Sex & Love
Fifty First (J) Dates: BBM is THE WORST
I know, I know. You’re saying, seriously Meredith? You’re almost a criminal-level BBMer. (BBM = Blackberry Messenger.) (I have arthritis of the thumbs. My physical therapy requires Thumb War and elevator button-pushing.) But seriously, BBM is the devil — when … Read More
I know, I know. You’re saying, seriously Meredith? You’re almost a criminal-level BBMer. (BBM = Blackberry Messenger.)
(I have arthritis of the thumbs. My physical therapy requires Thumb War and elevator button-pushing.)
But seriously, BBM is the devil — when it comes to relationships.
BBM is a wonderful modern technological tool. Yes, it allowed me to communicate with my family while I lived abroad in Argentina and in Spain. It allows me to unnecessarily “ping” friends of mine when I deem necessary, which is usually not necessary at all (I’m standing at your front door and I’m annoyed you’ve taken an extra 30 seconds to reapply your mascara, fix yourself another Crystal Light with vodka, or make one last pouty face in the mirror that screams, “I’m bored, but only because I’m so highly intellectual and fabulous.”)
I love nothing more than when a prospective male has an iPhone. As much I am a slave to my blueberry, I realize that a I need to draw the line, right in the BBM sand.
The bottom line: Texts should always lead to a call, and not be the primary mode of contact.
Once you get into texting, it gives way to emailing, gchatting, facebook chatting, and then the bastard child of all communication – Tweeting at each other. I hope it doesn’t get to this, ever. (@Trevor you looked so smokin’ hot tonight.)
BBM takes all of the fun out of receiving a text from a crush, or god forbid, a PHONE CALL. I’m not sure I have ever scrutinized, or come to hate, the letters D and R so much in my life.
Let me pause for a second to explain this to the three people on planet earth who have never used a Blackberry. They are all in New Guinea. (Insert cultural insensitivity for comedic purposes.)
“Cluck cluck, cluck cluck CLUCK, cluck.”
Which roughly translates to “D means Delivered, R means Read, and you can see these statuses in a message from Blackberry to Blackberry.”
I can easily recall (and I bet you can too) the tedious seconds staring, waiting, hoping, praying that the little D will turn into an R which will in turn say something like “X contact is typing a message.”
Here’s how it often goes:
Girl: “Ugh, he read that I’m at Sara’s but he hasn’t responded yet. HE IS SUCH AN ASSHOLE WHY IS HE IGNORING ME!?!?!? WHAT DID I DO WRONG? IS IT BECAUSE I ADMITTED THAT I WENT TO GW FOR A YEAR BEFORE SYRACUSE!? I’m never speaking to him again.”
Girl’s friend: “You can do SOOOO much better.”
Boy on the other end of this BBM, to his friends: “Guys, I think I dropped my phone in the pitcher. Oh well.”
This is all highly unnecessary and ridiculous. I’m sorry I read your BBM while I was peeing and decided it totally unsanitary to nearly simultaneously respond. Hold your horses.
Solution: Pick. Up. The. Phone. The phone is really a wonderful thing. As my godmother Patti Stanger says, “women fall in love between the ears.” I personally think women fall in love with one ear up to the phone and the other on Intermixonline.com. But whatever.
Too much communication is dangerous.
Just pick up the phone, will you?