I’d just returned from a long day of working on the set of one of my bucket list projects. The day began early, with me rising at 5 AM after only 3 hours of sleep to drive three hours to drop my kids off with a friend, and it ended at 8 PM when I arrived home and fell, exhausted, into my bed. It had been a long, hot, productive day filled with great people and new faces and I couldn’t have asked for a better day of filming fun. Despite the overwhelming August heat, the three hours of DC rush hour traffic, and the little sleep I was running on, I’d thoroughly enjoyed the work. But I was beat up, and all I wanted to do was be dead to the world for six solid days.
So of course I passed out around 8 and woke up at midnight, refreshed and feeling like I was ready to do it all over again.
The problem was, it was midnight on a Friday night and I’m a mother, so I couldn’t exactly hop out of bed and go party with the young crowd. Instead I did what every 30 something writer/editor/actress/socially-awkward-girl with kids and a husband and no life outside of work does: I got on Facebook and started catching up on all the posts I’d missed while I was filming (because phones are rarely allowed on a set).
The problem was, it was midnight on a Friday night and I’m a mother, so I couldn’t exactly hop out of bed and go party with the young crowd. Instead I did what every 30 something writer/editor/actress/socially-awkward-girl with kids and a husband and no life outside of work does: I got on Facebook and started catching up on all the posts I’d missed while I was filming (because phones are rarely allowed on a set).
One of the first posts that caught my attention was a political one, and - well - if you hadn’t noticed by my recent article “How I Know Facebook Thinks Trump Supporters Are Dumb,” I have opinions - and a lot of them are about politics. So I read the status and the comments. I even responded to a few of them. The entire conversation was generally very pleasant and respectful and well thought out on everyone’s parts. And then came the Donald Trump supporter, in all his cocky “I’m wealthy” glory. It didn’t take him long to privately message me about my views of the Don.
The conversation was boringly interesting, to say the least. I mean, it was about politics, which I find fascinating, but other than that, it was mostly a mundane disagreement about policy and who’s the best fit to run a country.
I won’t go into all of the details, because they were mostly unexciting. The conversation centered on my belief that Donald Trump is pompous and would be a horrible selection for the Republican Party and his belief that Donald Trump poops golden nuggets and we should all worship him. He wasn’t having any of my concerns about losing the female, Latino, and African American votes (which, let’s be honest, Republicans can’t afford to lose even one vote), and went so far as to insinuate that Donald Trump is the manliest man to ever man in the history of man. I compared Donald Trump to Vladimir Putin, and that seemed to delight him.
At some point in the conversation, he sang Trump’s praises because of his immense wealth, and even compared his own wealth to that of Trump’s. Later in the conversation, he randomly went on to tell me about his incredibly expensive car.
Through all of this, questions were peppered here and there that I generally scaled around. Some of the questions I vaguely answered because they seemed like they might pertain to the subject (“Where did you say you live?” “Washington D.C.”), some of them I answered because the answer could explain some of my views (“How old are you?” “34.”) and some of them I didn’t answer at all (“What were you filming?” I signed a Nondisclosure Agreement, so obviously I wasn’t telling him anything about that).
But then the conversation took the weirdest turn. Ever. He said something about being stationed somewhere that’s within a few hours of where I currently live, and I commented about how that’s not so far away from me. When you’re part of the military community, it’s always really fun to find someone who’s been stationed close to you.
What happened next was just creepy. He came back with a comment about driving to my house in his really fast, really expensive car. I sat and thought about that for a moment.
The conversation was boringly interesting, to say the least. I mean, it was about politics, which I find fascinating, but other than that, it was mostly a mundane disagreement about policy and who’s the best fit to run a country.
I won’t go into all of the details, because they were mostly unexciting. The conversation centered on my belief that Donald Trump is pompous and would be a horrible selection for the Republican Party and his belief that Donald Trump poops golden nuggets and we should all worship him. He wasn’t having any of my concerns about losing the female, Latino, and African American votes (which, let’s be honest, Republicans can’t afford to lose even one vote), and went so far as to insinuate that Donald Trump is the manliest man to ever man in the history of man. I compared Donald Trump to Vladimir Putin, and that seemed to delight him.
At some point in the conversation, he sang Trump’s praises because of his immense wealth, and even compared his own wealth to that of Trump’s. Later in the conversation, he randomly went on to tell me about his incredibly expensive car.
