Block Me If You Dare

A Facebook first happened to me this week. Someone put a block on me. I feel so badass.

A Facebook block is when someone specifically puts your name on a block list, so you never see any trace of him. If he comments on a mutual friend’s post, you won’t see his comment. You’ll think you’ve gone crazy, because you’ll be reading a thread with comments and you’ll realize you’re missing one side of the conversation. Something is missing. It doesn’t make sense. Then you’ll remember that there was this one sociopathic guy who was a friend of a friend of a friend and he put a block on you.

I’m not really sure why he blocked me, but I hope it wasn’t because he had delusions of paranoia. I hope he didn’t block everyone everywhere. I hope it wasn’t because I was so boring he couldn’t bear to read another of my exclamation-pointless posts. I hope it was because I breathe fire and topple my enemies with poisonous lasers from my index finger. I hope he fears me.

Blocks are two-way, so in blocking me from seeing him, he has blocked himself from seeing me. So I could malign him by name, using all the legal but deadly smear tactics I learned from my Journalism Law and Ethics class and he’d never know.

Not only do I feel like a badass, I am empowered, dangerous and cool as a cucumber. I could smoke a cigarette right now. Non-filter.

I’ve been de-friended before.  I’ve had friendship requests ignored. I’m pretty sure I’m on a couple of “hide” lists. I was on a political rampage for a couple of months, I went all “human rights,” channeled Helen Reddy, and I seriously ticked off a couple of people. For a happy-go-lucky girl whose primary goal in life is to have everyone like her, those are giant steps on the path to being like a normal human being.

But blocked? I am closer to being Chuck Norris right now than ever in my life.

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