Dear Darling Ones,
I am not an avid Facebook user. In fact, I genuinely hate it. Back when I worked at The Nerdery (2009) my pal Malmsy asked me if he should get on Facebook and I said, “No. Facebook is where you go to hate people you used to like.” The performative nature of Facebook makes me want to barf all that time. Like, my estranged Sister #3 performs her life on Facebook in way that has very little resemblance to the actual reality of her life. It’s astounding.
Even though Facebook isn’t my scene people still insist on sending me messages via Facebook. I super hate this because my Facebook Messages are a forest of dick picks from men I do not know. I refuse to use or check those messages anymore because I don’t need to be assaulted by some random man’s penis.
Consent is a thing, even online.
This whole Jeffrey Toobin from the New Yorker masturbating on a work Zoom call makes me shaky with rage. The people who are shaming those of us who are kinda angry about this can fuck all the way off. Yes, we all masturbate. Should we be doing that during a work call? Not if you’re not a sex worker. You can be super sex positive and still be outraged at seeing your co-workers penis on a work call. It’s not prudish to be triggered and offended.
Accident my ass. We all know when we’re conducting hanky panky electronically you double triple quadruple check camera and sound and the name that text is gong to. Toobin knew full well what he was doing and you cannot convince me otherwise.
We really will forgive rich white men anything, won’t we?
I keep a folder in Gmail labeled “creeps,” with the worst email I get. I’m frequently viewed as a fetish object (freakishly tall, fat) and so men I do not know send me all sort of explicit and disturbing email. I keep them because I want to give whoever does the podcast about my murder plenty of material.
Ugh. Why does everything gotta be so much all the time?