the same slot in the dishwasher. The only “room of my own” in this house is the kitchen, which, as a 1970′s-raised girl with strong feminist leanings, already has painful connotations. But here I am asking for things to be done a certain way and no one in my family respects my wishes. Everyone just thinks my concerns are petty. I AM petty! No, I’m not petty, no one in my family respects me period. I’M MY MOTHER!!
• Did I take my meds today?

Thanks, Nemo, for sparing me all THAT for one blissful 36-hour period. Look! It’s the REAL Nemo!

I once listened to the director’s commentary on “Finding Nemo” (???) and came to the conclusion that every Hollywood movie made by a male director is really just an exploration of that director’s relationship with his father. Also see: Spielberg.

Why I Don’t Own a Cell Phone

A good friend once suggested I write a post about why I don’t own a cell phone and call it, “Where are you?” because every time I call someone on their cell phone, I always start by asking where they are, because, frankly, they could be anywhere.*

So, why don’t I own a cell phone?

First of all, I already consider my cordless phone annoying enough, because I can never talk on it and do anything else without my face hanging it up when I try to cradle it in my neck. If I manage NOT to hang it up over the course of a long conversation, I end up needing a chiropractic adjustment for the resulting neck pain. Cell phones? Those guys are 100% UNCRADLEABLE and CHIROPRACTICCAREINDUCING.

If you could invent a cell phone that was the shape of a 1970′s AT&T handset, I’d consider buying it. I know there are attachments for cell phones that have coiled wires and a real handset feel, but look! You’ve already got me buying more stuff for my cell phone. I know that Things Begat Things, but Cell Phones begat ONE GAGILLION THINGS.

MY DREAM CELL PHONE

I already PAY for a phone. A perfectly good phone (minus the UNCRADLEABLENESS) that attaches to my wall and occasionally rings (which it rarely does because no one likes to even TALK on the phone anymore, including your’s truly). So, I’m going to pay for two phones? Who died and left YOU richy rich? Everyone knows I’m The Cheapest Person On The Planet. Not gonna happen. Plus, I get agita every time I think of shopping for a phone — all the choices, all the plans. Navigating the whole process sounds worse than getting lost in North Providence.**

So, should I just get rid of my “land line?” Why, so I CAN’T receive your call in 90% of the town I live in because the cell coverage is so bad? Or, so if you do get in touch with me, we can have our call cut out repeatedly? You know what my husband has for a work-from-home phone? A cell phone. Do you know what he uses for Really Important Calls? OUR LAND LINE.

If you want to sell me on the idea of a cell phone based on how others use them: forget it. I hate listening to others talk on theirs; I hate being with someone when they stop everything to answer it; I hate when I’m hanging out with someone and they’re checking it for email or texting. Unless you are an on-call doctor or have a potential medical emergency, please cease and desist on the cell phone use. Additionally, I’m still recovering from an incident in 2009 when I watched someone in Whole Foods YELLING to her brand new iPhone as she FACE TALKED about which honey to buy. Although, in all fairness to cell phones, I’m traumatized by customers at Whole Foods every time I go in there.

Cell phones are not even really necessary. They’re convenient. And they’re more convenient for the person trying to get you, than for oneself. Why? BECAUSE 80% OF THE TIME I WATCH OTHERS GET A CALL ON THEIR CELL PHONE, THEY DON’T EVEN ANSWER IT. If we are supposed to have cell phones to be in touch immediately, WHY DOESN’T ANYONE PICK THEM UP? Cell phones should just be referred to as Portable Answering Machines.

I’m enough of a uni-tasker that when I talk on my phone, I usually take the phone into another room, sit down and concentrate on my conversation. Guess what I don’t need? To be walking through a grocery store, trying to make sure the ingredients are dairy, soy and apple FREE while TALKING TO YOU ABOUT WHAT ELSE TO PICK UP.

Note to self: MAKE A SECOND TRIP TO THE STORE. NO ONE DIES AND — MORE IMPORTANT — NO ONE HAS TO LISTEN TO YOU TALK ON YOUR CELL PHONE AT THE SUPERMARKET.

