Under The Overshare

My friend Scott sent me a twitter message the other day informing me that some random was lacerating me on some now no-longer-existent website called “Thanks for Sharing”. Honestly? It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that I would end up on such a forum. As far as twitter and facebook go – I overshare – a lot! And I’m completely in a bit of mock-trouble for it all the time. I am completely aware that I set myself up for this kind of thing all the time. And this person (whoever he is) could quite easily have been talking about a lot of things that I’ve said over the past few months I have spent tweeting. Ooooh yummy!! I wonder which one it was?!!

Unfortunately by the time I got the message and was able to go and check it all out, both the website and the twitter account had been shut down so I’ve been completely robbed of the opportunity to get all boo-hoo dramatic and self-pitying about it. Scott seems to be upset enough for the both of us though, so I’m just going to work on the curiosity side of things and try to figure out what’s got this boy’s nuts in such a knot.

For one, there was the chainsaw thing. Shame…maybe that was a bit rude. Maybe he couldn’t handle it? Gosh maybe it turned him on and his Catholic upbringing which is totally opposed to perverted serial killer tendencies made him feel the need to pull out one of those weird self punishment whip things. That would kind of suck. Maybe that’s why he’s pissed at me. Really he should blame Standard Bank for that one though. I was merely a victimized consumer expressing my discomfort. Silly me. Clearly I should spend less time stalking The Bloggesss. She’s a bad influence.

Then there was the fanny thing. But seriously – someone sent me a poem about a fanny. I wasn’t a prude about it – hell – some of the best art is vaginally inspired so why the hell not. But I did find it kind of amusing. Twitter is my share forum. I shared. Maybe this turned him on again and reminded him that he hasn’t actually seen a live one in a LONG time. Or ever. Maybe he had to pay for the last vagina he got to play with. And he had to whip himself again. Was that it? Shame. That would kind of make me pissed off too I guess.

Of course there’s always the banter that happens between myself and my man. I did once say that I wanted “chocolate on Tyrone”. Damn my expression. But hell. It was probably during that last hour of work on a Friday afternoon. I was delerious with need for the weekend to start. Really it was just supposed to make people laugh.  And besides that – I am quite aware of how nauseating we are. Just like all other people who are in love. We do tend to play it up for laughs. Yesterday I was told by my friend Caro that if she ever needs to copy and paste a heart she just clicks onto my Facebook wall. Haha! Awesome… But yeah. I can see how the public love thing can be offensive. People in love make me cranky when I haven’t gotten laid in a while too. Dude… We totally understand. Really.

Of course there was also the swinging thing With The Perelsons. You see…. The chocolate thing kind of put Mr. Perelson in a mood. I think it was a play mood, but it later lead to a conversation between myself and my man about how funny it might be if we were to tease him into thinking that we were seriously keen to set up a bit of a swinging thing with him and his wife. Of course I could NEVER pull off such a stunt though. Not a damn would I EVER be able to keep a straight face while propositioning such a straight-laced man for sex. Anyway – I tweeted it. It’s way easier to not type “lol” than it is to not get the giggles while trying to look all coy and sexy as part of an elaborate prank. Of course I had to bring the Bronkhorsts into as well  – just to add a bit of dimension to the joke. And there was a bit of mild back-and-forth tweeting happening – nothing serious! But hell… If the afore-mentioned over-shares were too much for this man to handle I imagine this one might have been a bit of a mind fuck too. Shame. All those arms and legs! Just IMAGINE!!!

But really what else could it be? That I’m constantly moaning about how hungry I am? And sharing my cravings? A woman who EATS?? Good god what a scandal!!! Fuck call the papers!! (Just make sure she’s not bulemic first though otherwise it doesn’t count!!) Or is it that I’m always moaning about racists? I mean hell!! Those racism haters – who the HELL do they think they are?! Or is it because I tweet about how cute my son is? Flip moms are so damn drab and boring! Who the hell gave them the right to be so typical? A mother who loves her kid! How completely mainstream!! OR – is it because I’m always moaning about stupid people? Are you feeling under attack?

The thing is – we ALL know who you are. You’re a cliche just like the “cliches” you mock and rage against. You’re the guy who we mistake for witty – only to soon realize that being witty and being an asshole are not quite the same thing. You’re that guy with a huge chip on his shoulder and a pinky finger in his pants. You’re bitter at the world because the blue pills aren’t working anymore and even if they were the porn stack next to the toilet is just not cutting it. You’re so desperate to count and the only way you do is by making a bit of hot air noise for your fellow boneheads to cheer about. Well done. Your mother must be proud.

You’re faced with a bit of a problem though: after highschool, you really do stop counting. While you’re still harboring fantasies of administering wedgies on the playground, the rest of us have gone on to be real people.  We’ve started our careers, ,our families, lost people we love, and learnt more in a few short years since highschool than we ever did within those walls. The dramas die down, and with maturity comes the refreshing realization that things either count a LOT or not at all. Family and friends fall on the “lot” side and everything else simply falls by the way side. You don’t have to read Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff to understand what that means.

So Scott – thank you for worrying about me and trying to reassure me – but I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever the guy had to say. And to be honest I quite sadistically love that I’m making the guy squirm. Especially since he is so unsure of his own convications that he never even put his name to any of it.

I heard something the other night that I’ve heard from many successful people in the past: If you’re not pissing someone off then you’re doing something wrong.

I think I’m down with that… And besides… I’ve been pissing people like you off for years!