My Status Updates Quotes

Sometimes I write “drink coffee” on my to-do list just to feel like I’ve accomplished something. —STATUS UPDATE

My boyfriend called me a stalker. Well, he’s not actually my boyfriend …” – STATUS UPDATE

Glancing up at Jude, I found him looking at me, staring at me like he couldn't help it. Maybe that's because I could have updated my heritage status from Caucasian to Tomato Red.

Josh turns to me. “I can’t believe she’s writing these things.” “Not she,” I say. “Me.” “Why would anyone say this stuff about themselves on the Internet? It’s crazy!” “Exactly,” I say. “I’m going to be mentally ill in fifteen years, and that’s why my husband doesn’t want to be around me.

Sometimes I write "Drink Coffee" on my to do list just to feel like I've accomplish something-Status Update

My boyfriend called me a stalker. Well, he’s not actually my boyfriend … —STATUS UPDATE

Social media is basically standing at a bucket filled with other people’s vomit and you suck the vomit through a straw, and gag and wince at the unbearable taste of other people’s vomit. Yet strangely we continue to suck through the straw as if we’ve never tasted such lovely vomit. And then before you know it you’re old and you’re grey. And that’s the end of you. A lonely death. Your gravestone is marked with the six saddest words: Social Media Drained My Soul Away And they all mourn your loss at a budget funeral service while updating their social media statuses on mobile phones apps. And in years to come nobody remembers any of your updates; even those updates that you deep-down believed were going to bring about world peace. The Digital Age is more disposable than nappies and just as full of shit.

You cannot let anyone know what you are.” “Gee. Really? I was thinking about updating my Facebook to halfling status.” He cocked his blondish-white head to the side. “You don’t have a Facebook, Ivy.” I sighed. Tink continued, because of course. “I looked for you. Wanted to add you as my friend so I could poke you, and I know people don’t poke anymore, but I think poking is a great way to express how one—

Look at them. Where are they looking? They're not looking at each other, they're not looking at the art on the wall or the sun in the sky; they're looking at their phones. They hang on to every beep and alert and tweet and status update. I don't want to be that. I'm distracted enough as it is by the actual, tangible, physical world. I've embraced the efficiency of a desktop PC for work and research, and I even use a laptop on my own time, but I draw the line at a cell phone. If I want social media, I'll join a book club. I will not be collared and leashed and tracked like a tagged orca in the ocean.

Okay, so I stopped posting status updates on Facebook a long time ago. I noticed that whenever someone posts something completely mundane and stupid, like 'Sushi 2nite!' seventeen people have to comment on that. 'I ♥ sushi!' and 'Spicy Tuna 4 meee!' But if you ever try to actually say something serious about your feelings or, like, your life, every one of your 386 "friends" is suddenly mute. So there you have it: My life is a post with no comments. Less interesting than spicy tuna.

Because while we all Facebook stalk, protocol is to not admit it. I might know, from status update, that a potential best friend swims laps every mornings, but it'd be creep to say "Don't worry about eating that doughnut, you deserve it after all those calories you burn!" Instead, I check out her profile and she reviews mine, but then we meet and pretend to know nothing.

As for human contact, I'd lost all appetite for it. Mankind has, as you may have noticed, become very inventive about devising new ways for people to avoid talking to each other and I'd been taking full advantage of the most recent ones. I would always send a text message rather than speak to someone on the phone. Rather than meeting with any of my friends, I would post cheerful, ironically worded status updates on Facebook, to show them all what a busy life I was leading. And presumably people had been enjoying them, because I'd got more than seventy friends on Facebook now, most of them complete strangers. But actual, face-to-face, let's-meet-for-a-coffee-and-catch-up sort of contact? I seemed to have forgotten what that was all about.

I didn’t say anything on social media, though relatives tried to tag me in supportive status updates, which I did my best to untag myself from. I didn’t want to be a part of their mourning. I didn’t want to be involved in someone else’s grief when I knew so little about how to deal with my own.

If you have time for just three status updates a week, make one promotional, one funny or interesting (containing a picture or video) and one promoting somebody else.