What did we all do before cell phones? We PARKED at the airport to meet our family inside. We WAITED in the nurse’s office with a bad stomach ache until our parent got home and (this is PRE-answering machine!) got the call to let them know we were sick and to come pick us up. We CONCENTRATED on our driving. We ATE at marginal restaurants in unfamiliar neighborhoods. I bet now that you have a cell phone, YOU HAVE NEVER HAD A BAD MEAL.

But, do you know what the best reason is for having a plain, old-fashioned house phone? I HAVE NEVER ONCE DROPPED IT IN A TOILET.

So, CALL ME!

* Where you are is important to me, because I’m a visual person and I like PICTURING where you are when we’re talking to one another. Sometimes, based on your cell phone coverage, I like to imagine that you are on a hillside with a heavy wind.

** Getting lost in North Providence is a GREAT way to teach your daughter new swear words.

Each arrow represents a new swear that my daughter learned.

All My Exes are R’s

The first time I learned that one of my ex-boyfriends was a republican, I responded with something like this:

WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!!!!!! YOU’RE A REPUBLICAN!?!?!?!!?!?!?!

I had been living in Vermont for almost 18 years at that point, and — frankly — I don’t think I’d ever had a dinner, worked, hiked, swam, or walked with a republican in all those years. I was quite sheltered politically, which was lovely, because everything that qualified me for hippie in southern New England, was just de rigueur in Vermont.

But back to the X Rs.

Since that moment of discovery, every one of the guys I dated (unsuccessfully!) has turned out to be a republican. How do I know? That would be called, Facebook.

There’s nothing WRONG with dating republicans. I mean, HELL-OOOOOOOOO. I grew up in Wilton, Connecticut, birthplace of Money Managers. If you date AT ALL, you are  pretty much going to shoot a little Alex P. Keaton in that barrel. No, that is not a problem for me. What’s interesting, is how TELLING it was. How everything makes sense now.

Before my husband, I was clearly dating people who were Not The Right Type. I knew something had to change and up until recently, I just thought that meant that I had yet to discover nice Jewish men. But the more republicans I discovered I had dated, the more I realized this was not about dating too many WASP-y jocks. This was bigger.

There is all this talk now about how the political parties in Washington stand so far apart on the issues there’s no hope for conversation without rancor. The thing that always cracks me up is that this is supposed to be something new. I am here to tell you, that I have had enough award-winning arguments with republican males throughout the 1980s and 90s to prove that there is nothing new about it.

This is not Mary Matalin.

I will never understand couples like Mary Matalin and James Carville, especially since I always confuse Mary Matalin, the republican pundit, with Marlee Matlin, the deaf actress. Do (Mary and Jim) have parenting issues because Mary is strict with the girls and James not so much? Can they not sit down and watch television together because Mary likes NCIS and James Mad Men? Does Mary watch Fox News and annoy James because he likes — well — anything else? Does Mary only buy American cars while James pisses her off buying European? Do they argue because Mary is in favor of less credit card debt, while James racks up the bills? What if Mary got pregnant and James didn’t want to have another baby? WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY SAY TO ONE ANOTHER IF GEORGE W. BUSH’S NAME COMES UP???

I dunno. Let’s just assume they both have similar dishwasher loading philosophies.

Bottom line, now that I have been happily married for almost 20 years to someone who shares all my core values, what would I recommend to all the young women out there who hope to find someone who shares their adorable liberal values? Well, definitely avoid lacrosse players and start asking guys on the cross country team if they are Jewish.*

You can pretend he’s Jewish.

* This recommendation is based on an n=2 (not just an n=1 (my husband)) and you can make it an n=3 if  you pretend that Michael Cera’s character in Juno was Jewish. ALTHOUGH, Michael Cera is from Canada and you can pretty much replace Nice JEWISH Guy with Nice CANADIAN Guy. It’s all the same thing.

Navel Gazing

Many of you know that I had an eating disorder way back when, but — as I like to say — Once Disordered, Always Disordered!

So, let’s enjoy some high tech graphics that illustrate how I think I’m supposed to look, juxtaposed with how I think I look.

WARNING: You can never unsee this.

Coming soon: my stomach, arms, thighs and jowls. Stay tuned!