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The Great Facebook Debate

The Ex and I have an ongoing argument about social networking. He says things like, ‘Facebook has ruined the art of conversation’, or ‘People should keep in contact by phone. I mean, how can you tell if a person’s really okay if you can’t hear their voice?’

I say stuff like, ‘What about the disabled or sick who rely on sites like Twitter or Facebook for keeping in touch with people they might otherwise never see,’ or ‘I’ve made loads of friends through these sites, that I would never have ‘met’ through conventional channels’.  And it gives members of my family the perfect platform for verbal abuse. Who am I deny such perfect vehicles for vitriolic communications?

A bag with a smiley face design that bids the ...

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On Saturday evening The Ex and I were re-hashing the same old argument. It went something like this:

The Ex: ‘So, have you heard from Eldest Son since he’s back at uni?’

Me: ‘No, but I know he’s fine ‘cos I’ve seen his comments on Facebook.’  Too late, I realised my mistake and tried desperately to suck those flammable words back inside my treacherous mouth, but the little bastards refused to be contained: like mischievous toddlers escaped from the playpen, they were free and out to cause chaos.

The Ex, spluttering: ‘What d’you mean, you’ve seen his comments on Facebook – you can’t tell anything from those; he could’ve been writing those status updates from the Bristol Royal Infirmary – with one finger because  the rest of him was in a body cast!’

Plaster cast on forearm/wrist/hand. Picture ta...

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Me: ‘Had that been the case I’m sure he would’ve posted that on Facebook. In fact he would’ve exaggerated it to wind me up by saying  a cute nurse was typing because he’d lost all his fingers.’

The Ex: ‘You’re missing the point. You can’t tell from the written word whether he’s happy or stressed or hanging from a noose in his flat!’

Me (smugly): ‘I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to reach his laptop if he were hanging from the rafters. And I’m also confident that he would phone me if there were a problem.’

The Ex: ‘Aaah, but you don’t know for sure. I’m surprised you haven’t phoned him.’

Me: ‘I’m trying not to Mom all over him.’

The Ex: ‘Even so, he should have rung you.’

Me: ‘It’s only been a week! I’m sure he’s fine, just busy catching up with mates and stuff. And we don’t normally communicate much at the beginning of term. It’s more in the last few weeks when he’s starting to run out of money. Or when I get concerned about his bowels, and have to ring and ask, “Have you eaten any vegetables this term, son? I know, I’ll send you some money – you can buy frozen peas. Peas are easy, peas are good for you. I like peas.” ‘

Small PEAS logo.jpg

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 And peas have a social conscience.

The conversation burbled along, and as soon as I put the phone down, it rang again.

Eldest Son: ‘Hi Mum, gotta problem. Well, not so much of a problem, more of a query. Do I put the lid on the casserole dish for pasta bake, or leave it uncovered?’

Ha! I was right! But, just to be on the safe side, I slipped in a few subtle questions: ‘So…. ummm… where are you at the moment?’

Eldest Son: ‘Well, where do you think I am? I’ll give you a clue: I’m trying to put my tea in the oven, if only someone would tell me whether it needs a lid or not.’

Me: ‘Yes! Put a lid on for the first twenty minutes, then grate some cheese and leave uncovered for the cheese to brown. Now, where are you?’

Eldest Son: ‘I’M IN THE FLAT, OBVIOUSLY!’

Okay, so I can cross the hospital off the list. I know the NHS are making cut-backs, but I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have the patients making their own dinner. Especially ones wearing an all-over body plaster cast. Now I just need to make sure he isn’t suicidal: ‘Now, where exactly are your feet?’

Eldest Son: ‘Same place they’ve always been, mother. On the end of my legs.’

Me, sighing: ‘Yes, but where exactly are they in relation to, say – the floor, or the … umm… ceiling?’

Eldest Son: ‘Have they put you on wacky drugs or something?’

Me: ‘No. I’ve just been talking to your father.’

Eldest Son: ‘Oh, right. That explains it, then.’

Funny face!!

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So, my question to you is this: Are social networking sites the work of the Devil? Are they causing a breakdown in communications? Are we being too lazy by relying on sites like Facebook or Twitter to keep us in touch? Or, do you think that they add to the whole communication process? Do they play a valuable role in keeping us connected to both people we love and the outside world?

I would love to hear your comments. Please, add your opinion to this ongoing, never-ending debate of ours!

Anyone for a Quickie?

Umm… just a quick one…

If you look to the right of my blog, you’ll see me in some sexy socks and slippers.

Don’t panic, I’m not asking you to linger on that particular image; I’d hate to cause you recurring nightmares.

No, if you scan down

the page

just a little,

you’ll see,

all that Twitter shit.

And then,

down just a little bit more …

and you’ll come across some riveting archives.

Feel free to have a rummage

in my history.

If you look closely,

you may even come across

a Hot Date…

But for now,

carry on scrolling down,

and down,

and just a little bit more,

right around

here       ——————————————————————————————————–>

you’ll see a Friend Me on Facebook button. Please, please, please, please, please, pleeeeeease press it! I won’t make you read my stuff, in fact, you can hide me on FB, I won’t mind! Just pleeease don’t leave me friendless and alone, looking like a right Billy-No-Mates prize tit!   🙂

Thank-you, Bernie, Irene and Coupon Queen for showing me some love  🙂

love hearts

Image by duncan via Flickr

Oh bum! It’s nearly New Year…

Two New Year's Resolutions postcards

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Oh boy, it’s that time of year again. Big confession: I hate New Year’s Eve with a passion. Yeah, I know I come across as a jovial, optimistic gal (where’s the tongue-in-cheek-emoticon? I WANT MORE EMOTICONS!!), but the truth is, I’m a miserable, pessimistic old cow. Instead of looking forward to the New Year, I always look back and think, Shit! Another year wrinklier, another year where I’ve achieved absolutely nothing, and another year of dating dorks and still no sign of Prince-Chuffin’-True-Love-Charming!

I aim to drink myself into a coma and sleep my way through the midnight festivities. A miniature bottle ought to do it…

But first, my New Year’s Resolutions: In 2011 I resolve to:

  • NOT sit around in my pyjamas all day. Instead, I’ll move my laptop into the bedroom.
  • Stop confusing LOL with a real word – ‘You made me LOL!’ or ‘Crikey! That was LOLsome!’
  • Give up smoking. At least twice this year.
  • Stop flirting with my sons’ friends. Nah, actually that’s never gonna happen.
  • Tackle my daytime-napping problem. From now on, only two per day.
  • Eat more cake when watching TV. Fat arses are sexy, right?
  • Take up a new hobby. Maybe vodka.
  • Exercise more. I will walk upstairs to tell my son that tea’s ready instead of sending him a text.
  • Be less fussy when it comes to choosing men. Bernie’s right – who says a bloke is only suitable if he has a pulse?
  • Be a better mom. That means talking to my son instead of messaging him on Facebook. Especially when we’re in the same room.
  • Stop swearing. Yeah, right. Like that’s ever gonna fuckin’ happen.       😉

Happy New Year, peeps! But let me know – what are your New Year’s Resolutions?

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