Tag Archives: Facebook

Front Row Seats At the Facebook Asshole Pageant

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the Asshole Pageant! Otherwise known as Facebook!

jerks

 

I joined Facebook six years ago after I bumped into Callie Waller at Kroger. We’ve known each other since elementary school. As we swapped notes on people we knew, she kept saying, “You’ve got to get on Facebook! It’s so much fun!” Oh, it was. I put up pictures of the kids at Disney World. I posted 25 random things about myself. I friended hundreds of people from all the decades of my life. I got to know people I had missed along the way. Back then, social sharing was about sharing our own stories. And cat videos, because DUH.

Now my Facebook feed feels like an Asshole Pageant where a long line of over-produced spray tanned freaks are vying for the prize of #1 Jerk. My entire feed is ads, memes, ads, cat videos, kid pictures, Buzzfeed quizzes, ads, and news stories that all of us are sharing. Those seem to get the most traction because they give us a way to talk about what’s going on in the world outside our own families.

My friend Wally is a retired journalism professor. I asked him once why internet news had devolved to Kardashians and 18-wheeler wrecks instead of in-depth analysis. He reminded me that news isn’t about what’s important these days–it’s about what’s INTERESTING.

And people find assholes interesting. Even moreso than cats sometimes.

Asshole

By the way, I’m afraid to google “asshole pageant” because, while I’m using it as a metaphor, there is probably a real live contest out there where people line up to rate their sphincters. And it’s probably in Florida.

Seriously, take a look at your news feed. I’ve been trying to write this story for two weeks, but the contestants keep coming out from behind the curtain, faster than I can judge them. There’s the tumbling cop from the McKinney pool party whose fellow officers agreed was out of control. There’s the white woman who started the fight by yelling racist slurs at teenagers. There’s the open carry gun nut walking through the Atlanta airport with a loaded AR-15 and getting all smarmy with the security officer when she attempts to speak to him. There’s the furor over Caitlyn Jenner deciding to be whoever the hell she wants to be. Then we have to decide what “brave” is because there is an award to be won. My only problem with Caitlyn Jenner is that she’s still a Republican. Come on, girl. That’s like a chicken voting for Colonel Sanders.

bullshitWe’ve got flesh-eating bacteria in Florida, Kirk Cameron filming somewhere in Georgia, lingering Duggars, memes about toddler girls hating their fat ankles. Oh, and the righteous indignation. There’s a blogger furious over a tattoo artist denying her a neck tattoo and some anonymous letter writer who objects to a yard that is “relentlessly gay.” Definitely out of the running for Miss Congeniality in our #AssholePageant.

And this week alone, we have Rachel Dolezal identifying as black (except when she sued Howard for discrimination because she was white!) AND Donald Trump running for President. If those two are in the Asshole Pageant, we’re going to have quite a nail-biter when it comes time to award “Realest Hair.”

Without Facebook, I would be hard pressed to find this many assholes in one spot (unless my football team is playing Alabama). So why put up with it?

 

  • At the same time people were making cracks about Caitlyn Jenner, Sawyer introduced their new name to us. We met a few years ago as Wesleyan sisters and I’m proud to call them my brother now. Tarence, another Wesleyan brother, posted a picture of a vial of testosterone and said, “First day of the rest of my life.” He got nothing but love in response, from family, friends and sisters all over the country. It’s good to have a forum where people can step out and say, “This is me. I am here. Hello.”
  • While we’re worrying about shark attacks and flesh-eating bacteria, Beth gave one of her kidneys to a stranger (she’s another Wesleyanne!). After the surgery, she found out that he’s a young father who has been on dialysis for two years. She gave him his life back. And those lucky enough to know her got to share her journey and see the possibility of living organ donation.
  • Even when #RachelTensions erupted this week, Facebook made it possible for me to hear from Luvvie, Jasmine, Kelly, A’Driane and Grace–actual women of color who had illuminating things to say about the experience of living blackness in America as opposed to performing blackness on the Today Show. Thank my stars for these protestors at the Asshole Pageant, who still have the energy to stand up and holler, “YOU ARE BEING AN ASSHOLE. TAKE A SEAT.”

So in the end…worth it. Save me a seat down front at the Asshole Pageant. I wonder who’ll be sitting next to us.

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Hi, Excuse Me…You Sound Like an Ass.

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Image courtesy Pixabay

I am just about ready to jerk a knot in some jerks around Facebook. What happened to being NICE? Or just shutting the hell UP? I’m not even talking about posts about touchy subjects–I’m talking about things that are personal celebrations that get shat upon by people who cannot resist sounding like an ass.

