This week I found myself unexpectedly following 256 people on the verbal diarrhea that is Twitter. It took me all day Friday to unfollow people with names like “orgasm 4 U,” many of whom can’t spell “the.” Is it a rapper or hip-hop thing to call yourself “teh milk 4 ten dog”?
My twitter name is KarlaTelega; uninspired, unoriginal, and not even followed by the suffix “-licious.” I still can’t refer to posting a comment as “tweeting” somebody, without laughing. That’s not the only problem I have with Twitter. I’m not sure how to describe my life in 140 characters or less without visual aids, and I don’t really care to hear who random people met at the bar last night, unless it involved Harrison Ford.
I paid $5 to an independent service provider to rustle me up 100 followers. You may think of it as lazy, but I think of it as 100 blind dates. I plugged words into my search engine, like menopause, senior, and woman. You’d think that would narrow the field down a bit. Unfortunately, in exchange for the 100 followers, the service randomly chose 250 people for me to follow. I got a lot of 18 year-old rapper dudes and dudettes who are apparently seniors in high school, and who use the term “woman” for anything with a vagina. There were two hits on the word, “menopause.”
Where are my hormonally challenged peeps: the women who are scrapbooking their babies’ teeth as we speak?
As I repeatedly unfollowed people, I was trying to figure out my criteria for stalking the ideal following victim. Was I using racial profiling, age bias, was I being gender specific? In the end, I just cut everyone who thought that “f*#kin” was an adjective. I was left following 9 people, and had 3 followers. Since two people were already following me before this, I ended up blowing my budget on one follower.
I just want B to know that she is under no obligation to provide the whole $5 worth of following on her own. She is welcome to invite some friends to split the cost with her, as long as they know that f*#kin is the present progressive of the verb f*#k. I have my standards.