"Maybe I Just Like Talking to Myself": a reflection on my obsession with social media.

Because let's be real.
"Social" Media?  That would require me to be social.

Which you know, I want to be.  It's the rest of the world that's the problem.  I have yet to find the sign taped to my back that says "avoid at all costs" but I'm convinced it's there anyway.

But this isn't really a discussion of why I have no friends.

Social media users can be broken down in one of two ways:
You're either:

The Talker

Or

The Stalker

The Talker wants the world to know their story.  All of it.  Including the editing, revising, and publishing of that story.

They want you to know when they breathe, eat, sleep, etc.  Their thoughts, feelings, emotions, dreams, aspirations, temper tantrums.....

The Stalker gets his/her kicks from watching the Talkers.  The Stalkers amass information regarding the many people they are connected to on these social sites.  They're often heard saying "Did you hear...?"  They know everything.  Everything.

There is,of course, the in-betweens.  You can really think of a spectrum existing between the Talkers and the Stalkers and that would be pretty accurate.

If I were to put myself on that spectrum I would lean very heavily towards the Talker.  I mean really.  ...I have a blog.

...not only do I have the blog, I also have facebook, tumblr, skype and most recently, twitter.

You can find me anywhere, really.  I'm most definitely a Talker.

I like to vent.  I like to have my thoughts and feelings in writing.  I prefer typing them over writing them.  I don't think of my blog like an auditorium, where I know tickets have been bought and I'm going to take the stage.

No.  I think of my blog more like I'm standing on top of a building downtown where there's a lot of foot traffic.  I'm yelling my thoughts and it feels good.  Most people either can't hear or ignore me, but every now and then someone stops and listens and laughs, then goes on with their life.

For me, it's not about the number of followers or friends. I routinely do facebook purges because I just don't care about that little number trying to tell me how many friends I have.  I sure as hell know I don't ACTUALLY have 277 friends.

I know the majority of those 277 could care less about me.  I'm realistic.

I think if I lived in a different time I would have journals.  Lots of them and the majority filled with nonsense.   I think the point of my blogging is to get these thoughts out of my head. I can look back and reflect later. I can see how my feelings have changed and grown because I wrote it down.

I don't care who is listening.  I don't care what you think, unless you're one of my closest friends and I actually value your opinion.  Which, you're probably not.

So really.  Whether it's a long post like this or 140 characters, my social media activity has a lot more to do with ME than it has to do with...being social.

To sum it up: Maybe I really do just like to talk to myself.  Just with social media: people overhear.

A gem from my ride back to CT:

....like, a semi-precious gem.  It's not much.

So we’re on our way back to CT, as of this writing we have 11 hours to go before we get home.  With Michelle back in the car after bassoon camp (because I have a sister that enjoys things like…bassoon camp in the middle of bumfuck nowhere), it’s becoming a very interesting ride.

Michelle has a habit of making noise.  It’s really no wonder she decided to go into music.  When an instrument is not made available to Michelle she will often make her own peculiar vocalizations.  These vary from “injured goose” to “screaming yodel”.  She also has this creepy voice she does…but that’s beyond explanation and really something you have to experience. 

It was only around 10 minutes into the ride when Michelle decided she was bored enough to start…being Michelle.  I turned to my dad and told him about a game I play in my head when I’m bored.

It’s called “Discovery Channel Narrator”.

When I’m bored, I’ll often people-watch and narrate their story in my head…as if they’re a wild animal species and I’m from Discovery Channel or Animal Planet.

Because I was telling my dad, I gave an example.

“The Michelle is a curious creature with an affinity for all things noise.  This species( playus bassoonus)will often find substitutes for her instrument of choice.  The instrument The Michelle has become most skilled on resembles a large piece of wood, such as a bedpost.”

My dad laughs and we start adding more and more species characteristics to our discovery channel special on “The Michelle”.

This goes on for awhile and, as is the case with most road trip conversations, we eventually lull ourselves into another silence.

My brother Ben slurps loudly from his milkshake.

I turn back to my dad.

“The Ben is a reclusive species with a disdain for the outdoors and physical activity.”

My dad supplements: “Like the Koala, The Ben has a very limited diet”

I interject:

“This diet of chicken products such as “nuggets” or the larger “fingers” and the required chocolate milkshake make McDonald’s a favorite hunting ground for The Ben, though he still requires his parental units to hunt for him in these instances”

Ben has caught wind that we are no longer discussing “The Michelle” and objects by trying to direct the discovery channel inquiry onto me.

I tell them go for it.

Ben tries:

“The Jenny is a very aggressive species”

My dad adds:

“The species defining characteristic is a well honed and sharp wit, as well as one of the sharpest tongues in the animal kingdom”.

At this point the car becomes silent.  I raise my eyebrows, and my dad supplies:

“I think they’re too afraid.”

So I supply my own:

“The Jenny has a particular ability to get along with animals of all species: with the exception of her own.”

…..We didn’t even try to narrate my dad’s species.

The trip generally went downhill from there.

A picture is worth a thousand words...

...but I'm not gonna say anything and tell a story just through webcam selfies.  They may have been used for this blog or tumblr or something random, but I'm gonna post them with absolutely no context.  Here's me: with a webcam...

Oh my god I'm insane.

Jenny versus the Energy Drink

So in a series of unfortunate decisions, (procrastination, mostly....and entertainment, partly) I happened to be awake this morning at 5:15, knowing I was going to get an hour and a half of crappy sleep, if that.

It was a bad life choice, I'll give you that.  But I'm a senior in my last weeks of college and if I can't pull all-nighters I don't know who can.

I woke out of my half sleep 15 minutes before my alarm and got dressed, got back in bed, and waited out the hour I usually take to make myself presentable.

....in other news, I look like crap today.  