For example, a friend who really loves Halloween shares an adorable picture of her inflatable Frankenstein’s Monster and a super spooky giggling ghost with the caption, “Halloween decorations are up!”

First Commentor:  It’s not October yet.

Original Poster:  I know, and I’m already seeing Xmas commercials on television.

Commentor:  Time to quit watching television. I do my Christmas shopping locally in December.

Well, pin a rose on you! Everyone stand up and clap for this person who remains seasonally chaste, has eschewed television, AND shops locally.

Hey, Gwyneth? You sound like an ass.

donkey baseballTonight’s example. My friend posts a sweet video of her adorable daughter getting her first hit in softball. This child has played a whole season and never connected with the ball. She has stayed with it and never given up on herself. Tonight, she felt the crack of the bat and her mom caught it on video and it was a lovely, lovely moment.

Until some jackwagon comments:

“Are you sure it was scored as a hit or as an error? Looks like second base bobbled the ball and missed the throw.”

Hey, Ty Cobb? You sound like an ass.

I ignored those two and kept my mouth shut…because I didn’t want to sound like an ass, right? But one happened last week that made me set down my manners and straight up call out a stranger.

My friend’s son was murdered fourteen years ago by a burglar who was robbing their house. This golden-haired boy will always be a teenager, even as his friends turn 30. My friend posted a meme last week that mocked the laxity of laws governing gun shows. I don’t care what you think about the 2nd amendment–you treat the mother of a murdered boy with some KINDNESS.

The first comment? A person–a friend of hers who KNOWS HER HISTORY–said, “Lies. Damned Lies!” When she disagreed with him, he badgered her about “changing the subject” and “not admitting he was right.” On and on and ON.

That was when I lost my cool. I said, “I think M******* gets to say whatever the hell she wants about gun control and the rest of us can either nod our heads or shut up and move along. I’ll be standing over here with the “Parents Who Haven’t Had a Child Murdered With a Gun” support group. I believe the podium is currently occupied by “Mother Who HAS Had a Child Murdered With a Gun” so you speak your piece as long as you want. And I will be glad to loan this C***** person a copy of “How to Disagree With People Without Sounding Like a Total Ass.”

Dude thanked me for “chiming in.” Oh. Hell. NO. If I had been Aunt Esther, I would have hit him with my purse. He got a Talkin’ To.

And he withdrew his original comment with an explanation but no apology. Then he shut the hell up.

Hi, Charlton Heston? You sound like an ass.

Yes, Facebook is a place where people come together and whenever we come together we will find our opinions differ on some things that matter. And sometimes that matters and sometimes it doesn’t. As my grandmother would say, “There’s a time and a place for everything.” Guess what…a mom celebrating her daughter’s achievement is NOT the place for asking for a review of the tape. If you don’t agree with Halloween decorations in September, don’t put them up, but please don’t piss on Frankenstein’s Monster.

And if you have something to say about guns to a mother who held her child as he died from a gunshot wound, it better be, “I am so sorry for your loss.”

eeyoreBe ye kind to one another. Don’t make me stop this internet and come back there.

Wordless Wednesday–Weiner Dog

Oh, Sweetie…

I can’t think of any dating site where this picture is going to get you the right kind of attention.

Down, Boy!

how not to pose with your dog

Now if you thought that was funny, hit the Share button and pass a laugh along to your tacky or tasteless friends!

Telling the Truth

I must confess that this weekend has left me in a state of Facebook-induced depression.  While I’ve been sleeping off a migraine brought on by Kraft macaroni and cheese (yesterday) or cleaning up fruit punch and cracker kid barf (today), the rest of you have been out there finishing the color run, going to prom, enjoying the beach, walking about in London, putting in gardens, firing up the grill or getting your hair did.  Except for Craig–I saw him at the Kroger, but we didn’t even get a chance to talk because we both had already paid for frozen stuff.  Ding dang it.

It’s not uncommon–this habit of comparing ourselves to others–but I think social media connections make it even easier to compare my outtake reel to everyone else’s highlight film.  We all put on a mask to go out into the wider world.  Now that I have Facebook, the wider world is right there in the den, along with the whining kids and the toy strewn carpet and the yoga pants that are the only comfortable pants I own.  I couldn’t show this on Facebook…it’s too….true.

Photo courtesy Creative Commons. By Katie Tegtmeyer, 2006.

Photo courtesy Creative Commons. By Katie Tegtmeyer, 2006.

Since I wrote that post called “The Door Mat,” about finding out that my first husband was cheating, I’ve been thinking a lot about telling the truth and how important it is.  Good Lord, when that happened in real life, in real time, I didn’t tell ANYONE.  Now with some distance, I can put it out there for anyone who wants to read it.  It’s the truth and it’s my life and if you are going through something similar, I want you to know that you can tell me.  Or someone else.  It will be OK.  I’ve had many private messages from women who say, “Yep, that’s the same thing that happened to me.”  This is our chance to step into the light.  There is no reason to be ashamed because someone mistreated YOU.  

