Walk It Off, Champ

Earlier today, I was talking with someone about how to deal with assholes on the Internet. This person is a site administrator, as well, and we had different opinions on where to draw the line with the hostile, the clueless, and the obviously insane. Most places on the Internet make it possible to block the people you don’t like, meaning they can’t see what you’re doing or comment on it in any way that would be visible to you (assuming you’re not stalking them, of course). While I have blocked a few people in my Internet life, the list is fairly short and limited to those who are aggressively cruel. I don’t block the crazy people because it might not be their fault that they’re crazy, and I don’t block the occasional “ur a fukin bitch” people because it’s rare that they have anything more to say on the topic. Weird Internet people mostly amuse me, so even if I don’t like the person, I can still get a kick out of what they’re saying.

I was not always like this. Around the time I started blogging, I wrote an entry about how I’d gone out to the bar with my friend and kissed some guy. I also mentioned that I was half-assedly seeing someone at the time, which wasn’t unusual because I was ferociously single then and making out was kind of my hobby, and wasn’t wrong because it’s not like the guy I was seeing was my boyfriend. Plus, at the time of my writing the entry, I hadn’t been dating that person for several months, anyway, and really didn’t have to be concerned about his feelings at all.

The first thing to remember about blogging is that nobody cares what you say. Nobody’s reading, nobody knows you exist, and nobody’s going to make a million dollars in this game. The second thing to remember about blogging is that no matter what your hit tracker says, the least likely people in the world will find your blog somehow, which is why you shouldn’t say mean things about your family or name your co-workers. The third thing to remember about blogging is that eventually, you’ll stop hurting your loved ones’ feelings and this means that only the crazy people are left.

Some girl found what I wrote and took issue with it. She left a long and rambling comment on the entry, leading with instructions for me to go to the clinic because “who knows whats festering up inside your filthy vagina.” This was five years ago and I still remember it exactly because she was my first real troll and because it still seems so preposterous. I guess she was dating the guy I’d been dating at the time the story actually happened and, even though I hadn’t seen or spoken to him for months and certainly had no idea if he was dating anyone at all, she had searched for me on MySpace, found me, and took the time to tell me in so many poorly-worded paragraphs about how awful she thought I was.

I was amused at the time but also angry, because how dare this girl tell me how to live my life, right? So I commented back. My comment was equally rambling because I hadn’t yet learned how to write all that well, and because I felt it necessary to address each of her points while also calling into question her relationship (I still think that if any guy talks about his ex-girlfriend – who did not even break his heart or give him an STD – enough to drive someone to find her on the Internet, he’s clearly lacking some common sense and/or good, current pussy). I also sicced my best friends on her, and one of then eventually elicited an apology from her. This should have pleased me but it didn’t really, and I still remember her hateful comment even though now I know better.

It’ll be six years later in January, and during that time, I’ve learned how to behave. I’ve learned that someone, somewhere, will always be a dick about your life, no matter if you live it on the Internet or not. People will do this for legitimate and also completely crazy reasons, and usually not for anything you did in particular. Haters gonna hate, to borrow a meme, and if you’re going to remain sane for any length of time, you’re going to have to deal with them. I learned to deal with them around the time that I started gaining confidence in what I was doing. I was writing well. I was funny. I had the views and the subscribers and fuck someone else who didn’t. I still get hate mail, I just don’t care about it. The people who attack my writing inevitably use incorrect grammar, and the people who aren’t smart enough to care about my writing call me a bitch and/or whore. Occasionally, people on Twitter act like total asses and attack my ability to…think? Form sentences? See poorly? And what the fuck is social summer camp?

I don’t know this person. Not in real life, not on the Internet. At least, I don’t think I know them. It would be hard to know someone who not only uses a fake name but also a non-portrait photo, which I guess is super cool and way better than anything I’m doing in mine….

Me, at home, wearing my glasses purchased with vision insurance and reading a book that I own.

I’m not sure which of my tweets set this person off, though I think it’s hilarious that they not only didn’t reference it, but that their clever insults ended in “lol,” which is the argumentative equivalent of whipping out your dick to pee on someone’s leg and pissing all over your own pants, instead.

Yes, sir, Juno and Diablo Cody are my alter egos because a) I was never a fictional pregnant teenager and b) I was never a real life stripper who wrote a screenplay about a fictional pregnant teenager. I’m not surprised that this dumbass made this dated reference (congratulations on staying topical, sir!), though, because in my experience with people like him, all women are either fictional pregnant teenagers or strippers. We’re all whores in some way, and damn those of us who dare to think we can read.

(While we’re on the subject of Juno and Diablo Cody, are they really terrible role models? I mean, maybe Juno is, because I suspect that she grew up to be a vegan who drinks bad tea. But Diablo Cody? She’s published. She won an Oscar. She works at something she loves to do. Yeah, what a fucking failure, I can’t believe anyone would dare to aspire to her!)

People like this guy also love using the prefix “pseudo,” too, because it makes them feel better about not knowing how else to express their feelings of inferiority. This tactic works on lesser individuals, but fuck “pseudo-intellectual,” bitch, I’m fucking smart. I use my big vocabulary correctly. I win at Jeopardy. You troll the Internet to insult women about their glasses, which I actually need because I’m near-sighted and TINA FEY IS THE FUCKING SHIT. Don’t even pretend like she’s another one of those bullshit aspirational models. She’s published, respected, and funny as balls (which are totally fucking hilarious), who wouldn’t want to be like Tina Fey and wear the kind of glasses that make hers and faces with less gorgeous bone structure look awesome?

Fuck people on the Internet, you know? Bitches be crazy all over the place, some are just stupid enough to let it be known. Keep writing. Keep thinking. Keep wearing your glasses, especially when you drive at night. Walk it off, champ. Haters gonna hate.

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About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
This entry was posted in Everyone Else Is An Idiot, Letters to My Younger Self, Nerd It Up, The Internet is My Boyfriend, Writing, WTF. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Walk It Off, Champ

  1. Jen says:

    I adore you.

  2. Pingback: Now, Children | Ephemera Etc.

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