An Early Morning Email From Dan

To: Meg
From: Dan
Subject: OMG

"So I hacked into my Mom’s facebook (I know…) to see what she could see on mine (apparently everything!). BUT! Since I was logging in from the UAE – it made me answer the security questions and identify a few of her friends. And, well, you’re one of her friends. So… this page came up!"

 

To clarify, that's:

1.) Me. Wearing an airbrushed trucker hat boasting the phrase "Moustache Ride".

2.) Me. At a party. In the corner. Taking a MySpace photo of myself. Giving the shocker.

3.) Me. High, riding around on a tiny novelty tricycle and looking incredibly pleased with myself and my life choices.

...I think perhaps at this point the less I say, the more.

I'll be taking a long, hard look at myself in the mirror if you need me.*

(*Actually I'll be downing a DayQuil/Mucinex cocktail and taking care of post-surgery Diane. Poor mom! My poor little lamb! Am I the best daughter in the family? Some say yes. And some say I'm just the least employed. Specifically Chris. What an asshole.)

A sobering Drinking Game Friday

Today I've got some good news and I've got bad news. Which would you like first? Bad news? Bad news first so we can end the week on a high note? Mmm hmm. Yep. I like the way you think. Let's do it.

Bad news: I'm pregnant.

Bahahahaha. Just kidding slash I wish. Maternity leave sounds awesome right about now.

The bad news is that I legally died of embarrassment last night. Yep. I'm dead. Dead as disco. And I will spend the rest of eternity haunting this blog and Co-Blogger Chris in a Ghost Dad style plot line. (PS: I like how I just chose not to haunt Chris in an erotic Ghost kind of way, but rather in a kooky, Bill Cosby-at-the-door-with-pudding kind of way. And you're welcome, Chris.)

Remember that whole my-ex-hook-up-was-my-nurse-when-I-had-explosive-infectious-diarrhea-in-the-hospital thing that was so traumatizing it gave me emotional hepatitis? You know, that old chestnut? No? Well get yourself acquainted here. Are we all on the same page now? We all up-to-date on bowel movements? "Good." So Ex-Hook-Up Nurse sent me a message on Facebook yesterday afternoon basically being like, "MEGGLES! Sort of a random way to see you a few weeks ago. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It's illegal. Blah blah blah. It was good to see you. We should hang out soon. Yada yada yada." First of all: fuck. That message made me relive the entire experience all over again and guhhhhhhhhhhh...it burned. After I finished reading, I literally just writhed around my office chair, scratching my face and audibly moaning for a solid three minutes straight. It was horrible. Because writing about that experience here on the blog was my way to exorcise the embarrassment, let go and move on. And I had successfully done so!...Until that message, that is. I decided the best way to move on (again) would be to pick myself up, put the pants I had just writhed out of back on, embrace the embarrassment and laugh it off. Because that's what I do best, right?

So, I wrote back:

"Ugh, of course when I see you again after all this time I'm in the hospital for fucking explosive diarrhea and look like shit warmed over. Jesus Christ....I was 16 distinct different kinds of embarrassed. But! Yes, I agree we should be friends again. Any time you want to hang when I've actually showered and aren't in the hospital dying, that would be cool. - M"

"Kudos to me!" I thought as I pat myself on the back for confronting the situation head on. Now we could both have a good laugh about it and move on with our lives. All was well in the world.

...Until a few hours later when I got this message back:

"Actually I had no idea what you were there for. I didnt look."

.................GOD DAMNIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WHY?! WHY DID I HAVE TO "EMBRACE THE EMBARRASSMENT"?! AND WHY DIDN'T THAT SON-OF-A-BITCH LOOK AT MY CHART?! I would have! But then again, I'm a piece of shit. Ugh. So I unnecessarily told him that I had infectious diarrhea. I guess that's what I get for underestimating people. So fuck me. But not really because I was hospitalized with diarrhea and who wants to fuck that girl? Not me. And I am her.

But! I have good news. The good news is that today is Friday, which means it's time for the most magical part of any week—T.G.I. Hagman!