Social media has put an incredible pressure on the Facebook generation. We’ve made our lives so public to one another, and as a result we feel pressure to live up to a certain ideal version of ourselves. On social media, everyone is happy, and popular, and successful—or, at least, we think we need to look like we are. No matter how well off we are, how thin or pretty, we have our issues and insecurities. But none of that shows up online. We don’t like to reveal our weaknesses on social media. We don’t want to appear unhappy, or be a drag. Instead, we all post rose-colored versions of ourselves. We pretend we have more money than we do. We pretend we are popular. We pretend our lives are great. Your status update says I went to a totally awesome party last night! It won’t mention that you drank too much and puked and humiliated yourself in front of a girl you like. It says My sorority sisters are the best! It doesn’t say I feel lonely and don’t think they accept me. I’m not saying everyone should post about having a bad time. But pretending everything is perfect when it’s not doesn’t help anyone. The danger of these kinds of little white lies is that, in projecting the happiness and accomplishments we long for, we’re setting impossible standards for ourselves and others to live up to.

My phone dings and before I can pick it up, it dings several more times. I catch sly grins and snickers in my direction from my 'friends' and I just know that this can not be good. I check my phone to find that there's several updates on Facebook. Oh, no. [Bradley Patrick is marrier to Colleen Frasier Patrick)] [Bradely Patrick likes Colleen Frasier Patrick's status] My eyes grown wide and I see that all of my 'friends' like my status. But I haven't been on Facebook since we left Boston. What the fuck? And why has my name changed! [Colleen Frasier Patrick is having lunch with 'the hubs' Bradley Patrick] Who hacked my Facebook account? I glare around at each of them. I can't tell who did it. They all look guilty. I try to log into my account, but the password has been changed. Who changed my password? I know I'm screaming but I can't stop myself. They all burst out laughing.

I didn’t know anything about “made men” back then. That’s a special status in the alleged mob where you go through a ceremony and after that you are then untouchable. Nobody can whack you without approval. You get extra respect wherever you go. You are part of the “in” crowd, the inner circle. It only applies to Italians. Later on I got so close to Russell that I was higher up than a made man. Russell even said that to me. He said, “Nobody can ever touch you because you are with me.” I can still feel him gripping my cheek with that strong grip of his and telling me, “You should have been an Italian.” If

For many, Facebook is less about looking up friends than it is about looking at friends. Research tells us that, on average, Facebook users spend more time examining others’ pages than adding content to their own. The site’s most frequent visitors—most often females who post and share photos and who receive status updates—use the site for “social surveillance.” These social investigators usually aren’t getting in touch or staying in touch with friends as much as they are checking up on them. And my clients are right: Judging and evaluating are involved. In one study, nearly four hundred participants examined mock-up Facebook pages and rated web-page owners for attractiveness, only to decide that the best-looking owners were the ones with the best-looking friends.

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That constant search for a hit of dopamine (“Someone liked my status update!”) reduces creativity.

I’m writing my memoirs,” Obi announced. “And I’m going to update my online status from « It’s complicated » to « I’m still alive ».

I am here on Social Media only for pleasure, happiness, and humor, and also to post my writings to all my friends. Please do not take seriously and personally my comments, status, and any posts that are based only on humor; I know sometimes my comments and posts go a bit far from reality and create confusion. Please also keep in mind that I am not always online though my network is on, and most of the time, administrators update my profiles, even comments, status, and other things. Please be civilized and gentle at the wall and inbox. I do not reply to my inbox except for a few ones. I answer only necessary matters that you inbox. If you ask personally, not on the wall or in comments since those are for the public, not private. Neither I have taken of you seriously anything, nor I will ever do that. I only take seriously all matters of my family and friends whom I know personally.

my rule is that if your cost-per-share (CPS) is at 50 cents per share, you’re doing okay—anything above that is a sign that your content isn’t resonating with your core audiences. Anywhere below a CPS of 30 cents means that you’ve got great content, and a CPS of 10 cents is rock-star status.

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You “like” my status update and I’ll “like” yours.

books will be visible to all of your friends. You can always remove a shelved book later by tapping the Shelf icon and selecting Remove from Shelf. Select Skip to go to the Profile screen and view your shelves, friends, and recent updates. There are three tabs located in the top corner: Updates: View recent updates. Tap on a person’s name to view their profile. My Shelves: Select to rate a book, update your reading status for a book, add Amazon books, and filter by shelf type. Friends: View what your friends are reading and find readers to follow. You can also filter by friends, people you are following, and people following you. There is also a profile icon that you can tap to view your Goodreads profile.

