I was sitting in the February sun as it delicately traipsed across the beer garden at Jupiter on Friday, sipping delicious Red Spot Ale and contemplating another week just gone, when a new email beckoned from my iPhone. I heard the beep, but let it go. There are more and more moments in which I find I do not need the electronic “enhancement” of constant communication. An hour or so later on Bart, hustling back to the City to meet my faboosh hair team, I checked my email.
I have written about the subject of this email before. I think it probably did not go down all that well, in spite of the fact that I was spot-fucking-on in my opinions and analysis. A good guy got caught up in a storm of false pretense on the internet. A less and less unusual event these days. I wrote about it before because these pretenders – who I do not even know in real life, and with the exception of the nice guy, have nothing to do with – had been harrassing me and I got pissed. And then the attacks got personal and I got seriously angry. I realize that their crap comes from a point of total insecurity and jealousy [and they were convinced I was trying to get their internet boyfriend], but I didn’t care. I also know the high road is always the better throughway, but I was so sick of these people I couldn’t help myself; sometimes the fact that I know they only act this way becuse of their own unhappiness is not enough.
In a nutshell, the email on this sunny Friday afternoon came from a nice enough person who get sucked into a really weird set of circumstances. Those circusmtances are a group of four women between the ages of 25 and maybe 35(?) who base their entire self-image on false, anonymous, Twitter personas (I call them the Twitter version of Fox News: they provide a lot of baseless information, which they expect people to totally buy into becuase they repeat it on high volume… incessantly.) They are librarians (they gave them selves nicknames so I did as well; I refer to them as Flabby, Stabby, Fat and Sad), which they think is about the sexiest thing ever. And they may be sexy (okay, I actually know what they look like and I can tell you with certainty that they would be buying their own drinks in any bar I hang out in) but the interesting thing is, the reason people think they are sexy is because they post photos of their boobs (in cheap undergarments), gigantic panties (equally cheap) spread out on their beds, photos of them in the bath (note: you all should really rethink putting pictures of your feet on the internet when you need a pedicure that badly) and cheap heels (Oh yeah, I remember when I thought 9-West shoes were nice. Then I started high school.) Then they go on and on about how hot they are, in addition to saying things like, they are “sticky” and grabbing eachother’s boobs. Seriously? Seriously. So you can imagine the type of people they attract – if not, that would be other people who need that kind of attention to feel good about themselves. And live on Twitter.
But don’t feel sorry for them, they are not nice people.
They spend every waking hour tweeting – odd as I suppose they must have jobs (I guess being a librarian affords a lot of free-time?) At least one has children (yay mom) and I think some are married (?!) And in this barrage of self-promotion, I got involved as a friend of the author of Friday’s interesting email. This led to me receiving very aggressive and offensive anonymous emails and direct attacks on Twitter, I was called, among other things, a “stabby whore,” “stupid,” “desperate” and deserving of being stabbed with a fork. A fork? Huh. Plus there were simple, sad servings of jealousy-laden haterade. Luckily, I have friends in IT and therefore, all mysteries were solved; once I saw who they really were, and their sad situations, I understood why they were being so pathetic.
These people are so grating. The good news is they are really easy to avoid and ignore because they are nothing but little snippets of bullshit floating around the ethers amidst all the other online bullshit. (One of them started a blog I saw the other day and if flattery is what I am supposed to feel when someone copies me, from my elipsis love to the use of numbers as names, I guess I am flattered, but the blog was painful to read, “I think like a guy”? “I hate drama.” Uh, right.) Their self-importance is laughable, and if it were not for the fact that they have treated absolutely decent people so badly, I would not give them a second thought.
But they do treat people badly.
And they do it under the banner of sisterhood, which I find especially offensive.
So, reading an email from someone who says those magic words, “you were right,” I take a moment to say: “No shit.” Too bad that doesn’t really compensate for – or better yet, erradicate – the irritation that is this group of wannabes about whom I was right. At one point I said I wanted a public apology with regard to all of this crap. Now I know that wouldn’t make a difference and so I get to just be quietly, mature. And right. If nothing else, this story is a good reminder: don’t be these women. Have a real life. Have integrity. Be real. Don’t feel a need to be more than you are.
Don’t use people to make yourself feel better.