Bog standard blog post

(There will be Language in this post. Foul language.  All of it irrelevant, most of it irreverent. That's just how I roll today.)

I know. I don't think I've done one of these before. The intent to make this a regular blog post with perfectly ordinary, garden variety ranting will probably peter out by the third first paragraph and you will be left with the acid trip that are the usual dregs of my mind.

So, what's been annoying the heck out of me lately is that I've become seriously indecisive. For example, I cannot decide what this post should be about. When I started it, I had a pretty clear idea of where I wanted this to go, I felt purposeful (always a good sign), motivated (practically a miracle) and justified in my need to share. To be fair, it is 6am and I haven't slept at all, so perhaps I can be forgiven for not remembering anything other that I needed to share something with the world. World being you. Just in case you were wondering. Because, sometimes, you see, I'm not at all sure what you are thinking. You don't tell me. (this may or may not be a shameless pleading for comments)

Anyway, where was I? Right. So it's 6am, I am awake, cats are out, roaming the countryside and decimating the local rodent population, there is an odd pain across my back that has sent my hypochondriac brain into an overdrive, and Samantha Ronson is telling me on Twitter that the reason she is using her phone at a dinner table is because her companions are not interesting enough.
Now, I'm all for sarcasm and well placed bitchiness but I cannot stand people who use their phone at the table.  I'm second hand insulted. It grieves me that some poor hapless idiot is harbouring under misapprehension that this woman is their friend.  This is why Samantha mention doesn't get linked to her website. Boo Samantha.

Don't worry, I will not be talking about Twitter. Mostly, because I tend to use Twitter to talk about Twitter. What the heck was I going to talk about? I'm almost sure it wasn't Twitter. Although this one tweeter really irritates me because they are always talking about themselves in third person. What is that all about? Who does that? It's not even as if the content is dicey or risque, which might have explained their need to psychologically distance themselves from the horrors of their own words. Why third person your arrival home? Is your home some sort of Silence of the Lambs affair and your third person speak is letting you compartmentalize the mental anguish of what's to come? Seriously. Grow a pronoun already.

I use pronouns far too often. I use *I* so often that I worry about my mental well being. I'm convinced it is another symptom of my indecisiveness, a misguided attempt to grow a spine perhaps, or maybe it is simply a symptom of narcissistic attention seeking, or it could be that I simply can't write worth shit.
Anyway, enough about me, what were we talking about?

That's right. Facebook. And old friends from school.
Recently, I got in touch with some old school friends on Facebook. I wasn't looking to get in touch with anyone, but one person found me and they said I should make sure I become friends with other friends they were already friends with on their Facebook, and I didn't want to seem rude or uninterested, even though this song always plays in my mind whenever I think of Facebook and what's worse the song and the video are on my profile which means that whoever befriends me will see it and immediately understand that I have not, contrary to all my efforts to convince them otherwise, changed at all and that I am still as rude and as obnoxious and as careless with other people's feelings as I had always been.

But then I think, fuck them. If we had liked each other in the first place, we would have stayed in touch. Since we lost touch, it is safe to assume a fundamental friendship incompatibility exists between us.
I love to reminisce, there was some funny shit that went down back in the day (who doesn't have those stories, right) but it is far more likely that any exchange we engage in will consist in you telling me about how well you are doing for yourself and me feeling like crap that I cannot say the same.

And for fuck sakes, don't use my Wall for self promotion. If you really must tell me about your holidays and how well you are doing for yourself, then use the person to person messaging or, oh, I don't know - email? If you are finding that everything you have to say to me won't fit into the wall post's character minimum and you are forced to make three (count them) wall posts to get your message across, then I think it's safe to assume that what you have to say is not fit for a wall post. OK?

Yes, I am a grouchy, grumpy, old so and so. We've known that since I was five.
The point is, we mostly lose touch with people for a good fucking reason and this whole getting back in touch business is driving me nuts. I hate Facebook. I hardly ever go there now because there will be messages waiting to tell me how I haven't gotten in touch lately and to ask me why this is and what is going on with me. Don't you think I would have contacted you with my news if I had any worth sharing with you? We have nothing to talk about! Our last conversation was probably about marbles and bubble gum.
I am glad you are doing well and that you family is happy and healthy and that you've been on a holiday and that you are enjoying your weekend. I just don't want to keep hearing about it. And I cannot imagine you would want to hear the inane reports of my own, equally banal, existence.  Or would you? No, best not answer that.

So there. It's no longer 6am, but that cannot be helped. I remain friendless and with only the empty air of Twitter to talk to. And this blog. What the hell, we can't all be the life of the party. I'm cool with that.