Without my razor-sharp wit, I'm nothing." "That's what you base your self-worth on?" "Yes. That and the number of 'likes' my status updates gets on Facebook.

And when I am finished for the day I go on great binges of information, skittering from one tidbit to the next, reading in quick gulps. At once, I’ve downloaded six episodes of Mad Men and tweeted a review from The Millions and updated my status and liked and commented and shared. It’s as if, having checked temporarily out of the great rush to witness and represent oneself online, and having spent instead a number of hours in the thick of imagination and the summer heat of my living room, I now have to scramble back into that perpetual heaving of information lest I disappear, irrelevant.

I just realized that when all is said and done, I will have spent half my life hating my red hair and the other half trying to match it exactly.

I am here on Social Media only for pleasure, happiness, and humor, and also to post my writings to all my friends. Please do not take seriously and personally my comments, status, and any posts that are based only on humor; I know sometimes my comments and posts go a bit far from reality and create confusion. Please also keep in mind that I am not always online though my network is on, and most of the time, administrators update my profiles, even comments, status, and other things. Please be civilized and gentle at the wall and inbox. I do not reply to my inbox except for a few ones. I answer only necessary matters that you inbox. If you ask personally, not on the wall or in comments since those are for the public, not private. Neither I have taken of you seriously anything, nor I will ever do that. I only take seriously all matters of my family and friends whom I know personally.

Because—are we really here, alive, if we interface with the world via a small black box? I don’t want my brain in a vat. I don’t want to be fed with input from the equivalent of a cerebral implant until I can’t tell fiction from reality. Don’t you see those people?” I motioned with my free hand to a line of customers waiting for their coffee orders to be filled. “Look at them. Where are they looking? They’re not looking at each other, they’re not looking at the art on the wall or the sun in the sky; they’re looking at their phones. They hang on to every beep and alert and message and tweet and status update. I don’t want to be that. I’m distracted enough as it is by the actual, tangible, physical world. I’ve embraced the efficiency of a desktop PC for work and research, and I even use a laptop on my own time, but I draw the line at a cell phone. If I want social media, I’ll join a book club. I will not be collared and leashed and tracked like a tagged Orca in the ocean.

Thanks again for taking the time to speak to me—that information was very helpful! As promised, I wanted to provide you with an update on my status. Per your suggestion, I reached out to Wendy, but unfortunately we haven’t been able to connect. Do you have any suggestions for how to best proceed from here?

Wish I could pull out my cell phone and text a status update to my Facebook. It'd say: Bored as all hell. So bored in fact, I may just drop dead. A voice catches me off-guard. “You should learn to take a hint.” It's a male voice, coming from the neighbor's backyard. I freeze in the beanbag chair, not wanting to move and give myself away. A shadow comes into view just to my right. I turn my head and squint in the dark to see him. He's a younger guy, definitely not a grown man but probably older than high school. He's wearing dark jeans and no shirt, holding a cell phone to his ear. I guess some phones can get reception out here. “I don't care what you feel,” he says, running a hand through his short hair. It looks green from the reflection of his porch light, but it's probably brown. “You should have thought about that before you screwed that dude.” I gasp and turn away, feeling guilty for eavesdropping on such a private conversation. I'm glad he doesn't know I'm here. “Stop calling me,” he says, his voice weary. “I don't want to hear from you again, or I swear I'll break this phone in half.” I let out a deep breath. Break his phone in half? He has no idea what life is like without a phone.

