You really should have to pass a test before you're allowed to have a facebook page because not everyone is equipped to handle it. Kinda like the test you have to take when you decide you want to become a parent. Wait, never mind. Any idiot can become a parent.
I am one of those ill-equipped people. For facebook. And if we're being honest, for parenting also. Seriously, if I ever have kids you should feel sorry for them.
"Mommy wasn't able to make it to the store to buy you some real toys so here's a book of matches, some monopoly games pieces that may or may not be a choking hazard, and a chainsaw. It's called improvising, darling. No need to call me if the house burns down. I'll be able to see the flames from my lounge chair at the community pool. I'll head over as soon as I finish this daiquiri. You probably should call the fire department though. They seem to really like knowing when something's on fire. You remember the number for 9-1-1, right? Such a smart little cookie. You obviously take after your mother."
When I first started my facebook page I friend requested my real life friends - the people I hang out with in the real world and can generally stand to be in my presence. Then I waited. For everyone else in the facebook world to friend request me. I knew they knew I was there because of the handy dandy "people you may know" feature. Two people took the bait. The rest of the facebook world was silent.
"Screw you guys!" I said. "I don't need you."
And for a few months, I didn't. But then I looked at my list of 57 friends and started feeling inadequate. Because we all know the number one purpose of having a facebook page is to collect as many friends as possible. The more removed from you and the least interested in your life they are, the better the facebook friend they will be.
So one night I sat down with a glass of wine and friend-requested the shit out of facebook.
I met you once at a party six years ago, send request!
We hated each other in high school, send request!
I'm not entirely sure who you are, but you are pretty and are friends with six of my real life friends, send request!
When I was finally done - aka, the bottle of wine was empty - I panicked. What have I done? What if no one accepts my request? What if it's like high school all over again where I was like, "hey guys, how's it goin? whatcha doin this weekend? wanna be friends? i'll let you braid my hair." and everyone was like, "who are you? do you even go to this school?"
But then magical things started happening. My phone started dinging like church bells (did I tell you I finally got an iphone? well, i did. under protest. i didn't have a choice. the husband threw my beloved flip phone down the stairs in a fit of rage. the flip phone could not be fixed. "we don't even make these any more," said the perky at&t sales-girl in wide-eyed wonderment. "fine, give me a damn iphone," i responded. at first i used it bedrudgingly but now if makes me feel tingly all over.).
I burst into the living room, chest puffed proudly and said to the husband, "Honey, I have friends!"
The husband: That's great, baby. Now get out of the way. I'm trying to watch American Greed.
I began pirouetting around the house. I sang into the empty wine bottle. "I know that there is pain, but you hold on for one more day and break free the chains!"
Me: Honey, do I sound good?
The husband: No.
Me: Some day somebody's gonna make you wanna turn around and say goodbye! Until then baby are you gonna let em hold you down and make you cry! What about that honey? I was really trying that time.
The husband: No, you are terrible.
Me: YEAH I KNOW THAT THERE IS PAIN, BUT YOU HOLD ON FOR ONE MORE DAY AND YOU -
Me: Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Another one! I have another friend! I don't even know who this person is! But we are friends! Life is great! I am so pretty and popular!
I'll be honest. There were three reasons I started a facebook page.
1. I had no idea what was going on in my friend's lives when I was facebookless.
2. I was missing out on some great parties. Because apparently no one knows how to send invitations in the mail or pick the phone to invite you to The Party of the Century. Seriously, dude, it's gonna be epic.
3. To whore out my blog.
I know, I know. Those all sound incredibly selfish, but trust me, it's all for the greater good. How? Um...well...errr...in the words of the perfectly coiffed Alaskan who can see Russia from her house, "I'll have to get back to ya."
My facebook activity consisted primarily of announcing when I updated my blog, "liking" my friends photos, and commenting. Occasionally. Why only occasionally and not allthefreakingtime? Because I quickly learned that just because you "say" something doesn't mean anyone's going to "say" something back. So it's basically like talking to yourself. And I do enough of that in real life, thank you very much.
Then, a few days ago everything changed. You could say the dam burst. I got an email from Pottery Barn: Enter For A Chance To Win a $10,000 Summer Shopping Spree! Since Pottery Barn also makes me tingly all over, I was like, "yes please!"