As of 12:09pm on January 19, 2010, Larry Hagman is...alive! AND GOOD! Good. More Hagman for me and you!

Now normally this is where I'd give you your Friday drinking game, but in honor of Alex and I recently starting our month off from drinking, there will be no drinking game this week. Yep, that's right. An entire month with no alcohol...And I have no idea what we're thinking either. Well, I do actually. Both of our doctors explicitly told us we need to cut back on drinking and Becky and Andrew are always taking a detox month here and there and they seem to have their shit together. Plus Becca and her fiance did it in January! I mean, I feel like it might be good to give the old liver a break once in a while...right? Especially since Alex and I wake up 3/7 mornings like this:



God I'm going to miss that homeless woman...

So, I guess your drinking game this weekend is to just slam a few extra back for me and Alex. Pour one out for your fallen homies, if you will. Thanks. We appreciate it. And we appreciate you reading the blog! But if you really want to see us appreciative, you should totally follow us on Twitter, join our Facebook page and forward us to a friend or two! Man that would be nice. I mean, I don't get anything out of it, but you would. KARMA. Sexy, sexy karma. Welp! I'm gonna go join a prayer circle or something equally sobering. Have yourself a fantastic weekend and we'll see you right back here Monday morning. (Awkward sober) kisses!

Why the thought of me getting married is laugh-out-loud funny

Let's talk about Helena. As I've mentioned before, Helena is my biffles. My "biffly-biffly^maxpower," if you will. I like Helena a lot. She's super fun and snarky and slightly mean and easy on the eyes—pretty much the embodiment of everything I look for in a friend. But more than that, I just feel like Helena knows what's up in life. And her opinion is extremely important to me. Before making any decision, major or minor, I consult Helena. And what she says goes. I've been practicing this method of decision-making for five years now and it hasn't led me astray once. Actually, that's a blatant lie. One time Helena and I were shopping at Pacific Sunwear (which is highly out-of-character and comical to think about now) and I asked her if I should buy an ironic John Deere Trucker baby-tee. Without missing a beat, she said yes. So I bought it, wore it and immediately regretted it. Later she confessed that she only told me to buy it because she thought it would be "hilarious." But you know what? She was right, yet again. Because it was hilarious. I'm willing to own up when I look like a douchebag, and guess what? I looked like a giant douchebag. So in conclusion: Helena is always right and I'd trust her with my life.

Now let's talk about marriage. Marriage freaks me out. Well, that's a lie. Marriage at this point in my life freaks me out. I've always associated marriage with two groups of people: grown-ups and white trash. Being neither of those things (John Deere Trucker tee aside,) I have absolutely no plans of getting married in the foreseeable future. I mean, I'm only 24; I've got wild oats to sew! I want to dip my wick in anything that moves! (...I apologize.) I want to have a bullshit job with no responsibilities! I want to throw big Jäger parties and come to work hungover! That's pretty much where my priorities lie right now. And I've always thought that that was OK. Sure, pretty much everyone else I know is in a serious relationship and going to grad school or law school and moving on to the next step in their life, but I've always felt confident about where I am. But that changed last week when Helena casually mentioned that she and her boyfriend have discussed marriage. Like in a it's-probably-going-to-happen-sooner-than-later kind of way. After she said that, I could feel my heart drop into my butt and I had a very quiet, but very real Total Life Freak Out.

Don't get me wrong—I love Helena and I love her boyfriend and I love them together! It's just that if Helena gives getting married at this stage of our lives the green light, that makes it officially acceptable. And if it's officially acceptable, that means it's not just for grown-ups and white trash anymore; it's for people like you and me. Because we are those grown-ups. And that scares the shit out of me.