I could see reminders of why I had cast aside my phone in the first place. I sat in Café Heaven, a lovely little place in the West End of Provincetown, and ate an eggs Benedict. Next to me there were two men in, I guess, their mid-twenties. I shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation while pretending to read David Copperfield. It was clear they had met on an app, and this was the first time they had seen each other in person. Something about their conversation seemed odd to me, and I couldn’t place it at first. Then I realized they weren’t, in fact, having a conversation at all. What would happen is the first one, who was blond, would talk about himself for ten minutes or so. Then the second one, who was dark-haired, would talk about himself for ten minutes. And they alternated in this way, interrupting each other. I sat next to them for two hours, and at no point did either of them ask the other person a question. At one point, the dark-haired man mentioned that his brother had died a month before. The blond didn’t even offer a cursory “I’m so sorry to hear that”; he simply went back to talking about himself. I realized that if they had met up simply to read out their own Facebook status updates to each other in turn, there would have been absolutely no difference. I felt like everywhere I went, I was surrounded by people who were broadcasting but not receiving. Narcissism, it occurred to me, is a corruption of attention—it’s where your attention becomes turned in only on yourself and your own ego. I don’t say this with any sense of superiority. I am embarrassed to describe what I realized in that week that I missed most about the web. Every day in my normal life—sometimes several times a day—I would look at Twitter and Instagram to see how many followers I had. I didn’t look at the feed, the news, the buzz—just my own stats. If the figure had gone up, I felt glad—like a money-obsessed miser checking the state of his personal stocks and finding he was slightly richer than yesterday. It was as if I was saying to myself, See? More people are following you. You matter. I didn’t miss the content of what they said. I just missed the raw numbers, and the sense that they were growing.

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You “like” my status update and I’ll “like” yours. This agreement gives everyone a simulacrum of importance without requiring much effort in return.

And here we are now 7 years after releasing my first book and it’s all coming to life. I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t a little scared, but I’m also a little excited. I really can’t wait to shed this crappy physical body and get a one-way ticket outta Satan’s world and into the loving arms of Jesus. We’ve all gotta die sometime, that’s a fact, so no reason to be scared of it knowing your place is secure after the fact.

you’re already awake and have been doing research of your own, you may know some or all and even more than what I’m going to talk about here. Great. Awesome. Love it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking a keen interest in our future. But if you are just waking up and recently coming off my last two books, you will find this a continuation in your crash-course about how the NWO operates.

I tried not to daydream about it, but I couldn’t help myself. Even as I was getting ready for the date, my mind provided Instagram-style status updates of our future together.

I am here on Facebook only for pleasure, happiness, and humor and also posting my writings to all my friends. Please do not take anything seriously and personally from my comments, status and any posts that are based only on humor, I know sometimes my comments and posts go a bit far of the reality, and create the confusion. Please also keep in mind that I am not always online though my network is on, and sometimes administrators update my FB, even comments, status, and other things. Please be civilized and gentle at the wall and inbox. I do not reply at inbox except a few ones. I answer only necessary matters that you inbox. If you ask personally, not on the wall or in comments since those are for the public, not private. Neither I have taken of you seriously anything, nor I will ever do that. I only take serious all matters of my family and friends whom I know personally. Thanks. Ehsan Sehgal

This is all going to culminate with the persecution of Christians who are going to resist the RFID chip/Mark of the Beast to the death so be battle-ready, Christian Sentinels, because it’s coming. I’m not going out on my knees, chipped like a dog and sure of my place in Hell if I let it happen.

OVER MY DEAD BODY!!!! This is an attack on the people who ARE proud of what our country has accomplished as one, giant melting pot of people from all walks of life banding together to make us into the greatest nation the world has ever seen.

Hey! STOP USING MY LANGUAGE! The ENGLISH language you use? That’s 100% created by whites for whites to communicate with other whites about white-people stuff and I am HIGHLY OFFENDED.

White people didn’t start slavery in the United States but white people ended it!! My ancestors and countrymen of ALL COLORS died for the cause of freeing the black slaves in the United States during the FIRST Civil War. Not only this, if the United States and the patriotic “white” man in particular hadn’t stood up en masse against Hitler and Hitler would have won???

can’t stress enough how important it is to have my first book in paper that can’t be touched electronically by a ‘worm’ that could be released by the proponents of the Great Plan to electronically ERASE everything they don’t want you to know about…that which they will legislate to be ILLEGAL to pass around. 1984

On Web 2.0, the structures would be dynamic, she predicted; instead of houses, websites would be portals, through which an ever-changing stream of activity—status updates, photos—could be displayed. What you did on the internet would become intertwined with what everyone else did, and the things other people liked would become the things that you would see. Web 2.0 platforms like Blogger and MySpace made it possible for people who had mearly been taking in the sights to start generating their own personalized and constantly changing scenery. As more people began to register their existence digitally, a pastime turned into an imperative: you had to register yourself digitally to exist.

My life isn’t a status update or a nicely filtered photo. It’s real.