The Virgin pwns newbs

#40 Never Have I Ever: Called someone out (who I know personally) on Facebook

Foreplay: I loathe the "Suggestions" feature on Facebook. It has never been kind to me. It's alerted former employers, random schoolmates, and, most recently, inquisitive family members to my profile. And with my plethora of morally questionable photos, status updates, and wall postings I am not exactly the profile you want to bring home to mom.

However, this particular case centers around this one bastard who went to high school with me. We weren't friends. I don't think we spoke more than 10 words to each other. But we shared a couple classes during our four years in hormonal Hell.

This dude friended me on Facebook a few months ago. I barely remembered him but Facebook told me that we had 54 friends in common. Well, shit. I guess I have to accept his friend request when it gets into the double-digits.

His profile picture was a self-portrait of him releasing a mouthful of skunky smoke. Classy. He'd post trite, misspelled musings and rants every now and then on his status that would then show up on my News Feed, most of which went ignored.

But just a few months ago, he started throwing out the word "faggot" and taunting the men of the rock/indie/hipster fashion genre. He even went as far as to give himself the middle name "Mendontwearskinnyjeans" on Facebook. Riiiight...

I've been meaning to defriend him this whole time but never really set about it since... well, I never thought about him.

Until today.

The Down and Dirty: Shoveling food into my gaping maw at my desk (read: lunch), I took a few minutes to mill about the Internet at my leisure -- something I hadn't done recently. It was like emerging from a dank cave after a decade and rediscovering sunlight -- so much stimulation that it almost hurt. Oh, it hurt so good!

Until your corneas burn off or something.

While opening Facebook, the bastard's status update was at the top of the list. This, like Camus' sun, was a sign. I'll let the photo below do the rest of the talking.

The Afterglow: Comment. Defriend. Cackle loudly. Done and done.

It was like he was asking for an ass whopping. Or should I say ass "whoopen".

Welcome to the Pwned Shop where the special of the day is a brand spankin' new can of Whoop-Ass. Prepare to be served.

The Virgin comes this close to cyber sex

#23 Never Have I Ever: Cyberchatted

Foreplay: It's a Tuesday night and I'm exhausted from work. My eyes are about to spiral out of their sockets from staring at a computer screen for hours on end. I'm snacking on dry kibbles of Cap'n Crunch as a substitute for dinner. I haven't done my D.V. task for the day yet -- hell, I haven't even peeled off my work attire yet. All I want to do is take a hot shower, catch up with friends via GChat for a couple hours, and then curl up with some Murakami.

"Have you ever read Murakami before?" Gemini asked, "THAT COULD BE YOUR BLOG!"

"Eh, too boring. I could do that to everything: 'never have I ever watched The Mummy before' or 'never have I ever read Family Circle Magazine.' That's the easy way out."

But you know what's not the easy way out? Subjecting yourself to a plethora of penises via webcam.

The Down and Dirty: Chatroulette is a social site that pairs up random strangers in webcam conversations. Either party may move onto the next stranger at any given time.

I'm both intrigued and intimidated by this concept. You get to watch and interact with someone at random from anywhere in the world -- but so do they. The idea of having your identify exposed to any Harry, Dick, and John makes me feel uncomfortably naked and vulnerable even when I'm staring at their penises.

An enabled webcam isn't necessary to participate but you're pretty much guaranteed to be "nexted" by lacking one. Dude, you get what you give. Also, there's such a weird power dynamic ruling over which one of you pushes the "next" button.

There are tons of off-shoot websites and online collections of chatroulette gems. Celebrities such as Michael Cera and Ashton Kutcher have allegedly been spotted. Needless to say, it's the latest rage these days and so I hopped on the cyber band wagon.

At 1am I logged on, enabled my camera, and waited for my first camera companion. A man with clear blue eyes popped up on the upper left hand corner.

Stranger: hi
Me: hello
Stranger: where are you from?
Me: the States
Me: you?
Stranger: france

At this, he grabbed his off-screen cigarette and took a light drag. I smiled and he returned the sentiment.

Stranger: you are very beautiful
Me: thank you
Stranger: show hot?????
Me: um. what?
Stranger: sorry, my english is not so good
Stranger: show sexy??

Your English is coming across loud and clear there, Pepe Le Pew. Next!