The idea of me getting married is laughable. Like literally laugh-out-loud, Family Matters level funny. I can see myself in a relationship, sure, but marriage? Fuck no. Because getting married is a big fucking deal. You are, in the most literal sense, marrying your life to another person's and saying that not only am I responsible for my life, I am now responsible for yours. Just typing that statement made me want to vomit. Because I can barely take care of my own life. I went on Facebook for the first time in 9 billion years the other day and saw that my best friend from elementary school is now married with a child. And not a baby! Like a walking, talking, thinking, feeling, straight-up little child. That shit is bananas. I wouldn't trust myself with a hot plate, nevertheless a child. But there she is. Adorable and alive and kickin'. Is that where I should be? Should I be retiring my abnormally busty frat boy lifestyle, get a Netflix account and settle down? Normally I would say no, of course not, Meg. You're only 24 and you have the emotional maturity of an ashtray. But now that Helena's gone and given marriage her stamp of approval, I'm starting to think yes, that is where I should be. But I'm really not. What's wrong with me?

Welp, I can actually tell you exactly what's wrong with me. Via this list. The list of Reasons Why the Thought of Me Getting Married is Laugh-Out-Loud Funny:
1.) The following is a photograph of the inside of my refrigerator:

You will see that it contains a lot of beer, a dozen eggs that might be hatching into chickens as we speak and a Ziploc bag of spaghetti my mom gave me in early October. Hope you're hungry, baby.

2.) Gummy fangs. It's not just an on-running blog joke; it's also what's for dinner.

3.) Sometimes I honest-to-god hibernate. Like a bear. If I've had a particularly rough Saturday night, I'll just sleep through Sunday, waking only to eat gummy fangs before going right back to bed until Monday morning. Soooo...there's that.

4.) I will do anything to avoid doing laundry. For example, I realized this morning that I'm out of clean shirts, so I am currently wearing a backwards Patron t-shirt with a cardigan thrown over it. And guess what? I probably won't do laundry again tonight.

5.) I have a very Me vs. My Body mindset that isn't very conducive to a life partnership. The following is a real conversation Co-Blogger Chris and I had this weekend:
Me: Ugh, these migraines won't away. I think I'm going to have to give up and go to a doctor.
Chris: Uhh..."give up," Meg? I don't think that's called "giving up," I think that's called being responsible for your well-being.

...Point taken. I hope my future husband never comes to me sick or I'll treat him like a level of Donkey Kong.

6.) Sometimes I play this game called "How Long?" The object is to see how long you can go without paying your cable bill and having it shut off.

7.) I am never, ever wearing pants.

8.) The second room isn't for a baby. It's for the Jäger cooler and my brand new shot dispenser.


9.) When something goes wrong, my immediate reaction is still to call my mom. And if she's not home, I have a history of leaving long voice mails of me making whiny noises. No words. Just whiny noises. For upwards of three minutes at a time.

10.) I still sleep with a stuffed animal. His name is Jason. Let's not pretend like I haven't discussed his existence before. Let's also not pretend that everyone who comes over and hugs him doesn't immediately understand why he's in my life.

Sigh... Guess I'll be buying "fruits" and "vegetables" if you need me. Thanks a lot, Helena.

It's not you, it's me, Facebook

I have this funny habit of picking up a trend when its too late. Like I’m the world’s father and once I start doing something, it’s no longer cool. Like in 5th grade, I was the last person to get a Starter jacket (Dallas Cowboys, like I even cared) before they went south.

But there are a few things that I have gotten in on the ground floor on. Track jackets (you’re welcome, men aged 13-28), the RZR phone, the following Rachel Zoe video (thank you, reader Patricia!)and Facebook.

Remember back in the day when Facebook was only available to college students because it started in college? My school was one of the first colleges (after Harvard, because Lord knows I was not smart enough to get in there) to get Facebook in March of 2004. I can distinctly recall walking out of the dining hall and hearing everyone talking about this new website called “The Facebook”. Because, if you remember, you originally had to go to "thefacebook.com”. And like a true freshman, I talked about it with my friends to make sure they were going to join before joining myself.

And while there were only a few colleges online at this juncture, that still added up to a sizable population of co-eds to stalk. Who is that cute guy in your Intro to Econ class? Find him on Facebook. What about the total bitch who sits next to you in World Civ? Facebook. I was frequently up until 4 AM accompanied by all my new friends on Facebook. And whenever the homepage updated with new colleges added, I’d see if I knew anyone who went there so I could friend them right away. Which would always be followed by some witty “Welcome to Facebook! Say goodbye to your social life!” wall post.

