Hypocritically Speaking

Social networking is still a mystery to me and so much of it pointless. For instance, what is Twitter used for? How does one use it? I mean, I get the basic concept; Write something really important in a limited amount of space like a haiku. But then what? Will somebody reply? Comment? Heckle?

Don't get me wrong, I have a Twitter account. I know nothing beyond the fact that I linked it to my book blog so it shows up on Twitter when I write a review. My objective is to score free books. Yet the few times I've tried to really figure out Twitter, I am a few beats behind. I see that someone wrote something that I can't NOT comment, "That's what she said!" The intent is to look clever and witty. After proudly punching <enter> I realize it's 3 months old.

Scratch "clever" and "witty."

Then there's Facebook. It is a voyeuristic heaven. My first month with it was a giant black hole. I was so excited to connect to EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. from my entire history of life, catch up, post pictures, boast a bit but then I started seeing the madness of it all. Some of these people were sitting right at the computer at all times, watching for someone to log on then making inane conversation. Okay, Janet-who-who-never-talked-to-me-after-the-6th-grade now wants to tell me all about her current beau and her 5 grandchildren while trashing her first three husbands.

I can't deny the draw of being a voyeur. I can not. I looked at the pictures of my former classmates and LOVED that they had gotten fat, wrinkled, old, or whatever. Because at the time I found FB, I was unnaturally thin and posted a lot of pictures of myself with my pre-schooler even though I was in my early forties.

I'm a late bloomer, you know.

I gasped when I found that the reason the ever so popular Fred never had a girlfriend is that he was gay. Not only that, but he's now politically actively gay. He marches in all the parades and posts comment after comment after comment after comment about the injustices of gays. Steve and Christine, the cute young couple from college, grew up to be Christian-bashing atheists growing pot in their basement. And reposting article after article after article that illustrated their stance as atheists and the stupidity of Christians. I personally think they are simply anti-establishment. They want to be special.


I knew the political stance of 30 people I barely know. I knew the bladder capacity of at least 10. I realized that, although I had over 300 "friends," about 15 of them were boring me to tears. I tired of Fred's rants, as did Alan, another former classmate who got in a Facebook fight. Fred de-friended him. Lanae was always having a fight with her (fourth) husband and starting the day with, "Last night I wanted to kill myself," or "That was so hard!" which resulted in 40 people asking her what's wrong.

It was like high school all over again.

Facebook lost its sparkle and I didn't even order a yearbook to commemorate my short attention span. I couldn't believe people actually posted such personal information on a public domain. STRANGERS might see it, you know? I posted, of course. Rarely, but I posted things like:

In solidarity with my mother who has just started chemotherapy, my dad has started to shave his head. Sorry I didn't notice, Dad.


Today a mother of a student asked if I have any grandchildren. I even tried to look indignant when I told her I'm too young. I'm 29 years old, People! 29! 29!


My 6 year old has been talking nonstop for the past four hours. Two more hours to go. Just keep nodding my head and agreeing with him every few minutes. I'm such a good, attentive mother. Raise your hand if you want to be like me when you grow up!


Anybody have pointers on how to effectively use the "bra"cket to carry around your cell phone? My husband kept texting me and making me giggle when it vibrated and then it kept slipping out, eventually making it into the hands of my shady colleague who probably called Australia before she called me to let me know she'd found it.


Two rounds of laser tag today kicked my butt. Speaking of butt, it's going to be sore from all that crouching, running, and jumping out to the Mission Impossible theme song. Oh, and screaming like a little girl whenever I got shot.
Great fun!

The photo they never want made public.
I do not respect those wishes, obviously.

What happens at a fathers and sons campout STAYS at a fathers and sons campout.

My daughter got asked to prom. Her friend asked her, in all seriousness, if she'd warned her date about her mom yet. I'm conflicted. Am I offended or complimented?

I am declaring war on Legos.

Given, those are 95% of my status updates in the past year plus. I post, on average, once every 6-8 weeks. I have my little life and existence that consists of my home, the people in my home, work, and my Costco trips. Overall, I like to fly under the radar. And yet...

How nice it is for me to sit on my high horse and tsk all those over sharing people in the masses. I proudly boast that I rarely get on facebook. I don't talk about the fight my husband and I had last night or the latest test result from a doctor. Few people in my face-to-face (or facebook) life even know my alternate personality, A Musing Mother. Which is a shame, really. I am much funnier now than when I was 16.

I am a private person.

1. Who blogs. 
2. Who writes about her mammogram. 
3. Her small cup size that won't hold a cell phone.
4. Her sagging places. 
5. Her butt. 
6. Her boobs. 
7. Her butt and boobs some more. 
8. Inappropriate thoughts and musings.

I don't think I need to point out the irony of my illusional high horse.