Quit Facebook? How about you just shut up.

So today is apparently ‘Quit Facebook Day’.

I for one, have already spent a disgusting amount of time on Facebook today, mostly admiring my beauuuutiful new profile pic of myself that I managed to snag with Maytina during my MUCH NEEDED escape to Toronto this past weekend. I stalked people’s pictures from the May 2-4 weekend, I noted which songs people were ranting about, I contemplated people’s statuses and ignored the little ads on the sides.

Frankly, I spend a lot of time on Facebook. I’m hardcore addicted. I don’t care who knows it. A particular favourite thing of mine to do is to find people from high school, add them, stalk them, confirm that I am indeed better than them, then quickly unfriend them. Shut up, you do it too. I like to start little wars based on my status updates too. Last week, I totally bashed French Canada. I got a couple of good lines in (read: why the ass can francophones be unilingual, but I as an anglophone have to be bilingual?), and had some laughs at their expense. I like to look at people’s hideous drunken pictures and laugh at people who’s wedding gowns are unflattering. I make snarky comments on pictures, and often border on inappropriate.

In my mind, that’s what Facebook is for. Dicking around and killing time while I wait for 5 o’clock to roll around.

I’m not retarded, I know people are doing it to me too. I know people are looking at my pictures and wondering why Maytina is in every single fucking one of them. I don’t care. I know people are reading my statuses and thinking, ‘OMG, what a vapid idiot, THAT is what she concerns herself with?’. Good, I’m glad I’m entertaining them as they waste their days online.

We live in a world obsessed with voyeurism, and I for one, am certainly not immune. I know that people are looking at me. I knew that when I signed up for Facebook. I know that whatever I say is now out there, on the internet, and can’t be taken back. So you know what? If I don’t want people to know, I don’t tell them!

I *really* hate people who get their shit in a knot over Facebook privacy laws. You know what? If you don’t want your shit to be all the internet, then get off the damned internet! You’re taking up my precious bandwidth! If you don’t want to participate in the awesomeness of the interwebz, then kindly move aside and stop your bitching. I dont understand why people sign up for something intended to be used to share your life, then get all pissy when they realize that OMG, their life is ON the INTERNET!

What do you mean that what I signed up for knowingly is what is actually happening?? What? I am outraged!!!11!1!

Ugh.

I don’t intend to quit Facebook. If you want to complain about the Facebook privacy laws, why don’t you just shut up and get off the website? I’m tired of listening to you whine about it. Facebook is now a for profit company, and they’re out to make a buck, just like you and I. You don’t have to be a part of it and they can do whatever they want. They’re a company who can make their own rules, and you’re a consumer who can decide if you want to partake in it or not.

Failing that, you can go sit in a corner with your tinfoil hat on.

The Facebook is getting into my braiiiiinnnn!

Giant Scary Tub Bug vs. Talea

So tonight, while making use of the facilities, I happened to look to my right, into my 1970’s mustard coloured tub with it’s mismatched tiles, discoloured grout and rust stained drain. Being that I am an unfailingly (ha…ahhahaha…haaaaahahahaha) amazing housekeeper, I was immediately suspect of the large black dot near the back of the tub. Surely, this couldn’t be a misdirected dust bunny or speck of dirt or lint (see above, re: amazing housekeeping), so I peered harder.

It became clear to me at that moment that I did not have the level of privacy that I thought I did whilst using the ladies room. No no. This was now a communal bathroom. I was sharing my space with the Scariest Fucking Tub Bug of All Time.

It did NOT look this cute.

I finished doing what I was doing and leaned over the tub’s edge to assess my newfound tub invader. This thing was huge. I didn’t think that bugs this big existed above the Mason-Dixon line. I live way too far north to be dealing with bugs the size of housecats. I observed it and tried to think of a plan of attack.

I thought of going downstairs and making the boyfriend deal with it, but he’s no good at big scary bugs. I then thought about turning on the shower and spraying it back down the drain from whence it came. But then I got worried that he might get a rush of bug adrenaline and scuttle over the edge of the tub, setting him free into the whole house and creating a dangerous sleeping environment. I thought about finding some large flat surface to squish him with, but as I creeped backwards slowly, he moved. I did NOT want to go get said killing object and come back to find that he’d disappeared to who knows where, I wanted to know his whereabouts.

I resigned myself to the fact that this bug was going to have to be squished by my hand. And that it was probably going to be crunchy.

Steeling myself for the crunch of his exoskeleton, I wadded up some toilet paper, emitted a girly squeal and smashed my fingers down on him, grinding them against the tub to ensure death. I lifted up the toilet paper and he ran out from under, making a quick and desperate run to the safety of the drain. He had lost several appendanges, but still made impressive time. Impressive, but futile. I was in it now, halfway through committing murder and I wasn’t about to leave any eyewitnesses. He had to die.

Smash number two involved the heel of my hand, and a quick twist of the wrist. This time, when I lifted up the toilet paper, he was in several bloody pieces and not moving. This is just the way I like my bugs. Now, not being a fool and being very untrusting of bug corpses, I wasn’t about to just throw him into the garbage. Bugs are crafty and he could have been not entirely dead, and then he could have stayed there, ramping up his rage until I was sleeping soundly, where he would crawl out of his toilet paper coocoon and come assault me in my room. I dumped him into the toilet and flushed. So long, bug.

Then it occurred to me that the boyfriend had no idea of the battle that was raging upstairs. All he had heard was two flushes within quick succession of each other. This is obviously an indication of some gastrointestinal issue, and I didn’t want that undeserved embarassment. Naturally, my response to possible embarassment was to create concrete embarassment. I ran downstairs and reenacted the whole thing, complete with an interpretation of what the bug looked like. Since every good bug imitation involves the classic ‘antenna wiggling finger on the head thing, also synonymous with charging bulls imitations’ move, I included that in the story.

Sure, the boyfriend thinks I’m crazy and I made an ass of myself being all, ‘ZOMG, crazy bug story, watch me reenact it!’, but I know that I’ve at least won the war against nature for today and can sleep soundly tonight. Also, I totally met the quota on that whole ‘do one thing each day that scares you’ bullshit.

Giant Scary Tub Bug: 0,  Talea: 1