Because it was true. I gave Facebook an inordinate amount of my time in college. Granted, my life in college consisted of about 12 hours of class a week and 156 hours of God-knows-what-but-usually-Facebook. But still, not only could you stalk people you’d never met, you could make groups, see what parties people were going to, etc. It was amazing.

But that was the thing about Facebook way back when. It was like a club that you had to wait to be granted access. Like Studio 54 without the AIDS. And everyone knows word of mouth is the best publicity (see Season 3, Episode 7 of Ugly Betty, namely “The Roof. Be there.”) so if everyone on campus is talking about Facebook, you aren’t going to want to be the only one who has no idea what they are talking about. “What do you mean it’s now just facebook.com? I never even knew about thefacebook.com” See? It just sounds like someone waiting for their lunch money to be taken.

For a while, Facebook was my number one most visited non-adult website. You could enjoy all the stalking you wanted in the privacy of your dorm room. 99.9% of colleges were online, so you were guaranteed to have already found everyone you knew from high school and were able to laugh at the misfortune of some and feel overwhelmingly jealous of others. As long as you had a valid college email address, you were welcome to stalk your little heart out. (Sidebar: I was always personally opposed, however, to the pre-frosh who joined Facebook with their college emails before they ever set foot on campus. Sure, you have a college email, but unless you’ve already skipped a class solely because you were too busy stalking, you can’t have more than 100 friends yet. I’m sorry but you just can’t.)

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, they went and let the riff raff in.

When I heard from the gossip mill that Facebook was expanding to high schools, I was in no way pleased. What right do high schoolers have to be on Facebook? Shouldn’t they be studying specifically so that they could get into college so they could thus use their school email address to join Facebook?! Isn’t that what America is about?! Then came the first Facebook facelift which did not go over well with the general populace, myself included. Then applications started to be added. Then another facelift. More applications. And ads. All of a sudden, anyone can join. Studio 54 just opening its doors to homeless men off the street. Now Studio 54 has become Times Square. All glitz, no glamour, and certainly no exclusivity.

What really put the nail in Fbook’s coffin for me is the sudden influx of my family members online. First and foremost, my Facebook marriage has already caused a problem with one of my cousins, who believed she was left off the guest list to my wedding. Secondly, I don’t know how comfortable I am with my aunts and uncles looking at pictures of me drunk at numerous parties over the years. This could lead to a variety of awkward Thanksgiving conversations, including, but not limited to “How exactly do you play flip cup? You seem to be very good at it.”

After graduating, I thought I’d spend a lot more time on Facebook than I have. Those friends that I want to keep in touch with, I can Gchat with (God willing, barring another unfortunate server overload). Anyone beyond that, I’ve got their phone numbers. For me, the novelty of Facebook has worn off. “Facebook me” is no longer a cute way to make friends. It still happens, but it’s a lot harder to bump into your new Facebook friend in a city full of millions of people than it is on a campus of 1,000. In short, what I’m driving at might seem like a crazy idea to most of you, but I think I might be quitting Facebook. Is this as crazy as it sounds?

SUCK IT, NERDS!

OMG I fucking hate nerds.

If I could live my life all over again, I would be a jock in high school and a frat boy in college, specifically so I could shove nerds into lockers and give them wedgies and all of that.

Let me explain where this is coming from. Everyday from 9-5 I am surrounded by the worst nerds on the planet. People who got beat up in high school, but still decided to pursue the path of nerdery into college, where they failed with the opposite sex repeatedly BUT STILL decided to go on and get a degree in higher education in being a nerd. And so now they all come here to do their science experiments and circle jerk about how smart they are. I can freely admit that I had a brief foray into nerddom growing up, but I managed to major in biology without hiking my pants up to my nipples, slapping on a pocket protector, and jerking off to articles in Science magazine. But being the odd man out here (read: the only non-loser) I am in the minority, and the nerds are picking on me daily.

