My Twitter empire is dwindling…well if you say going from 19 to 15 is ‘dwindling’…or that 19 is an empire, so be it. Twitter gives me anxiety. When I try to tweet I feel like a twat. Also I find the 140-character limit extremely daunting. You see, I am a wordsmith, and literary geniuses like myself cannot have such limitations placed on ourselves.
There are extremely active comedians, actors and writers, dropping jokes and comments throughout the day. It’s smart, it’s funny, and I just don’t have that much to say. Well, obviously I have a lot going on in the old brain factory, but as for funny-throwaway remarks, it feels inauthentic.
I don’t tweet. I’ve tried. I’ve dropped a few words now and again, but I feel like such a dolt. But I feel like a nerdy teen who hangs out in the audio-visual room at lunch, marching up to all the cool kids in the smoke pit and saying “What’s up bitches?” Or like in “Mean Girls” when Lindsay Lohan approached the table of “unfriendly black hotties”, with a ubiquitous African greeting “Jambo”, and then receives evil glares and stunned silence in response. I don’t speak the language, and I’m just not that ‘cool’.
I mean, don’t you worry, I am plenty groovy–I am quite hip to the trends, and people in the know think I am pretty neat-o. But I think it’s my tendency to over think things, that ultimately causes me to either not tweet, or write a tweet and then not publish it. “Do people care how delicious this sandwich is? I mean it is a tasty little morsel…but do people care?” I think in this world of #oversharing, a little #overthinking is a bit of a virtue.
Maybe if I was Lena Dunham, people would eat up whatever I was saying.
But then again, people apparently tweet nasty things to her, calling her “fat” and whatnot. My goodness, I would not enjoy being called fat, unless the ‘f’ was replaced with a ‘ph’, and in that case, let it rain!
And then I followed others like Feist, Lana Del Rey, and Ms Florence…the girls I roll with on a regular basis. Please–I wish they would ask me to sit at their table and explain that Wednesday’s are for wearing pink.
And I’d show up dressed like Ralphie is “A Christmas Story”, and they’d be like…”no…you don’t get it…you just don’t get it”.
This is the story of my life, this bunny suit represents how I fit into social media. Before I started the blog nearly three months ago, I used the internet solely for email or research. Now I find myself living and breathing this new world, but I feel like an outsider. Facebook is my comfort zone–the A/V room, Twitter is the high school smoke pit. So mostly I watch from a distance, witnessing effortless coolness in action. And I’m over here trying to make catchphrases like ‘fetch’ popular, and it just may not happen for me. And isn’t social media just like some big international high school? There are cliques; the stars and the trolls, and we all want to be ‘liked’ and ‘followed’. Bullying is now easier than ever, to be a ‘mean girl’ is easier than being popular. (But isn’t that the same thing sometimes?) And I am subtly trying to be within the realm, without being obvious or ostentatious. With that being said, it seems it is the vulgarity that catches attention. So as far as this high school metaphor is concerned, I am roaming the halls until someone shouts: “She doesn’t even go here!” And that wouldn’t be fetch…no it wouldn’t at all.
It doesn’t bother me that four people dropped me from Twitter; I don’t know them, and they don’t know me. I have been inactive at best, and I don’t blame people for being bored with me. There is a daily tweet though, my WordPress account is connected to Twitter, and my blogs appear there daily. And as we all know, everything I write is absolute solid gold. Or gold plated at least. At the very least.
All Images Courtesy of Google