Facebook Overusers

September 19, 2012

BF and I were at a dinner party where we met a very un-interesting person. I’m going to call him Constance Banter because, from the instant we walked in to the nano second before we said goodbye, he did not shut up. He talked about his slutty friend whose “asshole looks like the Japanese flag” and the fact that his new convertible (that his Sugar Daddy boyfriend bought him) didn’t have an iPod jack. He commented on my job, which at the time as as an architect, by turning to his Sugar Daddy and asking “When are we going to call OUR architect back?” then turning to me and saying “I’m designing our new house.” Like any other time when I’m with an undesirable person with verbal diarrhea, I drank way too many martinis and don’t remember might of the rest of the night. But I do remember one other thing he said.

This was somewhere between him bragging about his new Gucci slippers and telling us every painstaking detail of his most recent trip to Majorca when the subject of Facebook came up. As with the rest of the night, Constance dominated conversation complaining about his friend who, according to him, was a Facebook Overuser. He said “I mean, this guy updates his status like twenty times a day. I don’t update mine more than four or five.”

“Five times?” I asked him in that tone that BF calls ‘Michael not trying to sound like a bitch but totally sounding like a bitch.’ “What do you have to post about five times a day?”

Seeing my question as a challenge, Constance pulled out his brand new iPhone with custom wood protector, which was no doubt bought and paid for by his Sugar Daddy, and starting scrolling through his Facebook status updates. They were things like “What should I have for lunch today? Sushi or a Tic Tac?” and “Having a kray kray week, but can’t wait to party with my boys this weekend at the White Party!” and strategic check-ins to places like The Four Seasons and Barney’s on Rodeo Drive. He went on, but my latest martini kicked in and I had to visit the facilities.

After completing my business and spending an additional three minutes checking my hairline and the beginnings of crows feet around my eyes in the mirror I returned to the dinner only to hear Constance still revealing the intimate details of his vapid life via his Facebook updates, check-ins and liked pages. It was after he bragged about liking Paul Ryan because he’s cute and has a nice bod, I faked an illness and made BF take me home. I know it was totally obvious and everyone left at the table was probably talking about what an a-hole I was, but I draw the line at publically endorsing anything Republican, via Facebook or otherwise.

That night, as I lay in bed still fuming that I had to waste weekend night with someone as putrid as Constance, I wondered why he thought his life was so interesting that he had to constantly update himself on Facebook for the whole world to see. I checked out his feed (of course it was totally public as if asking for validation) and, through all his likes, multi-hour updates and check-ins all I could deduce from his life is that it was utterly useless, totally devoid of meaning and that he was grammatically impaired (He typed ‘your welcome’, ‘irregardless’ and ‘nukular’).

So, I went on a mission to see what makes Facebook Overusers tick. I checked out my five friends’ feeds that seem to post on Facebook the most. As I read through their timelines, I was overcome with the same anger and frustration I had when reviewing Constance’s inane online life. There was one person who seriously updated her profile hourly about the latest boy band she loved and how she was going to marry one of them, any one. Then I literally gagged as I forced my way through the punctuation-less updates of another friend describing his latest shopping trip or most recent culinary disaster. But the one that really had me seeing red was the friend who took pictures of every one of his meals, posted them to Facebook and added a query line like “Jealous?” and “Brunch with my gurlz.” After de-friending those people, I slammed my computer shut, livid that I was forced to be subject to the boring comings and goings of everyone else’s lives (Not everyone, just the Facebook Overusers).

And then it hit me. With Facebook there is an inverse relationship between how exciting your life is and how often to update your status. The more status updates, the less interesting your life. Now, there are exceptions to the rule. I have a few friends that update their stati (is that the plural for status) frequently, but with clever political observations or funny quotes from classic Gen X movies (Mom and Jarred, I’m talking about you). But, for the most part, the more status updates means the less excitement in your life.

So, the next time you’re on Facebook for like, the twentieth time in one day and you’re about to post about your latest bowel movement or write a “Dear Facebook…” rant, ask yourself “Is there a better use for my time right now?” If the answer is yes, abandon your computer…you don’t want people thinking you’re a Facebook Overuser.

My advice to Facebook Overusers:

Cut your status updates, check-in and page likes in half. Then, tomorrow, cut that number in half again. Repeat the afore-mentioned steps until the number of your Facebook activity can be counted by the opposable extremities on your right hand.

My advice to everyone else:

Defriend all your Facebook Overuser friends. It’s the only way to send a clear message.


I love Facebook.

