People love to post this stuff. I don’t really feel the need to announce to people, “Rob woke up today and has bad breath.” Since I don’t use Facebook, I am considered a social leper. My friends are nagging me constantly about getting a Facebook account. It’s just not going to happen.
It’s nothing against Facebook—I’m sure it’s a great site. I can see the importance in knowing what your friend’s status is 24 hours a day. “Ted ate too much Kentucky Fried Chicken and needs some Pepto-Bismol.” My issue isn’t with the website; my opposition to Facebook is because my wife, whom I love, happens to be a woman. You see, women like to look through their husband’s stuff, a right they believe they earned when they said “I do.” (They actually meant “I do go through all of your stuff now.”) When a woman finds something in her husband’s stuff (or Facebook page) that happens to be from an ex-girlfriend from 15 years before … there’s going to be a long night of explaining. Who needs that sort of grief? I don’t have enough good years left in my life to spend endless nights explaining that just because Becky (whom I did French kiss in junior high) decided to ask me to be Facebook friends, it doesn’t mean I am currently French kissing her now. To avoid all of the nonsense, I just skip the entire matter altogether and don’t have a Facebook page.
If you’re not familiar with what Facebook is or how it works, I’ll give you the Reader’s Digest version here. There is a website (you’ll need a computer to see it, Grandpa) where you can create a page that has a picture of you and a profile of who you are (or who you think you are, anyway). It can also have pictures of your kids, your dog, your car, your garden, and a whole bunch of other stuff that you think other people care about (they actually don’t).
Nobody can see your page unless you accept them as a friend. If you find someone you know from naptime in grade school, you can “poke” them, or put out a friend request. Once the two of you are confirmed friends, you can write on each other’s pages and post pictures. Everyone who is your friend—like your mom or your boss—can view these pictures, too. So that picture your fraternity brother posted of you barfing while doing a keg stand isn’t very cool. All embarrassing moments photographed by your “friends” will inevitably be posted on your Facebook page. What happens in Vegas ends up on Facebook.
Besides embarrassing each other, the site is a great way for people to find each other on the Internet and look (actually the term should be snoop) into each other’s lives. It is the ultimate in gossip and voyeurism. If you want to find out if ol’ Shelly from high school got fat, then check out her Facebook page. Go ahead and add 20 pounds to the photo you see; Shelly isn’t stupid enough to post any recent “heavy” pictures of herself (however, her friends will add those pictures to her page late at night when Shelly is asleep—that’s what friends are for).
Rob woke up late for work today.
Rob decided it was better to call in sick than to be late.
Rob didn’t bother to take a shower, or comb his hair, or brush his teeth.
Rob had cheese and crackers for breakfast, brunch, and lunch.
Rob felt bad that he didn’t go to work.
Rob felt worse he didn’t help out around the house.
Rob stepped over a pile of dirty laundry 75 times today.
Rob broke a string on his air guitar.
Rob is wearing pajama bottoms at 3 p.m.
Rob baked himself a cake and ate the whole thing so his wife wouldn’t find out that he actually can cook.
Rob thinks Oprah actually might be all right.
Rob thinks Oprah is the devil.
Rob hates himself for watching Oprah.
Rob just posted a picture of his ingrown toenail from his camera phone.
Rob found out it would cost $1,100 a month if he bought the new Dodge Viper. He’ll take his in black.
Rob spent way too much time playing video games today.
Rob just broke his high score on Rockband.
Rob Googles himself ... six times a day.
Rob spent too much time on Facebook and didn’t write an article that was due yesterday.