Ah, Facebook. It’s like that really attractive friend of yours you suspect might be partially retarded.
Sure, she looks great on a dance floor in deliberately-laddered opaques and a boater, but you sometimes wish she didn’t go all glaze-eyed and giggly-in-a-bad-way when you want to talk about something that’s not fashion-related, or, um, anyone for jaeger shots?
She also slept with your boyfriend last year but didn’t really mean to do it and, um, that’s ok, right, we’re cool, you know? I was practically unconscious at the time ROFL…
That’s right. Come to think of it, you basically HATE her, because she’s always making you:
1. Get excited by quizzes promising to tell you what kind of movie/crush/taxidermied animal you are, only to realise you will never have the answers because you will never forward said quiz on to twelve ‘friends’.
2. Check who’s RSVP’d to events you’re planning on attending. Obsessively. As in, ‘Attending’, ‘Maybe Attending’ AND ‘Not Attending’. Even though you know these RSVPs mean little and you regularly select ‘Attending’ when you REALLY mean ‘Probably not going to bother’ or even ‘I’d rather eat my own poached eyeball with chopsticks than go to your pretentious excuse for a (non-)event’.
3. Appear constantly in photographs ‘blasted, blind, blithered, blotto, blued’ even though you know your boss and several other professional acquaintances, ex-boyfriends and other undesirables have total access to said photos due to your resolute laziness with privacy settings.
4. Regularly make yourself want to drink salted bleach by checking your ex-boyfriend’s public profile and voyeuristically analysing all evidence of ‘women’; then gaining perverse and ludicrous satisfaction from the scanty evidence of ‘men’ to be found on your own even though you’re well aware that said ex has neither the means nor inclination to perform similar acts of masochistic stalker-sleuthing.
5. Check it every five minutes for ‘updates’. Nothing has happened. Nothing will happen. You should do some work or write a blog or get a dog or something. Intellectually anaemic, fetid and obsolescent, you should have learned by now that Facebook will do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to relieve your taedium vitae (which is why I’ve decided to consecrate WAY more time to virtuous occupations like reading the thesaurus, clearly, and learning how to spell Latin words like ‘taedium vitae’, ‘via’, and ‘Ricky Martin’).
Now Masebook, that’s something I’d LIKE to spend time on….