The people I work with cannot comprehend standard social graces. If you aren't a beaker or a bacteria, they have no idea how to interact with you. And so instead of being polite humans, they are routinely condescending, derogatory, or just outright rude.

Let me give you an example. Six months ago, I was asked to ship some stuff to Australia (which is a whole lot harder than you'd expect. Damn you, terrorists, for making my job more difficult), and I needed to ask someone in the lab for help. So I had to ask this douchebag nerd, and he agreed to help. I find out, six months later, that the shipment never went through. So I email around to find out what the problem was: the recipient tells me its the shipping company's fault, the shipping company tells me it was an internal issue, I email Dr. Douchebag to find out what's wrong. He catches me at the end of the day and tells me that he never received the samples to be shipped from our boss, but he made it seem like it was my fault. He also said that "It's a shame, because the shipping company was great to work with, but it was embarrassing that I never got those samples."

What the fuck are you guilting me about that for? I can't make our boss do something any faster than you can. And if that's really what was wrong, then why did our boss ask me what the holdup was on the shipment? Don't think you're pulling a fast one on me because I'm not as smart as you because I don't have a Ph.D. I have a P.H.D. which is way better. A pretty huge dick. I also have a personality, and the ability to make friends with things larger than bacteria. You might make more money than me right now, but you're also 35 and had to buy your wife from Russia (Seriously, this guy is a FOB from Ireland and his wife's name is Olga...draw your own conclusions). So why don't you take your shitty attitude, put it in a test tube, and shove it up your ass. But you're probably already going to have your mail order bride do that for you when you get home tonight anyway.

We here at 2birds are very much against the Meeks and nerds of the world. Please help us to end their individual reigns of terror. For every new person that friends us on Facebook, Meg will give a Meek a swirlie. For every new person who follows us on Twitter @2birds1blog @misterlizlemon, I will break a nerd's glasses. And for every person you pass this blog along to, Meg and I will both shove a Meek/nerd into a locker.

First you took my people's land and now you take my Facebook profile?!

God damnit! After I harassed you all to be my BFF on Facebook, old Mark "The Shnozz" Zuckerberg deleted my account:

Come on Zuckerberg...what did I ever do to you? You have billions of dollars and I have...dozens of dollars.

Facebook deleted my account because I "misrepresented myself" by using a fake name, which violates the terms of agreement. In my defense: oh-pshh-ah! That giant box of six-point-circus-type could have said I do hereby decree to wear a onesie and carry one of those ye-old-timey lollipops around for the rest of my life and I wouldn't have a fucking clue. If there is actually anybody out there who seriously reads the entirety of internet terms of agreement, I will give you a thousand dollars in cash and a solid high-five. It's seriously laughable to me that the act of checking a little box, while wearing my Jack Daniel's pajama pants, laying in bed, using my little laptop with my Seth Meyers Gap ad wallpaper can be considered a binding legal contract. It's on par with the contract in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Whatever happened to the days of signing in blood? Back when contracts were a gentleman's sport and a signature meant something.

I didn't even know Facebook took fake names so seriously...what with being Facebook friends with Zack Morris and Carl Winslowe and all. And where were the Facebook gestapo sophomore year when Helena made a fake profile for Ted Kennedy with the AIM screen name "iKilledAhooker"? Nothing about that profile tipped you off, Zuckerberg? Were you slightly surprised when you didn't get a news feed update on inauguration day saying, "Ted Kennedy is totes seizin' up to the geezin' up"? (Oh my God I'm so sorry. I love that silver fox water buffalo until the day I die! Although the day he dies will probably come first. Gah! I'm sorry, it just keeps coming! THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID! God Damnit!!!)

Oh, and let's not pretend you're too good to be used for promotional purposes, Facebook. You sunk that ship the day you decided to let any Tom, Dick or Mark the Molester join sans college email address, free to hide behind their shadowy blue silhouette default picture. (The question mark had more class.)

