I’m a sociable kinda gal. Most people may be utter cunts but I like to surround myself with the good’uns. Nowt like a lovely chat to perk up yer day. And d’y'know where it’s good to have a chat? That Twitter. Huzzah for Twitter! You can rely on Twitter 24/7 for inane banter, scintillating mass debate, and cutting edge topical jibber-jabber. I currently have over 2500 followers, which, to the uninitiated, means I’m more popular than Geoff, but a lot less popular than Justin Bieber, or someone with their tits out. That’s OK. I can handle that. I like having followers. Makes me feel like I’m a cult leader. And that’s CULT.
But yesterday and today I’ve been doing something I’ve not really done before. I’ve been unfollowing people. I know. It’s not even a real word. Yet I’ve been doing it.
See, at the moment I’m following 1757 people. That’s a lot of people. Some of them are famous people. Most of them are not. And I figure I only ever interact, on a regular basis, with about, say, hmmm, 5% of them? That’s more or less 88 people.* Out of 1757. WHY DO I FOLLOW SO MANY PEOPLE? My timeline gets all cluttered with their farking milm and crappy wiff-waff. Most alarming. I really don’t know.
Consequently, I began unfollowing. And how liberating is that? Like ‘squashing bluebottle flies’, as @agingmatron so charmingly put it. Yeah, well, it is. It is like cutting loose the useless and the non-fun. I could not have found it more brutally satisfying unless I had been casually picking off scabs from my knees, or peeling dried glue from my hands, or pulling apart split ends in my hair, as I did it. It was like I had fired up my giant laser and began zapping the driftwood from my Twitter timeline with an unenforced glee. Really. It was that good.
I’m still doing it. I’ll see a tweet, think, ‘Fark me, that person sounds like a proper bozo. UNFOLLOW IMMEDIATELY!’ Or, I’ll see a tweet, think, ‘Hmm, I’ve not heard from such-n-such in a while, are they following me? No? SACRILEGE! UNFOLLOW!’ It surprises me how many people I thought were following me, actually aren’t! Bastards. Their loss. I know Twitter does this unfollowing glitch every so often so there may be some genuine technical error in there, but more often than not, I guess people get fed up with me and sidle off, with nairy a farewell. Pfft. Two can play at that game.
The plan is to keep unfollowing and see what I can narrow it down to. I continue to follow new people so my totals will dip and rise a bit. Yes, I know I’m thinking about this a bit too much, and no, I really have nothing better to do. I am cultivating a nice carapace of bitterness, y’see. When I’m a big as Bieber EVERYONE will want to be my friend.
Man alive, it’s like a farking school playground.
How do you play the Twitter game? Are you a serial follower, or do you wait for folk to come to you?
And if I’ve unfollowed you and you think this is a travesty and a farce, do let me know.
*thanks to Twitter people who helped with the maths. I can’t do maths. Maths bites me on the extraordinary arse
I had an interesting conversation with that Amanda Jennings The Author at the weekend. It was the first time I’d met her, and apart from making me spaff a record THREE TIMES (henceforth known as the Triple Uber-Spaff) within the hour, we talked about this, that, and t’other for a bit, and about how we’re going to write an AWARD-WINNING sitcom and we will also STAR in it, and about how clever we are and stuff, and, erm, we also chatted about stuff and stuff, and stuff. Yeah, so I may have had some gin. Innit.
But one thing I did say to her was about my default setting: that I assume everyone’s a cunt until I’m proved otherwise. That people, in general, are TOTAL CUNTS, until someone restores my faith in humans being non-cunts. Which, really, doesn’t happen too often.
Amanda Jennings The Author was surprised. She did her surprised face. ‘Really?’ she said, in a surprised voice, being all surprised. Her default setting, y’see, was the opposite. Which, in turn, surprised me. Is this normal? Am I in a minority of bad-tempered curmudgeons? Is everybody, in fact, part of some big, smiley, fluffy love-in with the rest of the human race, dancing on rainbows and drinking fizzy pop and tickling kittens? Can’t be true. Can it? Kittens are for stamping on, surely? Yet now I’ve been mulling over this a while, I have ACTUAL FEARS that I am going to end up old and alone, living in a stinky hovel, throwing rocks at children and eating roadkill – all because I think everyone is a cunt.
I mean, OBVIOUSLY I know that not everyone is a cunt. In fact I have met some truly non-cuntish people recently who make me feel all warm and tolerant of mankind, rather than vengeful and stabby. However, as I explained to Amanda Jennings The Author, when you’ve been let down by the last people on earth you would ever think to let you down, it kind of lowers your expectations somewhat. Sometimes it’s easier to assume that you’re surrounded by cunts. Then you ain’t so disappointed. Innit.
So I need to change my thinking, yeah? I need to rein in some of this spiky-minded kitten-stamping hatefulness and start hugging trees and, erm, smiling and everything, yeah? Cos not everyone’s a cunt. Right?
What’s your default setting? And have I actually written ‘cunt’ far too much in this blog post?