Facebook, An Intervention

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November 16, 2011 by Manny Wordsmith

The posts after the “deep posts” are always weird. It’s like trying to make a joke after you’ve just told every one you were laid off, or your dog just died.

I don’t technically have a job and my dog died when I was young, so the air is clear! I’m just lost and slightly morose, which is completely fine. Don’t worry, I won’t cry on the keyboard. Unless, I’m watching The Lion King…

So I’ve taken it upon myself to be a little more responsible and bring the really important things to the front and allow some of the other things sit on the back burner till I have the space for them.

One of those things is Facebook.

It’s always the first to go when anyone plans to get their life together. I think it’s the overwhelming need to see what’s going on in everyone else’s life that causes people ignore what’s going on in their own lives. But being on Facebook is like being at an intervention or class reunion you can’t leave. Can you imagine being in a lightly dimmed living room with a bunch of people concerned with your drinking habits? You’ll sit there, everyday, afraid to even express your simplest needs because you’ll know every bored house wife and older concerned relative will be dissecting your emotions. You can’t even post the pic of you and the slutty bartender from Madison’s without your aunt judging you via FB chat.

“You need to stop dating them white girls,” she’ll say “I thought your mother and I taught you better,” she’ll proclaim.

You won’t know how to respond because it’ll be 3:00 a.m. and you’ll be wasted. But you’ll jobble something down anyway. You know…to make a point.

“yououo donmt erven knm9w herrre1!! shiiiiit!”

The next morning you’ll wake up and have no idea why you even posted the pic. You’ll notice the slutty bartender’s bright blue eyeshadow, pasty skin and jagged teeth, then realize the pic wasn’t actually post worthy. You’ll wonder why your 45-year-old aunt was even awake. Then you’ll remember she lives in Seattle and she was probably up watching an NCIS marathon or crocheting another ugly hat for your birthday.

When you have 300 friends from high school, things can get rough too.

While trying to keep up with the Joneses or just trying to prove to all your married and stabilized friends that the single life is the way, you’ll just embarrass yourself. You’ll be at the bar and you’ll notice your class Prom Queen has uploaded a new pic on FB. If you were sober you’d know that it was a classy pic of her in an apron, showing the camera the bowl of cake mix she’s stirring by hand. But you’re not. So instead of reading the caption that says, “Cake for my hubby!” or her apron that says “Wife of the Century” your creepy ass concentrates on the minimal cleavage she’s showing out of her black Old Navy V-Neck. From that you’ll come up with some sleazy, dirty thing to say.

“Hey Renee, my birthday is coming up soon and I would loooooooove it if you came to my apartment with that bowl, that spoon and JUST your apron and make me a cake too! lol j/k but not! hahaha!”

But it’s not a joke. You’ll wake up and wonder why you even sent the comment. You’ll try to figure out when you even had time to send anything. And then you’ll remember…the bathroom. You checked the FB app mid piss, and let loose. You’ll be blown away by the 18 responses that came after yours, which pointed out your foolish disregard for Renee’s happy marriage and her tasteful outfit. A few lol’s will scatter around, but not many. Everyone will pretty much be disgusted. You’ll notice that 20 of your mutual friends have unfriended you, but not before they blew up your wall and sent you some pretty mean messages.

Two days will pass and you’ll think,”maybe, things have subsided”. Things will seem calm enough for you to finally show your head and post something, something simple. “Heading to work,” that’s all. But not even 45 seconds after you post this, Renee the Prom Queen, will comment with a 200 word essay, tearing you limb from limb, reminding you that not only did she remember the Valentine card you gave her in 2nd grade where you had the L in love backwards, she also remembered hugging you when you were crying in the hallway after 5th period and coming to your grandmother’s wake and funeral…after she worked 8 hours at Jet’s Pizza. She’ll make you feel like Booger from “Revenge of the Nerds” and you’ll finally know that she’ll never actually leave her husband and let you play out that “Clarissa Explains it All” fantasy where you climb through her window while she’s doing homework…naked.

You might see alcohol as being the REAL cause of all this, but it’s really FB. Drunks and single folk were not chastised as much before FB. As long as you came to Sunday dinner, somewhat awake, your family would leave you alone. And if you went to a Class Reunion, and the Prom Queen was there, you could say whatever you wanted, as long as you both had drinks. Unwritten rule. So to get any kind of breather and/or release, one must let go of FB.


But we all know that this 919 word post is all bull. I’ll probably be on FB by Saturday. So damn addictive.


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