Dear Facebook Timeline: I might kind of like you, call me maybe?

10 Aug

Facebook switched me to Timeline last week & it went live yesterday. I had seven days to hide all my skeletons before you could see them.

Except you wouldn’t have been able to, because my privacy setting are RIDICULOUS. HAhahaha.

Also my life is boring.

Before I got Timeline on my profile, I had it on my Dear Mr. Postman page. And I HATED Timeline. HATED. IT.

Dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnn. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

But because I’m maybe the biggest person in the world — basically I’m the baby that Gandhi and Mother Teresa never had because then the rest of us would’ve had to die in shame at the comparative greediness of our natures — which really was very nice of them, further proof that they’re better people than you and me — except not me, because I am that baby, because it takes a lot to admit when you’re wrong —

I was literally cracking up in that semi-horrified, totally happy state of looking at your own embarrassing life & knowing it’s been okay, overall. Good, even.

GUYS. I found a post from someone, and he had signed his name at the bottom. You know how when your mom texts you and signs it “luv, mom” and you’re like, “MOM. Don’t SIGN the freaking text message!” It was just like that!

In his defense, it was 2004. We’d all just started using FB — been on it for literally 2 months. And he signed his name! A little ” — John Doe” at the end. I almost took a screenshot and plastered it all over the internet, but I thought he might die of embarrassment.

Also we dated a few years later and now we’re not dating and the whole post is about how awesome he thinks I am. So.

But the signing — the signing is humiliating.

I still hate a lot of things about Timeline — all of the things I complained about originally. But I totally want my Facebook Timeline printed scrapbook now — a hard-copy version of my life. So I can look at it fifty years from now when I won’t have to scream and squeal and shut my eyes.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go Instagram the shit out of a sunset or a baby’s face or an old-growth forest for a cover photo.




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