Of Mice and Memes

I am not a meme. A meme is defined by Webster’s thusly: A unit of cultural information, such as a cultural practice or idea, that is transmitted verbally or by repeated action from one mind to another. I am a man. Which is defined by Webster’s as an adult male human. I’m not a virus that spreads itself from host to host, infecting a whole room. But, for some reason, I tend to get blamed when people around me act out.

This makes for interesting social interaction. I say interesting, because it is one of the strangest dichotomies I’ve experienced. When thrown in to a new group, I tend to be quiet, I observe, and then I choose a person or two to get to know. This allows me to relax a bit more and gauge what is acceptable in a group. But sometimes, this doesn’t work. Observe the phenomenon in action.

This Saturday, I went to the birthday party of a friend of mine whom I used to date. When I arrived, I was rather soft-spoken and spent time getting to know the folks that were there already. Started out with small talk, then we started making jokes. It was great. Folks hanging out, drinking and cracking wise. As more people showed up, more jokes were made and more fun was had. Mind that in all of this, we are at a person’s house, plenty of booze is available, and everyone is laughing with everyone else. As the evening progressed, and more alcohol flowed, the comments got bawdier and more outrageous and odd. The capper, and what completely stuffed it for me, was when the hostess decided to move a perfectly decent house party to a bar. I may not have the rule book with me, but that sounds like a party foul if ever one could be called.

Now, to the REALLY fun part; today on IM, I learned of the sordid aftermath of the seemingly successful shindig. Hint for you menfolk out there: Never ask a drama queen if her party went okay, because anything that went wrong will invariably be your fault. I asked the hostess if she enjoyed the party and the “truth” came out. It wasn’t as fun as it could have been because I was there. I was making everyone be dirty and bawdy. I was making everyone be loud. I should have been enough of an adult to realize that the party wasn’t meant to be fun.

I was supposed to have psychic powers and realize that when people are laughing at a joke and joining along, they are really deeply offended and really find that kind of humor offensive. Oh, I also learned that I have a pied piper affect on folk. They really didn’t want to be loud and naughty… they didn’t act that way because of personal propensities… they didn’t act out because of being tipsy from the drink. No my friends. They were this way because I started it. I was the puppet master of ceremonies pulling the strings in my wicked little ways to offend to maximum result.

Bullshit.

I am a man, not a meme. If you’re offended speak the fuck up or SHUT THE FUCK UP.

-Jesse W.