Let’s say there’s someone you really don’t like. You wouldn’t be friends with them on Facebook anyways, but just to make sure they never see your bizness, you block them.
I never have blocked anyone. I’ve done the thing where I stay friends with someone but can’t see their status updates anymore, usually when they spam my wall with tons of nonsense related to games (oh Farmville, you crazy bastard). So to get a better idea of why this goes on, I asked people on Facebook if they’ve blocked someone and why.
- “Does it count if you were only friends with the person on facebook because he was the bf of your best friend?”
- Two other people liked this one: “yes. i hated the updates every 5 minutes on the games they were playing (farmville is SO stupid), and the other questions/quizzes…it was annoying….so i blocked them…then deleted them. and don’t feel bad at all!”
- One other person liked this one: “I blocked my exhusband….does that count?”
- “people who post 20 things per hr so my phone is blown up with wahh wahh waahhhh and if ur a yankee fan u must go”
- The inimitable Steam Me Up, Kid chimed in with this one: “I block angry people, and people who post photos of the carcasses of animals they shot. That’s about it.”
- “ive been blocked numerous times. i guess im an asshole. but ive never blocked anyone myself.”
- “i block people who are negative, vulgar and curse a lot… just don’t need to see that :)”
- “No, I wouldn’t know how”
- And, my sister: “I was blocked by someone for being friends with someone else they didn’t like. So, I blocked the person who blocked me cuz I thought it was stupid. I think I still have her blocked, but I’ve heard through the grapevine that she took the block off of me.”
This got me thinking: Why haven’t I ever blocked an ex-boyfriend? The short answer is that I want them to see how successful I am. The long answer involves me printing out any messages they try to send me and having my NEW DOG, KEVIN, release his bowels on them.
So why haven’t I blocked any of my adversaries? Surely there must be someone who is just downright rude to me, and I don’t want them to ever try to contact me or look at my photos. Wrong. Again, this category mostly consists of people with whom I went to high school or college. Mostly college. And they can see that I have a great job and graduated with honors as the outstanding graduate for my school and choke on their lemon drops.
Of course, as I write this I’m speaking sternly to my NEW DOG, KEVIN, telling him not to eat his stuffed hedgehog.
Oh, I’m sorry. Did I mention that I have a NEW DOG, and his named is KEVIN?
O hai there.
Kevin enjoys fetch, rope toys and more fetch. He’s my apartment buddy. He’s almost 8 months old, and he doesn’t evacuate indoors … unless we’re at Peter’s house, because Kevin gets really confused.
I named him after Kevin Youkilis from the Red Sox, and also after Kevin Malone from “The Office,” because every time he eats I yell, “Superfeast!”
Kevin will be a dog about town once he is neutered and has all of his shots, so I’m really looking forward to exploring the dog-friendly side of Martin County.
Where is this going? I don’t know. I got a mild concussion on Saturday and my brain has worked well since. Also, Kevin just ate the foot off his hedgehog.
Also, I promise my next post will be more interesting.
One last quick anecdote:
The day before I went to pick up Kevin, Peter and I went shopping to get puppy supplies. We went to PetSmart, and I got a little squeaky cupcake toy for $1.17.
I love the little cherry on top.
At the register, I turned to Peter and said, “Do you think the cupcake is too girly?” Both Peter and the guy behind the register replied that yes, it is girly. “Oh well,” I said. “If Kevin doesn’t like it, I’ll just give it to Patrick. He’s gay.”
The cashier stopped and stared at me. He was glaring, and it was really uncomfortable. The first thought to dart through my head was, “Oh crap, is he gay?” Then I looked at his name tag: Patrick.
I started laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I had tears running down my face and I was trying so hard to apologize, to tell him the Patrick to which I was referring is this guy:
The Official Patrick.
Peter helped me recover, and the cashier was just as embarrassed as we were. “I’m definitely not gay,” he said, handing me my receipt. All I could say as we walked to the door was, “Sorry I called you gay.”
And in the time it took me to write this, we have lost our dear friend, the Tiny Hedgehog. May he rest in peace.
Poor little guy.