A word of warning: This post will not reflect me at my finest.
Can you get to know and thereby judge someone by their Facebook posts? Seriously. Can you? My rational self says “of course not.” But yet I do. I have. I am.
A few months ago, six at most, I was sent a friend request by the wife of a good friend of Blue Eyes. While I had met the husband and heard a lot about the wife, I had never met the wife. It seemed harmless to accept the friend request, yet I didn’t immediately.
I mentioned to Blue Eyes I had received it and he, in turn, told me how she had asked him if “he thought it would be okay” if she sent me the friend request. He thought it was harmless enough. He’s her friend. He’s been friends with her husband for a good many years. He loves these people. I know he does by the way he talks about them. So I accepted the request.
Let me say up front I don’t spend a lot of time on Facebook. I used to say I had an account so I could keep an eye on what my children were doing. I even set up my account to push any and all posts from my boys directly to my cell phone so I could be on top of the bullshit they were spewing to their friends. When the kids figured out what was happening, they slightly curbed their Facebook behavior and then it pretty much came to an end. Why? Because if you’re the parent of a teenager you know that Facebook is pretty much out now. It’s all about Twitter and Instagram. My children know my tolerance is low with social media and they were almost certain I wouldn’t follow them to the new spots. They were correct. Lord help me if I ever send a tweet.
So, I’m not on Facebook that much. My active time is pretty much limited to talking about running accomplishments, sharing pictures when I’m on a fabulous vacation, and “checking in” at random spots (because for some reason I love that feature). I can go a few weeks without getting on Facebook. In fact I have a group of girlfriends who like to chat by private message on Facebook and if I don’t chime in with any regularity they will send me a text to tell me there is a string of messages that need my attention.
After “V” and I became friends I found something out about her. She posts all the time. All. The. Time. Interesting posts? No. Posts about what she’s pinning on Pinterest, what she’s making for dinner, how many loaves of banana bread she made, that she texted with a good friend, that dinner didn’t sit well, that her youngest threw up, that her oldest wants a dog, that the middle child made chocolate milk come out of their nose. All. The. Time.
Is she my only “friend” that posts all the time? No. Not even close. But the difference is that the others I actually know. I actually formed a friendship with them before Facebook – and have the pleasure of knowing, while some of them may annoy the hell out of me with their posts I really do like them as individuals. (I also have a couple of friends who actually post all the time, but it’s interesting and/or funny shit.)
Here’s my problem. I don’t like “V”. At all. I’ve spent all of 20 minutes in her actual physical presence. The first time was two minutes of introduction and smiles, and was “pre-Facebook-friend status” – the second time was 18 minutes in which we had no conversation and I had already decided I didn’t like her because we were already friends on Facebook. I made no effort to talk to her and she didn’t either. Maybe all two of my posts to her fifty million made her not like me . . . it’s possible.
It’s shameful that my feelings are so strong. Social media has likely ruined any chance of us being friends. Interestingly, I’m okay with that. I don’t like her. Plain and simple.
But is it plain and simple?
Last night, after a really nice weekend with Blue Eyes that actually began on Thursday evening, I checked Facebook to see what people were talking about. “V” had posted three posts back to back that came up on the top of my newsfeed. One about the Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes and peas she had cooked for dinner, complete with a photo. One about her addiction to Pinterest. And one about what a fabulous day it had been, talking to favorite friends on the phone, texting with other favorite friends, hanging out with her husband, living a life of perfection, living “the dream.”
Possibly I was just in a mood, but I was instantly annoyed. I should have left it at that and gotten out of Facebook and gone on to sleep. But no. There were 5 comments to her last post and I just had to read them. Blah, blah, blah, blah. Yeah. I don’t like her friends either. Then there was a comment by Blue Eyes. It was classic Blue Eyes in that it had a tone of smart-ass about it, but FUCK if it didn’t send me beyond “in a mood” to flat-out “highly irritated,” “in a snit,” “irrational anger.”
Yep. Not me at my finest. I warned you.
Possibly I’m jealous. I’m jealous that a woman I don’t like because of her Facebook status comments is good friends with my boyfriend. Not just my boyfriend, but my boyfriend’s daughter, who is also my Facebook friend. Possibly I’m jealous because she’s been friends with them longer than I have and I don’t like that. Possibly because I think she’s judging me since Blue Eyes has been divorced for quite some time and while he’s dated other women, all of whom have been introduced to “V” – she is comparing me to them and making her judgments – and since I’ve never actually talked to her I don’t know what those judgments are. Hmmm, sounds rational, right? Yeah. I know it doesn’t.
Yes, I realize it doesn’t matter what she thinks of me. And in turn, what I think of her doesn’t matter.
If I wasn’t such a fickle bitch I’d unfriend her already. But you know I can’t do that. If I did that I wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop on the conversations between “V” and Blue Eyes, insignificant as they may be.
Blue Eyes has a birthday in March. His daughter told me she’s taking him to dinner and has invited me and my youngest son to come as well. She told me she was going to “surprise” Blue Eyes by having some of his “closest” friends meet us at the restaurant. “V” and her husband are among those friends.
As I see it, I have two months to get to a place in which I have no feelings one way or another about “V” – two months.
Looks like my Facebook Hiatus starts now.