Friday, March 28, 2008

I liked him more when we were just texting.

I have long likened myself to Bridget Jones. She and I share a penchant for making idiots of ourselves in front of other people, with or without the assistance of vodka. Kind people give me the benefit of the doubt and assume I'm easily flustered. Others just assume I'm a card carrying member of the Asbergers 'R Us Society.

Fortunately, Gansie says it's not my fault that my social skills are declining. I've forgotten how to act in public settings because there's just no real need for face to face interaction anymore. I spend 8-10 hours a day in my small, small office, door closed. If I have to ask someone a question, I email them. Voicemail scares me. I have incredible typing skills based on my ability to recount an entire Thursday night via gChat in under .5 billable hours, complete with caps for inflection. I judge people who misuse "your" and "you're" in their texts, and "Ur" is enough to get yourself deleted from my phone entirely. I have friendships centered around cellular and internet based exchanges that involve nary a phone call, much less any in person contact. When my most important interpersonal interactions involve the ability to type and retype my thoughts before actually imparting them on another human being, it's not a wonder that I sound like an experiment in artificial stupidity when you get me face to face.

And I know I'm not the only one. My friends don't call or write, they blog. Screw holiday cards - I get mass text messages on major holidays. I've met boyfriends, dogs, and children via Facebook. I'm quite familiar with entire hookups and breakups that have been engineered via electronic means. It wouldn't be my first friend who has engaged in witty repartee with a member of the opposite sex until the wee hours, just to find that they're wildy uncomfortable with the mere idea of sitting next to each other, sober and sans cell phones, at a restaurant. And we've moved past waiting 3 days to call. Why on earth risk a phone call when you can shoot a quick "What r u up to?" text? If they don't answer, you can assume they never got it, as opposed to the more painful option of exploring the idea of rejection. We've even graduated from the 3am booty call to the 3am drunken, misspelled text message. Thanks to all this ridiculous technology around us, we're becoming more socially retarded with each passing second.

So next time you hear me make a complete ass out of myself in public, I hope you'll understand - I would have been much pithier if I could have just texted you.

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