Social Media Birthdays

The day is finally here. Your birthday.

In lieu of my birthday this past Sunday, I'd like to discuss how social media— specifically Facebook— has changed the birthday game forever...or unless Facebook becomes the new MySpace in the near future. 

Thanks to the ever so convenient reminder on the Book of Face when it is one of your "friends" birthdays, people come out of the woodwork to wish you a happy day when you haven't spoken to that person in littcherly 10 years. They don't have the hard task of just remembering the day you graced this earth, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. See me, I try to limit my happy birthday wish to others, not because I am being insensitive or insincere, but because a social media birthday isn't as meaningful as a phone call or text. Who would have thought that human interaction would be more heartening? 

In social media's defense, this is exactly what it was created to do, connect people from all stages of life. Shit, I know someone who found her biological father on Facebook...not kidding. Taking three seconds out of their day to wish a happy birthday on Facebook is still a very nice gesture. Thanks to all who helped me celebrate! You guys rock. 

Being a twin on social media opens up a whole new Pandora's box every time June 14 rolls around. Now, those Facebook peeps who get reminded it's Anita Baffoni's birthday will now have the obligation to say happy birthday to Samantha Baffoni. And if that person is mutual friends with both  of the Baffoni twins— or any twins for that matter— and doesn't send both good vibes on their day...

After all, the one day that is supposed to be all about you is now split in half with your twin. Cut me some slack. Now imagine being a triplet or quadruplet? Good thing us womb-sharers have the bond we do because it is the one time I don't mind sharing my cake, partly because I've been doing it our entire lives. Plus, if you and your twin enjoy cake as much as we do, there is nothing better than a binge eating cake partner. 

Not much has changed. 
I digress-

11:58...11:59...12:00. The 364th day just struck the 365th and suddenly, there is something in the air. Suddenly, you are one year older and your entire mood has changed... unless you are a pessimist who tries so hard to avoid their birthday and keep it a secret. I'll never understand that concept.  

Once the Facebook posts and tweets start rolling in, your birthday has officially ensued. 

Your phone starts to go off by those die hard friends and family who know how nice it feels to get a midnight happy birthday text. Next thing you know, you cruise on social media during your typical morning routine and you have a shit ton of notifications, at least way more than the norm. 
It can be a lot of pressure on your birthday when it comes to social media birthday wishes because several questions arise, like do you have to reply to everyone individually? can you put a general "thank you guys" post? do you just like each post as a silent thank you? #thestruggleisreal

Regardless, social media has made birthdays that much more special because you can really feel the love when your past friends you only connect with on Facebook, acquaintances or nearest and dearest send you best wishes on your one day. 

What better way to celebrate then on a beach on an island with a Modelo? Cheers to 25!  


P.S. I had plans to complete this blog post the day after my birthday but Orange is the New Black had an early release and I can't control myself. Plus, the Real Housewives of New York is getting real cray cray #teamBethany
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The Average Girl's Guide to Porta Potties #ican't

Let's talk toilets. Porta potties, to be specific.

You read it right. Yes, I am writing about one of the most awkward, uncomfortable and inevitable situation that everyone faces at some point. It wouldn't be the Average Girl Chronicles if I didn't. Either during a road trip, festival, at grungy dive bars that don't have a functioning public restroom, it's unavoidable.  

I doubt anyone has had a glamorous porta potty experience to share because I sure as hell don't. During a recent mini four-hour road trip north to Vermont with Jake, I was— once again—  faced with the difficult decision to use a porta potty. God forbid we make a third stop in search for a public restroom but Jake only has so much patience. It's not my fault that I am particular where I wee. Blame it on past experiences. 

I avoid porta johns like the plague because who doesn't? I have a terrible tolerance for shit smells, especially when it's festering in itself for days, probably weeks on end. I'm sure everyone can agree. Each experience leaves a wound that reopens every time your bladder starts kicking your ass. Each time your bladder wants the nearest solution, your brain is telling you otherwise. 

COME ON, do I have too?!?
Why does my bladder hate me this much?!?

 Prime example. Here my Irishman and I are celebrating this year's St. Patty's Day and outside the bar was littered with porta potties that had endless lines of drunken fools (including me). No better time for a photo-op. What a perfect back drop for a couple photo.


My hatred for porta potties stems not only from personal experiences but my older sister's terrible nightmare she faced probably 10 years ago. My sister, Julia's worst dream became a reality. Get this... it's another Baffoni family outing to a feast (aka carnival) and naturally with four kids, the easiest solution for my parents to assist our tiny bladders is a porta john, as I am sure my mom just LOVED that option. 

So, Julia walks into a porta potty area with a few older kids walk in after her, looking to pull a prank on their friend who using one of the five outhouses in the designated area. Shit got real, real quick. 

Next thing I know, Julia is screaming because these kids started violently shaking the porta potty thinking its the same receptacle their friend was in. Big mistake. The look on those shit-stirrers (pun intended) face was priceless once my mom reamed them a new one. To this day, she is scarred from the terror, and I don't blame her. If someone I know isn't on the outside of the hell hole we call a porta potty, I'm not using it.

In fact, my M.O. is also having Jake go in the porta potty first because if it's real bad (i'll spare you the description) I would rather pop-a-squat somewhere. And don't pretend like you ladies haven't popped a squat before.

Here is the Average Girl's Guide to porta potties:

1. If possible, check your options. Sometimes...more like rarely... you can find a not-so-bad one that doesn't have fecal matter floating in the creepy dark blue sludge. 

2. If you only have one option, whatever you do, DON'T. LOOK. DOWN.

3. Get you're boyfriend to go in before you because if he is a gentleman like Jake, he will lay toilet paper over the latest deuce to spare you the visual.

4. Get a travel size hand sanitizer and use it before and after for two reasons: the first can help the horrid smell. Apply to your hands and huff that stuff until your nose hairs singe because that is better than the smell of other people's poop; the second is for after and be sure to lather that shit everywhere. There is no such thing as too much sanitizer after using a public porter potty on the side of an interstate.

b.t.dubbs, there is nothing more awkward then smelling someone else's business. Gross.

5. Leave extra napkins or tissues in your car and/or purse because you will never know if there is toilet paper left. People probably use it all on covering other people's mess. 

6. Speaking of purses, don't bring it in the porter potty unless it is a cross body bag because you don't know what's on that floor...probably what's in the damn toilet. 

7. Be sure to lock the door. I have, believe it or not, walked in on multiple people because they didn't lock the door. Amateurs.

8. If you have to do number two...you're screwed. Good luck on that one. 

9. Make it quick! Do work and get out. 

10. During a road trip, don't break the seal if you can resist because once you do, there is no turning back. Next thing you know, you will be stopping three exits down because you can't hold it anymore.

11. Lastly, but certainly not least, do not make eye contact with who ever is waiting for the porta potty you were in. You will both be just as ashamed as the other so do yourself and them a favor. Keep it moving. 

There are, however, a few glorified porta potties, similar to the one Jake's sister had at her wedding. This was legit, it was spacious, had flowers, towels and actual soap. Maybe there is some hope porta potties will get better.

...probably not. 
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