It has begun. There is a certain age in every group or clique where someone in the group or clique refuses to grow up. And fortunately for us in 2012, my group or clique is my intimate group of 1,154 friends on Facebook, or as I like to call it, BeFriends, MyFriends, or Unionspace (all Law and Order euphemisms for Facebook that I fucking love). I am surrounded, engulfed, enveloped by masses of friends, all around the same age as me, hitting massive milestones and keeping their social network posted to a fault. EVERYONE IS HAVING BABIES. Everyone has tied the knot. Throw pillows, splitting sides of the sink, a mortgage, domestic bliss… these things I don’t mind. I don’t want said amenities, mostly because I have too much makeup to sacrifice any bathroom counter space, but I don’t mind. What I do mind is a few choice interweb outbursts concerning domesticity and personal life. I may lose some friends over this post, but my real friends understand that THIS IS A COMEDY BLOG AND I’M JOKING. I digress. So let’s strike a deal, all you domestic gods and goddesses, so that I can enjoy your benign and mundane status updates just as much as you can ignore mine.
First off, if you promise not to post the “My Fetus” app, where we learn week by week how your little nugget of an embryo is doing, I will try my best not to post any pictures of my amazing walk of shame outfit was from last week. Can I at least describe it? A white t-shirt, grey baggy sweatpants, and four inch heels. But hey, everything matched I’m not a monster. As happy as I am for you, and I am thrilled actually, learning when your bundle of joy’s optic nerve officially develops doesn’t make me any more happy for you. My happiness stays on an even keel for that one.
Next, MEDICAL PROCEDURES AREN’T FACEBOOK UPDATES. This is a real problem, and I’m not sure why when we hit a certain age, everyone thinks that one thousand of your closest friends want to see a photograph of the fluid drained from your abdomen. I could not think of an example that gross, so you know it’s true. If we are intimate enough friends that you can email me a photo of the medical procedure AS IT IS HAPPENING (also has popped up on my newsfeed), let’s do that. Otherwise I don’t want to see it. I’m on social networking sites for two reasons: making sure my friends are still alive and stalking an ex or two. I mean c’mon, what else is Facebook for?
Finally, if you name your kid something ridiculous, I have a right to make one or two comments. I won’t turn it into a youtube video or anything, but I have the right to say something. Disclaimer: all of my friends are white so this isn’t racist. Wait, is that racist? Anyways, if you want to name your kid “Coachaim”, which is pronounced like the powdery white substance but with an “m”, I am probably going to have to say something. Not something mean, but something funny like, “Did Coachaim keep you up all night?” Or maybe, “I’m sure you’ve spent all your money on Coachaim.” See? Funny. Just don’t name your child something that will get them mocked every year on the first day of roll call for the rest of their schooling. Just ask the kid I spent ten years with in grammar school, Mary Jane Arrester. Nice job, parents.
Maybe all of this anxiety and frustration on my end is just my insecurities about getting older and not settling down, in fact that’s probably the case. But because I don’t deal with my issues, I just tell jokes and bury my pain, we may never know.