The rumours are true folks – lock up your USB sticks, delete your naked photos, and reinforce your passwords – this kid has discovered social media!
Scroll your pretty little peepers to the right of the screen and you will note that Sophie, She Wrote (or SSW as the kool kidz I call it) now has its own Facebook page – Huzzah! I am also on Twitter. Ka-Blam!
Don’t worry, I am under no illusions. I realise that you guys already find me somewhat irritating. I comment on the old Book of Face a little too often, I find myself far funnier than anyone else does, and I “Tweet like nobody is listening” – mainly because most of the time they aren’t.
On a scale of 1 to Kimye, who are being particularly annoying at the moment, I would place myself around a solid Harry Styles. Seemed ok at first, now getting a tad carried away, but (hopefully) will get less bothersome and more attractive with age.
My relationship with social media is much like my relationship with KFC. At the time it is a great idea, I am the wittiest person on the planet. Check out me and my hilarious yet self-deprecating status! Then 2-3 hours later I am filled with regret, I feel bloated and sick and curse the day I ever met the Colonel.
Now I am “on board” with the whole social media shindig, which by the way is anything but social, there are a few things I would like to say.
*climbs on soapbox*
1. What are these “*”?
I know I use these a lot – see above. But what the hell are they?
As far as I can tell it is a ridiculous way to say what you are physically doing only with a dash of irony and lashings of ginger beer. Why do you need to know this? 98% of the time I’m lying to you anyway. I don’t even know what a soapbox would look like. Then again, if I did say what I was doing you wouldn’t be too happy about it, so I’m willing to keep up the charade if you are.
*reaches for loo roll*
2. Dear people who take selfies. Stop taking selfies.
I can’t take a selfie. I tried once and failed miserably. That said there aren’t many times when I look at myself in the mirror and think “Gee whiz Fox, you are looking incredible today. Let’s show everyone how fit you look standing here in the bathroom on your own!”
It’s not just the pure self-confidence that I am lacking, sadly I failed my audition for Cirque Du Soleil as I am unable to contort my body into the requisite selfie pose. One friend actually put her back out the other day in the quest for selfie perfection!
By far the most prolific offender is the sleeping selfie. You guys are the worst. Unless you have some weird medical condition where you take photos of yourself in the middle of a REM cycle, you ain’t fooling anyone. If you truly were asleep your mouth would be open, your fake eyelashes would be down your cheeks, and you’d probably be drooling.
Maybe that’s just me?
3. Don’t make me hate my dinner
This is the online equivalent of watching MasterChef. Yes, your steamed seabass with pomme puree and edible flowers looks lovely, but not when I have just sat down to a bowl of Mild Curry Super Noodles.
Super Noodles are currently retailing at a noodle-icious 79p – available from all good corner shops and some car boot sales.
4. What time is it? Time to put your phone down Soph!
To the guy or girl who had the idea to put a clock on Facebook and Twitter. I hate you.
Yours Truly may like the occasional wine. I know, it’s shocking. On account of my lifelong lack of relationship this often leads to me being alone in the flat, a little bit tipsy, and with only my Facebook status for company.
Note to self – when you post a Kelly Clarkson themed status update at an ungodly hour of the morning, people will notice. Because nothing says “Out on a School Night” quite like a 4am attempt at sarcasm.
5. Please like my status pretty please
Twitter and Facebook can be cruel, especially if, like me, you happen to make jokes a lot.
If we are face to face and I say something mildly humerous, it is polite manners to acknowledge the joke with a chortle, a small grin or even a roll of the eyes. In England we are taught this from birth along with how to make a good pot of tea and the best way to discipline ones household staff.
Facebook doesn’t give a hoot about manners (damn Yankees). If I make a joke on Twitter all I get in return is silence. They may as well reach out of the screen, poke me in the eye and stick a post-it on my face that says “Must Try Harder”.
6. The ice-bucket challenge
Just think where would the ice bucket challenge be without Facebook? You’d all be weirdoes having short showers in the garden and not telling anyone about it.
I say “you” as I have yet to do this. (Sorry Lauren and Danielle). I’ll get round to it I promise. Just as soon as I get washboard abs and the ability to fit into a bikini. And a bucket. And some ice.
Whilst it is for a very good cause, the whole thing may have got a tad out of control. The other day I donated £10 a month to the Red Cross so they can go and keep old ladies company. I know, I’m practically a saint! Also, it is pretty much guaranteed that I’ll need this service myself in the future, so it really is an investment.
Unfortunately things went a bit downhill when I celebrated my newfound charitableness by grabbing the nearest container and tipping the contents all over myself.
It’s amazing how much mouldy food you can fit in a kitchen bin these days.
7. So what’s the effing point?
Seen as my current readership is essentially my dad (hi Pops), the lovely girls from work, and my current Facebook friends you may wonder what on earth was the point of SSW’s page.
Well, Dear Reader, much like the lottery, the odds of winning substantially increase if you actually buy a ticket. Ergo, the chances of Tina Fey discovering my blog, writing a sitcom based on my life, catapulting me to stardom and meaning I don’t need to move back in with my parents, are greatly improved if this blog has a Facebook page.
Such is life in 2014.
The moral of this week’s post is therefore threefold:
– If you like my page on Facebook I might allow you to stay in my Tina Fey-shaped Hollywood mansion, but only if you have at least one profile picture you didn’t take yourself.
– Don’t advertise midweek drunkenness
– Maybe empty the bin more often.