Dont Mince Words

As the cranky old lady of the internet, social networking can be annoying.  Probably because I’ve done BBS.  I’ve played in chat rooms.  I’ve created avatars and connected with people in communities with full voice duplexing and text.  I’ve built web pages without a CMS.  But as I’ve said before, I’ve gotta stay hip with the kids.  And I’ll do anything if it gets me laid or gets me a job.

Hence my love of LinkedIn.  I no longer have to send a mass email to my network that says “does anyone know the CMO at X Corporation?  There’s a great job there.”  LinkedIn has produced screaming efficiencies in my business networking.  It makes me feel like a whore in sensible shoes at a convention.  That is, until you see an old john.

The dark side of social networking is the algorithm used to connect you with others.  Schools, employers, outbox scrapes, and friend-of-a-friend connections are some of the ways social nets continually find people to keep you engaged.  LinkedIn was doing a pretty good job at helping me build my network until it decided my ex-husband was someone I should know.  I uttered a backwards scream and a GTFO and immediately clicked on the link, because you know I had to.  I had not seen him since 1994 and the last time we chatted, it was hilariously tragic.  He didn’t remember my name.  In this instance, this was what we call in the business a “happy” click.  His thumbnail image showed thinning hair (probably the result of 90’s hair product abuse) and puffy cheeks.

With a smile on my face, I X-ed him off my list.  He wouldn’t be able to get me a job, but at least I know I now have better hair.

In LA, there’s a category of women I call “the meal hunters.” They date to eat. While a girl’s gotta eat, I’d rather stay home with unshaved legs and pop open a can of tunafish. I date to meet.

Last night I had a first date with a man who suggested we go to dinner. We ordered a beer, then I ordered an appetizer as my meal. The conversation flowed and in the middle of it all he said, “Wow, you really aren’t a hooker. You hardly eat.”

Most women would of been offended to be thought of as a meal-hunting hooker. I’m in touch with my inner whore and that comment didn’t bother me. I was flattered that he noticed my outstanding portion control talent. To celebrate, I ordered a second double barrel ale. Does that make me a beer whore?