I'm not your bitch, don't hang your shit on me.

Monday, January 04, 2016

Social media IRL isn't so social

Sometimes the people we see/follow on social media end up being different than what you expect.  Never assume, is one of my personal maxims.

This was true when blogging first started, then later with other platforms like Facebook and Twitter. Now with Instagram, you feel like you know people just by looking at their carefully curated images (let's be honest, they're not as random as we want them to believe).

But it's disappointing when they end up, you know, disappointing you.

For a while, I've been skimming through the images of friends of friends on Instagram.  And after realizing that one of them was the same person I had been corresponding with for a few work projects, I send an email (that I thought was kind of funny in a wink-wink kind of way).

Quick question:  Are we going to play the chicken game on Instagram (like for like) and see how long it takes before following one another?  Haha :P

The response was not what I was expecting.

I dont think I know you sorry.

That's self explanatory. 

The odd thing is after we were messaging for some work things, he then liked/commented on a few images (I don't have many) right after we first emailed one another.  To throw this dismissive reply my way was a little cruel.  Dude, you know who I am.  Is breaking the fourth wall really that unsettling?  Is it best to just be "friends" in the digital world, rather than the real one?

Not only do I feel stupid for sending the email but also for the emotional owie I got from someone I was "friendly" with.  And that hurts.  How disappointing.

Tuesday, December 01, 2015

Dating world equation

A friend and I are catching up during lunch and there's a lot to talk about.  Inevitably the conversation veers towards relationships, or those who aren't in them.  It's a complicated world, but I tell her a lot of it comes down to a simple equation.

"The dating world is full of fives who think they're 10s, and they're looking for an 11." I say between sips of water.

"Oh my God, it's so true," my friend, R, laughs while patting the table with her hand.

"It's like, oh this guy is a rich supermodel, who is smart, nice, funny, great in bed with a 12-inch penis... but I think I want a guy with a 13-inch penis."

She laughs, again.

"That shit doesn't add up," I say as I nod my head.  "No wonder why so many people are single: they're always looking for something better when they don't even realize what they have."

I take another bite of my lunch then finish off my thought.

"And all of that," I swirl my fork in the air, "I can understand if you're Bradley Cooper, or something.  But, R, these guys ain't Bradley Cooper."  Fuck, they're barely Brad Garrett, I think, but don't say out loud for fear that Brad Garrett is within hearing distance.

The grass is always greener on the other side, but what if there's no grass, let alone another side?  These people don't care since they're deluded to think they'll always be a catch no matter how old they get.  Get some realistic standards because no one finds a 50-year-old hunting down 20 year olds to be particularly attractive.

Now, that's simple math.

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

It's not our money, it's his money


Every once in a while, I get to catch up with a friend who I haven't spoken to due to scheduling conflicts.  Usually, we're working opposing hours, or more likely, it's because they're dating and have "no time" for a 20-minute coffee break since their man expects them to be on beckon call 24 hours a day.

Inevitably, the talk circles to that of spending.  

We just bought a new condo/house.

We're decorating/renovating our condo/house.

We're going on a trip and staying in a famous hotel/resort.

We're getting a new wardrobe from [designer/retailer X].

We're eating at at this 4-star/celebrity chef restaurant.

And, on and on.

To be honest, that money talk is fine and dandy.  The thing is, my friends aren't spending their money.  I know how much they make (even if I don't ever divulge my earnings) and it's impossible to live the lives they have without having their boyfriends shell out for almost all of the expenses.
 And I don't care what people say, no one can buy an $800,000 house when they make $25,000 a year (no bank will give you a loan/mortgage for that amount).  I don't care how good you claim your credit is.

To rephrase the inner thoughts of my friends: it's not "our" money, it's "his" money.

They're not married (or even common-law), they're dating.  If the man wants to dump them, they have nothing.  Their names aren't on any papers and those vacations/fashion trips won't pay the bills.  They barely have squatter rights in their $800,000 house.  Don't kid yourself, guys.  I've learned from my mistakes.  The prenup protects me: I own what is mine.  In this case, it's not yours, it's his.

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Being someone's personal calendar

It's Tuesday and I'm supposed to be going out with DB.  There's been a lot of chat, but we agreed yesterday to meet up today after work.  We figured out the time (5 pm) since we'd both finish work.  I'd meet DB at Yonge and College Streets since it's midway between both of us.

As it gets closer to 5 pm, I wonder if DB is going to text me first, or of it's the other way around.  Five o'clock turns into six which turns into 6:30 pm.  I'm sick of waiting so I sent a text then asking if he's still working.

"Oh FUCK! I totally forgot!  I'm so sorry dude." The reply comes minutes after my message.

Really?  How forgetful can you possibly be?  We were just chatting, like, hours ago.

"To make up for the non-jerk behaviour, you're paying for coffee." I send a text, my reaction is totally justifiable.

