Top 5 Annoying Things About Lists Of Top 5 Annoying Things.
[*Before we begin, here's a little bit of technical mumbo jumbo that probably none of us would like to deal with but it's there, like a dirty stray dog, and it'd be heartless to ignore it. You may have noticed that my site has been "down" quite a bit as of late, and while I'd love to say it's because the server couldn't handle the massive hoards of people coming here to read about perfect wedding gifts and killer wiener dogs, the truth is that there are apparently people in this world whose job it is to create gremlin-like spam bots that attempt to hack into my site like a million times per minute so they can take it over to... I don't know... sell UGGs, or something, which overloads the server and down she goes.
Fortunately though, I have a kickass friend from back when we worked at Best Buy together in the late 90's who's working on minimizing the attacks, and there's like all kinds of pressure for him to succeed because this is pretty much his job, and also I let him marry my cousin. Anyway, like I mentioned in an update on my Facebook page, I wish on the spam bot creators a minimum of one year locked in a padded cell plagued with mosquitos and The Backstreet Boy's "I Want It That Way" stuck on repeat. Until then, we'll just have to adjust.]
Speaking of my Facebook page, I’m trying really hard this morning to mentally gloss over the fact that a few days ago I had finally reached 500 “likes,” at which point I consumed a celebratory glass of cabernet, only to drop to 499 the following day, at which point I consumed a self-pitying glass of cabernet, but then celebrated 500 milestone again with — you guessed it — a glass of cabernet, only to wake up before sunrise on this lovely Monday morning to be smacked in the face with a 498 because apparently you hate me and pictures of sunsets offend you and it’s too early to drink.
And this just a week before my 4 year blogging anniversary.
That’s way harsh.
Well. Maybe you don’t hate me, because you’re actually here — not off “un-liking” me via social media network which, much as I hate to admit it, sends a little ping of pain right through my heavily armored right ventricle.
But, like pretty much anything else that happens on the internet, I have to let it roll off. Because complaining about what happens on Facebook is not a constructive way to live. Which is something I’m finally learning after, oh… I don’t know… 8 years of living in the jungle amongst the political arguments, excessive workout selfies, and updates filled with way too much information about my friends’ kids’ pooping habits. (All of which I’m guilty of posting myself, by the way, except replace “workout selfies” with “dog photos,” scratch out “friends’ kids’” all together, and add a steady, hideous photo stream of what I eat into the mix.)
What? That doesn’t look appetizing?
But here’s the thing. It’s my page. I’ll post what I want, as long as it falls within the rules and regulations of Facebook’s official policies. Which is totally my prerogative, right? Just like it’s your prerogative to ignore me. Or block me. Or — cue tightening of right ventricle — un-friend me.
(P.S. I’ll admit that with the exception of understanding advertising disclosures for Domestiphobia’s Facebook page, I haven’t exactly memorized their status and photo posting rules. I’ll venture to guess, though, that baby pictures and political rants and posts about pooping — hey. everybody does it. — are totally allowed.)
See, one day, probably about a million internet years ago (translation: 3-5 years), some regular person — likely not a social media superstar — posted a funny status update about his friends’ annoying status updates. It was so funny, in fact, that it became a trend. Suddenly, there were status updates everywhere complaining about status updates:
“I get that you love your babies, but I don’t want to see them. Kisses!”
“Ugh. Why does everyone keep posting about how ‘blessed’ they are? I get it. You’re happy. Move on.”
“Only stupid people post selfies. Mwahahaa.”
And, I don’t know. To me, these are far worse than anything they’re complaining about. Why? Because they sound entitled. Frankly, there is nothing more annoying than a public rant about what annoys you. Who made you the Facebook Police, anyway?
And also, why do you care so much?
Then the social media biggies caught on, and the online world exploded with viral articles about things you shouldn’t post on Facebook, like this one. The author writes that Facebook posts are annoying if they only serve the person who wrote them and don’t have a positive effect on anyone else. And, by that logic, all updates must serve to be informative or to entertain. He details several examples of posts that apparently annoy everyone, like “bragging” about life accomplishments or random outpourings of love for humanity.
And okay. Maybe I feel a twinge of annoyance when someone posts something like, “Well that sucked,” without explaining what exactly sucked and why or how much, but it doesn’t annoy me enough to give it much thought beyond that. And when people are happy? Well. That makes me happy. Call me crazy.
The problem is that the people who write these kinds of articles are thinking of social media as a business. That status updates should exist solely to entertain. Because for them, it is a business. But for the rest of us, it’s just a place to pictorially and typographically vomit our feelings off into our own little place in space. (Which probably explains why I’m back down to 498 likes. Huh.) So to these authors, I ask:
Why should your business practices apply to my personal space?
I realize that writing a post complaining about posts in which people complain about posts makes me a bit of a hypocrite. But it’s important, I think, because from here branch all kinds of articles telling us now how we must behave in living, breathing society — not just social media. Like this girl’s rant about why you shouldn’t wear leggings as pants. (My friend Dennis, by the way, wrote a brilliant response to the whole leggings-aren’t-pants bitching phenomenon, so I won’t attempt to do the same.) I understand that she’s trying to help women be more fashion-conscious, but if someone’s brave enough to go all skin-tight in the derrière, why should it matter whether I think it looks good or not? It’s not my bum. It’s not my business.
Now suddenly, everywhere, there are articles telling me what I can’t wear, how I can’t act, and what I can’t say.
And this is a dangerous path to tread, guys, unless we want it to get all Nineteen Eighty-four up in here. While it’s helpful to know what I shouldn’t say to a grieving parent, do I really need you telling me that I can’t say “cray” because I’m over thirty?
Look. When you write stuff like that, I won’t say I’ll cut you, because apparently I’m not allowed. But.
It kind of makes me want to.