Because it's in my nature to find the sneaky and slightly dishonorable way out of a sticky situation (oh me! I'm a wily one!), I decided to send the following sternly worded email to Facebook's disabled profiles department to appeal:

To Whom it May Concern:

I am curious why my Facebook page was flagged and deleted. I did not have any offensive material, nor is my Native American name, Twobirds, a "fake name" which "misrepresents my affiliation."

I would like to think that in this day and age, people would be more sensitive to Native Americans and our everyday plight.

- Twobirds O-neblog

I then got an auto-response saying that the Facebook team thanks me for my inquiry and will get back to me soon...which they never did. I guess I deserve that.

So, my super-networking-seriously-trying-to-grow-my-readership thing lasted a whole weekend, which given my attention span is pretty impressive. Oh wellz. Back to strategizing how I'm going to bring back pogs!

Wanna be friends?

So normally I don't like to network without a few drinks in me, but I've decided to give it a try. 2b1b is on Facebook, so you should totally friend us! How hardcore would we love it? So hardcore. And if you get a friend request from "TwoBirds," it's not a kindly Native American, it's a snarky Irish Jewess.

My 45-minute Facebook relationship

As I settled into the back of my parent's Jeep Friday evening, worn out from a day of apartment cleaning/re-painting/re-arranging, my iphone dinged letting me know that I had just received an email. Christian C. from the New York, NY network had sent me the following message on Facebook:
"Christian C.

January 2 at 5:41pm

you look cute but we live too far. it would never work!"

Hm. This sent a few red flags-a-flyin':
1.) We don't have any mutual friends.
2.) I was just having a conversation with someone about whether or not it's socially acceptable to use Facebook as a flirting medium with strangers. (My argument is no, that's more myspace's scene. Facebook is good to flirt with people you already know.)
3.) This guy is hot. And British. And lives on the Upper West Side. Normally the random guys who message me on myspace are Latino gangbangers from Inglewood who call me "mami" and wanna do unspeakable things to dat a$$. I mean, I'm not saying I look like Sloth from Goonies, but what the hell is this guy doing wasting his time with me?

Then I realized. He thinks I'm Leighton Meester.

My favorite TV drama archetype is the over-privileged, bitchy, brunette. (The exception of course being Summer from The OC. Rachel Bilson/Summer Roberts = Fail.) Blair Waldorf (as played by Leighton Meester) from Gossip Girl is my personal hero. Not since Dynasty's Fallon Carrington Colby have I seen such exemplary levels of brunette snobbery and good fashion sense. So as an homage, I made her my Facebook picture.

Given I had about 45 minutes to kill in the car with my parents on the way back to their house, I decided to see where a conversation with Christian C. from New York, NY would take me. Below is the entirety of our conversation. Enjoy.

Christian C.: you look cute but we live too far. it would never work!
Meg McBlogger: Well not with that attitude it wouldn't!
Christian C.: Well, i guess so...I'm not going to spend too much time talking about myself, but I'm good looking, muscular, funny, exciting, adventurous, cool, a real man's man -- the kind of man other men want to be, and women want to be with! But most of all, out of everything else, my best trait is...I'm modest! ;-)