Then, I get this.  "Ok, I'll pay for your coffee.  That's a given.  But why didn't I hear from you until just now?"  As if it's my fault to act as someone's personal calendar (not to mention assistant).  His cell has a calendar.  DB does everything with his iPhone.  He'd even shit with it if there was an downloadable app for that function.

I don't even bother to reply.  If someone doesn't have the common courtesy to schedule me in (let alone forget about me hours after chatting with me), then I have no reason to make time for them, either.

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Can't be Facebook friends with exes

Every once in a while, I log onto Facebook to check up on what's going on with who I know.  One person I haven't seen much activity from is an ex of mine.  I don't have any exes as Facebook friends (interpret that as you wish) except for this one who I got along with after we broke up.

Thinking about sending him a note, I type in his name in the search box and see he unfriended me.  Odd.  Not too long ago, he posted on my wall, wanting to start a conversation (which I don't like; send me a private message instead if you want to talk).

Wanting to get to the bottom of things, I write a private message, saying I was going to send him a note but saw we were no longer Facebook friends.

His tone was rather brusque and to the point.

"We haven't spoken in a while."

I say I haven't spoken to a lot of people since all of my friends are busy (i.e. work, families, etc.) and asked if he wanted to grab a coffee and catch up.

"There's nothing more to say."

Ouch.

There's a line about exes:  the one thing they all have in common is you.

He was the last bastion of proof that exes could be friendly with one another.  As it turns out, I guess I can't be with any of mine.  It isn't through lack of trying.  There's nothing wrong with being civil, right?  Maybe we're not meant to be in each others' lives.

Monday, May 11, 2015

Pre-divorce ceremony

People have a love/hate relationship with Facebook.  At times, so do I.  I use it mainly to see what's going on in the lives of my friends/loved ones.  It's a lot easier than picking up the phone or emailing (Lord knows I do that enough for work). A quick scan a few days a week and I'm updated.

Recently, one of the wall posts that someone commented on is of a friend of Crazy.  There's a photo (taken from Instagram) of an open invitation to Crazy's wedding.  Not only is the marriage to a doctor (once a gold digger, always a gold digger), but the address states he's also moved up the street from me (coincidentally, in the building he wanted me to move into).

Congrats.

Then, a short while later, there's another wall post of the same friend of a picture of white flowers (peonies or roses) and an unopened, red Cartier box on top.

To paraphrase the caption: after kissing so many frogs you finally found your prince.

Gag.

Of course, this is a little jab at me since I was Crazy's only ex, and this friend knows it (because why would you post Instagram photos of someone who has blocked you on social media on your own wall?). I roll my eyes to it the obvious effort to elicit a reaction; that, and the "doctor's wife" comments.

These types of Facebook updates are like having someone blow smoke in your face when they know you're a former smoker.  It's a childish taunt.  What makes it sad is these people are in their 30s.

For those asking why I don't unfriend these people, I make the point that I have nothing against them, only against Crazy (and it'd be pretty stupid to delete over 20 people because of one person's behaviour).
 
So, no matter how hard I try to distance myself from my past, it keeps following me, as it has for the past five-plus years.

It's going to be a lovely pre-divorce ceremony.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Kijiji craziness

Like many people who have useless crap laying around the house, I sell it online in order to have extra space in my cupboards (hoarding is so 2012) and make some cash on the side.  I head off to Kijiji, an online marketplace (similar to a digital yard sale) and post some things.

Because of my work, I get a lot of free stuff that I will never use/wear/etc. but it's brand new and good quality.  I'd never sell something that's old or broken.  Who wants that?  The way I calculate a price is by looking for the original MSRP, divide it by half and take off an extra $5.  It's a good way to garner interest.

Then, people start to negotiate (a.k.a. "haggle").

For a woman's designer bracelet, I had a girl ask if I could take $X off it and I said I'd only do that if she picked it up at my work.  She agreed... for a second.

That's kind of far for me.  She says in an email.  I tell her I work downtown (and the original posting says to be picked up downtown; I ain't FedEx).

If I pick it up [near your work] can you give me a discount?

I tell her it's already discounted from the original price and I won't discount it more.

Can you deliver them to [a mall that's not downtown]?

She's not getting it; she has to pick it up at/near my work (that's why I gave her another discount).  I'd say English wasn't her first language, since she clearly doesn't understand what I'm saying, but her grammar is fine, so I'll brush it off as a case of idiocy.

What this girl doesn't realize if that I'd be losing money on the sale by traveling more than an hour one way, waiting for her (assuming she arrives on time), than traveling back more than an hour back to work.  All for $20.  Yeah, you read that right: twenty dollars.

As much as I want to tell her she's out of her fucking mind, I don't.  I must remain professional.

Sorry but that's too far away for me.  Thanks.

Onto the next seller.