I felt like a pariah, a failure, an unworthy woman when Fartbuster cheated on me.  How could I have confided in someone???  It was my fault, right?  Good wives don’t have husbands who cheat.  I remember standing in front of a class that I was teaching during this time–I had gone to the whiteboard to write something and as I turned my back to the class, my knees almost collapsed with the fear that someone “could tell” what I was hiding.  I still remember the exact moment and the blue cardigan that I was wearing and the angle of my hand and the color of the marker I was using.  It took everything I had to keep talking normally, to turn back around and go on with the class.  That was the moment when the veil was thinnest–the veil between the image I was trying to maintain and the everyday life I was living.  Have you ever had a secret like that?

When you write a blog post and tag it “infidelity,” you get some heartbreaking links in your “suggested topics” reader.  I read one the other day from a woman who said, “I’m going to cut back on work so I can focus on getting him to value our marriage.”  Oh, honey.  Honey, honey, honey.  There is no way to be married enough for two people.  It’s time to tell the truth.  I read another one from a woman who listed the names of her paramour’s minor children and spurned wife!  That there is “boiling the rabbit” crazy.  The first time I went to see a therapist, she asked why I was there and I said, “Well, my husband wants a divorce.”  She said, “Oh, so you’re getting a divorce.”  I said, “That’s still up in the air…”  “No, you’re getting a divorce.  If one person wants a divorce, you’re getting a divorce,” she said, while looking me right in the eye like it wasn’t the end of the world.  Dang it if she wasn’t RIGHT.

Last weekend, on Easter, I had a gift of a moment that showed me the importance of telling the truth.  I have a beloved person who has struggled with addiction for many many many years.  It was the undiscussed topic for a long time and it stayed in control of her.  Now?  Now she’s telling the truth and it makes my heart believe that she’s going to make it.  She said, “These days (holidays) are my hardest sobriety days.  If I can make it to six o’clock, I’m good.”  She spoke her truth, telling the truth about who she is today (and the implied truth about the shadow of herself that she was all those other days) and it was OK!  I am so proud of her because she’s living in the real world.  It ain’t always pretty and she can’t control every part of it, but she is driving the wagon instead of being dragged behind it.

A simpler example–writing down what you eat leads to losing weight because you finally face all those “well, it’s just one….box of cookies…oh.”  The truth shall set you free because it puts you in charge.  I have learned that I have a limited amount of energy.  I can either spend it maintaining an illusion or I can spend it getting to a healthy place.  Don’t get me wrong–I still maintain plenty of illusions, but I’m a work in progress.

I spent a year feeling embarrassed that my husband cheated on me.  I spent a year feeling like a failure because I was getting a divorce.  My good friend, Andrea, told me that one day in the future, I would quit checking the box on forms for “Divorced” and start marking the one for “Single.”  She was right.  I remember asking Fartbuster, on one of those horrifyingly awkward dinner dates where it was just the two of us (and that other shadow of a woman)–“How is she better than me?  What can I change?”  He said–and I will never forget it because it took me months to understand–“It has nothing to do with you.”  WHAT???  It has EVERYTHING to do with me.  It’s my life that’s being ripped open.  My reality that has to shift to include this storyline.  My fingers that scrub the lipstick out of your shirt.  I finally understood what he meant (with the help of many thousands of dollars worth of therapy from trained professionals)–I wasn’t the cause of his cheating.  I couldn’t have changed it and I couldn’t fix it.

In a very unguarded conversation, after we had spent some time together “putting things back together” but I found a book in his car titled :Should I Stay of Should I Go?,” he said, “I had made such a mess of my life and you kept saving the day.  I just wanted to be the good guy for once.  So I found someone more screwed up than me.”  I think he even used the expression “white knight.”  In a more guarded conversation that showed Fartbuster in his prime, he accused me of being “too supportive.”  Y’know, keeping the mortgage paid and food on the table and stuff.  Pffffft.  What a conniving bitch I was to do that!  There’s a really good reason we call them our EX-HUSBANDS.

This is rambling and disjointed and you know what….it’s the TRUTH!  It’s OK!  It’s me doing my best!  So next time I’ll talk about the one and only phone conversation I had with The Other Woman.  It’s a doozie.  It’s all about owning what you own and not taking on what you don’t own.  For today, I just wanted to talk about telling the truth.  It’s a way to clean the wound.  It all gets better once you start telling the truth.  Because sometimes the truth is, “It’s not your fault.”