One of my first tweets this morning was:
“People who hash tag on FB make me want to poke them in the eye.”
You know, just a usual Wednesday morning tweet lacking in opinion or offence.
But, how stupid of me to tweet something so out of date! (By about 12 hours I think)
Newsflash people, you can use the hash tag on Facebook. I know… life as we know it is over.
No longer can we look down on our Facebook “friends” ( or “acquaintances” if you have been brave enough to categorise them) with disdain as they update their status with “Gonna get ma bikini on #sun #sexi #Icecreme #cantspell”
No longer can we shout at the screen “Why are you using the hash tag on Facebook you cretin?” .
No longer can we laugh smugly when they leave a space between words and mutter “have they ever even been on twitter?”
No, that is over, as once more Facebook has put its dirty fingers in everyone else’s pie. Just look what happened to Instagram when it got hold of that? I said INST- A-GRAM – with the pictures, and the filters? Oh forget it.
But this post isn’t just about Facebook bashing, because that would make me look a little stupid. And I don’t need to write a blog to look stupid. I can just leave the house with my skirt on inside out (and I did that this morning).
If Facebook was that bad I would have come off it years ago and I haven’t. The main reason being it is so bloody convenient. As a source of information for things like local events, what your child needs to take on a school trip and whether or not you’ve missed a friend’s birthday, FB is worth its weight in gold. And, I suppose, wedding season is a pretty special time too. So yeah I’m on Facebook, and there are times I quite like it.
But I like Twitter too, well I sort of love it. I like its anonymity. its freshness and how everything is so temporary. Yes it has its flaws, they mainly come in a troll or celebrity shape. but as a whole it works. And personally, I think its success lies in the simplicity. Over complicating Twitter would be its downfall. Besides, the hash tag is complicated enough – right Facebookers?
I like the choice in social networks, I like there is variety (that’s why Pinterest is there right – for variety? Otherwise I am stumped on its purpose) and I like my social network sites to be different. I like using them for different things. Like chocolate. If I fancy something moreish and light I’ll grab a packet of Maltesers if I want something filling and chewy I’ll get a snickers. but don’t try and merge the two, that would just be kind of… clunky?
This is why think I Facebook should stick to what its good at. Connecting local people and people who haven’t spoke to for years and years. That’s its niche.
Let Twitter keep you up to date with the here and now, the moment, the trends, the news and the opinions.
And let’s not force everything to be the same. Different is good. We like different.
And the whole copying thing? Well its all a bit try-hard isn’t it? Like the kid at school that gets a “Beiber” hair cut 2 months too late.
I know, social networks are not timeless, just look what happened to MySpace, so they need to reinvent themselves. Imagine if we still had to start every FB update with the word “is”?
It’s ok, breathe, they are not bringing it back, that level of social network restraint is long gone.
But just imagine if we were still stuck with that “is”? Or worse, Imagine if twitter nicked the “is”?
Frances is fucked off that Facebook has nicked twitter’s hash tag
So of course, there comes a time when all social networks need to reinvent. And I welcome it – when it’s fresh and clever and it makes my life (well internet life) easier. But what I can’t stand is when things get clunky or the big brains are being lazy, and I just feel Facebook adopting the hash tag is both.
I haven’t used the hash tag on Facebook yet, but I rarely update on there, so doubt I will. But the thought of it does feel wrong, kind of like swearing on Facebook, it’s only a certain sort who can get away with it. The rest of us just appear crude or inappropriate.
Having said that, I don’t think I would feel like I am cheating on Twitter, but it certainly does feel like Facebook is.
When he was 18 months old I found my second child sat in his father’s sock draw (1 metre off the ground) drinking my bio oil. It would never have happened with the first.
But we say this a lot…
His brother would never have worked out to pull himself up on the radiator and hang head first out of our bedroom. His brother wouldn’t have climbed a ladder, leaning against an outhouse at a garden party, only to be caught when he was spotted inches away from climbing onto the dilapidated roof. His brother would have never worked out how to open the front door and make a dash for it when no one was looking.
Other Mums drop there head to one side, as I tell anecdotes of his latest adventures, and say softly “It’s the second child syndrome, just like my so-and-so”.
But second children weren’t born like this, it’s not a default. Sure, some of it is personality, but we also have to admit this all happened on OUR watch. We smother the first child with all our insecurities and idiosyncrasies, unable to see the bigger picture as we are so preoccupied with the all-consuming love for the first child. You don’t love the second any less. but you love it with freedom, you relax into parenthood, turn a blind eye, and let’s be honest, lose a bit of control, because with more than one, there just isn’t the time. So the second child, overflowing with independence and free will, is formed.
So when they ring us up from the other side of the world, about to bungee jump off the largest bridge wearing nothing but a manikin, I’m afraid we only have our selves to blame.
If you a pregnant, generally lazy by nature, avoid housework at all costs and don’t own a duster, then you might be the type of pregnant woman sat amongst her own sloth thinking “It doesn’t matter, I’ll sort it when I get that nesting thing.”
I wouldn’t count on it.
I have a theory with nesting – there are two types of women: the women who nest and the women who don’t. Women who nest have been doing their whole lives. As little girls they were sorting their bookshelves into alphabetical order while the women who don’t, would attempt to tidy a bookshelf, and spend the time pulling off all the books, flicking through them, finding their favourite pages and re-reading them – probably out loud to an imaginary audience, or worse, they wouldn’t even have attempted it and would be stuck up a tree somewhere trying to impress the lad from down the road.
I am a woman who doesn’t nest. Housework for me, takes the mental journey that others face running a marathon; I need to go into training, find the mental stamina, have deadlines and consequences… and I find the whole thing just as exhausting. Therefore, when I was pregnant with my first child, I was quite looking forward to nesting – “my house will finally be clean” I thought. But ,unfortunately, I didn’t get the desire to clean I just wanted a new house – or a least a newly decorated one. I was miserable, irrational and took a new found dislike to our house, its decor and contents. So much so, that I threatened to cancel my baby shower, unless changes were made. Which, bless The Future Husband, they were.
Consequently, when I was pregnant with my second child I turned to The FH and said “This time can you be in charge of nesting. I’m not very good it.” We ended up getting 10 thousand pounds of building work done, including an unexpected rewire, and living at my parents for 8 weeks with a part-toilet trained toddler and a new born baby!
Correction to the opening paragraph: there are women who nest, women who don’t and Men who… obliterate!