In order to sign up for the spree you had to "like" them of facebook and leave a comment. And so I did. And my "like" and my comment appeared on my "wall" like a shiny ornament hanging on your Christmas tree. It was so pretty and sparkly. I sat there admiring it and then suddenly one of my friends "liked" my "like" and my comment.
Something clicked inside. If you listened closely enough I promise you could hear it. It was like presenting a crack addict with a beautifully arranged display of crack on an antique sterling monogrammed tray.
In other words? I began "liking" the shit out of stuff.
Neon pink Hello Kitty socks that make your feet smell like rainbows and make you poop glittery stickers. Like!
Sale on kitty litter at Wal-Mart. I don't even have a cat. Like!
Hand crafted jewelry made of recycled elephant dung. Like!
Experiencing erectile dysfunction? Take these all natural pills and you'll be long. And strong. And down to get the friction on. Don't have a wiener, but...Like!
Ninety percent of my day now consists of going to random websites and frantically searching for the "Like" button. If I go too long between fixes I begin itching and twitching (or whatever it is crack addicts do when they're going through withdrawal.)
I should be embarrassed by this. I should worry what all my "friends" will think. But I'm not, because no one on facebook really gives a shit about what anyone else is doing. They're there to talk about themselves, promote their blog, and show of their baby. (Those last two sentences totally contradict another post I'm working on about why, thanks to facebook, high school reunions have become obsolete.)
When I'm not "liking" shit, I'm exclaiming in befuddlement as I check out my friends' pages.
"WHAT?! She's married? She's sixteen!"
"She has a baby! She's eighteen!"
"He's in the Navy! When did they start letting high school freshmen in!"
Apparently I think time has stopped for everyone but me. I was the only one who grew up, got married and got a job. Everyone else I went to high school with is still fourteen, sixteen, eighteen, etc.
This is why a test should be required before joining the facebook world. Some people (me) just cannot handle the responsibility.
Breast enhancement drugs that work by making you gain 700 pounds. You may get fatter all over, but at least your boobs will be bigger.
On second thought, screw the test and pass the crack... I mean, the "Like" button!
And make sure you accept my friend request so you know when my blog is updated and so I can tell you what kind of sandwich I ate for lunch, and you're totally going to want to go to my party. It's going to be epic. Sincerely, it is. You can "like" it if you want.
I know I love sarcasm and 99% of the stuff here should be taken with a healthy dose of salt. But let's get serious for a second, 'kay? In the words of a fallen singer, "crack is wack." In other words, don't do it. Kay? And if you are doing it, please get help. Getting help doesn't make you a coward. It makes you awesome. And we'll all be here to support you. To show you how serious I am, I'm going to go "Like" Narcotics Anonymous right now. 'Kay?
And now...It's time for some awards!!!
First let me again say THANK YOU to all of my followers. Big wet sloppy puppies kisses to you. And thank you to all who were like, "we follow you, we love, stop your whining, you look pathetic." Except you didn't say it that way because you are awesome and fabulous and I heart you all.
The call was made and there was one brave enough to answer. To follow. And she asked for an award. (Actually I just now realized two were brave enough. But blogger is being a douche and for some reason I cannot see any of my followers. Does it look that way on your screen too? Ugh! WHAT DO I DO??? Whoever you are number 34, thank you, I heart you, I give the biggest, wettest, sloppiest puppy kisses to you. If you don't mind, leave me a comment so I know who you are. Blogger, you better get your shit together ASAP!)
Interests, let's all welcome Taryn.
Here is your award, Taryn. Congratulations. You earned it. (keep reading after Taryn's award; there are two more.)
Our next award goes to Miss Allie, who has been following for awhile and didn't directly ask for an award but she said she was all about random awards. And also? She makes me tingly all over. So, Miss Allie, here be your award. Congratulations. You worked hard, girl.
And lastly, a woman's whose awesomeness knows no bounds (drum roll, please)...Lady Estrogen! WOOT! She said she would enjoy it if someone gave her a certain type of an award. So, my dear Lady, here it is. Enjoy yourself all over that thing.