Do you have the time to listen to me whine?

Why is it that some people actually think you care about their hangnails and hemorrhoids? Sounds like an Echo and the Bunnymen song, but far less entertaining and you can't dance to it. If you are chatting with a very close friend, and you decide to confide in them about your bladder infection, you can probably assume they do care and the news was met with actual concern. But should you be making small talk with your local Safeway cashier, and she asks how you are doing, do not regale her with a full account of your boil lancing at the doctor's office and attempt to show her video footage of the event. Even as I type what seems to be an obvious helpful suggestion, I am cringing because I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you will do it. Not only will you tell the cashier, but you'll share it with the Starbucks barista, the mailman, and dude about to change your oil. Are you just cruel or completely fucktarded?

Lately, I've noticed that people are feeling more social and chatty, which is fine in small doses and keeping within some framework which limits you to light, not heavily personal topics. Waiting for the cable guy is a personal enough topic without becoming gross or offensive to anyone. Running out of milk in the middle of a recipe is perfectly fine conversational fodder for your cashier, it's relevant to the situation. Most folks of relatively average intelligence seem to be able to do this without much effort. Then why, oh why, are people I'd consider to be fairly smart blabbing their life stories to anyone and everyone they come into contact with each day? What drives someone to have verbal diarrhea? Are you wondering, too? Or are you just as guilty?

Some folks seem to believe that everyone in the world actually wants to know the details about their last spewed loogie. Color, texture, viscosity, and any other little tidbit that crosses their little minds that makes their mucous sound more interesting. I can assure you that if I only know you as an acquaintance, I have NO interest whatsoever in any of your bodily fluids. The color of your pee after taking antibiotics, the saturation of your maxi pad, or how many tissues you've filled to the absolute breaking point...none of this matters to me, and my life will go on with or without the information you so desperately want to impart.  I have no need for this amount of detail about anyone, and certainly not about what amounts to a stranger in my world.

I'd have to believe that social media created these monsters and has allowed them to fester like the boils they enjoy sharing with everyone on their friend list. Like I have suggested before, social media uses the name social for a reason. It is not a diary or a bullhorn. You are not supposed to announce every time you take a shit, eat a burger, or get flowers from your significant other. Nor is it a forum to discuss your every minor ailment in grotesque detail, repeatedly throughout the day, and continuing on all week or however long it takes to get better...until the next sore throat, stuffy nose, or hemorrhoid flare-up. Your family and perhaps the people with whom you work are the only ones who need to know your level of contagion today. And your family is probably the only group of people who may actually care about how you feel. Sad, but true, get over it.

Whining is about as unappealing as it gets. When a small child does it, you may actually believe that your ears are bleeding and you will inevitably wind up with a blaring headache should it persist for any length of time. When an adult does it in person, you want to bitch slap them or poke your own eye out with a dull pencil. It's that much worse. Now that we have places like Facebook and Twitter, not only are we lucky enough to hear the whining in person, but we can also log in to what we used to use as a form of brain-draining entertainment and have our eyes flooded with pages of bitching and moaning and groaning, and yes, whining. I understand that your eyes itch, your nose is stuffed, and your throat is on fire. However, must your entire wall be filled with not only the minute details of each affliction, but also, the most nauseating and aggravating complaints about those minute details?

My guess is that you enjoy attempting to illicit pity from friends, acquaintances, strangers, and anyone dumb enough to offer it for minor illnesses. You like feeling sorry for yourself because you like drama and all the attention you derive from it. It's easier to bitch about something than it is to make an effort to fix it. If you have a sinus infection, for example, you belong in a doctor's office getting a prescription for antibiotics, not on Facebook grousing about it over and over until the pity turns to disgust and no one wants to read another word. The flu is something that requires rest, not wearing out your typing fingers, crying on the figurative shoulders of everyone you know, seeking virtual hugs and love. Baby, get that shit at home and leave the rest of us to our sarcasm and bawdy humor, please!  Are you friggin kidding me right now???