Tell me about yourself...Did you do anything interesting for new year' eve?
Meg McBlogger: Yikes, I'm going to have to stop you there. You do realize the girl in my facebook photo is actress Leighton Meester, yes? Don't get me wrong, I consider myself an attractive girl, but Leighton Meester I am not. If I've dissapointed you, she films her show in NYC, so stalking her down is always an option I guess?
Christian C.: Yeah, i realised but only after your first reply but then i liked your response so figured you had to look something like her to add her to your profile!! [editor's note: I do not. And I'm almost positive at this point in our messaging he could just click my picture to see actual photos of me, but I don't think he realized this. I chalk it up to him being a foreigner.]
Meg McBlogger: Yea, sorry about that. Actually Leighton Meester's body plus my amazing personality would be quite the catch. Sorry I can't totally make that happen for you. But yes, I relate to her being a sassy brunette myself. But the similarities stop there.
Christian C.: sounds perfect! [has already sent a friend request] let's be friends so i can c for myself ;)
Meg McBlogger: Oof, are you really ready for that responsibility?
Christian C.: how do you mean?
Meg McBlogger: Here's how I see it. You have a few options here, if you see what I actually look like you can like what you see, or not like what you see. If you don't like what you see, you can either stop talking to me (in which case I know it's because I'm not Leighton Meester-y enough, which is kind of a dick move on your part and I don't know if you want the guilt of ruining a random girl's night) or you can be polite and continue to courtesy message me, and who has the time for that? OR you could actually like what you see and continue to message me knowing this is going nowhere anyway. I mean I'm pretty good with how I look, so it's not a big deal, I'm just thinking of you. Personally, I wouldn't want that pressure.
Christian C.: this is ridiculously stressful. ha ha. i don't know which i should do?
Meg McBlogger: Well, think hard. It's your decision and yours alone.
Christian C.: i guess we should just end it. either way this isnt' going anywhere, but i got more out of this conversation than i ever though i would when i sent you that message!
Meg McBlogger: That's fair enough.
Christian C.: I'm gonna start watching that show now and think of you!! ;)
Meg McBlogger: You'll always be the Chuck Bass to my Blair Waldorf.
Christian C.: ha ha what?
Meg McBlogger: Ugh. Never mind.


Sigh...breakups are worst. Time to rebound with a Latino gangbanger!

The 20 Male Poses of Facebook

For reasons that I’m not going to explain because it makes me look like a giant loser, I was recently looking through all of the guys named Ryan in New York City on Facebook. First, let me say that there are a lot of gents named Ryan living in this city. Although I didn’t find the Ryan I was originally looking for, my quest became a truly interesting study of facebook photos and faux pas.

The Facebook Photo— a bitch and a lover. As a girl, I choose my facebook photo primarily by how unrealistically attractive I look in it. It’s narcissistic, but you can’t deny that you do the same thing. I’m not going to lie, sometimes when I’m getting ready to go out, I’ll evaluate whether or not I’m lookin’ “Facebook-worthy” that night. In other instances I’ll even attend certain events just because I think I’ll get a cute Facebook pic out of it. Overall, it’s accepted that girls use their Facebook pic as an outlet to display their “Oh my Gawd I look HAWT!” pictures. What about guys? With guys it’s harder. It would be a little gay for a guy to display a nicely cropped photo of himself trying to look as cute as possible, workin’ all the right angles and sucking in like the world is about to end. While I was searching through the Ryans, I discovered that there exist 20 different standard shots that guys use for their Facebook picture. It’s like guys got together and agreed that these 20 poses will make them look good without trying to hard because that would be gay dude. The best part is that most of them are a hilariously horrible call. Let’s do a little study, shall we? I present to you, The 20 Male Poses of Facebook!

#1: The High Contrast/Photoshop Filter/iSight Shot


This is the equivalent of walking around wearing a half mask and a cape like the Phantom of the Opera. You’re hiding something. And there’s a large possibility that something is a skin problem.

#2: The Prepster at a Function Shot


He could be at a wedding, cocktail party, engagement party, sailing team reception, whatever. Either way he inevitably graduated from Wake Forest and now works for Ernst & Young.

#3: The Just Hangin’ with my Bros Shot


Whereas girls have an odd ability to quickly line up in cute formation, hug and make a kissy face to the girl to their left, guys have the ability to stand next to their bros, look awkward, barely touch each other and look stoic. SMILING IS FOR PUSSIES BITCH! NOW GET ME A NATTY LIGHT!

#4: The Too Much Party For One Picture Shot


Dude, I was so fucked up that night. Who were those girls?

#5: The I Love my Girlfriend Shot


Awww you love your girlfriend! Sadly 9 times out of 10 the girlfriend withheld sex or whined uncontrollably until he put this as his pic to ward off evil sluts and give his bros something to laugh at him for. There’s nothing like forced love.

Speaking of couples…#6: The Me & My Girlfriend Support a Team! Shot


I was surprised at how many of these there were. I actually find this less offensive than The I Love my Girlfriend Shot. It’s less forced and involves beer.