Blond girl in glasses. She nexts me without a bat of an eye.
Penis. In fact, a very small one. Next!
Dude in a visor who gives me a slimy smile and a thumbs up. Vomit. Next!
Two teenage girls in HelloGoodbye t-shirts. Their asymmetrical bangs are getting in the way of their heavily-lined eyes. They next me.
Another penis. From what I can see the guy is wearing a red sweater vest and nothing else. Next!
Disabled camera. Stranger: Tits? Next!

I finally stumbled upon Antonio, a rather dashing 23 year old from Sevilla, Spain who was spending St. Patrick's Day in Boston. He held a pleasant conversation without a single request to take my shirt off! Impressive! ...Oh man, standards have plummeted if that's what it takes to charm a girl online. My eyes felt like they were going to burst so I finally bid adieu. He hurriedly gave me his email address (which I didn't end up saving) and in exchange I sent him the link to my blog. [Antonio, if you're reading this: I hope you got around to partaking in an Irish Car Bomb today.]

The Afterglow: In the 15 minutes I was on chatroulette, I've gathered the following:

• Girls don't want to talk to other girls
• Guys are pretty smarmy. Generally, they think cyber chat = cyber sex
• You have a 25% chance of landing on a penis
• If you're lucky, you'll find a decent stranger who won't ask to see your genitals and really, that's all you can ask for on chatroulette

Initially, I was really nervous to actually have people SEE me but in all honesty, it's so much more addictive than I could have ever imagined. It's kind of like platonic speed dating... but on crack. And with more quirky costumes and genitals... so yeah, kind of like it's on crack.

Whiskey Sour even offered a chatroulette drinking game: Take a sip for every penis you see. Finish your drink if you see boobs.

Family Circle is definitely for sissies.

The Virgin twitters, tweets, twats

# 9 Never Have I Ever: Tweeted a celebrity and received a response

Foreplay: While I think technology has overstepped its boundaries (no, I don't care if your dog's new haircut makes him look like an old lesbian; yes, I'd like those precious seconds of my life back), Twitter is awfully resourceful when you're trying to stalk a celebrity's whereabouts.

And while I don't get particularly star struck -- although I did quietly spazz out when I met the editor of Star Wars Episode IV at work -- I hold a special place in my heart for a select few.

I follow a limited amount of so-called celebrities on Twitter -- 5 tops. I mostly lurk in the shadows of the world wide web and read their tweets like a sketchy, voiceless voyeur. But every so often when I come across responses to fans, an ugly part of me jerks with slight jealously. I'm not envious of the personalized message, but of the fan's guts to actually interact with one of their idols.

The Down and Dirty: After mulling over my literal handful of celebrity twitters, I decided to go with Alex Kapranos, lead singer and guitarist of Franz Ferdinand. He seems down to Earth, friendly, and truth be told, my 17 year old heart still goes atwitter whenever I hear a Franz song.

I carefully type @alkapranos in my Twitter box. And then stop. Herein is where the problem lies: I have nothing to say. I'm not so witty as to attract the attention of a celeb by way of my sharp tongue (or fingers in this case) and charm their cyberpants off like a pro online predator.

But after some time, I decide to go with: "I once accidentally insulted some dude at a Franz show. Two months later I found out it was Zac Efron..."

Side story: Friends and I went to see Franz Ferdinand perform as a musical guest on Jimmy Kimmel Live when I was 18. Zac Efron happened to be a guest as well. High School Musical had just premiered on the Disney Channel and seriously no one knew who this kid was. After thoroughly rocking out, we try to meet the band in the alley behind the El Capitan Theater. We had been waiting for a good 45 minutes when this pretty boy came out to sign autographs for his meager amount of fans.

I was at one end of the barricade and he was making his way down the line when I leaned back to a friend and joked, "Who the hell is this kid? Can we just tell him to send Franz out?"

When I turned back around, I came face to face with Zac Efron himself. His expression can be best described by this emoticon: :-/
while I looked more like: :S

And then -- AND THEN -- I greeted him with a, "Heeeeeyyyyyy" not unlike the Fonz. Ugh...

Anyway, I waited for a reply. And waited. It's been a day and I've yet to hear anything back. But then again, he hasn't tweeted (twat?) during the time I tagged him in my message. I wasn't really expecting a reply, but I can't help but to be somewhat bummed out by it.

The Afterglow: Trying to talk to a celebrity via the internet won't kill me. My self esteem is just as healthy and humbly low as it was before I squawked without receiving a comeback. Oh well, back to slinking around the shady crevices of online social networking for me.

However, I do wish I would've given Zachary Quinto the Vulcan salute outside a gay bar when I had the chance a couple weeks ago.