Twitter. Seriously?

My relationship with Twitter is the same as my relationship with all the “Social Media” platforms. I go through fits and spurts with it. I do notice that when I step away from it I get very easily disconnected and find it hard to get back up to speed. [In the same manner, when I go down the rabbit hole I find myself disgustingly sucked into the quagmire. Thank fuck I have not come to the point where I think that sitting alone with my computer drinking and computer chatting is a “party.”]

Anyhow, Twitter has had a lot of advantages for me: free international texting, expedited news, John Cusack contact, opportunities to win free concert tickets. I also appreciate the honesty of just admitting that you are a “follower” of someone rather than pretending you are “friends”.

However, it turns out that a lot of people on Twitter spend a whole lot of time thinking it is real life. They go so far, in some cases, to create entire identities, maintaining multiple accounts (identities) and often being “anonymous” in order to do all of the above. In spite of this I recently began to consciously add some people in and around SF on Twitter. I figured I might as well and most of them were connected to various local media outlets in some way or another. And in that weird way that these things go one person led to another to another to another…

One of the people who I had been “tweeting” with was @Princess_Whore who writes for a magazine called, (not so) coincidentally, Whore. I was drawn to this persona not only because of her obvious wit, but also because I had recently been called – in various Twitter ways by some bravely anonymous Twitter people – a whore myself. In fact, “stabby, bendy whore” was the precise terminology. [Don’t even get me started on ‘stabby’ as an adjective.] Being new to this kind of labeling it did give me pause. And so, to have a “friend” called Princess Whore was delightfully ironic.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. In the company of C and OMYSFYSFYBMM, we were strolling down Valencia and the question was posed: The Latin American Club or Lone Palm? In unison, I said Latin American and C said Lone Palm. I acquiesced and to the Lone Palm we went. Sitting at the bar giggling about this and that the conversation wound around to Good Vibrations as I had only just made my first foray into the establishment and I had been absolutely… overwhelmed. Especially when the very helpful staff began to tell me about all the classes that were available to me should I be interested.

At this point someone sitting on the other side of the bar said, offered a bit of information. We giggled. She walked over and took a seat by me and said, “Sorry I didn’t mean to barge into you conversation…” I assured her it was no problem and that her input had not only been witty, but quite on point. Then she said, “You know, I have a magazine you might be interested in,” and she pulled out the first edition of Whore. I looked at her.

“Are you on Twitter?”
“Are you Princess_Whore?”
“Oh my god, I know you , I am Amanda… er, Demanda!”

Much laughter ensued. [Thank god it was a mutually well received interaction, because, damn, that could have been weird…] It was a strange coincidence, that I was even there, in that bar, on that night, that we had been having the conversation that inspired the interlocution, the whole thing.

So now, because of Twitter, my Real Life is expanding in cool new directions. Interestingly this has made me less interested in Twitter outside of the few degrees of separation from my Real Life friends (it remains the best way to keep the TransPacific communicae fresh). The moral of this story? Authenticity is as important out there on the internets as it is in real life and the only way you can really work out what *is* real is to be real and get real – and get out there. Perhaps Twitter can facilitate this. Perhaps these connections would happen anyways.

Either way, here’s to the Whore connection. I’ll take that label any day. At least I know what I am talking about – and who I am talking to!


About Amanda

I am repatriating expatriate trying to work it all out. Well, to work some of it out anyhow. I am writing here for sanity, focus and general over-sharing.
This entry was posted in Friends, Life, San Francisco, Silliness, true stories and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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