I was going to call this post “The Anatomy of the Unfriending of a Douchebag,” but then I realized I would never get Freshly Pressed. with that kind of “bad stuff [that] includes…adult/mature content.” So, I’ll just call the guy I unfriended, D. For Douchebag.
I first found D on Facebook, writing something very funny on a friend’s wall. I asked the friend if I should I connect with D and was promptly warned that D would “rip my political posts to shreds.” Now, I’ve dated plenty of assholes in my time and I’ve pretty much had my fill of being “ripped to shreds.” So, I was not going to friend D.
Well: surprise, surprise! D friended me. With his caveat: “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” Only later would I learn that “gentleman” means you follow a lot of hookers on Facebook.
So, we started our Facebook “friendship.” I made a habit of checking my “Wall Street is full of egotistical pricks who spend all their money on hookers” attitude, mostly because I hadn’t yet learned that he was so into hookers.
I also tried to be open to the fact that Facebook was the only a place a person like me — adorable, liberal, adorable — could be friends with a derivatives trader on Wall Street. Maybe a woman who aced three years of college calculus, but struggled with linear algebra, could finally understand exactly what a derivatives trader did, besides betting against things and being incapable of producing a well-formatted document.
D was delighted by my clogs and my consignment shop shoes. Delighted being synonymous with horrified.
I was delighted by the daily suggestions of hookers that I should “subscribe” to based his mutual friendship. Delighted here being synonymous with “How many hookers ARE THERE on Facebook?!”
And so it went. Until his first lashing out. I think D’s exact words were: WHAT THE FUCK’S YOUR PROBLEM? (That guy never met a capital letter that he didn’t like.) (Although he probably never liked them more than hookers.)
WHAT THE FUCK’S YOUR PROBLEM? was kind of a sign that this guy possibly had 1. Anger issues; 2. Anger issues; 3. Hooker issues. Unfortunately for me, I had “unfriending issues,” as in, I didn’t do it.
This would be a good time to tell you WHY I hate the unfriending. First of all, I’ve been unfriended countless times. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve counted them. Just kidding! I have no idea. (But, I’m happy to name names in the comments if you’re curious.) But every time I was unfriended, I just wanted to scream: You dense, irritating beast of burden! Unfriending is the biggest Dick Move ever. If you don’t like what I have to say, or how often I say it, just hide my posts. Without telling me! (That privilege has been reserved by my family).
With all that in mind, I publicly made fun of his obnoxious WHAT THE FUCK’S YOUR PROBLEM? question and hid his posts temporarily.
Then the second lashing came. This time he took something personal from my blog and used it against me. It was like D was screaming “I’m a dick!” Did I unfriend the dick? No. Still had the policy.
D then swung and missed for the third time after I shared this very funny Andy Borowitz joke:
Now, D’s comment was so obnoxious, this is what an old friend emailed to me upon reading it:
tell your friend [D] to talk to you when *he* understands inflation – as in, where’s it been for the past four years while all the hard money (assholes) have been screaming about it? also he can talk to you when he understands Dual Mandate. you can use all caps or not. that’s up to you. i don’t know him, but i’m sure he’s in the finance industry. only those guys says such…douchebaggy, completely self-centered, master of the universe, hot, steaming, douchebaggery.
I’m sure you can tell that the author of this paragraph is very smart. And possibly a bigger fan of the word “douchebag” than I am. He is also happily married and not into hookers.
Even with all this, did I unfriend D?! Nope! Not until another wise friend said this:
If you need to unfriend [D] , do it. No one would ever fault you for that.
And so I did. Actually, I blocked D. What a relief! It felt soooooo good. Better. Than sex. With a hooker.
Categories: social media musings