Twitter Twatter Tweet


A few months ago I opened a Twitter account. I only did it because of my blog. I’ve read that it’s one of a bazillion on-line social media outlets that you need to help you to be successful, blah blah. I don’t have many followers. Barely 90. I would think that would be a lot if it were my own personal Twitter account. But it’s not. I am painfully aware that 90 is nothing for the purpose of its creation.

Here’s my problem: I don’t know how to use it. My daughter tries to show me. I just don’t get the hashtag, the retweet, the favorite. And reply? It scares the crap out of me. Recently, I thought this chick was talking to me personally so I replied to her. The daughter berated me and basically said I was embarrassing. Whatever.

Oh, I forgot to mention that I really don’t understand that whole Twitter party thing. I like parties. No, let me rephrase that. I LOVE parties. I am The Party Girl. This party? Umm, no. Not for me. I can’t seem to find my way to the front door. Which is okay, because I don’t think they serve wine anyway.

Can I confess something without being stoned to death? I hate Twitter. I am a Twitter degenerate. Every single time I go in there, I am bombarded with tweets from the 104 people I am following. It could quite possibly take me a full day to catch up on my tweets. And what if I like something? What do I do? I’m afraid of doing something I can’t take back.

And what the hell would anybody who is following me find so interesting in what I have to say? “Oh, I just lost 5 pounds cuz I pooped for the first time in three days?” Oh, yeah. Compelling. Some people are so damn creative and funny. When I read some tweets, I laugh and then think, “gee, why didn’t I think of that?”

Also, if I do want to say something, it’s usually a lot. I like Facebook because I can chat to my heart’s content. Twitter? I think I get like 20 characters or something. Okay, so I’m exaggerating. Still. Not enough. Hello? Have you met me?

So, here I am. Letting days or even weeks go by before I look at my Twitter because I am afraid of it. Every time I look at my iPhone and I see that little birdie sitting there, mocking me, I break out in a sweat. In the last three minutes, I have gotten like 23 notifications. Oh sorry, I believe I’m using the incorrect terminology. “Tweets.” Good Lord. What do I do with them all?

This thought process brings me to other thought processes like whatever happened to the good old days where everything was so easy? I miss rotary phones, beepers and Kodak film.

What was the hottest thing in technology when I was 15? A Walkman. I would walk around with my Walkman and listen to music and not share it with a bazillion (90) other people. And that’s a good thing, right? Back in the day when the tweet came from Polly the Parakeet. I think I like that better.

Social Media Killed All The Fun

Someone posted this on Facebook the other day:

1010578_684363594926430_1747462678_nAnd I thought, “holy crap, no kidding.”  I can’t even begin to imagine it.  I probably would have spent more time in the principal’s office, rehab or even been shipped off to Military School had my parents known the half of it.

Being a teenager 30 years ago is pretty much the same as being a teenager now.  The difference is we didn’t get caught (as often).  We had ways of intercepting the dreaded phone call from the school secretary claiming we didn’t show up for Math Class.  If we told a “friend” a secret, it took more than 3 minutes to circulate our school and the surrounding towns.   And hiding bad grades?  Damn, I was an expert at that.  I would have been screwed if my mom and dad had access to a  “Parent Portal.”

Kids today can’t do anything fun without going to great lengths to keep it hidden.  I could, as well as most anyone, pretty much write a book on all the mishaps of my teen years.  And I may.  But for now, here are just a few:

  • Doing donuts on Lake Mahopac in January in a friend’s car.  With NO seatbelt.  Not that a seatbelt will save you as your car breaks through and you sink to the bottom of an icy abyss.
  • Driving an abandoned vehicle in a field.  With shards of glass flying in my face from the remains of a smashed out windshield.
  • Driving to the edge of a cliff to see how close we could get without going over.  (By now you get that I enjoyed doing crazy car crap.  My insides are creeping out just thinking about it.)
  • Drinking beer at the A&P until midnight when my parents thought their sweet girl was at the movies with Heidi. If Facebook existed, I’m pretty sure one of the friends I hung out with would have tagged me.  Completely blowing my cover.
  • Cutting class.  Well, there most likely would have been some kind of page dedicated  just for “Mo’s Skipped Classes.”  And what I did while cutting class?  It would have gone viral for sure.
  • The time I threw Mickey Dee’s BBQ sauce in the face of an ex pretty much stayed in the Mickey Dee’s.  Or else peeps would still be talking about it, right?
  • The vomit I spewed onto my boyfriend’s driveway got hosed away into the grass and that is where it stayed.  Not on some cell phone camera for the class of 1986 and beyond to see for their viewing pleasure.

If I knew half the shit I did would be out in cyberspace, I may think twice.  Or not.  I just thank god I wasn’t bred in this generation.  The half-brain I possessed would not have had the ability to filter out the good from the bad.  Unfortunately, only part of me has grown up.  Every day, I have to put forward a real effort to not do or say anything stupid.  I wish filters were as readily available as Youtube.  The world would be a better place, wouldn’t it?




The kid wanted a Facebook account.  Now, DH and I are pretty strict.  We did not give in to her easily.  We had to think about it, mull it over, digest it, dissect it.  Finally we relented.  I had my own page so I could keep an eye on things.

She was happier than a dog eating poop.  Everything’s great.  Happy kid, happy mom.  Until about 6 months later.

The Kid:  Mom, what are you doing?

Me: I’m checking my notifications.

The Kid:  Oh, mom get with the program.  Facebook is so yesterday.

Me:  Oh.

The Kid:  Can I get an Instagram?

First of all, it took me a year to figure out the term “notifications” and she is ready to move on?  Second of all, what the hell is an Instagram and why do you need it?  Apparently, it’s a place where you post pictures.  In my opinion, no one wants to see how you dress your cat.

Now she’s working on us for a Twitter account.  Isn’t that so “yesterday?”  Chirp chirp.  Or is it Tweet?