Facebook (and social media in general) are destructive to the soul

You have to delete.  Deleting ex-boyfriends/whatevers/etc. is the only way to save your precious little soul from being attacked by relentless, unexpected tidbits of information that storm into your consciousness through the “internets.”  The bastards.

For example, you’re having a perfectly happy Friday…like a really wonderful, sun-shiney, doing no work, happy Friday.  It’s the kind of day, where worries aren’t something you can fathom and your most pressing concern is what kind of delicious treat you will have for lunch.  It’s THAT kind of luscious happiness.

Then since you aren’t really doing any work, you decide to login to facebook.  (This seems innocent enough.)  You read your emails, read everyone’s latest status updates, peruse some random photos of people you don’t know, then suddenly you can an itch.  (This is where things go wrong.)  You quietly ask yourself…I wonder what such-and-such ex is up to?  Involuntarily, your curiosity transports you to their page.  Within seconds, you are staring at the casual flirtations of some lovely new face that you have never seen before.  (This is where your day gets ruined.)

Who is this trick?  When did she show up?  Is her body as cute as her face or is this some deceptive photography?  There is only way to answer these questions.  Google.  (Damn you, google, damn you.)

So I googled.  She’s a [insert really awesome job that makes me jealous], she’s a recent addition to his life, and she’s really adorable.  A “this sucks” feeling stabs me repeatedly.  I allow myself to wallow in the fact that she’s probably effortlessly wonderful at all the things I suck at…she probably never has chipped nail polish and always has expertly applied makeup, she probably has a really clean bedroom, and can’t stand to miss a work out, she’s probably always on time, and can’t wait to get married, she probably doesn’t google/facebook stalk, she’s probably perfect and wonderful and charming…whoa.  Deep breath.  Punch self in face.  Come back to reality.

Who cares about her?  I’m pretty bad-ass myself.  So what if I can never keep my nails perfectly polished?  I’m pretty damn cute and I have great hair.  I’m not thin and I hate the gym, but I’ve lost ten pounds this month.  My room is a mess, but it’s filled with adorable dresses.  My job is amazing and every single day I get to help people and change the world (it’s a very small piece of the world…but it’s mine) and someday it will reward me handsomely.    Did I mention that I have fabulous hair?  I also have a PINK frickin cruiser bike, and I’m super witty.

So…no tears for me, no wallowing, no feeling like just because I’m not a size 2 that I’m not good enough…and no letting anyone make me feel bad about myself (especially me – preventing abuse starts at home, after all).   You know what this calls for???  Oh yeah, I’m going there…

Subject: You’re a Douchebag (DCD Trick of the Week)

Dear DC Douchebag,

Email subject lines are for the general subject of the email – they are NOT for the actual text of your email.  For example, the following is a flagrant abuse of the subject line:

Now, I know this doesn’t seem like such a terrible crime (and in the grand scheme of your DCD tricks – it’s pretty low).  However, it’s a flag – a big red, DCD, waving flag that the recipient of said email is warned…they are walking in DCD territory – be alert.

This email says several special things about you, my little DCD friend:

1. You are lazy
2. You think you’re too important to send actual proper emails with a REAL subject, greeting, message, and closing (not that tricky, I promise)
3. You don’t think your potential companion is important enough to even bother with an actual full email – you didn’t even write “hey” in the subject line.  C’mon boys, it’s three extra frickin letters and a tap on the return key.  (Your potential date is TOTALLY worth a tap on the return key).
4. If this is how little effort you’re putting in at the beginning of the “relationship” – sweet Christ – imagine how terrible you will be when you actually feel comfortable!!!

So, buck up – take five extra seconds and write an actual email…OR…and I know this is going to sound crazy, but stick with me.  Why don’t you just CALL the girl???  She’ll appreciate it and you’ll avoid this doucher mistake.

Love always – your guide to living a douchebag-free life,

fanfrickingtastic

Living a douchbag-free existence requires constant vigilance…

…much to my own detriment, I forgot this rule.  More than a year ago, I met this guy and I was pretty sure I hated him.  My DCD-senses were tingling something fierce, but I figured worst case scenario he would be good blogging material.  He was.

The only reason I even entertained his foolishness last year is because I was going through a “low” period, and he smelled blood in the water.  Quickly having come to my senses, I have spent a solid year ignoring him.  However, you know life comes in waves and the past few weeks have been crashing against the rocks.  In a moment of weakness, I didn’t ignore him…stupid girl.  The convo went something like this:

Snarky shark:  Can I take you out this week?

Fanfrickingtastic:  Sure, let me check my schedule at work tomorrow.

Snarky shark:  So are you single or am I just buying you drinks to buy you drinks?

Fanfrickingtastic:  F*ck you.

Snarky shark:  Be careful or you won’t get invited on the boat.  (fft sidenote:  like I care) You should call in sick and come out on the boat (like I don’t have actual work to do).

Fanfrickingtastic:  …

Snarky shark:  You going to bring a bathing suit or just let the girls hang out?  (vomit)

Fanfrickingtastic:  Ridiculous

Snarky shark:  So what are you wearing?

End of convo.

How old am I?  15???  Are we in a yahoo chat room?  Who does this shit work on?  Seriously, this is my own damn fault.  I am embarrassed that I even allowed the conversation to get that far.

I’m going to take a shower to get this feeling of ick off me.