If it wasn’t for the fact that I own a blog and the survival and well being of my blog is greatly affected by owning a facebook account, I swear to god I would’ve deactivated my account by now. Even before I type in the f and promptly press enter because I know google will autocomplete it to facebook instead of say god forbid “figsandlemon” maybe, I know, I know it as the surest thing I have ever known that I am going to regret having ventured into the loathsome hypocritical pretentious bullshit that is spewing down my facebook feed. That I will hate on people post after post after post until I hit the random Elephant Journal article on how there’s a full moon in Virgo this week at which point I will take a break from hating because I want to know how said full moon affects Cancerians. Having found out that the full moon will result in my realization of something totally major about the eldest of my unborn children, I click back on the other tab knowing perfectly well that every inch of my body is disgusted by every single one of those bozos out there. But you think you have the upper hand here because you control whether or not you log onto Facebook. You can decide when to quit. It’s like smokers trying to convince themselves that they aren’t addicted. Then BAM!
Lung cancer happens!
You stumble on the post of your friend whom you haven’t spoken to in years who has now all of a sudden had a baby while you are sitting here contemplating the worthiness of being in a dead end relationship whilst listening to indie folk because hey… that’s your new thing now. THAT is when you realize you don’t have a one up over facebook, It is facebook who is now staring you dead in the eye and saying ” you will congratulate her you heartless bitch!” And you do. Then you release all this pent up anger of having succumbed to the wishes of facebook by ranting about it in a post that will most likely not even see the light of day. Then you wait. You wait a sufficient amount of time before publishing your hate-filled post so that more babies have been born and more people have been engaged and more wives have expressed their love to their husbands on facebook because you know, it’s not like you two share a room together. You wait until more of this incessant display of displaying and portraying and proclaiming takes place so no one particular person feels like a target of your rant. Instead they all end up hating you collectively. At which point you mentally say a massive “Fuck you!” to all of them and log out. Sorry, did I mention Facebook depresses me?
In other news, I made smashed potatoes today.
Finally got the chance to visit the Ripe Market at Mushrif Central Park. So I bought myself a bag full of locally grown fresh baby potatoes that didn’t put a dent in my wallet. Came home, bolied ‘em, smashed ‘em, baked ‘em, topped it off with some sea salt, olive oil, chopped parsley and garlic and devoured that yummy goodness! Not gonna lie, I made smashed potatoes once before with nothing but a drizzle of olive oil and some sea salt on top. They tasted better than these ones with garlic and parsley. But hey, these are the ones that got photographed so, you know, just…admire their cute little butts!