#7: The THIS GUY! Shot


One of my all time favorite poses. It always makes me wonder, what is it about that guy? That Guy always seems kind of lame and bro-like. What is it about him that makes you not only like him enough to share your Facebook profile pic real estate with him, but also point directly at him? This kid man…this guy…

#8: The Drunk Guido Shot


There’s beautiful consistency in these shots. Ingredients to make a Drunken Guido Shot: year round tan, gelled up hair, groomed eyebrows, designer suit, shirt open, expensive mix drink in hand (optional: slutty girl named Alexa on your arm, name of the lounge’s website at the bottom, usually containing “Nite Life” somewhere, proving that you’re so hot, you’re a local celebrity.) Now aggressively point to the camera like the photographer just insulted your mother’s lasagna.

#9: The I Don’t Know if you Know, But I Work Out Shot


This is an extreme version, but I had to share. Usually this shot is of a guy who just happens to have his shirt off and who just happens to have a 12 pack and just happens to be flexing at the moment someone randomly took their picture.

#10: The Wacky, Fun Guy Shot


I would date this guy and then be surprised when it turns out he has a drug problem and treats me like shit.

#11: The Babby Daddy Shot


When I have a kid, I think I’m going to retire all of this Internet socializing. Know why? Because I’ll be too busy actually raising my kid and not virtually poking people. (That’s a lie and we both know it.)

#12: The Just Jamming with my Band Shot


So emo, I’m not even mad.

#13: The Seasonably Inappropriate Shot


God knows you looked good in that James Bond costume, but it’s June, time to switch up the photo. I have to admit, I have been victim to this shot myself. I have this one picture of myself in my sophomore year Halloween costume where I look ridiculously cute. It’s sort of blurred, I’m wearing Playboy bunny ears and I was caught at the best angle ever. I think I rocked that picture for like 8 months straight before I finally had to retire it. But, all good things must come to end…so let’s retire all Halloween costume pictures, sitting on Santa’s lap shots, and maybe even drunk St. Patrick’s Day pics. Look forward to Earth Day on the 22nd!

#14: The Self-Photographer Shot


Not to be confused with…

#15: The Self-Cell-Photographer Shot


The shittier version of an already shitty action. But then there’s always…

#16: The Accidental Self-Photographer Shot


God Damnit I love these. You can crop a photo all you want, but the telltale elevated shoulder will always give you away. I love these because the photographer/subject truly believes that we will believe he was just caught by someone in this moment of pensive thought. But this isn’t even the height of social retardation and self-photography! We still have…

#17: The Future Pedophile of America Shot


What the fuck? Are you trying to tell me that you don’t have one friend who could take a picture of your creepy ass? Not one person? You’re just forced to sit there in a dark room, creepily lit up by your computer monitor and take it yourself with your web cam? And are you so into your porn and/or Myst game that you can’t be bothered to look in the damn lens and smile? These make me want to take a shower immediately…

#18: The Fuck You Shot


So, let me get t his straight— you’re too cool for Facebook, yet there’s calculated effort to seem badass and aloof. And every Fuck You Shot I found was of a fat little middle schooler like this one. Kid, get a friend and let your hair grow in.

#19: The Throwin’ a Hand Sign Shot


A classic. I understand the need to be doing something with your hands when taking a picture; it’s a little awkward. But a good gang sign or shocker is much better than the middle finger (you little Columbine-esque freak). I don’t know how many pictures exist of me throwing the shocker (not because I enjoy it, just because it makes people uncomfortable and is badass.) However, what is that sign this guy is doing??? It’s…

#20: THE MYSTERY HAND GESTURE SHOT
Ok. What’s going on here? Seriously, what is that? A consistently sideways peace sign? That has to mean something. 20 points to the first person who solves this mystery.


I saw it countless times during my photo-research.


It’s like the carrot sign thingy you use when you’re coding something. Is it slang for something? I thought I knew all of the cool ghetto hand signs! Did I seriously just use a coding reference in trying to prove that I’m cool?

Wow. I’m out.



Sha la la!
Patsy