Through all of this, questions were peppered here and there that I generally scaled around. Some of the questions I vaguely answered because they seemed like they might pertain to the subject (“Where did you say you live?” “Washington D.C.”), some of them I answered because the answer could explain some of my views (“How old are you?” “34.”) and some of them I didn’t answer at all (“What were you filming?” I signed a Nondisclosure Agreement, so obviously I wasn’t telling him anything about that).
But then the conversation took the weirdest turn. Ever. He said something about being stationed somewhere that’s within a few hours of where I currently live, and I commented about how that’s not so far away from me. When you’re part of the military community, it’s always really fun to find someone who’s been stationed close to you.
What happened next was just creepy. He came back with a comment about driving to my house in his really fast, really expensive car. I sat and thought about that for a moment.
One wrong word and a girl can suddenly be painted as a flirt, a whore, or worse. | As girls, we have to be exceptionally careful how we respond to things like this. One wrong word and a girl can suddenly be painted as a flirt, a whore, or worse. One wrong word and suddenly some pretentious dirt bag is calling up a boyfriend or husband and telling him that a girl is coming on to him. But if a girl just straight up says “Hey, I’m married,” she gets this, “I wasn’t even hitting on you. You’re so vain!” attitude like she did something wrong. |
Now - let me break from the story to say this. I’m not perfect. I’ve been known to unknowingly flirt and find myself in a precarious situation a time or two. I’ve also been on the receiving and giving end of affair accusations. It’s not a pretty sight. Nobody wants to go through that. Especially not on accident. So I am extremely careful not to give off an air of interest to someone of the opposite sex (or of the same sex if that’s the team they play for). I am still fun and playful, but in a private conversation, unless I know a person personally, I don’t do the whole “fun” thing. It’s so easy to misconstrue, and I just cannot have that conversation with people any more. I don’t have the time or the energy for it.
So I thought about my response and typed out something along the lines of, “Yeah, road trips are fun.”
His response was more forthcoming. It basically said “My car is fast, I could be there tonight in just a few hours.”
That one made me put my phone down and look at my husband. Should I wake him up and ask him to deal with this? I mean, my Facebook profile very clearly says I’m married.
But then again, would he respond with, “I wasn’t even hitting on her?”
I went back and forth with myself over it. Maybe I could just ignore it? But then I went back and read the entire conversation and realized that, without even realizing I’d done it, I’d given out more information than I was comfortable with. It wasn’t nearly enough to find out where I lived, but it was, for any person with a real desire, enough information for someone to track down my husband. Or any number of my friends' Facebook pages. For anyone interested in spending the time, it was enough to figure out where I worked, find my fan page, or figure out what project I’d been filming on (which could result in serious consequences for me). And then it hit me - with the questions peppered the way they were, there was a pretty good chance he’d already done all of that while we were arguing over Donald Trump.
So I picked up my phone and messaged back, “My husband and I are big fans of road trips.”
It was all I could think to say. Let him know you’re married, and do it in a way that isn’t threatening or assuming something that could turn into an argument. That was my thought process.
He, however, didn’t see it that simple, and his response was not pleasant.
The entire exchange really bothered me for days, and for so many different reasons.
For starters there was the fact that he got pissed that I’m married. Coincidentally, we both belong to a closed Facebook group where I’ve spoken about my husband a few times. Then, there’s the fact that my page outright declares me to be married. Seriously, men? If you’re willing to get in your car and drive in the middle of the night to the house of some stranger you just met on Facebook for a booty call, don’t you at least look at her Facebook? I have no less than 100 pictures of my husband ALL OVER IT. A good 15% of my photos have my husband tagged in them with comments like “We NEED this!” and “This hunka hunka burnin love just folded all my laundry and now I’m all hot and bothered.”
Something else that bothered me was my own husband’s response to the entire thing the next morning. When I showed him the conversation (because, honestly, I didn’t want some freak contacting him and saying crap about me), his first question was “What time was this again?” When I told him it was around 2am, he just nodded and said, “That’s why.”
Seriously? OMG, seriously?! 2am is the magical hour where guys can be douche canoes and it’s MY fault because I should’ve been sleeping? What the heck are you even doing awake at 2am when you’re on duty? Harassing women online? That makes about as much sense as being angry at me for being married.