That's besides the point.  The point is I left my room feeling like death slightly warmed over: and then frozen again by the rain that was pouring from the gloomy skies that made no attempt to brighten up my mood. 

Today is one of those days that needed to be bright and sunny for the sanity of the sleep-deprived.

I'm sitting in the dining hall eating my crappy pancake and generally feeling miserable and I get simultaneously the best and worst idea ever:

I'll have a Monster.

Yeah.  An energy drink.  I haven't had an energy drink since a battle of the bands my freshman year of high school.

I sorta remember feeling my heart pounding and bouncing off the walls with my best friend at the time. 

I vaguely remember losing my shoe for an hour.

I strongly remember saying that I wouldn't ever drink an energy drink ever again.  

Back to this morning.

I'm walking death.

I make it on the shuttle.  I'm drifting in and out of consciousness, and I feel like absolute crap, and I decide:

I need to wake up.

Party music time.

Let's goooooooo.

To the window....to the wall...

Go little bad girl...

Shawty get loose...

Heyyyyyy Yaaaaaa...

You get the point.

I go to the snack bar, and buy my energy drink.

Let the games begin.

I drink a couple sips waiting for class, sit down, and immediately regret my decision.

My body feels like it's thrumming.  I can't stop bouncing my leg.  I'm talking way too fast, and I'm saying silly things.

I'm moved on from modern pop and into bad 90's pop.  Britney Spears is providing the soundtrack to my energetic demise.

...You drive me crazy, I just can't sleep....

...Livin La Vida Locaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....

...I want it thattttttt wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy....

....Musical Interlude....

And it's getting worse. Anything I write now is going to be a mess, be forewarned.

I feel like I'm writing a post-apocalyptic diary entry, watching my descent into madness.

I feel like sitting still right now is a crime.

Against humanity, specifically mine.  My very very important humanity.

...What's left of it after this senior year.

(I'm gonna need another one of these.)

(That's an AWFUL idea.)

I can't wait to play dodgeball all hyped up on Monster.  I'm gonna be bouncing off the walls more than the dodgeballs themselves.

(Dodgeball is a whole different story, I should dedicate a post to how I first got roped into going and then addicted to playing, and then actually started to get pretty good for a girl.)

We play brutal dodgeball at Becker.

I have to present a case.

Like this.

....in probably less than 10 minutes.

I can't even sit still.

This will be interesting.

I bust out my moves at the bus stop, no big deal.

This post will be starring my friend NICK, who insists on being recognized in my blog.
I think the all-caps may have been my idea, but that is beside the point.

To start, let me explain my Thursdays:

Ethics.  Way too many words I don't know and haven't been taught, mushed together at 9:25 in the morning when I could really care less.  An hour and 15 minutes of boredom warring with exhaustion, warring with the need to be a good student (fading fast).

Constitutional Law: Supreme Court Cases.  Taught by other students.  In mumbled and often rushed tones.  Basically look it all up later, Pinterest now.

U.S. History: Professor has a heavy accent.  I don't know how many times I've gone over WWII in my life, but enough already.  Actively battling sleep.  Post-lunch food coma is threatening my consciousness.

American Cinema: Taught by the worst professor I have ever met.  You think watching movies is fun? Try a darkened classroom from 3:15-5:45, where really, you just have the perfect environment to nap.  And nap I do.  And then I deal with the guilt.  Whatever.

Then FINALLY: done with classes, about 8 hours later.
I get out of class and walk to the shuttle stop with my friend NICK.  And by walk, I mean dance.  And by dance I mean awkwardly flail my arms in happiness and attempt not to:

a. Drop my Kindle
b. Trip

I have so far been successful in my efforts.  I make no effort not to embarrass NICK, in fact, quite the opposite.
Luckily he's used to my antics from a semester of theatre with me.

Fast forward, I'm dancing to Britney Spears at the shuttle stop, straight up not giving a fuck.  I had this moment a couple months ago where I realized:

(Guys this is about as deep as I'm gonna go with this post so get ready)

You can work your ass off.  For days, weeks, years.  You can be everything anyone else ever wanted you to be.  You can. And those people? They can still treat you like shit.  And they will.

So what's the point?

The thing is: there isn't.  Living your life for other people is never okay.  Changing yourself for other people isn't okay.

It's hard.  We're taught from a very young age to meet certain standards to please certain people to get to certain places.  We're taught to bend, manipulate, and break ourselves.

Yeah, don't do that.

Enough.  If you feel like dancing to your music in front of a bunch of people, just do it.  It's none of their business how you run your life; you're not hurting anyone.
Sing in the shower.
Eat what you want.
Do what makes you feel good about yourself.

It's that simple.

So anyway,
I'm dancing to Britney Spears at the shuttle stop ("You Drive Me Crazy" for those who are curious) because it makes me happy.  My little dancing session is my reward for making it through my hellish day.

(NICK doesn't feel so rewarded, but he doesn't have to hang out with me if he doesn't want to, and he does.  So what does that say about you NICK?)

I don't stop dancing when I'm confined to a shuttle seat either.  Have faith friends, I find a way to dance there too.  To increasingly embarrassing music.  NICK looks over constantly and it's become a game to outdo myself every time.

Examples? I'll give you examples:

Baby One More Time
Bye Bye Bye
Baby Got Back
I Like to Move It
Dance (ASS)
I Just Had Sex
Hot in Herre
Ms. New Booty

....you guys get the gist.  There's no way not to laugh and smile when you're listening to that kinda crap. You feel ridiculous but you don't care.  Try it sometime, it's oddly liberating.

So if you're a Becker person and you see a girl smiling to herself and moving to her music, judge all you want.
Go for it.
I'm having fun with my life.

And you'll hear...softly in the distance...


booty booty booty booty rockin' everywhereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee