Tag Archives: haunting

Today’s Word is… LURK

It starts off with the most innocent of intentions, I wonder what they’re up to.  As luck would have it, they’re page is public (because who has private pages anyway, it defeats the purpose, you’re not that special B) you casually browse their IG.  Maybe they’ve let themselves go a bit, you wonder to yourself why they STILL take pics in that outfit or why they post that meme like it isn’t talking about them?  Perhaps you stumble upon a fan of theirs who seems to like and comment every picture, you go and check them out… They aren’t you. A downgrade, really. Sad.  Now you grow more inquisitive.  Wait… How long they know each other? This picture was when y’all were still together.  What’s all this ki ki ing heart eye emoji shit? Did this motherfucker cheat on you?  With this baby teethed,  ill fitting clothes wearing, reposting the same picture from a 2 year old vacation talking bout #TBT take me baaaaack, how the hell you still unattractive with a flower crown muhfucka… NOW YOU’RE PISSED.  You start thinking about that one time they got in late and had some boring story about a coworkers flat tire that you checked out of mentally because you was cleaning the DVR.  Piecing together a bunch of clues that are as worthless as Hilary 2016 merch and you feel like a jackass, retroactively.  You wish they were there right now so you can dump they ass, instead you just block them.  Fuck what they been up to.  

Moral of the story,  nothing good comes from lurking.  

Yet we seemingly can’t help ourselves.  We’re too connected, gone are the days when a guy can go out for a pack of cigarettes, go two towns over and never have to see his family again.   I’m guilty of it as well, not because I want them back or anything, I just need to see that I won the breakup. (Kidding….mostly. Of course I won. )  I’m not alone, studies say nearly 88% of people have.  We all need Jesus, clearly.  That nagging curiosity is to our detriment, soon you find yourself on Instagram looking at what they doing but ain’t got shit to post for yourself.  It becomes less about them and more about what you’re missing.  

As for the lurkee, they can be just as complicit with the things they post.  HBO’s Insecure comes to mind as it currently stands as “nice guy” revenge porn.  Since it’s a 3rd person narrative, you actually get to see the ex grieving and openly pining while he can’t hear her over all the rebound sex he’s having.  The character of Lawrence has become a cult hero because he represents the unrealistic expectation of a break up.  That same expectation one thinks they are reaching with thirst traps and snaps at the club.  With subliminal status updates and not so subtle inferences at how their living their best life. But social media is the Disney version of real life, we all are presenting our best possible selves.  (Though some are obliviously bad at this).  You won’t see the 19 other outtakes of that selfie, the crowded Spirit flight they took to Miami or other the lonely nights more in line with their reality. 

So why do we fall for it when we lurk? Why do we front on social media in the first place?  Why was Takeoff left off of Bad N Boujee?  My personal social media is fairly boring for someone who’s…Had an eventful 18 months.  Because I don’t care who sees what I’m doing. When I find myself lurking pages and ultimately getting nothing out of it (even though this one time I accidentally followed an ex and didn’t realize it until I saw her on my timeline tweeting her homegirl about how I had the audamndacity to follow her… And then per her homegirls advice I was blocked. And you know what? I earned that L…Because nothing good comes from lurking)

Perhaps it’s the allure of the unknown, if you never do the dramatic unfollowing you’d see they are every bit as boring as they’ve always been.  Or even crazier, if you’re that curious to see what they are up to, maybe you could just reach out an–

Oh. Yeah. Right.  Well,  just be wary of the accidental like then.

-Stan-

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Filed under Dating, Oh, Internet, Randomness