Dorkette Tweets

Technology makes no sense. Especially in this day and age. I work real hard to stay up to date with the 21st Century, but let's be real, I think it is all a pain. Everything changes so fast. I never thought I'd be the kinda person that would grow up fearing technology. I feel like I am a 97 year old. No offense to tech savvy 97 year olds.

Twitter is a hot damn mess of the Age of Tech. As some of you may know I just recently started a Twitter account. I figure it would be a nice way to further connect with people and help them stay "in the know" on whatever I have coming up next. Plus all the really cool things, like how Super Metroid is still one tough ass game all these years later.

Anyway, I don't get Twitter. The whole retweeting and replying to people, I don't get it. None of it makes any sense. Even the Help section confuses me. How do people even do this stuff? I feel so slow and incompetent. And don't even get me started on getting people to follow the damn tweets.

The other day I was with some friends explaining to them that I was on Twitter. One of my friends asked me how many followers I had. We all laughed as I said zero. I then proceeded to joke that I would probably end up with some spam-borg-bot as a follower plotting the end of my tech days. More laughing commenced. It is really nice when you have friends that find you funny.

I wasn't laughing though when I did actually get my first follower. At first I was completely thrilled. Full of wonderment I quickly clicked on the followers link to find out who was following me. I was placing bets with myself that one of my friends decided to follow me out of pity. Except my follower was a young twenty something girl in a string bikini announcing she was in college and looking for hot men.

My first reaction was, "Why is she wanting to follow me? I can't help her find hot men, all of my exes have fled the country. My track record with men is awful." The second reaction was pure fear with the realization that an evil spam cyborg bot thing was following me. I felt like I was really being followed. As if at any minute a scary spam-borg was going to show up at my door ready to eat my brains. Or my She-Ra dolls. Personally I'd rather a spam-borg eat my brains and other internal organs. Leave She-Ra out of this.

Let's go to the sidebar real quick, shall we? Machine/borg/robot people freak me out. That machine thing from Metropolis, totally scary. Trek Borgs? Just grody. However the most horrifying cyborg in the world's history has got to be Vera, that hot mess from Superman 3. Remember that? How could anyone forget. Poor homely Vera was sucked into some computer machine and was turned into a killer crazed cyborg with a bad hair piece.

When I was younger I pretended to be a real badass bitch. I wanted the older kids in the neighborhood to like me because I thought they were so cool. I'd watch the Nightmare on Elm Street films with them, feeling so edgy and laughing at Freddy Krueger's hijinks, all the while having a difficult time sleeping at night. I got scared easily and loved every minute of it.

Except for that scene in Superman 3. I loathed it, yet for some reason I couldn't look away. So one Saturday morning after all the good cartoons had aired my mom wanted to go work out in the flowerbeds by the front door. I was asked to go out with her too, but I was a kid in the '80s. Why was I going to go outside? There was AC, cable and Superman 3 was going to be on.

The plan was all set, my mom would work to perfect the flower beds and I was going to watch Superman 3 in my large Espirit t-shirt with snacks to my right. My only request was that my mom be in the house when the scary scene with Vera came on. I could not be alone in the house with that freakish Vera. My mom didn't quite understand. She thought I could easily just change the channel if it got scary. Sadly technology was pretty challenging for me back then too. The house remote was off limits to me ever since my involvement in the Dynasty Debacle of '85. Mom understood. It was simple enough. Right?

Wrong. The movie quickly came to its terrifying conclusion and I kept looking back at the front door. At any minute my mom was going to walk in and I would be with someone to watch Vera's descent into evil cyborg madness. The film was getting closer to the scene and it was clear that my mom was not coming in. I looked at the remote, heavily contemplating finding a way to get it to work. None of the buttons made any sense and Vera was getting closer...

I did the only thing I was good at. I screamed. I ran to the front door banging as loud as I could. Every now and then I would look back at the television in horror at blasted Vera. She was screaming as metal fused to her skin. My screams matched in intensity as I moved to a nearby window trying to get my mom's attention. She was cleaning some dirt off and looking at me as if I had lost it. I had!

My body crumpled to the floor as I tried to look away from the tv screen. The front door opened and my mom rushed in trying to see what all the fuss was about. I explained to her that I was alone in the house with that horrible movie scene. After that I was forbidden to watch Superman 3. Until it came on again and I'd go right back to it. Like a bug to one of those zappers.

So dear readers, I have issues with spam-borgs. And thankfully as of this posting that follower has disappeared from my Twitter list. Either she realized that I would be useless in her quest for men or she was a clone of Vera, hell bent on my destruction. I will never know. But trust, I will be watching my back. I will also try to learn more about Twitter's features. If technology is tough for me now, I don't even want to imagine what it will be like when I am actually ninety seven. A. Mess.