And then there was the fact that a dude would have a conversation with a girl where he argues about politics, sings the praises of the Don, brags about his so called “wealth,” and thinks that THAT would turn her on so much that she’d be all over him driving to her house in the middle of the night to get it on. I don’t even understand that. Like - I can’t even explain how that might even remotely make sense to anyone either.
But perhaps the biggest issue I took with all of it was his unwavering support for Donald Trump. Just. Ew. Even if I was a single woman who was all about hooking up in the middle of the night with a stranger from Facebook with a cocky attitude who was turned on by a political disagreement - being turned on by a conversation about Comb-Over Trump would be the ultimate deal breaker to beat all deal breakers!
I mean, does it get any creepier than that?
Have you had a creepy experience with someone on social media? Please, someone tell me I’m not the only one.
Many Kind Regards,
Katie
Does Facebook think Donald Trump supporters are dumb? Katie has a theory...
Original image credit: statlc416 Flickr
So I thought about my response and typed out something along the lines of, “Yeah, road trips are fun.”
His response was more forthcoming. It basically said “My car is fast, I could be there tonight in just a few hours.”
That one made me put my phone down and look at my husband. Should I wake him up and ask him to deal with this? I mean, my Facebook profile very clearly says I’m married.
But then again, would he respond with, “I wasn’t even hitting on her?”
I went back and forth with myself over it. Maybe I could just ignore it? But then I went back and read the entire conversation and realized that, without even realizing I’d done it, I’d given out more information than I was comfortable with. It wasn’t nearly enough to find out where I lived, but it was, for any person with a real desire, enough information for someone to track down my husband. Or any number of my friends' Facebook pages. For anyone interested in spending the time, it was enough to figure out where I worked, find my fan page, or figure out what project I’d been filming on (which could result in serious consequences for me). And then it hit me - with the questions peppered the way they were, there was a pretty good chance he’d already done all of that while we were arguing over Donald Trump.
So I picked up my phone and messaged back, “My husband and I are big fans of road trips.”
It was all I could think to say. Let him know you’re married, and do it in a way that isn’t threatening or assuming something that could turn into an argument. That was my thought process.
He, however, didn’t see it that simple, and his response was not pleasant.
The entire exchange really bothered me for days, and for so many different reasons.
For starters there was the fact that he got pissed that I’m married. Coincidentally, we both belong to a closed Facebook group where I’ve spoken about my husband a few times. Then, there’s the fact that my page outright declares me to be married. Seriously, men? If you’re willing to get in your car and drive in the middle of the night to the house of some stranger you just met on Facebook for a booty call, don’t you at least look at her Facebook? I have no less than 100 pictures of my husband ALL OVER IT. A good 15% of my photos have my husband tagged in them with comments like “We NEED this!” and “This hunka hunka burnin love just folded all my laundry and now I’m all hot and bothered.”
Something else that bothered me was my own husband’s response to the entire thing the next morning. When I showed him the conversation (because, honestly, I didn’t want some freak contacting him and saying crap about me), his first question was “What time was this again?” When I told him it was around 2am, he just nodded and said, “That’s why.”
Seriously? OMG, seriously?! 2am is the magical hour where guys can be douche canoes and it’s MY fault because I should’ve been sleeping? What the heck are you even doing awake at 2am when you’re on duty? Harassing women online? That makes about as much sense as being angry at me for being married.
And then there was the fact that a dude would have a conversation with a girl where he argues about politics, sings the praises of the Don, brags about his so called “wealth,” and thinks that THAT would turn her on so much that she’d be all over him driving to her house in the middle of the night to get it on. I don’t even understand that. Like - I can’t even explain how that might even remotely make sense to anyone either.
But perhaps the biggest issue I took with all of it was his unwavering support for Donald Trump. Just. Ew. Even if I was a single woman who was all about hooking up in the middle of the night with a stranger from Facebook with a cocky attitude who was turned on by a political disagreement - being turned on by a conversation about Comb-Over Trump would be the ultimate deal breaker to beat all deal breakers!
I mean, does it get any creepier than that?
Have you had a creepy experience with someone on social media? Please, someone tell me I’m not the only one.
Many Kind Regards,
Katie
Does Facebook think Donald Trump supporters are dumb? Katie has a theory...
Original image credit: statlc416 Flickr
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