It allows me to stalk my friends, check in on which of the bullies who teased me in high school are now gay and keep in touch with blasts from the past. Even though I never found my first love (see Man Whores and First Loves for more information) I was able to connect with the two other people I ever dated seriously besides my bf.

One of them I met while living in New Jersey with Homo Honey. His name was Charlie and, even though he was a great guy and we liked one another, the timing was all wrong and we broke up after only dating around six months. He lives in Washington DC now, manages an IKEA and, from his Facebook posts and pictures, is in a happy relationship with a very sweet-looking guy named Tony.

The other was my very first serious boyfriend. We met while I was living in Miami Beach, working at a video store. We went out on a date and within two weeks we were living together. We dated for about a year and, until a few weeks ago I had mostly fond memories of the time we were together.

What happened to change my mind?

He deleted his profile as a fan of my “Michael’s Unsolicited Advice” page on Facebook. As I do whenever anyone de-friends me or removes their profile from something that means anything to me, I’ve decided to wage an all out online war with him. My first move? To let everyone reading this know exactly what a piece of manure he was as a boyfriend and why I eventually came to my senses and dumped him.

First reason: He was a total mooch.

About three months into our relationship he convinced me that, if I loved him as much as I always told him, I would put his name on my American Express account. Being a stupid twenty-two year old and not yet grasping the idea of what a credit score was and how it would impact my entire life, I called up the operator and added him. About a week later I received a call from my mom.

You see, even though the card was in my name, my parents paid the bill. It was meant as an “in case of emergency only” card that my parents issued to me when I started college. With only a two minor bumps to buy Birkenstocks and tickets to a They Might Be Giants Concert, I had, up until that point, been relatively responsible with the card.

“Who is “Balboa?” (not his real name) my mom asked after she received the notification that someone had been added to my card. I fumbled for a minute and then just said “He’s a good friend of mine and someone I care about.” Even though I didn’t officially tell her and we’ve never talked about it since, I’m pretty sure that’s when I came out to my mom. “Well, if he charges anything, he has to pay for it.” she said. I agreed and, after the phone conversation, I urged Balboa to put his new AmEx card in the back of his wallet, far from eye sight. That worked until he went away for the summer to Europe for a study abroad program.

I arrived home one day from work to find a letter from my mother. I opened it only to find an American Express bill for $2,000.00 and a hand written note from her that read “Good luck!” After I picked myself up off the floor from fainting I looked at the itemization of the statement. One hundred dollars for a shirt is Barcelona, three hundred dollars for a pair of handmade shoes in Italy, and the list continued. It was like he shopped his entire way through Europe. Surviving on minimum wage, I certainly didn’t have the money to pay the bill.

I went to my uncle and his boyfriend (UJR) and, out of the goodness of their hearts, they paid the bill for me. The only stipulation was that I had to cut up the card and never apply for another credit card EVER AGAIN!!!

Seond reason:

All my friends hated him.

Actually, not all my friends, but the one who counted, and still counts, the most totally did. Even though they never met and, most assuredly, never will, every time Balboa’s name is mentioned in Homo Honey’s presence she scoffs, makes a puking noise and retells the following story.

When Balboa arrived home from his European shopping spree we had our first big fight. I questioned why he spent so much money. He told me that they were all gifts for me, even though the shirts were one size to big and the shoes were totally not my size. I left him and went to spend the night at UJR’s.

After my departure, Balboa crafted a lengthy and somewhat heated e-mail to Homo Honey, even though he really knew nothing about her. It said things like how I wasn’t ready for a serious relationship, how he loved me so much and never thought I loved him as much in return and it ended with something like “I guess you won. He’s yours.”

Like a real friend, Homo Honey did not relay the e-mail to me until after I had dumped Balboa. When I asked her why, she said that she wanted me to learn what a piece of crap dirt bag he was on my own. Thanks HH.

Last reason (and most important):

He has a really small penis. Like really small. I’m not just talking about a slight negative divergence from the typical penis size…it was embarrassing…for him.

It actually surprised me that we stayed together so long, but I chalk it up to being twenty-two, stupid and desperate for a boyfriend. Although Balboa was a creep as a boyfriend, he did teach me one thing: what not to look for in future relationships.

My advice to Balboa: Pay UJR the $2,000.00 dollars you owe them for the American Express bill, apologize to Homo Honey and get a penis pump.

My advice to everyone else: The next time you’re about to de-friend someone on facebook or remove your profile from their fan page, ask yourself “How much does this person know about me?” and “Are they as evil and vindictive as Michael?”